Miss Dimple Picks a Peck of Trouble: A Mystery (Miss Dimple Mysteries)

by Ballard, Mignon F.

  “But somebody might have,” Miss Dimple said. “What if they believed her?” And what if she was telling the truth?

  “Do you think Hattie might be in danger?” Annie asked.

  “I know the police questioned her, or tried to. Doubt if they learned much.” Grady went to the window and stared out as a truckload of pine logs rumbled past. “Who knows what that old woman sees. Or knows. She’s been telling folks she found something.… Well, maybe she did, but God knows what, or where she is now.”

  “Maybe she went somewhere. She might be staying with somebody.” Annie spoke softly. As soon as she said it, she knew it didn’t make sense.

  “And where would that be? Would you want Hattie McGee for a houseguest?” Clay asked.

  Grady inspected the cans in the window as if he might rearrange them, then decided against it. “No, I think something happened, and I’ll tell you why,” he said.

  “The other day, I looked out the window there, and here comes Hattie, plodding down the road, pushing that old wheelbarrow, and dressed head to toe in some kind of flappin’ black outfit. Looked for all the world like a witch. And hot! Remember how hot it was? Close to a hundred in the shade and it barely past sunup, too.” Grady pulled out a dingy handkerchief and mopped his face, as if the thought of it made him ooze.

  “‘Hattie!’ I yells. ‘Why don’t you come in here and cool off a spell? Got a Co-Cola with your name on it.’ And you know what? That old woman didn’t pay a bit of attention to me. Just went on past like she didn’t hear, and I reckon I hollered three or four times. I swear she heard me, too, but she never looked back or nothing. I watched her turn in there where there used to be a road to that trailer she lives in. I tell you I felt like a damned fool!” Grady slammed a fist onto the counter so hard, it jumped two packages of cheese crackers and a package of Beeman’s gum out of the display box.

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” Grady said. “She didn’t walk like Hattie, either. I’m tellin’ you, something ain’t right!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “You mean you think it wasn’t Hattie, but somebody else? Maybe you ought to call Chief Tinsley,” Clay suggested, but he hoped Grady would wait and call after he left. He’d had enough dealings with the Elderberry police.

  Grady flicked a dead fly off the counter and thought about that. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you go over and check it out first? Hate to bring in the law if there’s no call to. I’d go with you, but I can’t close up here just yet. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you?”

  “Sure, I guess so.” Clay didn’t relish the idea of what he might find over there, but he didn’t want to appear chickenhearted.

  Noticing his reaction, Miss Dimple looked at Annie and Annie looked at Miss Dimple. “I’d like to use your telephone, Mr. Clinkscales, if you don’t mind,” she said. “We should let Mrs. Chadwick know we’re going to be a few minutes late.”

  Across the road, Clay led them through knee-high undergrowth, pausing every few steps while Annie picked beggar-lice off her skirt. “I’ll have to admit I’m glad of the company,” he told them. “I’ve had enough surprises this summer to last me a lifetime.” He picked his way carefully through the brush until they came to Hattie’s worn little path, barely perceptible in a carpet of pine needles and yellowing grass. Hazy splotches of fading sunlight filtered through the trees and spread in patches on the ground. Everything was still.

  Miss Dimple stopped in a spot of shade to breathe in the musty smell of the woods, the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and for only a second, wished she were ten again.

  In the clearing ahead, white-painted stones marked a path to Hattie’s trailer home, and on either side bloomed roses of just about every color, all mixed up together. Clay had been here many times before, but he never got used to the magic of it. He had never admitted this to anyone, not even Prentice, but coming upon Hattie McGee’s rose garden was like stepping into a fairy story. Even Miss Dimple stopped wide-eyed in mid-stride and let out a delicate gasp of astonishment.

  “The door’s not quite shut,” Clay said, moving closer. “She must be here.

  “Hattie! Hattie! It’s me, Clay. You in there?”

  There was no answer. Clay stepped back on the path, swept clean except for shattered petals, and wished he were somewhere else. “Maybe we ought to leave her alone,” he said. “She doesn’t like to be bothered.”

  But Dimple had no such reservations. Stepping forward, she banged repeatedly on the dented door with the palm of her hand. “Hattie, it’s Dimple Kilpatrick. If you’re in there, answer us, please. We want to know if you’re all right.”

  When Hattie still didn’t answer, Clay opened the door wider and poked his head inside. Annie tried to look over his shoulder, but she couldn’t see much. Charlie’s going to hate missing out on this, she thought. The adventure of helping to solve a mystery seemed to have become an integral part of their lives since the two friends began teaching in Charlie’s hometown of Elderberry.

  “Perhaps we should take a look out back,” Miss Dimple suggested, and the women followed Clay single file, edging around rosebushes shoulder-high to a hard-packed area of red clay behind the trailer. Stooping, Clay pointed to the crawl space beneath it. “There’s her wheelbarrow, still heaped with empty bottles she’s collected.” He frowned. “Grady’s right. She never turned them in, and you know as well as I do Hattie would never go off and leave that behind.”

  “Then where could she be? I think we should call somebody.… Grady should still be open.” Annie turned and started back up the pathway, but Miss Dimple put out a hand to stop her. “First let’s be sure she’s not inside,” she said, speaking softly, and the others knew then what she expected to find.

  Under normal conditions, Hattie McGee didn’t smell like the roses she collected, Clay thought as he stepped inside. If the woman had been dead for even a few hours in this heat, they would know it as soon as they walked in the door, but if something had happened to Hattie, it had happened somewhere else. He breathed a silent “Thank you” as they made their way to the back of the trailer, where Hattie apparently slept. The place was dingy and close. Hattie wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, although a good scrubbing with disinfectant wouldn’t hurt. Clay thought of his mama in her bleach-splattered cleaning clothes, sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

  “Looks like she got rid of the funeral clothes,” Annie said, calling attention to a mound of black garments spilling over the narrow bed, with the veiled hat like a garnish on top. The niche that served as a closet in the corner of the tiny room held only a nubby winter coat, a pair of muddy galoshes, and a worn red velvet dress trimmed in lace, with dried mud weighing the hem.

  “Looks like she took her other clothes with her,” Clay said. He certainly hoped so. The thought of Hattie McGee running around naked made the ice cream he’d just eaten squish around in his stomach. “What now?” he asked, turning to the others.

  Miss Dimple dug in her large purple handbag and brought out a letter she’d received from her brother. “I think we should leave a message just in case,” she said, and carefully tearing off the back of the envelope, she wrote a note in her elegant Spenserian script. “If she sees this, at least she’ll know we’re looking for her, and if we don’t hear something from her in a day or so…”

  “It will be time to get worried,” Clay said. He anchored the note under an empty fruit jar in the space that served as a kitchen, and the three of them hurried out, shutting the door firmly behind them.

  Clay took the pathway in long strides, stopping now and then to see if the others were keeping up. They were, of course. Clay never thought he’d be glad to get back to grading peaches, but he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Annie was eager to curl up after supper to read for about the tenth time her most recent letter from Frazier and know that at least at the time he wrote it he was still alive, but it had been several weeks since she had he
ard from him last.

  Miss Dimple was thoughtfully quiet. If Hattie McGee wasn’t in her makeshift trailer home, where in the world could she be?

  * * *

  Charlie stood for a minute before Clay noticed her, and when he did, he merely raised a hand in acknowledgment and turned back to what he was doing. Drag-assed glum, an expression her father use to use, came to mind.

  She didn’t want to be here, especially alone, but there had been no word from Hattie for the last few days. After Prentice was killed, Delia’s work at the Peach Shed came to an end; Miss Dimple was volunteering at the Red Cross blood drive that day, and Annie had gone along to donate, claiming she’d rather they’d take every drop than have to go near that trailer again. “You don’t have to go in,” Annie’d promised. “Just drop by the Shed and see if Clay’s around. Maybe he’s heard something.”

  Charlie had been tempted to invite her mother and her aunt Lou to come along today, but if those two became involved, they would probably stir up more trouble than she could deal with right now. They meant well, bless their hearts, but Charlie cringed to think of some of the frightening close calls the women had experienced.

  Asa Weatherby, who was minding the Shed, had said he thought Clay was somewhere out back, but Charlie hadn’t seen him anywhere. Calling to him, she’d walked hesitantly down the stone-bordered path, half-expecting to meet the Tin Man or the Wicked Witch.

  “Whaddaya want?” Clay called out to her now as he moved from a yellow hybrid to a pink climbing rose near the trailer door. She couldn’t see his face.

  “To tell you you’ve won a million dollars! What do you think I want? What are you doing?” she asked, noticing the gallon milk jug in his hand.

  He shrugged. “Watering Hattie’s roses. Seems like somebody ought to. Shame to let ’em die.”

  Charlie sniffed a crimson blossom. If she picked it, would a horrible beast appear and order her to leave? “Need any help?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but I’m about through.” Clay paused to mop his face and set the empty jug on Hattie’s single step. “The note’s still inside, where we left it the other day. Doesn’t look like she’s been back here.”

  “What note?”

  “The one Miss Dimple wrote to let her know we were worried about her. Doesn’t look like she’s coming back.”

  “Miss Dimple thinks something’s happened to her,” Charlie said. “Do you?”

  “Looks that way. Grady has the police looking for her. They were here earlier, poking around.”

  “Did they find anything?”

  “The police don’t let me in on their little secrets,” Clay told her. “Since that nut in Atlanta confessed, they’re more convinced than ever that I killed Prentice. That guy was in jail when Prentice was killed.”

  Clay went inside to fill the jug and emptied most of the contents on the bush with velvety red blossoms. “What about Miss Bertie?” he asked. “Do you think she might know who Prentice was seeing?”

  Charlie shook her head. “Not according to Miss Dimple. Her friends didn’t know, either. Delia and I have spoken to all of them except Iris.”

  “She’s working at some camp.” Clay poured what was left in the water jug over his sand-colored hair.

  “I know. We’ll just have to wait till she gets home.

  “Guess you heard about Jasper Totherow.”

  “A little. Fill me in.”

  Charlie did. “Maybe he and Hattie eloped,” she said in an attempt to make him smile.

  It didn’t. “Something stinks,” Clay said. “What’s going on, Charlie?”

  “I wish I knew. Do you think more than one person could be involved? Jasper claims he saw somebody out there the day Leola died. Maybe Prentice did, too. Delia says she seemed to be nervous … worried about something. Now Prentice is dead, Jasper’s missing … and nobody knows what’s happened to Hattie. Where does the boyfriend come into this?”

  He frowned. “You don’t believe me about the boyfriend?”

  “That’s not what I said, but we have to find him, Clay. Maybe there’s a connection, but right now, I can’t see it.”

  “Don’t give up on me, Charlie. Please.”

  Swallowing tears, Charlie turned away. There were too many things to cry about: The man she hoped to marry was in danger’s way every day, as was her brother Fain, Delia’s Ned, and oh so many others. She couldn’t afford to break down now. “I’m not giving up on you,” she said, facing him, “but I don’t know where else to look. I’ve thought of everybody it might possibly be, but none of them makes any sense.”

  “You think I haven’t?” Clay set the milk jug inside the trailer and slammed the door. “I make lists in my sleep. When I sleep.”

  Charlie hesitated before speaking. “There’s a possibility, you know, that Prentice made that up. Delia said she was upset with you over your objection to her going away to college this fall.… Well … more than upset really. She might’ve said that just to hurt you, Clay.”

  He stiffened. “No! Prentice doesn’t—didn’t lie. Wish to hell she had, but she was telling the truth. I know it.”

  Charlie looked at the empty trailer, the bright mass of roses; water dripped softly from the foliage. “Clay, do you know where Hattie is?” Now what made her ask that?

  Clay must have wondered, too. “What?”

  “She could know something important, Clay.”

  In answer, he climbed into the cab of his truck, slammed the door shut, and started the engine. Silently, Charlie walked back to her car and followed him out to the road. He never did answer her question.

  * * *

  “I’m afraid I might’ve made a mess of things with Clay,” Charlie told Annie when she stopped by Phoebe’s later. She found Annie on the back porch, adding another coat of white polish to her sandals.

  “I don’t know why in the world I said that,” she added, explaining what she’d done. “I’ve known Clay Jarrett all his life, but sometimes it’s hard to know what he’s thinking.”

  Annie set the sandals aside to dry. The polish had covered most of the worn places and they would have to do for now. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said, and sighed.

  Charlie frowned. “Oh, Annie, have you still not heard?”

  Annie shook her head. “Something’s happened. I know it, and Frazier’s right in the middle of it. I’ve read all about what’s going on over there, heard it on the news. They’re trying to push past the Normandy beaches, take all those towns away from the Germans. It’s been weeks now, Charlie, and I haven’t heard a word. I know he would write if he could—even if it’s only a few sentences—just to let me know he’s all right.”

  “Maybe his parents have heard something. Do you know how to get in touch?”

  Annie wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “Well, I have their names and address. They live in this little town in north Georgia, somewhere up near the Tennessee line.”

  “Then call them! Maybe they’ve heard something. At least you’ll know.”

  “Okay, but I’ll wait until the mail comes tomorrow. Maybe I’ll hear something then,” Annie said.

  Charlie smiled. “Good! Now, let’s go drown our problems at the drugstore. I’ve been thinking about a root beer float all day.”

  Charlie asked Delia to join them, hoping it might help to cheer her up as well, and they took little “Pooh” along to gnaw on his usual cone—minus the ice cream—having learned from experience that otherwise the baby and everything within several feet of him would have to be scrubbed down afterward. “We’re going to be in trouble when he learns the difference,” Charlie said as they settled into a booth at Lewellyn’s.

  Annie scooped a spoonful of vanilla into her mouth and glanced at the young man in uniform approaching them. “Who’s that?” she whispered, trying not to stare. He was exceptionally good-looking, so it was hard to look anywhere else.

  Delia concentrated on stirring her chocolate soda with a straw. “Chenault Kirkland,�
� she whispered, flushing.

  She looked up as he stopped by their booth. “I’m so sorry about your friend, about Prentice,” he said, speaking softly. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

  Delia nodded and thanked him, her eyes welling with tears. Thank goodness right at that moment Pooh decided he wanted to climb onto the table and everyone scurried to move everything out of his way as Delia secured him safely in her lap.

  Chenault Kirkland belonged in an advertisement for beachwear, with a towel over his shoulder and a girl on his arm—a blond girl with large breasts, Annie thought.

  They were interrupted by a greeting from Bobby Tinsley, who had stopped in for his customary afternoon ice cream. “Chenault—glad I ran into you. The sheriff tells me they’ve found your mother’s purse. They tried to call your home but couldn’t get an answer.”

  Chenault shrugged. “Probably out running around as usual. Is that the one that was stolen at Cooper’s grocery?”

  “Sheriff’s pretty sure it is. Says she can claim it at any time.”

  Chenault frowned. “Who took it? Or do they know?”

  “Probably Jasper Totherow,” the chief said. “They found it on the hill near that old shed he used to sleep in.”

  “Used to sleep in. You think he’s dead?” Charlie asked.

  “Either that or he’s disappeared somewhere. Nobody’s been able to find him,” Bobby Tinsley said.

  Chenault shook his head and frowned. “Jasper Totherow. Isn’t he the man those little girls found? I thought they said he was dead.”

  Bobby sighed. “Frankly, I think the old scalawag took that money and went on a spree. He’s holed up somewhere; you can bet on it.”

  * * *

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody with eyes as blue as that,” Charlie said after the two men left.

  “I assume you’re speaking of Chenault,” Delia said, “and may I remind you that you’re an engaged woman?”

  Charlie laughed. “I may be engaged, but I’m not blind! It’s hard to ignore somebody who looks like that.”