Virginia waited at the door with her hand on the light switch while her friend stood at the window. “Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you or not? And don’t tell me nothing’s wrong because I know you, Dimple Kilpatrick.”
And so Dimple took a deep breath and told her what had been on her mind for the last two days. Was Millie McGregor the person who had been blackmailing Phoebe?
Virginia had to admit the thought had occurred to her as well. “But I thought her car had run out of gas a few blocks away.”
“How do we know she didn’t just park it there while she checked that place in the wall for money?” Miss Dimple followed her friend out the door and stepped into the cool evening air. “It was late when she was attacked, so what else could she be doing there at that hour?”
Virginia fell into step beside her as the two walked home together. “Can you think of a reason Millie would want to blackmail Phoebe? As far as I know, she hardly knew her.”
Dimple didn’t answer. Maybe she knew more about her than they thought, and tomorrow she would do her best to find out.
* * *
“Millie McGregor?” Phoebe Chadwick sat abruptly on the cedar chest at the end of her bed. “Do you honestly think she might be the one? How could she possibly know?”
Dimple waited until the others had gone to their rooms that night after listening to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio as she wanted to be sure they weren’t overheard. Now she sat across from Phoebe on the chintz-covered stool by the dressing table and told her what she suspected. The staccato sounds of typing came from Velma’s room upstairs, and someone was running water for a bath.
“Think about it, Phoebe,” Dimple urged her. “Is there any way you could have known her in the past?”
Phoebe shook her head and frowned. “I don’t see how. Except for that brief time in Tennessee when Millie probably wasn’t even born, I’ve never lived anywhere but here, and she’s only been in Elderberry a few months. I must admit,” she added, “I did wonder about that when I learned where she was attacked.” She had been brushing her hair and now turned the hairbrush over in her hand. “Do you think Millie might have been the one who did that to Velma’s tires the day we gathered muscadines?”
Dimple nodded solemnly. She had thought of that but was reluctant to believe it. She hadn’t tried to hide her doubts about Jordan McGregor’s service in New Guinea, and it had become obvious that Millie liked to be in charge. “I think it was meant as some sort of warning. She was uncomfortable with my questions.”
“Dimple, are you sure? How could she have known where we were going?”
“There’s no way I can be sure, but I believe she followed us there—probably watched us leave and saw her chance to give us a fright. I think Bobby Tinsley agrees with me, but there’s no way we can prove it, or would even want to now.”
“No, no, of course not,” Phoebe said. What a troubled person Millie was. It was frightening to think about it.
“I believe she’s about the same age as your Kathleen,” Miss Dimple said. “Do you suppose they might’ve been friends?”
“But I’m sure I must’ve mentioned her to Kathleen when I wrote her about Lou’s party. Wouldn’t she have recognized the name?”
“Not if she knew her by her maiden name,” Dimple said.
Still, Phoebe wasn’t entirely convinced. “How could she learn this from Kathleen when Kathleen doesn’t even know herself?”
Are you absolutely sure about that? Dimple thought. But, of course she didn’t say it aloud.
* * *
Virginia Balliew made herself eat at least part of her bowl of oatmeal and half a grapefruit before leaving for the library that Wednesday morning. Her stomach protested the intrusion, and nothing tasted right. Her appetite, it seemed, had fled with the War Bond money, and that had been more than two weeks ago.
The investigators had been patient and kind and she didn’t think anyone would accuse her of taking the cash, but she had been responsible for that money, and the suspicion would always be there no matter how innocent she might be.
There was a hint of rain in the air, and a gust of wind sent leaves swirling as Virginia left her small cottage on Myrtle Street to walk the few blocks to her beloved log-cabin library in the park. The October morning was cool but not unpleasant, and Virginia pulled a blue beret over graying hair, still streaked with red, and started off at a brisk pace. Perhaps the walk and the air would clear her mind and help to heal her heart. Although she believed most of the people in Elderberry would never blame her for what had happened the night of the follies, she knew she would always blame herself, and every time someone came into the library or met her on the street, she couldn’t help wondering if they eyed her with suspicion.
Several books, she noticed, had been dropped through the opening for that purpose to the left of the front door of the library. It had been put there for the convenience of patrons who were unable to return them during library hours, and Virginia usually attended to that after seeing to Cattus, who now wove her silken self sleekly about her feet.
“And good morning to you, too,” Virginia said as she picked up the cat and stroked her soft gray fur. Cattus began to purr, and she felt comforted by her warmth and affection, although she knew it would last only until she reached for the can opener.
A flick of the light switch brought the book-lined room to life, and after putting away her wraps and seeing to the needs of Cattus, she decided to leave the heater on low and build a small wood fire to take off the chill. The officers of the Woman’s Club were to meet that morning at ten and would probably be grateful for the warmth as well as the cheer.
But first she would take care of the returned books. Virginia smiled to see that Ruthie Phillips had returned the library’s one frayed copy of The Secret Garden. It was the third time she’d read it, but probably not the last. Jesse Dean Greeson, who was currently on a Charles Dickens kick, had dropped off A Tale of Two Cities, and Virginia had set aside a copy of David Copperfield for him at his request.
And what was this? Alma Owens had finally brought back Gone with the Wind after renewing it twice, and it was still two weeks overdue. Naturally, she hadn’t included the twenty-eight cents she owed in fines. Virginia shook her head. She would make a note of that.
Aside from these, she found two other books and a thick manila envelope that had slipped to the side. Virginia was puzzled when she saw her name printed on the front as any correspondence to her at the library was always delivered there by Boyce Oliver, their regular postman.
Virginia took the envelope to her desk by the window and carefully slit it open. Was this a dream? She could hardly believe what she was seeing when what appeared to be several thousand dollars in a variety of denominations tumbled onto her desk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was almost a relief to be arrested and not have to hide anymore. Buddy Oglesby sat on the bunk in his narrow cell with his head in his hands and waited for his lawyer to come.
The place smelled of sweat and urine in spite of attempts to clean it with disinfectant, and there was no telling who had been sleeping on the flimsy mattress, but where else was he to sit? Aunt Emmaline had hired some high-priced fellow from Atlanta and promised he would soon be free, but Buddy wasn’t sure he wanted to be free until they locked up the person who had tried to kill him the night of the follies. The bullet that wounded Jesse Dean had had his name on it as sure as he was born. At least he would be safe here in the Elderberry jail under the watchful eyes of the local police.
Or he could be a sitting duck.
* * *
Louise Willingham just had a feeling she should drop in on Jordan McGregor at the hospital that night. The very thought of the poor man restlessly pacing those sterile halls alone while his wife lay still and unresponsive like one of those beautiful dolls children weren’t supposed to play with was more than she could bear. The morning after it happened she and Ed had gone there together with
roses from that late-blooming bush by the garage, and Jordan had thanked her over and over for finding his wife. She didn’t admit, of course, the real reason she and Jo had been there.
As soon as she got home from her job at the munitions plant that afternoon Lou had warmed up chicken hash and leftover green beans for supper and stepped over with some of her applesauce cake wrapped in wax paper for Jordan. He had refused her invitations for supper, and she knew he wasn’t eating properly. You could tell that by looking at him. Well, grief did that to people, but at least she could keep him company.
She found, however, that others had the same idea. When she arrived, Reynolds Murphy sat on the bench in the hallway outside Millie’s room talking with Elias Jackson, the high school principal, but both left soon afterward. When Jordan came out in the hall to join her for a while he said Sebastian had just left and several others from the school had come by earlier. “Everyone has been so kind, so thoughtful … I only wish…”
It was obvious that he was overcome with emotion, and Lou took his hand and sat quietly beside him. “How is she, Jordan?” she asked finally.
“Not good.” He shook his head and tears began a ragged pathway down his cheeks. “Doc Morrison even called in a specialist from Augusta, but her skull was crushed from the blow.” He wiped his eyes on a handkerchief. “I just hope she’s not in any pain.”
Lou squeezed his fingers. “I’m sure she isn’t.” She wasn’t sure at all, but what else could she say? She would be forever grateful that Evan Mitchell, the Presbyterian minister, arrived shortly afterward and was there when a nurse summoned Jordan into Millie’s room to tell him his wife had died.
* * *
Virginia counted the money again. She had put the bills in stacks according to their denomination ranging from one-dollar bills up to fifties. Most were tens and twenties along with fives, ones, and a few fifties. The total came to an even twenty-four hundred. When compared with the list of people who had paid cash and the size of the bonds they bought at seventy-five percent of their value, the sum came to seventy-five dollars more than the amount missing. Frowning, Virginia checked the list again: six people paid for one-hundred-dollar bonds; eleven people bought fifty-dollar bonds, and seventy-eight purchased the twenty-five dollar bonds which should total $2,325.00. So where did the extra seventy-five dollars come from?
Virginia Balliew put the money back into the envelope, locked the library door, and marched straight to the bank, where she turned it over to Hubert Chadwick. He, in turn, promptly telephoned the representative from the War Finance Committee, as well as Bobby Tinsley, to let them know the money had been returned. Chief Tinsley showed up in Arthur’s office in what was probably record time.
No, Virginia told them, she didn’t know where the extra money came from, but the note that was in the envelope, and which she gave to Bobby, simply stated: I believe this is the missing bond money. I hope it is all here.
Frowning, Bobby blew into the empty envelope and examined it again. “And that was it?” he asked Virginia.
“We got the money back—and more. Surely you didn’t expect them to sign it,” she told him.
After leaving the money, Virginia walked back to the library feeling as if a ton of bricks had been lifted from her. She glanced at the town clock high above the courthouse. She had just enough time before the officers from the Woman’s Club arrived to drop by Lewellyn’s Drug Store for a cup of coffee to celebrate. And from now on, she would gladly scrub floors, dig ditches, or even carry a rifle and drill with the Home Guard rather than be in charge of another bond rally.
* * *
Leaving Lewellyn’s with coffee in hand, Virginia almost collided with Lou Willingham, who told her of Millie McGregor’s death. Lou was on her way to Cooper’s grocery to see if she had enough ration coupons for a small ham to serve after the funeral service on Saturday.
“They don’t seem to have any family,” she said, “so I’ve invited some of the faculty and Evan Mitchell, of course, as he’s to conduct the service. I don’t know how many to count on, but I have plenty of sweet potatoes and a good mess of green beans, so I guess they can fill up on that.”
“I’ve never known of anyone going hungry at your table,” Virginia assured her, and offered to contribute a congealed fruit salad. She hoped she still had that can of pineapple she remembered seeing on her pantry shelf. She would make that recipe with grated carrots and lemon Jell-O that everyone seemed to like.
Lou’s eyes filled with tears. “Jordan is just heartbroken, and my heart goes out to him. They’ve only lived in our little apartment a short time, but I feel I’ve known him much longer.” She frowned. “Now, Millie … I never could figure her out. She just didn’t have a place, if you know what I mean. Have you ever known anybody like that? I can’t think of a way to describe Millie McGregor except that she was always ready for a good time and the young people seemed to take to her. Why, Delia was so upset when she heard about it, she had to go to bed.” Lou shifted her purse to her other arm and attempted to adjust her coat over her bosom. “It seems like we’ve been wading through a whole pile of troubles here ever since that woman’s skeleton turned up back in September.”
“Well, I happen to have some good news,” Virginia said, lowering her voice. And she told her about the return of the War Bond money that morning. “I suppose it’s all right to mention it,” she added, “as I wasn’t advised to keep quiet about it.”
* * *
Minutes later at the library she noticed the obvious absence of Emmaline Brumlow and was momentarily taken aback as Emmaline didn’t think any meeting could be conducted properly without her.
“I wonder if they’ll release Buddy Oglesby now that the money has been returned,” Emma Elrod suggested after Virginia told them her news. “He couldn’t have been the one who returned it if he was still behind bars,” she added, “unless, of course he did it earlier.”
“I don’t believe the person who returned it was the one who took it,” Virginia reasoned. “Whoever it was didn’t seem to be sure it was the correct amount that was missing.”
“Where else could it have come from?” Ida Ellerby wanted to know. “I don’t know of many people here who have thousands of dollars floating around.”
Virginia thought of the conversation she and Dimple had had earlier. If Millie had been blackmailing Phoebe, she might’ve been the one who stole the War Bond money as well, and possibly Jordan had found it and returned it. However, she had been brought up to believe it was in poor taste to speak ill of the dead, so she kept her thoughts to herself. For now.
Later that afternoon Charlie and Annie sat at Phoebe Chadwick’s dining room table, bare now except for writing materials and a scattered stack of reference books. Their principal, “Froggie” Faulkenberry, had assigned the two of them the responsibility of planning the assembly program to be held at the end of the month.
“We’ll need music—definitely,” Annie said, making a note in her composition book. “I’m sure Kate Ashcroft can get some of the children in her music classes to sing something appropriate … and Alice Brady might have some of her expression students perform a couple of skits. The children usually love—
“Aw—applesauce!” Annie stopped in mid-sentence when the lead broke in her pencil and sighed after erasing the mark it had made. “Look at the ugly black smear this old imitation rubber eraser made. I think I’d rather just cross something out than try to use one.”
Annie’s patience had worn thin because she had yet to hear from Frazier since he’d shipped out, and even small things seemed to annoy her more than usual.
“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie told her. “We’re the only ones who’ll see this anyway.” She tried to keep her voice calm as she knew how Annie felt. Will would soon move on to the final stages of his training at Craig Field and would probably leave immediately afterward to become a part of the Eighth Air Force in England. It wasn’t looking encouraging for the two of them to get together a
nytime soon.
“Froggie could’ve given us a little more time,” Annie grumbled. “We’ve only about two weeks to work this out.”
“It’s almost Halloween. What about a ghost story?” Charlie suggested. “Something that won’t be too scary for the smaller children. I’m afraid most of the ones I know would give them nightmares.”
Annie smiled. “I think I know who could help us…”
“Miss Dimple!” they said together.
* * *
Dimple Kilpatrick deposited a neat stack of folders on the table and smiled. She had been waiting for this day. “I’ve collected these little stories over the years, and you’re most welcome to browse through them and use the ones you like best. Frankly, I would find it difficult to choose as I’m fond of all of them.”
Charlie selected a folder and ruffled through its contents. “Hansel and Gretel—one of my favorites, but isn’t it a bit frightening for the little ones?”
“Ah, but you haven’t read it,” Miss Dimple said. “These are revised fairy stories, and some of them will make you laugh out loud. As we know, most fairy tales are rather violent and terrifying, so from time to time I have asked my classes for suggestions to change them in any way they like. I believe the results may surprise you.”
Leafing through the stories, they laughed as they read.
Gretel put pebbles in the witch’s stew and the witch became so heavy she couldn’t move.
Instead of letting down her hair, Rapunzel slid down the drain-pipe and landed in a mud puddle.
Cinderella put poison ivy in the beds of her stepsisters and they both broke out in a rash and couldn’t go to the ball.
Snow White changed her stepmother’s mirror for one that couldn’t talk.
Red Riding Hood and her grandmother locked the wolf in the basement and wouldn’t give him anything to eat but spinach and turnip greens. When they finally let him out, he ran away as fast as he could and never came back again.
Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause Page 20