by Donna McLean
The smug look on his face further infuriated Addie. She tossed her strawberry blond hair, raised her chin defiantly, and sailed past him as gracefully as she could, then turned and said sweetly, “By the way, that woman was my grandmother, Ada McRae, and I’m going to find out what happened to her with or without your help, Mister Allen!”
He followed her out onto the street and yelled sarcastically, “Well, by the way, my name isn’t Mister Allen. It’s Pearce Allen Simms, and Deputy Garnett Simms was my grandfather!”
seven
Addie avoided the stares of the gathering crowd as much as she could, keeping her head down while muttering “Excuse me” to the people who seemed to block her path at every turn.
The women behind her were already whispering. “She tripped him at the library just a few minutes ago,” Addie overheard someone say in a shocked tone of voice. She quickened her pace and glanced nervously toward the library. Ms. Auralee Mays stood at the window with a crowd of onlookers peering down.
Addie hunched her shoulders and stomped toward the parking lot, hurrying to reach the comforting privacy of the little blue car. Her face reddened with embarrassment when she passed Nicely Novel and noticed that Miss Dowd and the wiry gentleman were standing in the open door, watching her with pity in their eyes.
She just wanted to get as far away from all of them as possible.
Addie slid under the steering wheel in a hurry, wishing that she were already out of sight. She rolled down the windows of the convertible but left the top up. The young woman floored it when pulling out of the parking lot and let the summer breeze pouring through the windows cool her temper as she sped back to Tilda’s house. She felt relieved to leave the downtown and her little misadventure behind.
The car’s wheels crunched against the gravel of the driveway and Puddin’ came flying around the corner of the house barking, the usual greeting for anyone who visited Tilda. Addie leaned over to scratch his ears before stepping out of the car. The little dog wagged his tail so furiously that his entire behind wiggled and he trotted merrily alongside the young woman as she hurried toward the house. She took a deep breath, thinking that it was just wonderful to be where no prying eyes or nosy gossips could remind her of the embarrassing argument and the other awkward incidents of the morning.
Tilda’s soft voice lilted toward her through the open windows.
“Why, I just cannot believe that nice young lady would accost Pearce Allen Simms, of all people, in that way! There must be some kind of mistake! She really is one of the nicest young ladies you would ever want to meet and you just know that Pearce Allen would never, ever say or do anything . . .”
Addie stopped in her tracks, stunned. Evidently news of her argument with Pearce Allen Simms had already made the rounds of the small town! It had only taken five minutes to drive back to Tilda’s house. Dazed, she opened the front door and walked in.
Tilda waved at her and said, “I just have got to go now, Magda, and I will talk to you later. Bye, now.” She hung up the phone and demanded, “Bless your heart, what happened?”
The young woman dropped her purse and notebook onto the overstuffed chintz sofa and plopped down beside them in defeat. “I guess you heard about the argument. My goodness, news flies fast around here!”
Tilda nodded sympathetically. “Yes, it surely does. Magda called just a few minutes ago and she said that Hilda saw the whole thing from the beauty parlor window while she was getting her new perm, and Jasper Collins, he runs that little roadside fruit and vegetable stand on Main Street, told her—”
Addie covered her face with both hands. “Does the whole town know?”
Tilda pursed her lips and thought about it. “Well, you know, there is a good possibility that they do know by now. Not much else to talk about around here. And you were right smack in the middle of downtown in the busiest part of the day.” The merry chatter trailed off when she noticed the glum look on Addie’s face, and the voice was softened by kindness. “Well, never mind, dear, what’s done is done. No need to go on talking about it. How about a nice piece of pound cake? I’ll put whipped cream on it and a few strawberries. Just got some day before yesterday from Jasper Junior, he has the best produce, he really does. Not expensive either, not one bit. There’s still plenty of blueberries left, too. And Maureen gave me some very nice vegetables from her very own garden, just gave them to me, she’s all alone now, bless her heart, and she can’t eat all that food herself.”
Addie listened to Tilda cheerfully describing fresh berries and homegrown vegetables and who had given what from which neighbor’s garden, and sighed deeply. Her first real attempt at uncovering information about her grandmother’s murder had been a total and complete disaster. Better try to put the events of the day behind her and make a fresh start tomorrow. She stood up, straightened her shoulders, and followed Puddin’ and Tilda into the kitchen, where the delicious sight of a nice fresh slice of golden yellow pound cake topped with whipped cream and two kinds of berries cheered her immensely.
eight
The phone rang bright and early the next morning, insistently drawing Addie out of pleasant slumber. She listened for Tilda’s cheerful voice to answer it but the phone continued clanging, signaling to Addie that Tilda was already out and about on one of her numerous helpful errands to assist the residents of Sparrow Falls. She sighed, kicked off the lightweight cover, and sauntered down the hall to grab the telephone on the seventh ring.
Miss Dowd sounded surprised to hear her voice.
Addie said, “I’m sorry, Tilda isn’t here right now but I’ll give her a message.”
“Well, dear, that isn’t necessary. I really wanted to speak to you about something. I suddenly remembered, during the night, that I have a lovely portrait of your grandmother!”
Addie was thrilled. “A portrait? That’s wonderful! When can I see it?” She grabbed a pencil and wrote down Miss Dowd’s home address. “Yes, this morning is perfect. I’ll be there just as soon as I can! Thank you so much!” She hung up the receiver with a smile on her pretty face.
A few minutes later Addie McRae stood on Miss Frances Dowd’s front porch, pressing the white porcelain center of a brass doorbell shaped like a sunflower. The Dowd house was an elegant Queen Anne Victorian with far too much black wrought iron scrollwork decorating most of the exposed edges. There was even a widow’s walk circling the topmost part of the roof. Long, narrow windows were hung with lacy white curtains that enhanced the house’s appearance of romantic wistfulness. Addie had a feeling that the house would smell like rose petal potpourri, and when Miss Dowd finally opened the heavy wooden door, Addie’s assumption was proven right. The soft floral scent beckoned her inside and mingled cozily with the musty odor of old wood and the gathered memories of an historic home.
Miss Dowd beamed at Addie and motioned her indoors. “I apologize for making you wait. I’ve always been a bit fragile and it does take so long to get about this big old house.”
She was about to shut the door behind them when a voice called out from the porch, “Good morning, Frances!”
Miss Dowd turned to Addie with a look of peevish surprise. Her guest explained that Tilda had returned from running errands just as she was hanging up the phone and so had been invited to come along. The elderly lady fluttered her hands impatiently and muttered something about an uninvited guest, but her usual gentle smile was firmly in place by the time Tilda trotted up the porch steps.
Tilda hurried through the door and stated with enthusiasm that she had paused to admire Miss Dowd’s fabulous display of pink peonies. She continued breathlessly, “I hope you don’t mind my barging in like this, but when Addie told me about the picture I just had to come along and see it. Isn’t this exciting! I do remember Mrs. McRae but not very well, since I was just a young’un at the time. I can’t wait to see Ada! This is really very interesting. Good morning, Frank. On your way to the bookstore?” She beamed at everyone in turn, stepping aside so the wiry gentleman coul
d pass.
Frank blinked at the ladies like a bewildered owl caught outside in the daylight. “Come to see Ada?” he asked. “Ada won’t come here no more. She was here but that was a long time ago. She came here one morning and it was so hot the bugs was already singing. It was a hot one that day, it sure was.” He peered out the open door, a sudden breeze tugging at the short wisps of white hair around his wrinkled face.
Miss Dowd shooed Frank toward the porch. “The ladies just came for a visit, Frank. They don’t want to hear all those old wives’ tales you like to tell about bugs singing when it gets so hot. Go on, now.” She was smiling but seemed embarrassed.
Tilda leaned over to Addie and whispered, “Don’t mind Frank, dear, he’s got a button missing.” She touched a finger to her forehead with two light taps and nodded knowingly.
Frank turned and stared at Tilda. “Eh?” He frowned and began examining the front of his tan and brown plaid shirt carefully. “I don’t have a button missing, Frannie,” he whined.
“No, Frankie, you look just fine. Now go on to the bookstore and I will meet you there in a little while.” Miss Dowd nudged him out the door and firmly shut it behind her brother.
She paused for a moment as if to regain her emotions, keeping her back to her guests. Tilda noticed that Miss Dowd’s hands were trembling slightly, and Tilda bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t blurted out such a rude comment. But Frances soon turned to face her guests with the same tender smile she always wore upon her gentle pink face. She walked into the parlor where the two women were waiting and motioned them to sit down.
Tilda took a seat on the old fashioned rocker and Addie chose the curving Victorian settee. A short coffee table held a lovely old delft blue teapot with two cups and matching saucers set upon a pretty silver serving tray. Miss Dowd caught sight of the teacups and realized that she was short one for the unexpected guest.
“Mercy me, let me go out to the kitchen and get another cup. I think we may need more tea, as well.” She reached for the tray but Addie stood up quickly.
“Let me get that for you, Miss Dowd,” she said and reached for the tray at the same time that Frances reached for it. Somehow the two bumped and in the collision the tea tray and its contents tumbled to the floor.
Addie gasped in dismay. The delft blue teapot lay on its side, the top open and the tea spilling out, the white china handle broken off, cups and saucers scattered on the floor.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Dowd! And your carpet is ruined!” She bent to help Tilda and Frances pick up the dishes.
“Don’t worry about that old carpet. If not for the carpet the china may have broken all to bits,” Miss Dowd said brightly. “I can have this handle repaired and the teacups seem just fine. I’ll go make some more tea. Or maybe you would both prefer something cooler in this hot weather?”
“No, no, tea will be just fine with me,” Tilda said, and Addie agreed.
Miss Dowd nodded her head and waddled toward the kitchen.
Tilda followed her. “Now give me an old rag or something and I will go sop up that mess on the carpet. Have to get that out as fast as you can or that tea will stain everything brown.”
“Thank you, dear.” Miss Dowd handed her two thick kitchen towels.
Tilda handed one towel to Addie and the pair got on their knees and began to dab the carpet.
“I feel just awful!” Addie whispered to Tilda. “Everything I do in this town seems to go wrong! People must think I’m some kind of a crazy loon.”
Tilda sat back on her heels and laughed. “No, Addie, they don’t think that at all. You’re just one of those people that things happen to. It isn’t your fault.” The young woman was blotting the carpet with such a look of anxiety and embarrassment upon her pretty face that it caused Tilda to smile at her and remark in a fond tone of voice, “You remind me so much of your grandfather.”
Addie looked at her with an interested grin. “Granddad was a klutz like me? I don’t remember that about him!”
“No, not exactly a klutz, but things did seem to happen to him quite a lot. Just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, misunderstandings and mishaps, and things like that. But everyone loved your grandfather.”
The women finished blotting the rug and then returned to their seats. Addie said, “Tell me more about Granddad.”
Tilda MacArdan settled back in the rocking chair comfortably. “Dr. McRae was a wonderful man, the perfect small town doctor, so kind and compassionate. I remember one time he’d been out on a house call and when he got back he opened the door to his office, it was right there on Main Street near the library, and out came a whole flock of chickens! They just flew everywhere! Turns out the Gower family had finally decided to pay off their bills but they used chickens instead of money. He wasn’t in the office so they just opened the door—doors were never locked back then—and shoved the poor chickens in there, and your grandfather sure got a good surprise that day, let me tell you! The whole town laughed about that one. But Dr. McRae, he was so good natured about it, just accepted the chickens as payment for the bills and never mentioned it again. He understood that was the best the Gowers could do, times being hard. A very kindhearted man. Yes, ma’am, everybody loved Dr. James McRae.”
A shadow fell across the sunlit floor. Conversation stopped abruptly and they looked up to see Miss Dowd standing in the doorframe with a sad look upon her face. It vanished when she realized her guests were staring awkwardly at her, and the same sweet smile instantly reappeared. The petite hostess hobbled to the coffee table, placing the tea things upon it in exactly the proper order.
“Now, Tilda, if you will be so kind as to pour the tea, and please help yourself to the cookies. I just baked those this morning so they should be nice and fresh. I hope you like sugar cookies?” She paused and looked at Addie, whose mouth full of cookies prevented her from replying. Miss Dowd’s nose crinkled with merriment as she smiled again. “Yes, well, I will go and get the painting. You ladies wait right here.”
The visitors munched and sipped and eventually heard a door creak and then click shut. This was followed by loud footsteps descending upon wooden stairs, and then by bumping noises coming from what seemed to be the downstairs portion of the old house.
Addie looked at Tilda.
Tilda looked at Addie. “Bless goodness! Do you think she was keeping it in the root cellar?”
“It seems an odd place for a painting. The dampness and all that dust and mold would damage it over the years,” the young woman stated anxiously.
Tilda wrinkled her nose. “And probably rats and other critters too. No matter how clean you keep a house it’s hard to keep rats and other critters out of a root cellar.”
Addie shuddered. “I hope the painting isn’t in bad shape.”
More bumping and footsteps, and the creaky door again. Then Miss Dowd entered the room, beaming, and carrying an awkward rectangular piece of canvas about two by three feet in size surrounded by a thick, heavily carved wooden frame.
Addie stood up and said, “let me help . . .” but quickly sat down again when she remembered the broken teapot.
Miss Dowd waved her off. Then she propped the painting up against a chair directly facing Addie and Tilda, and stepped back.
“Oh, that is pretty!” Tilda exclaimed. “It isn’t in bad shape at all, Addie. Just a bit dingy and the frame is warped. Just needs a good cleaning. She’s really very lovely!”
Addie leaned forward eagerly and her face lit up when she saw her grandmother for the first time.
Ada McRae was a pretty young woman, slender and lithe, wearing the feminine style of dress of the early 1950’s. A flowing tea length gown of pastel flowers appeared to be made of sheer georgette layered over a slip dress. There were no sleeves but the bodice was gathered into a white portrait collar. One shoulder was visible as the collar had slipped down a little. Against the full skirt of the dress she held, in both hands, the wide brim of a large white hat that looked like layer upon layer
of diaphanous ruffles. She wore white platform shoes with ankle straps, very stylish at the time.
The beautiful young woman stood outside in the bright summer sunshine with the pure white sands of the Sandhills area stretching out around her. The sky was sunlit blue and there were no clouds. A few pines stood in the distance at one corner of the painting, far in the distance, and everything around her gave the impression that Ada was taller and more important than the sand, the sky, and the pines.
Her hair was like Addie’s. Long, loose curls of strawberry blond slightly lifting in the breeze, her skirt blown back behind her, the lithe figure delicately outlined by the floral patterns of the gown. Her small chin was lifted and her gaze focused on something faint and far away. Viewing the painting, one felt a sense of love mingled with sad longing.
After a few minutes of quiet observation Tilda said softly, “You really do look just like her, Addie. It’s amazing.”
The young woman nodded. “And look at the bottom corner. An artist’s signature! It looks like…” She leaned close and attempted to decipher the scrawl. “Van Devlin. 1952. Do either of you remember him? I wonder if he’s still alive.”
Tilda said, “Do you know, I believe he is alive. Seems to me that he’s still painting and that he lives near the mountains now. Or maybe at the coast. Or it might be the Piedmont. Oh mercy me, I’m sure I’ve heard of it somewhere but I just cannot remember.”
“Really? I’d love to meet him!” Addie said with enthusiasm.
Miss Dowd coughed delicately. “Well, my dear! That may not be a good idea. There were, well, rumors.” She looked pointedly at Tilda and nodded her head like a wise old owl.
Tilda waved the remark aside. “Oh, there were so many rumors going around, Frances! I never believed that one, not for one minute. She was such a sweet little thing!”