Miss Dimple Suspects (15 page)

Harriet sliced servings for both of them, and pulled up a chair to join her. Miss Dimple thanked her and picked up her fork. The slice would have been more than enough for three.

“You know, you just can’t get the candied fruit like we used to before the war,” Harriet said, “but I had plenty of citron left from last year, so I just doubled that and it worked out fine.”

Miss Dimple nodded and smiled—or tried to smile. Perhaps if she ate fast and washed each bite down with coffee …

“My goodness, you must like fruitcake as much as my Stanley!” Harriet reached for the tin. “I’ll cut you a piece to take home.”

Realizing that no amount of arguing was going to dissuade her, Dimple thanked her hostess in as gracious a manner as possible, tucked the wax paper–wrapped offering in her handbag, and got down to business.

“I wish I’d had an opportunity to know Mrs. Hawthorne better,” she began. “She seemed a lovely person and was certainly kind to me.”

“Yes, we’re all going to miss her. She didn’t come to our church on a regular basis … I don’t believe she felt comfortable in crowds, but she seemed to feel at home there when she did.” Harriet stood and refilled their cups. “It was so sad about Madison, her grandson. You knew he was killed back in May?”

Miss Dimple nodded as sipped her coffee but all she could taste was citron. “She told me all about him. He was planning a medical career.”

“Such a shame!” Harriet cradled her cup in both hands. “She commissioned a window in his memory for our little chapel.”

Miss Dimple said she thought that was a lovely way to remember him. Perhaps, she thought, Mae Martha had confided in her friend about the paintings Isaac claimed were missing.

“Her paintings—” she began, reaching in her handbag for a handkerchief.
Dear heavens! All that cake was giving her heartburn!

“Oh, aren’t they wonderful? You may have noticed I have one of hers in my living room—the little girls with the kittens.”

“If I might trouble you for a little water…”

Harriet hovered with a worried frown. “Are you all right?”

Dimple thankfully drank the offered water. “It’s my own fault for eating so fast. I bought one of her paintings for my brother,” she continued. “Isaac Ingram tells me he thinks some of her work might be missing.”

It surprised her when Harriet laughed. “Oh, they aren’t missing, Miss Dimple! I know exactly where they are.”

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

“What do you mean?” Miss Dimple asked.

“The paintings…” Harriet dribbled milk into her coffee and stirred. “They’re in a closet at our church.”

Dimple waited impatiently while the woman dropped in saccharine and stirred again. “But why—?” she began.

“A few months ago Mae Martha asked me if we had space to accommodate several of her paintings. She didn’t explain why, only said she wanted them safely stored away. I had a feeling she wanted them protected.”

“Protected from what? From someone perhaps?”

Harriet shook her head and frowned. “She didn’t say, but I had the feeling it was urgent, and of course I agreed. There’s a small room behind the sanctuary. Part of it’s used by the choir for storing music and robes, but our choir lost members when the war began.” She smiled. “It’s mostly a few women now and some of the older men—none of us is anything to brag about, but I reckon we do the best we can. Anyway, we rarely wear those robes anymore and that’s where we put the paintings.”

“Are there many?”

“I didn’t count them, but I’d say at least twenty—maybe more. Stanley and I came over and took them away in our truck, and no one except for the two of us and our minister know they’re there. Brother Collins thinks—thought—the world of Mae Martha Hawthorne. As far as I know, nobody goes in that closet anymore.

“I keep meaning to tell the nephews now that she’s gone but for some reason I’ve held off on doing that. I mean, why didn’t she ask one of them to store them instead of Stanley and me? But I expect everything will come to them anyway, don’t you think?”

Miss Dimple said she thought it probably would but couldn’t be certain. “Isaac is the one who markets her paintings and he said he’d taken what was left to a dealer in Atlanta, but from what he told me, I don’t believe he’s ready to sell them yet.”

“Naturally they’ll be worth more now that she’s gone,” Harriet said sadly. “We just learned the authorities are finally releasing her body. Funeral is tomorrow afternoon at Zion.”

Miss Dimple made note of that. She certainly intended to be there.

Harriet moved her chair closer. “I understand you spent some time at Mae Martha’s when that little girl was lost. What did you think about her companion—that Japanese woman who’s disappeared? Of course Mae Martha told us a little about her, but Stanley and I were there several times and she never showed her face.”

“Why do
you
think that is?” Dimple asked.

Harriet thought for a minute. “I suppose because she’s Japanese.” She shrugged. “With all the others to choose from I can’t imagine why Madison hired
her.
”

Miss Dimple explained Suzy’s situation to Harriet as it had been explained to her. “You can see she’s in a difficult situation,” she added. “She can’t go back to California, and even with her medical degree, who would take a chance on hiring her now?”

Harriet’s face was solemn. “I can see she has a problem, but do you think she had anything to do with Mae Martha’s death? I heard they found the empty money box in her room, and her prints were—”

“Suzy used that poker several times a day,” Dimple said, “and no, I don’t believe for one minute that she killed Mae Martha Hawthorne. I do know she saved Peggy Ashcroft’s life the night we showed up on their doorstep. That young woman must’ve been terrified when she discovered Mae Martha’s body, and I think she ran away because she knew she’d get the blame.”

With her fingers Harriet smoothed the wrinkles in the oilcloth, although there weren’t any wrinkles there. “I wonder where she could be? It’s been … what? Over a week now.”

“Somewhere safe, I hope. I suppose she’s waiting for the police to find out who’s responsible for all this.” Dimple gathered up her handbag and thanked Harriet for her hospitality as she rose to go. “I expect my friends are eager to get back as they plan to look for their Christmas tree this afternoon.

“About those paintings,” she added before leaving, “I believe it might be best to at least let Isaac know where they are. If something happened while they were in your possession, your church might be held responsible, and it would at least keep the record straight.”

“You’re right. I never thought of that.

“You all come back, now!” Harriet called after her. “I’ll save you a piece of cake!”

“What cake?” Charlie asked as Dimple slid in beside her.

Dimple Kilpatrick waved over her shoulder as they drove away. “You really don’t want to know.”

*   *   *

“Will you look at all the cedars in that pasture!” Charlie said the next afternoon on the way to Mae Martha’s funeral. “And we couldn’t find a decent one yesterday. Mama had to sell most of our farm after Daddy died and there’s not a lot of land left. I wonder who owns this.”

“I expect it belongs to one of the Ingrams,” Virginia said as she turned into Zion Chapel’s crowded parking lot and found a spot at the end of a row. “They’d probably be glad for you to have one, but I doubt if this is the proper time to ask.”

“You’re right, and of course I wouldn’t think of it, it’s just that Delia was so disappointed yesterday when we couldn’t find a tree. This will be little Tommy’s first Christmas, and naturally we’re more excited about it than he is.” Her nephew was not quite nine months old and had no idea what all the fuss was about.

“I do wish Suzy could’ve come with us,” Virginia said. “Of course it would’ve been a disaster, but she really was fond of Mae Martha and it’s a shame she couldn’t be here. I promised I would give her a full report.”

“I’ll be curious to see who is here,” Miss Dimple said as they filed inside the small sanctuary. The double chapel doors, she noticed, were hung with wreathes of holly and cedar and the scent of it was still fresh on the air. The four of them filed into a pew near the back and she recognized Harriet Curtis and her husband a few seats in front of them. Although Mae Martha hadn’t belonged to the little church or lived in the area long, several floral sprays filled the space in front of the altar, and a blanket of tiny white mums, gladiolas, and carnations covered the casket, which, Dimpled noted thankfully, was closed.

The church soon became stifling with so many people packed inside, and the sickly smell of flowers was heavy on the air. Miss Dimple held her handkerchief to her nose and inhaled the lavender sachet. Beside her, Virginia fanned with an old grocery list she’d found in her purse. They rose as the family walked down the aisle while the pianist played the hymn “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” which Dimple thought most appropriate to the legacy the artist had left behind. She wondered who had chosen it.

The two nephews looked neat but uncomfortable in suits and ties. Isaac was unaccompanied but Coralee, in a dark winter coat with black velvet collar, clung to Esau’s arm and looked suitably distressed. Suzy had told them earlier that the couple’s one daughter was married and living somewhere up north. Charlie looked around to see if Bill Pitts was there but couldn’t find him in the crowded sanctuary. Maybe, she thought, he had come in later and was sitting in the rear, but as everyone filed out after the brief service, she saw no sign of him.

They had not planned to attend the graveside rites but found themselves hemmed in by other cars and unable to leave, so at Dimple’s suggestion, the four trailed behind the others to the cemetery in back of the church. Standing at some distance from the rest, Dimple scanned the group, wondering if the woman named Becky who sold milk and eggs to Mae Martha had come to pay her respects, but of course she had no idea what she looked like. A brisk wind picked up as the minister said his final words and people began to leave soon after, obviously making an effort not to seem in too much of a hurry.

Dimple Kilpatrick had no such reservations and began quickly to retrace her steps to the car as the wind swayed slender pine saplings and moaned like a mourner through branches of the studier oaks. She paused to speak briefly with Mae Martha’s nephews, who obviously had the same idea and seemed eager to get out of the cold. Coralee, she noticed, had held back to chat with the minister and several others. At the edge of the parking lot Dimple stopped to clean red mud from her good shoes. She had only two pair, as shoes were rationed because of the war, and if she had thought ahead, she would have worn her others.

“I should’ve warned you about the mud!” someone called out behind her, and Dimple turned to find Harriet Curtis and her husband, Stanley, hurrying back to their car. “By the way,” Harriet added, lowering her voice, “as you suggested, I told Isaac about the paintings stored in the church and he plans to come by and collect them in the next day or so.”

“I’m glad,” Dimple said, attempting to wipe the bottoms of her shoes on the grass. “I thought the service today was exactly what Mrs. Hawthorne would have wanted—especially the music.”

Harriet smiled. “Our minister chose that, and I agree. I think Mae Martha would approve.”

“I didn’t see Bill Pitts there today,” Dimple said, looking about.

“Poor soul! I doubt if anyone thought to tell him. He’s an odd one, but I think he really cared about Mae Martha in his way.”

Dimple pulled her coat snugly about her. “I understand there was another neighbor, Becky, who furnished Mrs. Hawthorne with milk and eggs on occasion.”

Harriet Curtis nodded. “Rebecca keeps to herself. It’s a shame, really. She was injured as a child when she pulled a pan of boiling water over on her, and one side of her face was badly burned.”

“Harriet, my feet are turning to ice!” Stanley reminded her as he waited, stomping his feet by their car. His trousers, she noticed, were flecked with dried mud.

“Oh, dear! I guess I’d better go.” Turning, Harriet noticed Miss Dimple’s three companions and called to them. “I hope you found your tree yesterday. I expect you’re in a hurry to get home and decorate.”

“I’m afraid we didn’t have much to choose from,” Charlie said. “I guess we’ll have to go back today and settle for the lesser of the evils.”

“You’re welcome to see if you can find one in our pasture,” Harriet offered. “It’s just across the road over there. We’re spending Christmas with our daughter in Milledgeville, so I’m not even going to bother with one this year.”

“Oh!” Charlie smiled. “I thought that probably belonged to one of the Ingrams.”

“It backs up to Isaac’s farm, but his property’s mostly wooded. Don’t snag yourself, now, on that barbed-wire fence—and please—all of you, take all the cedars you want. There’ll be plenty more next year.”

*   *   *

“How many trees do you think you can get in your car?” Annie asked Charlie when she telephoned later.

“How many do you need? Besides ours, I promised Miss Bessie and Lottie I’d find one for them.”

“It looks like Miss Phoebe’s going to be stuck with a couple of us over Christmas,” Annie explained. “My folks are spending the holidays with my grandmother in Vermont—she hasn’t been well lately—and I can’t afford to travel. Miss Dimple usually spends Christmas with her brother at his mountain place, but he’s working on some important project for the Bell Bomber plant and won’t be able to get away, so she’ll be here, too.”

Charlie knew Phoebe Chadwick dreaded the holidays because she didn’t like being alone. “I’ll bet Phoebe’s already planning Christmas dinner,” she said.

Annie laughed. “She and Odessa are in the kitchen right now going over recipes, but we’ve decided we need a tree.”

“We’ll work it out somehow, but you’ll have to come and help me. Little Pooh came down with a cold last night and he’s so fretful and feverish Delia doesn’t want to leave him. We’d better get started, though, or it’ll be too dark to see.”