Shadow of an Angle (13 page)

"I thought she was going to blow a gasket when Gatlin said we wanted to expand into Dr. Hank's place next door. That building isn't worth anything, is it?"

"It's no historic landmark, if that's what you mean. And it's gut-ugly to boot. Besides, if Irene wants it, she can make Hank an offer as well as we can."

"Somehow I never thought of the Bradshaws as having money," I said.

"They don't, but their daughter, Bonnie, does—or Bonnie's husband does. She married into it. Robinson Sherwood came from money, and he's done all right with his legal practice. I like Robinson; he's an all right fellow, and I think he'll make a fine judge. He's just received an appointment, you know, and I hear he and Bonnie are adopting a baby."

It was so late by the time I left Vesta's, I decided to wait on my visit to Pluma Griffin's niece. And Gatlin agreed to go with me if I would help her clear a path at the bookshop the next day.

"What's Mildred going to think when she sees what we've done?" I said as the pile of books
to go
began to tower over the stack
to keep.

"I don't know, but I wish she'd hurry back," Gatlin said. "I don't want to get rid of any of these books until Mildred's had a chance to look them over. She knows more about running this place than Otto ever did, and frankly, I'll be glad of her help. David's been great when it comes to actually moving things, but Mildred knows what people like to read."

The expression in Gatlin's eyes reminded me of the time she forgot her lines in the senior play back in high school. "I hope I'm not wading in over my head, Minda," she said.

"Hey, we're not going to let you drown," I said, sounding more confident than I felt. "Don't guess you've had any more visits from inquisitive Irene?" I was dying to tell Gatlin about the pills, but a promise was a promise.

"No, but Vesta and I made an offer to Hank Smith, and I'm almost sure he's going to sell us that building next door. I'd think most of those old records could be destroyed by now anyway. It's not like he needs the space."

I finished clearing a shelf and sneezed at the dust. "Vesta said she had no idea why Irene acted so peculiar about your buying that building," I said. "You'd think she'd be glad of a new place to eat."

"She's not the only one." My cousin flapped a dust rag at a spider web. "Hugh Talbot was in here yesterday hinting around about wanting to buy us out."

That didn't surprise me much. I told her about Hugh showing up at the house. "I think he was looking for something, and he obviously thinks we have it."

"I can't imagine what it could be," Gatlin said.

I could, but I wasn't ready to share it. "He said his sister seemed to be doing okay," I said.

Gatlin nodded. "Saw her in the drugstore yesterday. She had a bad bruise on her cheek and was wearing a bedroom slipper on one foot, but she told me she wasn't going to let that stop her.

"All that walking must've given her stamina," Gatlin said.

"When we were in high school, Mrs. Whitmire would always get there early so she could get in her laps around the track. I couldn't keep up with her on a bet." She looked at her watch. "Which reminds me, I'd better start walking for home. It's almost time for my two to be getting back from choir practice.

"If Mildred shows up tomorrow, maybe we can finally clear a space in here and get rid of some of these old books."

But Vesta pulled into the driveway behind me as soon as I reached home, and one glance at my grandmother told me something was bad wrong.

"I just got off the phone with Lydia Bowen. Arminda, Mildred hasn't been with her at all! She says she hasn't heard from her in weeks and has no idea where she could be."

Chapter Thirteen

I
t's just like Mildred to pull something like this!" my grandmother said the next day. "She ought to know we'd be out of our heads with worry. It's just plain selfish, that's all!"

Vesta and I were on our way to the bookshop after checking with the hospital staff about Mildred's actions on the day she disappeared, and in spite of my grandmother's sputtering, I knew she was deep-down afraid of what might have happened to the woman who had become an important part of our family.

"The receptionist on duty said she remembers calling a taxi for her, and that an attendant wheeled Mildred out to the cab, but she didn't know where she meant to go," I said, trying to reconstruct what had happened.

"Shouldn't be difficult to find out," Vesta said. "There's only one taxi driver in Angel Heights, and that's Wilbur Dobbins. His mouth runs faster than that beat-up old cab he drives, but he'd know where she went if anybody would."

But Wilbur, parked in front of the town hall to eat his bologna and cheese sandwich, hadn't seen Mildred at all.

"Didn't call me," he said through a mouthful of pickle. "Must've been somebody else."

But who? The nurse on Mildred's floor had said Mildred had told her a friend was picking her up, but the receptionist was definite about seeing her get into a taxi. "She must have called a cab from somewhere else," I said. "Hope it's not Columbia—we'd never get through checking out all of those!"

"Too far away." Vesta shook her head. "Mildred would never spend that kind of money. Let's try Rock Hill; it's closer."

I used the phone at Papa's Armchair to make the calls while Vesta paced the length of the small room. Two of the four cab companies in Rock Hill had no record of making the trip to Angel Heights for a passenger on the day in question, I learned, but the other two promised to get back to us.

Gatlin had just left to pick up Faye from kindergarten when the dispatcher at the Get Up and Go Transportation Service phoned to tell us that a driver had called for an elderly passenger a week ago today and delivered her to the bus station there.

My grandmother rarely cried, but now she made no attempt to hide her tears. "She's been gone seven days, Minda—eight if you count today. Where on earth can she be?" She pulled a rumpled tissue from her pocketbook. "I've felt uneasy about this from the very beginning."

"Why don't we take a look at her apartment? See if she took anything with her. Might give us something to go on."

Vesta sighed, but followed me into the small rooms in back of the shop. "Might as well. Can't hurt to look."

"Find anything missing?" I asked when she'd had a chance to look around.

"Her small suitcase is gone, and her coat, but she took that with her to the hospital." Vesta peered again into the tiny closet. "That silly hat's missing, too, and I don't see her lavender suit—the one she got on sale last year. I don't think all of her dresses are here, either."

"Looks like she planned to be gone for a while." I sat on the bed, relieved that at least Mildred had taken enough clothing, and watched my grandmother pulling out dresser drawers. "What are you looking for now?" I asked.

"That zebra. Scruffy old thing. Mildred gave it to Otto for Christmas when he was just a little tyke, and he dragged it around everywhere. She hangs on to it like it's some kind of icon. Now that Otto's dead, I wouldn't be surprised if she's taken to burning incense."

"Oh, I saw that zebra at the hospital," I told her. "It was in that little table beside the bed."

Vesta smiled. "Doesn't surprise me a bit. She hides things in it, you know."

"Hides things? In the stuffed animal?"

"Lord, yes! Of course she doesn't know I know. And it's so big I could get my foot in there. No telling what else she's got in that zebra. Mildred's sewn it up so many times, the poor animal must be molting."

"Vesta, maybe we should tell the police. At least they could help us look for her."

"I don't know, Minda. There's nothing wrong with Mildred's mind, and she'd never forgive me if we humiliated her by dragging her back, but I'm worried about those pills."

"The ones Irene gave her?"

"What if she takes more of them?" Vesta sat on the bed beside me and almost—but not quite—let herself sag. "Frankly, I don't know what to do."

"We can't very well drag her back if we don't know where she is," I said. "Why don't we ask at the bus station, see if anyone there remembers her? Somebody might be able to tell us where she went."

Gatlin insisted that our grandmother wait for David to accompany her on her bus station quest that afternoon, and their oldest, Lizzie, and I went along, too. Faye decided to stay and "help" her mother at the bookstore. Tigger liked it there, she said, because he could sit in the window and see what was going on. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that the drugstore across the street sold hot dogs and ice cream.

Lizzie was working on her Toymaker badge for Girl Scouts, and during the ride to Rock Hill I tried my best to help her make a cornshuck doll, but the dried shucks became so shredded, we ended up with something that looked like confetti.

"What about a sock puppet?" I suggested. "Or maybe some kind of game?"

Lizzie turned up her freckled nose at the sock puppet, but the game, she thought, might be kind of fun. "We could make it sort of like
Clue,
" she whispered, "except it would be Minerva Academy instead of that big old house, and the body would be Otto's!" My young cousin frowned. "Lessee… Sylvie Smith did it in the bathroom with a plastic bag…."

"Elizabeth Norwood! You're downright ghoulish!" I glanced at my grandmother in the front seat, but she appeared not to have heard. "You'd better not let Vesta hear you talking like that. And what makes you think Sylvia had anything to do with it?" (I really must've been the last one to hear about Otto's rumored romance.)

She shrugged. "He dumped her, didn't he? Everybody at school knows that."

I remembered how much I thought I knew in the fifth grade and tempered my advice with a smile. "Still, it isn't in very good taste, is it? Especially with Otto being family and all. And we don't know for certain what happened between them. Why don't we think of some other game?"

Lizzie tossed her head and grinned. "Okay. How about Missing Mildred?"

I was glad when David pulled into the bus station a few minutes later. I stayed in the car with Lizzie while my grandmother and David went inside with a recent photograph of Mildred.

"They think Mildred's dead, don't they?" Lizzie said, watching them disappear into the building. "Maybe whoever killed Otto kidnapped her and is holding her for ransom in a cave somewhere."

"Why would they do that, Lizzie?" I asked.

"I don't know. Why would anybody want to kill Otto?" She linked her arm in mine, and we waited silently for her dad and Vesta to come back with a clue that might help us find Mildred.

But I could tell from their grim faces our trip to Rock Hill had been a waste of time. "The woman who sells tickets said she might've seen Mildred, but she couldn't be sure," Vesta told us. "And the man who works with her couldn't remember seeing her at all." My grandmother sank into the front seat with a moan, and that bothered me almost as much as Mildred's disappearance. Vesta Maxwell is not your everyday, run-of-the-mill moaner. In fact, she's not the moaning type at all.

"There's the police—," I began.

"I know, I know. I suppose we could take legal measures to find out if Mildred charged a bus ticket on a credit card or wrote a check for her fare," Vesta said.

"Of course, if she paid cash, we'd have no way of knowing," David said.

I wished he hadn't. It was a long, quiet drive back to Angel Heights.

We found Gatlin waiting with exciting news when we returned. Dr. Hank had finally agreed to sell the building next door. "Of course it's gonna take him a few days to get those old records out," she said. "I've talked with a couple of contractors about getting an estimate on the work that needs to be done."

"Let's hope the walls remain standing," Dave said, shaking his head. "Hank's old records might be the only thing holding them up."

"You'd think he'd be excited for me," Gatlin said later that night as we drove to see Pluma Griffin's niece in the assisted living center on Chatham's Pond Road. "I know it's a gamble taking a chance on this tearoom-bookshop idea, but there comes a time when you just have to hold your breath and jump in."

"David's just wary," I said. And with good reason, I thought, but for once I had sense enough to keep it to myself. "He'll come around when you get an opinion from the contractors."

My cousin didn't respond, but sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded and stared stonily ahead. "I left him to get Faye to bed and see to Lizzie's homework," she said a few miles down the road. "Still, I think he was glad to see me go."

"Probably," I said. "You're scary when you're mad."

"Boo!" Gatlin laughed. Finally relaxing, she noticed the loaf of date-nut bread I'd brought along that Augusta had wrapped in star-spattered cellophane. "You've been baking
again
? Looks good—what is it?"

"Date-nut bread." I shrugged. "All those pecans…I do live in a nut house."

"You belong in one," my cousin said. "And I don't believe for one minute you've become this domestic overnight. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hiding a gourmet cook in the pantry." She closed her eyes and sniffed the rich, dark loaf. "She doesn't take orders, does she?"

"What makes you think it's a she?" I asked, and laughed. Gatlin laughed, too, but I could tell by her look she was kind of shocked that I'd even joke about having another man in my life. Frankly, I surprised myself.

I had found the loaf cooling on the kitchen table when I'd reached home earlier, but Augusta was nowhere around. Walking into a house without Augusta in it jolted me more than I was prepared to admit, and I sensed an urgency in her absence that gave me sort of an angelic kick in the pants.

Dusk had fallen early as it always does in mid-November, and although it was not yet five-thirty, backyard shadows enfolded the house and its surroundings in an indigo cape. I stepped out onto the back porch and called her name, and in the distance I heard her humming a song that would probably be familiar if Augusta could stay on key. She approached almost noiselessly in a swirl of autumn leaves, her purple, moon-splashed scarf billowing about her, long necklace glinting green and azure as she twirled. Arms out, head back, her small gold-sandaled feet moved quickly, gracefully, in what surely must be some kind of heavenly dance. The song, I finally decided, was "Turkey in the Straw."