Too Late for Angels

by Mignon F. Ballard

  “I guess because I’m the closest kin she had left.” Ellis frowned. “What an awful thing to be burdened with! And I got the feeling there was something else on his mind. He practically drank the coffeepot dry, and kept hanging around until I thought I was going to have to ask him to stay for supper. It was dark by the time he left.”

  “I wonder what it was,” Augusta said. “Did he give you any idea?”

  “I think it probably has something to do with the way Florence died,” Ellis told her. “He kept talking about the dreadful—that was how he described it: dreadful—thing that happened to Florence, and who would have believed somebody would attack anyone in the church parking lot right across the street from his own house!”

  “He probably feels guilty,” Lucy said. “He damn well should!” She heard Augusta’s slight snort at the curse word but ignored it.

  “That, too,” Ellis said, “but I believe he might’ve seen something that night—the night she was killed. You know how he works out in his yard till all hours. And then he said something about vile deeds and poison weeds—like he was quoting a poem or something. ‘There’s a poison creeping through this town,’ he told me.” Ellis shuddered. “I’ll tell you right now, it just plain gave me the willies.”

  Lucy checked both windows in the room just to be sure Ed and Sheila hadn’t missed them. Good. Locked tight. “He is a peculiar old sort,” she said, “but surely you don’t think Boyd Henry had anything to do with Florence’s death…do you?”

  “After all that’s been going on here, I don’t know what I think anymore, except that I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.” Ellis yawned. “Where do you want me to crash?”

  “The bed’s made up in Roger’s old room, if that’s okay. Augusta’s right across the hall,” Lucy said.

  “You’re going to sleep downstairs all by yourself? I could curl up right here on the sofa,” Ellis offered.

  “Good grief, Ellis, I’ve been sleeping down here by myself for over three years now since Charlie died. I’ll be fine.” She waved her arms. “Now, shoo—both of you!”

  Neither of them argued, Lucy noticed, and she was relieved. Although she was glad of the company, it had been a long and trying day and the thought of her bed with its plump pillows and downy comforter was inviting. If anyone were to break in her window tonight, Lucy thought, she’d probably sleep right through it.

  That was what she thought. Lucy couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour when she heard a board creak just outside her door. The noise brought her wide awake and she sat up in bed and listened. She was accustomed to the settling-down noises old houses make at night, but this wasn’t a settling-down noise. This was a footstep. She was reaching for the phone beside her bed when there came another.

  “Lucy Nan? Are you asleep?”

  Ellis!

  “Well, I was.” She switched on a lamp. “Is anything wrong?”

  Ellis crept into the room and closed the door softly behind her. “I’m not sure, but it sounds like something’s going on up there.”

  “Up where?”

  “In Augusta’s room. Sounds like somebody whimpering. Do angels whimper?”

  “Not that I know of.” Lucy wrapped herself in the faded flannel robe that had been Charlie’s. It brought him close and she liked to think it still smelled of him. She grinned. “Maybe she’s snoring.”

  “It’s not that kind of noise. I hated to bother her if she’s upset about something personal, but she could be in trouble. I didn’t know what to do.” Ellis stuck close to Lucy as they went upstairs together.

  “There it is again!” Ellis whispered as they stood in the upstairs hallway. “Did you hear it?”

  Lucy waited. The house was so quiet she could hear herself breathe. Then she heard it. Yes, it was definitely a whimper…and there was something else…a faint laugh. Did Augusta have company? She wasn’t up on celestial relationships, but if Augusta had expected an overnight guest, she could have at least mentioned it beforehand.

  Ellis must have been thinking the same thing because she clamped a hand to her mouth to suppress a laugh. Lucy paused as they moved closer, her hand on Ellis’s arm. Someone was rocking in the big upholstered rocking chair that had belonged to Mimmer. Lucy’s children had been rocked in that chair, as had she and her mother before her, and it had a comforting squeak. Now someone—Augusta, she assumed—was humming (rather tunelessly, Lucy thought), as she rocked. As the two of them stood outside Augusta’s door, the angel began to sing: “There’s a church in the valley by the wildwood, no lovelier spot in the dale…”

  The notes were far from true but her singing was so sweet and pure, it didn’t seem to matter. And then they heard a sharp yelp.

  That did it! Lucy knocked on the door. “Augusta? Is everything all right in there?”

  She was about to knock again when the door opened a few inches and Augusta stood there smiling. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Her face was flushed and she brushed aimlessly at the front of her dress. Lucy noticed she didn’t step aside to let them in.

  “We thought we heard someone—uh—crying,” Lucy began. “Augusta, is there—”

  “Crying? I don’t believe so.” Augusta started to close the door. “I do regret that I disturbed you. I’ll try to be quieter…”

  And that was when the puppy dashed between her legs.

  “Where on earth did you come from?” Ellis asked, scooping the dog into her arms.

  “I think I know.” Lucy looked from Augusta to the puppy with the big feet. “Augusta Goodnight, you know this dog doesn’t belong to us! How did you manage to get it home?”

  Augusta sat in the rocking chair and pulled the puppy onto her lap. “I was going to tell you tomorrow,” she said, “but I wanted her to get acquainted first. The poor baby misses her mother. They’ve never been apart before, you know.” Cuddling the little dog to her breast, Augusta began to rock and hum.

  “Well, she’s going back tomorrow,” Lucy told her. “I don’t have time for a puppy in my life right now.”

  “I’m afraid Teddy will be disappointed.” Augusta spoke in mid-hum.

  “How can he be disappointed if he doesn’t expect a pet?” Lucy asked.

  Augusta stroked the puppy’s floppy ear. “You could see, I’m sure, how the two of them bonded. Your grandson loves this little dog, and the puppy loves him. Since your daughter-in-law seems to be allergic to animals, the only solution is for the puppy to come here.”

  Lucy laughed in spite of herself. “How do you know the puppy loves Teddy?”

  “I can sense these things, just as I know that child needs a pet—this pet,” Augusta said. “Besides, she has no other home.”

  “He is adorable,” Ellis chimed in, stooping to pet the dog, now sleeping in Augusta’s lap.

  “She,” Augusta said. “And since she has such large feet, I think we should call her Clementine. Remember that old song?”

  “I’m going to bed,” Lucy said. “We’ll deal with Clementine—or whatever her name is—tomorrow.”

  But she was already making a mental note to call Patricia Sellers in the morning to let her know she’d have one less puppy to worry about.

  Chapter Twelve

  “If you send tuberoses to my funeral I’m gonna rise up and snatch you bald-headed,” Ellis whispered from behind her printed program.

  “I was thinking more in the line of skunk cabbage,” Lucy said. “If you should happen to croak first, that is—which you probably will, since you’re a good four months older than I am.”

  Stone’s Throw Presbyterian Church was packed to overflowing the afternoon of Calpernia Hemphill’s funeral, and the people who hadn’t known to come early were already being crammed into the basement fellowship hall, where they would listen to the service over a speaker. It wouldn’t be the same. Lucy was glad she and Ellis had made a point to get there with time to spare, even though the sickening smell of tuberoses was beginning to make her wish s
he hadn’t eaten that leftover pizza for lunch.

  At least they hadn’t left the coffin open. She hated it when you had to sit through a funeral service staring the corpse in the face. Calpernia’s coffin, which looked to be mahogany or some other kind of expensive hardwood, was covered in a blanket of red roses and baby’s breath, and sprays and wreaths of every flower available filled the front of the church. Lucy spied the offending arrangement of tuberoses tucked between a display of yellow chrysanthemums and a tall vase of pink gladiolas. A huge wreath of white roses interspersed with stargazer lilies rested at the foot of the deceased. Probably from the faculty at the college, she thought, looking about. How many of these people came here to pay their respects to Calpernia’s memory and offer comfort to her husband, she wondered, and how many were just out-and-out curious? Lucy supposed she could qualify for both categories. According to Roger, Calpernia wasn’t well-liked by her contemporaries at Sarah Bedford and she had never been accepted among the townspeople either. But like Lucy and her friends, most of Stone’s Throw’s citizens managed to tolerate the woman—more or less. Obviously someone had decided on less.

  The sanctuary was filled with the small restless sounds of too many people packed in too small a space. Someone behind her who had been coughing now crunched a cough drop. The smell of the menthol competed with Nettie McGinnis’s lilac-scented cologne and the overpowering aroma of flowers. Lucy remembered the handkerchief Augusta had tucked into her coat pocket as she left the house and held it thankfully to her nose. It smelled faintly of strawberries.

  The organist was into what was probably her third or fourth hymn. Lucy found it hard to keep track as they all seemed to merge together, but as the soft strains of “Softly and Tenderly” washed over her she felt tears sneak up on her unannounced. An eternity ago she had sat in this church for her own husband’s funeral service. Thank goodness she remembered little about it, except that she hurt. She still hurt—especially now in the fall of the year, when winding trails beckoned in the surrounding woodlands now vibrant with color. She and Charlie had hiked together whenever they had the chance, and although she walked with others from time to time, it wasn’t the same. Lucy had lost her partner.

  Poor Poag! The loss was going to be painful for him as well. He and his wife had done just about everything together, and although Calpernia hadn’t been one of Lucy’s favorite people, she was sorry about her death and for the grieving partner she had left behind.

  She glanced at her watch. Surely it was time for the pallbearers to be seated, followed by Calpernia’s family. What could be keeping them?

  “Ye gods and little fishes! Will you look at that?” Nettie, sitting on her right, gave her a sharp poke with an elbow. “Can you believe who just came in?”

  Jay Warren-Winslow, in a dark suit that didn’t fit, walked halfway down the aisle, followed by Zee St. Clair, and stood at the end of a pew until the people sitting there shifted about to make room for them. Lucy craned around Nettie’s considerable bulk to see who was being inconvenienced and squelched a smile. It was Idonia Mae and Jo Nell and they didn’t look happy about it.

  The loud, exhaled breaths among those assembled would have provided enough air to send up a balloon, Lucy thought. Ellis rolled her eyes and made a face. “Tacky, tacky,” she whispered. “I would’ve thought Zee had better sense than that. Can you imagine? Bringing that man in here like a trophy when everybody knows he was probably the one who—”

  “Shh!” Nettie waved a program at them. “The Fiddlesticks are getting ready to play.”

  Lucy watched as four musicians took their places in the choir. Lawrence Delozier, who headed the music department at Sarah Bedford, sat beside his cello, bow in hand. Lawrence was barely over five feet tall and probably weighed less than she did. Why is it, Lucy wondered, the smallest people tended to play the largest instruments? Ashley Butterfield, the choir director from the Methodist Church, took her place at the piano, followed by Albert Grady, the postmaster, with his violin, and his wife, Miranda, with hers. Where was Boyd Henry Goodwin?

  With a nod from Ashley, the group began to play something from Bach—possibly a fugue. Lucy couldn’t be sure, but it brought blessed relief from the depressing “Rock of Ages.” She forgot about Boyd Henry’s absence momentarily as Calpernia’s family filed into the church. It was a small group, barely filling one pew. Poag Hemphill led them, head bowed, as if in a trance, and once, looking up at his wife’s casket, almost stumbled. A plump middle-aged woman—probably Poag’s sister—kept a hand on his arm as they walked down the aisle together, followed by a balding man Lucy supposed to be her husband, and two young girls. Lastly, a slight, shadowy woman in gray took her seat on the end.

  Lucy frowned a question at Ellis, who mouthed in answer, “Calpernia’s sister.”

  Lucy had never seen two sisters who looked less alike. Why, the woman was almost ghostlike! Calpernia, dead and laid out as she was, probably had more color about her than this poor soul.

  The service didn’t last long. Pete Whittaker, the minister, read several verses of scripture and delivered a brief eulogy praising Calpernia for her devotion to the arts as well as to the college and community; the congregation stood to sing a final hymn and recite The Lord’s Prayer, after which The Fiddlesticks played something appropriately melancholy while the family followed the casket up the aisle and out the front door.

  Nettie winked at Lucy as they made their way outside. “Was that Calpernia Pete was talking about? I hardly recognized her.”

  Ellis pointed out Ed Tillman and his mother Lydia, who had been sitting a few rows behind them. “I see the police are here to keep an eye on me,” she said. “Guess Ed thinks I’ll try to sneak out with the corpse or something.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lucy said. “You know good and well Lydia Tillman works over at the college—art department, I think.”

  Ellis had a wicked gleam in her eye. “Not modeling, I hope,” she whispered. “Have you ever noticed how she looks like Curly of The Three Stooges—only with hair?” She paused and turned as the young policeman and his mother stepped into the aisle behind them. “How are you, Lydia? And by the way, Ed, I’m heading straight to Poag’s from here in case you need to know my whereabouts. I’ll be helping to serve dinner…unless you think I might poison somebody.”

  “Ellis Saxon! For heaven’s sake!” Lucy shook her head at Ed, who flushed, and Lydia, who frowned. “The emotional strain has been hard on her,” she muttered, gripping her friend’s arm. “Give him a break, Ellis! Ed probably doesn’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, yes, he does! Who do you think informed me I wasn’t to leave town?” Ellis looked over her shoulder. “He was polite about it, of course. Wiped his feet before he came in and took off his hat in the house.” She sighed as they followed the crowd down the familiar brick steps and across the lawn to the parking lot. “They think I had something to do with that Shirley woman’s death, Lucy Nan. How would you like it if the people you had known all your life suspected you of murder?”

  Lucy opened her mouth to tell her friend that nobody in their right mind could possibly think she had anything to do with Shirley/Florence’s death and that the police were just doing their job, when a clamor of voices distracted her.

  Zee St. Clair and Jay Warren-Winslow clung together under the gnarled old holly tree at the corner of the building while Calpernia Hemphill’s ghostlike sister confronted them, only she wasn’t gray and lifeless anymore. The woman’s cheeks glowed scorching red and a strand of her hair that had escaped its bun fell across her face as she shook her finger at the pair.

  “How dare you! How can you show your face after what you did to my sister? What do you mean by showing up here to mock us as we tell our dear Calpernia good-bye?” The woman began to cry as Poag put an arm around her and attempted to lead her away. “He should be behind bars!” she said, sobbing.

  Now the young director was the one who looked pale. His voice trembled as
he spoke. “Please believe me, I would never do anything to harm Calpernia. I came here to pay my respects just like everyone else.” He reached out to touch her, but the woman drew back as though he held a knife. “I’m sorry if my being here has upset you, but I had nothing to do with what happened to your sister.”

  Zee, who seemed little a little shaken up herself, drew herself up as tall as her slight frame would allow and directed her words to Poag. “I—we—certainly didn’t intend to cause a disturbance, and I’m sorry, Poag, for your loss, but you’re fixing the blame on the wrong person. Jay had—”

  “Zee, please, what’s done is done,” Poag said, gently taking her hand. “I know you didn’t mean any harm.” Then, patting her arm, he turned away to ride to the cemetery behind the hearse.

  Lucy stood looking after them until Ellis reminded her that they should hurry to Poag’s so they could have the meal ready to serve when the family returned from the grave site.

  Lucy nodded numbly. “I know,” she said. “Just give me a minute. I want to speak to Zee.”

  Right now she yearned to shake Zee St. Clair until the silly woman’s eyes crossed, but no matter how misled she might be, Zee was her friend and at the moment she looked as though she could use some support. Lucy, followed by a reluctant Ellis, walked over to where Zee still stood, looking rather lost, and put both arms around her.

  She wasn’t surprised when Zee began to cry. “Oh, Lord, Lucy Nan, what have I done? I wouldn’t have upset poor Poag for anything—or Calpernia’s sister either, but Jay was fond of Calpernia—why, I don’t know—and felt like he should be here. I hated for him to come to the funeral alone.”

  “I’m sure that when things calm down, Poag will understand. They all will,” Lucy told her. Ellis said she thought so, too, all the while signaling Lucy with her eyes that it was time to leave.

  Jay, who wore his discomfort like a cloak, obviously thought it was time to go, too. “This will pass when they learn the truth,” he said, although he didn’t look too sure of it. “I’ll fix you a drink when you get home and you can put your feet up. I expect you’ll feel better when you’ve had a chance to rest.”