Too Late for Angels

by Mignon F. Ballard

  “Did you ask about the rings she wore?” Zee asked, and Ellis nodded. “The woman I spoke with said they probably came from the dollar store,” she said. “Florence loved bright trinkets and she usually bought some whenever they went to the mall.”

  “Well, bless her heart,” Nettie said, shaking her head. “Then somebody even went and took those! What kind of lowlife would do such a thing? Looks like they could’ve seen what kind of shape she was in. Law, she looked a hundred! I never would’ve recognized her.”

  “Beats me,” Zee said, passing the pin to Idonia. “People parade in and out of that church all the time with enough diamonds to light up the sky. I think that tacky Arabella Morgan would have them set in her teeth if she could figure out how to do it, and nobody’s ever been robbed before.”

  “I don’t believe it was a robbery at all,” Lucy said. “I think they just took her things to make it look that way. Somebody lured her over there, I’m almost sure of it. They made a lot of noise knocking over my garbage cans out front, and while Nettie and I were out there cleaning it up, somebody telephoned Florence and told her to come to the church parking lot.”

  “But how would they know she would answer the phone?” Claudia asked.

  “I guess they just let it ring,” Lucy said. “There’s a phone in the hall just outside the door of the room where she was sleeping and she probably got tired of hearing it ring.”

  “And don’t forget, she thought she was in her own house,” Ellis said.

  “But who would want to kill her?” Jo Nell said. “And why?”

  Ellis gave a halfhearted laugh. “Oh, come on! Everybody knows I’m the most obvious suspect.”

  “And that’s exactly why we’re here,” Lucy said, making a face at her over her coffee cup.

  “I’m betting on Leonard,” Nettie said. “I hope the police have had the good sense to find out where he was the night Florence was killed.”

  Ellis shrugged. “They don’t confide in me.”

  Claudia looked thoughtful. “He could’ve hired somebody to do it. You know, like a hit man or something.”

  “Now you’re really giving me the creeps,” Jo Nell said, setting her coffee cup aside. “Idonia, are you going to hold on to that pin all day?” Impatiently, she held out her hand. “Come on, let me have a look at it.”

  Idonia waved her hand away. “Wait just a minute. I think I’ve seen this pin before…I’m just trying to remember where.”

  “It looked familiar to me, too,” Ellis said, watching Idonia hold the pin to the light.

  “Maybe it belonged to Florence’s mother or somebody else in your family,” Lucy suggested.

  “I don’t remember Aunt Eva ever wearing it,” Ellis said. “She was more into pearls.” She frowned. “No, it was somebody else.”

  Idonia slammed her palm onto the table so hard, everyone jumped. “I know who it was now! This pin belonged to Calpernia Hemphill.”

  “Calpernia? Are you sure?” Nettie adjusted her glasses and leaned in for a closer look.

  “She wore it to that big gala affair the college held back in September. It was a fund-raiser—remember? One of those things where everybody eats standing up. Somebody bumped into me and I spilled chocolate fondue down the front of my new silk dress.”

  “I knew I’d seen that pin somewhere before!” Ellis said. “You’re right, Idonia. She wore it with a tailored, plum-colored dress—crepe, I think. It had a square neckline and the skirt flared out at the knees. I remember thinking how nice it looked on her, and the pin looked like it was made for it.”

  “Maybe it was,” Claudia said. “That’s no bargain-basement jewelry, Lucy Nan.”

  Jo Nell refilled her coffee cup. “Does Poag make that kind of money?”

  “I doubt it,” Ellis said, “but I think Calpernia had money of her own. The Folly belonged to her, you know.”

  “So what was Florence doing with it?” Zee asked.

  Lucy stirred sugar into her coffee. “The mud that was on her shoes looked like that clay I saw at the Folly. She must’ve gotten it there.”

  “What on God’s green earth was that poor addled woman doing out at the Folly?” Zee stood so quickly her chair almost tipped over. “And how did she get here?”

  “She must have known Calpernia—or met her somehow,” Nettie said. “Was she there when Calpernia fell? I just don’t see the connection.”

  “Who knows? Maybe she pushed her.” Idonia shoved the pin away from her.

  “For heaven’s sake, Idonia,” Nettie said. “Why would Florence do that? She could hardly have known her.”

  “It wouldn’t take long,” Zee said.

  Nobody argued with that.

  Clementine wandered over to be petted and Lucy scooped the puppy into her lap. “So here I am with somebody’s ‘hot’ jewelry,” she said. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You could give it to Poag,” Idonia said. “After all, it did belong to his wife.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about that?” Nettie asked.

  “Well, I couldn’t swear to it. What do you think, Ellis?”

  “Has to be hers. There can’t be two like that. Maybe we should let the police decide.”

  Zee began to collect the empty cups and put them in the sink. “Why don’t we wait until we hear from Leonard Fenwick? If the pin turned out to belong to Florence we’d feel pretty stupid. When’s he supposed to let us know?”

  “The woman I spoke with said he promised to get back to her tomorrow,” Ellis said, relinquishing her cup, “so I guess we should just hang on to it until then.”

  Lucy gave the pin a flip with her finger, sending it skidding across the table. “Why don’t one of you hang on to it then? Somebody’s already been here twice looking for this thing. It must’ve been what they were after. I don’t like having it around.”

  “But they’ve already looked here,” Claudia said. “They’re not going to come back again. This is the safest place to keep it.”

  “Will you swear to that in blood?” Lucy met her gaze, unsmiling. She didn’t blink.

  “What? Oh, Lucy Nan, you’re teasing, aren’t you?” Claudia giggled. “Couldn’t you just put it back where it was—in the closet, I mean?”

  “I’ll think of a place,” Lucy said, “but if any of you blab one word of this, just remember—I know where you live!”

  After everyone left that morning, Lucy wandered from room to room looking for a place to hide the pin and finally fastened it to the underside of the hem of a formal floor-length gown she hadn’t worn in over ten years. The big house echoed silence without Augusta in it but she had left behind a message. Lucy laughed when she saw Dust me! written on the tabletop in the upstairs hall.

  “Bossy!” she called aloud to nobody in particular, but the house was in need of cleaning and she was in need of something to keep her busy. Lucy hadn’t realized how deeply Augusta’s absence would affect her. She also knew Augusta’s visit to her former apprentice couldn’t be put off any longer.

  “Is something bothering you?” Lucy had asked the night before when she found the angel pacing from one room to another, pausing only long enough to glance now and again out the living room window. Earlier Augusta had painted her toenails a frosty pink, styled her hair in intricate braids that wound like a golden crown around her head, and polished every piece of silverware in the house, including the set with all the little scrolls and curlicues on it Lucy had inherited from Mimmer. “If you’re expecting somebody, maybe I should change my clothes,” Lucy said.

  Augusta didn’t sigh but she looked as if she wanted to. “It’s Penelope,” she said, straightening the mirror over the living room mantel. Lucy smiled, knowing she did it to sneak a glance at her reflection. “It’s her first assignment, you see, and I haven’t heard a word.”

  “Are you supposed to? I mean, wouldn’t she let you know if she needed help?”

  “You would think so,” Augusta said. “And I know she’s capable, of cour
se, but she’s very young…and, I hate to say this…a little bit awkward.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Lucy said. “Didn’t you say she’d been assigned to a new baby?”

  Augusta smiled. “Yes, a little girl, but she’s quite some distance away. I hope she remembers how to get in touch. It’s been some time since I spoke with her.”

  “If you’re concerned about Penelope, why don’t you go and see her?” Lucy said.

  The sun came out in Augusta’s face. “I wouldn’t be long—no more than a day or so at the most. I just want to be sure everything’s all right.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me,” Lucy said. “I’m a mother, you know.”

  “You will be cautious while I’m gone?” Augusta said upon leaving. “You won’t go out to that Folly? I feel uneasy about that place.”

  “I promise. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Lucy said. She had no intention of going to the Folly, yet she had felt restless since Augusta left. This was one of those times when she missed being behind the counter at Bud’s Blooms—missed the interchange with customers dropping by, the constantly ringing telephone, and even the bristly observations of Bud himself.

  She spent the afternoon cleaning the house. The furniture shone, the bathrooms sparkled and smelled of lemon and pine. Lucy was even considering tackling the refrigerator when the telephone rang.

  “This is Estelle Bivens and I was having my hair done at the Total Perfection the other day when some lady came in with a picture—wanted to know if anybody there had seen her. Said it looked like she’d had her hair done recently and thought maybe Maxine or Evelyn might remember her. Maxine does mine,” she added. “Been doing it for close to thirty years now.”

  “That’s nice.” Lucy waited. She had been acquainted with many Estelles throughout the years and knew she must have something important to say and would eventually get to the point. This Estelle sounded at least seventy, which was about the average age of that establishment’s clientele.

  “Anyway, she left this number to call if anybody remembered seeing her and I got to thinking—I believe that’s the woman who came in my shop not too long ago. Of course I’m not real sure.”

  Lucy grabbed a pencil. Easy now, don’t get your hopes up! she told herself. “What kind of shop?” she asked.

  “Oh, I do hair, too. Me and my sister Louise. We got a little place in the back of Louise’s house on Red Bud Road. Don’t do a lot anymore, just a few regulars, and Louise—she ain’t well. Her feet’s done swolle plumb up on her.”

  Lucy said she was sorry to hear that. “Do you remember what this woman looked like?” she asked. “The one who came to your shop?”

  “She was about my age—maybe younger. Hard to tell. Medium height and gray hair. Wanted a shampoo and set.”

  “Would you recognize her if you saw the picture again?” Lucy asked.

  “I reckon…yeah. I’d have to get another look at it.”

  Lucy glanced at the clock. It was after four. “I can run it by. Tell me how to find your shop on Red Bud Road.”

  “Oh, I’m not at the shop. Louise has done gone to the doctor in Rock Hill. I’m at home. It’s not too far out on Hatley’s Mill Road, just past the old Cantrell home place. You’ll need to park at the top of the hill, though. My driveway’s been a mess since that last rain. Don’t want you gettin’ stuck. There’s a big old cedar tree at the edge of the road. You can’t miss it. Just turn in and park in the drive there.”

  Lucy wrote down the scanty directions, trying to remember how far out the old Cantrell place was. She used to buy produce from the family that lived there but they had moved a few years ago. Maybe Ellis would remember.

  “Wanna take a ride with me?” she asked when her friend answered the phone.

  “That depends. Where?”

  “Out to Hatley’s Mill Road to see Estelle.”

  “Where’s Hatley’s Mill Road and who’s Estelle?” Ellis sounded suspicious.

  “It’s where Hatley’s Mill is—or was, I guess.” Lucy told her about the phone call. “You remember the people who lived in the old Cantrell place, Ellis. We used to get cantaloupes there and those wonderful homegrown tomatoes.”

  “I sure do miss them,” Ellis said. “I forgot that was the name of the road. I’ve got a casserole ready to put in the oven. We won’t be gone long, will we?”

  “Be back in less than an hour,” Lucy promised.

  “Why do you think Lollie was crying when you saw her the other night at the festival?” Lucy asked as they drove out of town. “Could Opal Henshaw have said something to her earlier? Opal’s had her drawers in a wad, you know, ever since Lollie refused to let her put a poster advertising her bed-and-breakfast in the window of Do-Lollie’s.”

  “She might’ve, but I doubt it. It was before they had the drawing. Somebody told me Lollie has a disabled daughter in an institution somewhere and I expect the expense of it pushes her to the limit. Plus, I heard they’re raising the rent on the building where she has her shop.”

  Lucy frowned. “That’s a shame. She seems to do a good business, but I guess it’s hard to stay ahead. And Opal Henshaw should be forced to iron organdy curtains while watching a table tennis tournament and wearing a turtleneck sweater in July!” It was the closest thing to hell she could think of.

  “There’s the house where we bought the produce,” Ellis said after they had driven a few miles. She pointed to a large Victorian with peeling yellow paint just up ahead.

  “And here’s the big cedar.” Lucy slowed and turned into a rutted driveway on the left. “I’m just going to leave the car right here,” she said. “Estelle said she doesn’t expect anyone else, so it should be okay.” The driveway was of red clay with very little gravel and rocks of assorted sizes scattered about the furrows. Scrub pine and underbrush pushed in from either side and a squirrel chattered at them from a hickory where a few lingering golden leaves shivered.

  “She’s right,” Ellis said as they started down the hill. “You wouldn’t want to take your chances getting stuck down here.”

  “I can’t see the house,” Lucy said, straining to look around the bend. “Must be behind all these trees.”

  “She said it was at the bottom of the hill, didn’t she?” Ellis asked, then screamed.

  They turned at the scrunch of tires on the rough roadbed behind them to see Lucy’s car hurtling toward them only a few feet away.

  “Jump!” Ellis yelled. “It’s gaining speed!”

  Lucy stared at the car she had left at the top of the hill, now throwing small rocks, bumping over trenches as it sped closer. She could almost reach out and touch it. Her feet had turned to stone.

  “Move it!” Ellis yelled again, and pulled her into the ditch as the car plunged past.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lucy came up with a handful of mud and a mouthful of leaves in time to watch her car plow through a fair-sized holly bush and come to a stop in a clump of cedars. Beside her Ellis knelt in the underbrush and plucked blackberry briars from her hair.

  “Are you all right?” Lucy stood on wobbly legs and reached out to Ellis with a clay-smeared hand.

  “Just hunky-dory. And you?” Ellis spit dirt and began to crawl up the slippery bank, grabbing a clump of weeds for support.

  Lucy gave her a shove from behind. “I’m alive…I think, thanks to you.” She looked at her mud-caked knees, the bleeding scratches on her hands. Her forehead hurt where she had landed in the ditch but everything seemed to work okay. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  Ellis reached down and gave her a hand up. “Me either. I guess we’re lucky.” She looked down at a rip in the knee of her jeans where blood was beginning to seep through. Twigs and leaves clung to her soiled jacket. “Can you say emergency brake?” she asked as they dusted each other off.

  “But I did! I could swear I did. And I left it in park.” Lucy looked about her and shivered. Her clothes were damp and muddy and Ellis was limping from the i
njury to her knee. She couldn’t see the main road from here—just a tangle of undergrowth and scrub pine. Even the squirrel had disappeared. “I don’t even like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t snatched me into that ditch,” she said. “My brain wanted me to get out of the way, but my feet weren’t listening.”

  “I noticed.” Ellis smiled then. “We must look like scarecrows.”

  Lucy took her arm. “We need to get warm and call for help. Let’s walk on down to Estelle’s and use her phone, and we ought to take a look at your knee. Maybe she’ll even give us a cup of coffee or something.”

  “Right now I could use something stronger,” Ellis said, “But I’d settle for coffee.”

  Walking arm in arm, with Ellis favoring her left leg, they stumbled down the gully-washed roadbed trying to avoid the deepest crevices. “How in the world does this woman drive on this thing?” Ellis asked. “She must drive a tank.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t drive.” Lucy paused to maneuver around a mud hole. “We’re almost there. I think I see the house through the trees.”

  “This can’t be it,” Ellis said as they rounded the last curve. “Lucy Nan, nobody’s lived in this place for years.”

  The house—or what was left of the house that greeted them—was entwined in at least a decade’s growth of honeysuckle vines whose now-brown tendrils wrapped it from tumbling chimney to gaping windows. The roof of the porch had long since caved in from rot and the weight of debris collected there and a small tree sprouted in the empty doorway.

  What else could go wrong? Lucy wanted to sit right there in the weed-choked yard and cry. Instead she laughed. “I don’t believe Estelle’s at home,” she said.

  “It’s not funny!” Ellis grabbed her arm and started back the way they had come. “Something’s wrong! This place gives me the creeps.”

  “But I followed her directions. It was the driveway next to the big cedar just past the old Cantrell house. Did you see any other big cedars?” Lucy had a stitch in her side, but Ellis wouldn’t stop.