The young policeman smiled. “You mean she looked like Lollie Pate?”
Lucy shrugged. “From the description Juanita gave me, it was either Lollie or her twin—and she overheard the woman introduce herself to Florence as either Lottie or Lollie.”
Ed glanced at his partner. “But she wasn’t sure?” he asked. He might as well have had DOUBT stamped across his face in big red letters, Lucy thought.
“What would Lollie Pate be doing on a bus in…where was it you said?” Sheila frowned.
“Asheville.” Lucy frowned back. “And I don’t know. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“I think I know what she was doing,” Ellis chimed in. “She went up there on a buying trip for the gift shop—remember? She told me later the transmission went out on her car and she had to come home in a rental.”
“So what was she doing on a bus?” Ed asked.
“I don’t know unless she started out that way,” Lucy said. “I know Lollie’s a little short on money and it would have been less expensive, or maybe she couldn’t find a rental car in Asheville.” She told them what Juanita had said about Lollie’s befriending Florence before getting off the bus together in Greenville. “And apparently both of them had tickets for another destination because the bus driver didn’t seem to be aware they weren’t going to continue the trip.”
Sheila helped herself to a cookie and looked as if she wanted to dip it into her coffee, then apparently thought better of it. “But Lollie Pate wouldn’t even have known this Florence. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Bennett spoke up. “Then I suggest you get Juanita Grimble on the phone and hear what she has to say,” he told her. “This has gone on long enough!”
“Don’t think Ellis and I aren’t aware that some of the people in your department believe we imagined that incident with my brakes,” Lucy said. She rose to pour more coffee and hesitated with the pot in her hand. “Well, we didn’t imagine it and I didn’t imagine the woman who phoned me and lured us there, either. Somebody doesn’t seem to like our asking questions, and it would be helpful if we could at least have the support of our local police.” Steam rose as she poured the hot liquid into Bennett’s cup, but Lucy couldn’t be sure if it was coming from her or the coffeepot.
Ed Tillman seemed to be studying the design on his coffee mug. It had once held Halloween candy and said Boo brew for you! in ghostly letters. “Well, you have it now,” he said, standing. “If you’ll let me have that number,” he said to Sheila, “I’ll give Juanita Grimble a call.”
“By the way, the clay on those shoes that woman left here turned out to be the same kind as the sample you took from the Folly,” Sheila said as Ed used his cell phone to call Asheville. “We even sent somebody out there to check out the place it came from. Looks almost like modeling clay, doesn’t it? Peculiar color.”
Lucy yawned, nodding. It was a few minutes past eleven o’clock and she was sure Ed’s call would get Juanita Grimble out of bed. If the waitress was as tired as she was, Juanita wasn’t going to be happy about it. Right now all Lucy wanted to do was close her eyes and fall into bed.
She was close to going to sleep right there at the table when Ed finally got off the phone. “Well, she tells it pretty much the same way you do,” he said, reaching for a couple of Augusta’s spice cookies. “I’ll have to admit, this woman who got off the bus with Florence—if it was Florence—fits Lollie Pate’s description, but I just can’t figure out the connection.”
Bennett helped Ellis into her coat. “So what’s the next step?” he asked.
“We’ll need to talk with Lollie—see if we can find out what this is all about,” Ed said, putting his empty coffee mug in the sink. “And if it turns out she did have something to do with what happened to Florence Calhoun, I’m sure the chief will want an affidavit from the woman in Asheville.”
“You will let us know something.” It was not a question. Ellis turned to face him on her way out.
Ed Tillman flashed her something akin to a smile. “As soon as the chief says it’s okay.”
“Chief my ass!” Bennett thundered. “You’ve practically accused my wife of murdering her own cousin—and God knows what you might suspect in Boyd Henry’s death! Seems to me that if these women have done your legwork for you, the least you can do is to keep them informed.”
Ed glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “If we learn anything new, I’ll be in touch tomorrow,” he said, jamming on his hat.
Lucy thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Lollie Pate. What possible reason would Lollie have to become involved in the mystery surrounding Florence Calhoun? The clay on Florence’s shoes seemed to suggest she had spent some time in or near the Hemphills’ cottage at the Folly. Had Lollie been there as well? Lucy flipped her pillow to the cool side. Her eyes burned and her head felt as if it weighed a ton. What connection could these two women have, and what would they be doing together at the Folly?
Lucy was dreaming of Charlie when the ringing of the telephone woke her, and for a minute she thought the alarm clock was waking her husband for work. She rolled over in bed and reached to shut off the alarm on Charlie’s bedside table when it hit her with a whammy, as it always did, when she found only an empty space beside her.
“I was about to give up,” Ellis said, when Lucy finally answered the phone. “Are you okay?”
Lucy yawned. “Do I have to give you an answer now? What time is it?”
“After nine…” Ellis paused and Lucy guessed a big announcement was forthcoming. She was right. “Lollie’s flown the coop,” she said.
“What?”
“I just spoke with Ed Tillman. He and Sheila went to her house to question her early this morning and no one was there.”
“She’s probably at the shop,” Lucy said. “She goes in early on baking days.”
“Not there, either. And there’s a ‘closed’ sign on the door.”
“Do you think she got wind the police wanted to talk to her?” Lucy followed her nose into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee that smelled of cinnamon. From the window she could see Augusta playing with Clementine on the lawn.
“Maybe. I just wonder where she could be.” Lucy heard the rattle of china and the sound of running water and knew her friend was rinsing her breakfast dishes. Ellis refused to put them in the dishwasher with even a crumb on the surface. “Ed told me they were going to search the cottage at the Folly to see if they could turn up anything that might suggest that Florence was there.”
“What about that tower? The Folly itself?” Lucy asked.
“They looked there earlier when they found Calpernia’s body, but nothing turned up. Ed said there were paving stones all around the foot of it, so they didn’t find any footprints.”
Lucy waved to Augusta from the window. “I wonder if Poag knows about this. Must be like pouring salt in a wound.”
“I just hope they find her soon,” Ellis said. “If she’s the one responsible for all that’s been going on, I won’t feel safe until Lollie Pate is locked away in the hoosegow!”
Knowing how much Augusta felt the cold, Lucy guessed that the weather must be mild or the angel wouldn’t be outside romping with Clementine. After eating a quick bowl of cereal, she browsed through her closet until she found a pair of jeans that fit and threw on a lightweight sweater. She wanted to see for herself if Do-Lollie’s had really been abandoned. And then she remembered the pin. In all the excitement of the last few days, Lucy hadn’t thought to check and see if the jeweled iris was still where she had put it. It seemed to take forever to fumble through all the garments she should have long since given away, and she could hear herself breathing when she finally located the formal. The pin was still there!
“I should’ve given it to the police last night. I just wasn’t thinking,” she told Augusta as they walked with Clementine to town, stopping at every tree and lamppost so the puppy could investigate the smells. It was war
m for the first week in November and Lucy was glad for the exercise.
Augusta started to answer, then paused to shade her eyes. “Somebody’s waving at you,” she said, squinting in the direction of town.
“Why, it’s Nettie. Don’t tell me you can’t recognize her from here!” Lucy waved at her neighbor. “Augusta, you must need glasses.”
“Nonsense, I can see perfectly well. The sun was in my eyes.” The angel stooped to tickle the puppy’s ears.
“Have you heard anything from the fliers we sent out?” Nettie hurried to meet her. She had obviously been to the library, as she had a stack of books under her arm. Lucy noticed one was Patricia Sprinkle’s latest mystery.
“How much time do you have?” Lucy started to tell her what had happened when her neighbor interrupted her.
“I was going to stop by Do-Lollie’s and pick up some of her cinnamon buns, but there’s a ‘closed’ sign on the door,” she said, seeming alarmingly close to tears. “And my mouth was all set to have one with coffee. I do hope she’s not sick.”
“I think we’d better call an emergency meeting of The Thursdays this afternoon,” Lucy said, with a consoling pat. “There’s something you all need to hear.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Well, I can tell you why Lollie Pate had it in for Calpernia,” Zee announced. “Remember last year when the county celebrated its bicentennial? Calpernia was in charge of casting the pageant, and Lollie didn’t get a part.”
“That’s hardly a reason for murder,” Idonia said. “How do you know she wanted one?”
“Because she auditioned—sang, actually.” Zee shook her head. “ ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo.’ It was pretty awful, I’ve heard, but just about everybody else was cast, so it must’ve been a real slap in the face.” She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the leather sofa in Ellis’s family room where The Thursdays had gathered around a basket of men’s white cotton socks and a large bag of fiber filling. Every Christmas the group made stocking dolls for the children at the local hospital. After the figures were stuffed with the soft fiber, Nettie stitched on the faces, Idonia added yarn hair, and the others made clothes for the sock babies. Today Ellis had decided that since they were going to meet anyway, they might as well get started.
“You had a part in that pageant, didn’t you, Ellis?” Jo Nell asked.
“If you could call it a part. Two lines: I can hardly remember his face, and The Yankees are burning the Wilcox place. I can see the smoke from here!”
“That’s three lines,” Claudia said, cramming fiberfill into a bulging sock. “I was one of the flappers and we got to dance the Charleston…but you’re right about Lollie being upset,” she added, looking up. “She was after one of the lead roles.”
Ellis rolled her eyes. “Calpernia got one, naturally. I thought she looked ridiculous in that Rosie the Riveter costume.”
“My goodness, that was over a year ago,” Nettie said. “Surely she wouldn’t hold a grudge that long over something as silly as that!”
She flushed as soon as she said it, and Lucy noticed that everyone tried to avoid looking at Zee.
“Say what you please,” Zee said, “but I know for certain that Lollie did more than harbor bad feelings over that slight because Poag told me about it himself.”
“What do you mean?” Idonia asked.
Zee shrugged. “He said he couldn’t prove anything, of course, but somebody poured bleach all over Calpernia’s new porch cushions, and one day she found a dead possum in her car.”
Lucy laughed. “A dead possum? Where would she get that?”
“Road kill, I reckon,” Zee said. “Wish I’d thought of it first.” She inspected the lumpy toy she had stuffed, turning it in her hand. “You know what I think?” she asked no one in particular. “I think it’s bad enough having to be in the hospital during the holidays without having one of these things thrust upon you!”
“Here, let me have it,” Jo Nell said, laughing, and held out her hand for the misshapen doll. She removed some of the stuffing and molded it into shape. “So…let’s say Lollie did have something to do with the two women’s deaths…why would she kill Boyd Henry?”
“Boyd Henry saw something he shouldn’t have,” Nettie told her. “I’m convinced of it.”
“Heck, she’s probably halfway to Mexico by now,” Lucy told them. “Her shop was locked up tight, shades were drawn, and a ‘closed’ sign hung in the door.”
“I guess this means we won’t be getting any more lemon chess tarts,” Nettie said.
“Why, Nettie McGinnis, how could you think of such a thing?” Claudia, who had been sewing stubby arms on her creation, let the doll tumble into her lap.
Jo Nell frowned. “You don’t suppose Poag had something to do with Calpernia’s death, do you?”
“How could he? Poag was on the other side of the ocean when Calpernia died, remember?” Ellis reminded her.
“That’s right. She was at that bon voyage concert they gave at the college the night he left,” Idonia said. “Even went to the bus to tell him good-bye before they got on the plane. He couldn’t have pushed her off that tower unless he can be in two places at once.”
“Besides, Poag Hemphill really cared about Calpernia,” Nettie said. “Why would he want to kill her?”
Zee stood and stretched. “Don’t kid yourself,” she said. “Not that the man didn’t have feelings for his wife, but Poag will come into a tidy little sum from Calpernia’s estate.”
“I’m still putting my money on that Jay What’s-His-Name,” Jo Nell whispered aside to Lucy.
Ellis put a hand on Lucy’s arm as the others were leaving to let her know she wanted her to stay. “I didn’t want to get into this in front of the others,” she told her as they picked up after the stuffing session, “but it looks like Leonard is dropping his suit.”
“Really? That’s great! What happened? Did old Len get religion?”
Ellis made a face. “Nope, he got a divorce. Our lawyer found out he had filed for a divorce before Florence disappeared, and then, when he learned who she was, he tried to withdraw the suit—”
“Only by that time his wife was dead and the divorce was final,” Lucy said. “What a snake!”
“I’ve been thinking about some kind of fitting memorial in honor of Florence’s life,” Ellis said, “and Bennett and I have decided to establish a scholarship fund at Sarah Bedford for students from foster families.”
“I think Florence would approve,” Lucy said, hugging her.
Augusta met her with a smile as soon as she walked in the door.
“What is it?” Lucy tossed her sweater on a chair.
“Your daughter telephoned. There’s a message on your machine.” Augusta beamed as if she’d invented the device.
“How long ago?” Lucy hurried to check her messages.
“About an hour. She wants you to call.”
Lucy punched in Julie’s number that was programmed into her phone and listened to her daughter’s voice: Julie and Buddy aren’t here right now. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you.
Blah! Lucy thought. Double-blah! But she left a message asking her daughter to call. There was also a panicky-sounding plea from Patsy Sellers at Bellawood begging Lucy to phone her as soon as possible. It sounded urgent.
“Thank heavens you got back to me! I was afraid you might be out of town,” Patsy said when she called. “Tomorrow is my last day here and I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a dilemma. I’m trying to get out a newsletter about the production we’re staging here and I could really use some help.”
“What production?” Lucy asked, wondering what help she could possibly be after all this time.
“Haven’t you heard? The board has decided to present an annual musical based on the founding of the community. They’re calling it Stone’s Throw Remembers.”
“When will all this take place?” Lucy asked.
“Next summer, we hope—as soon as they finish with the barn.
They’re planning to build a theater in there.”
“Sounds exciting,” Lucy said, “but Patsy, I don’t know how much help I would be. It’s been so long since I—”
“I’ve done most of the layout already and made scads of notes for the lead article if you could put it together for me. The guy who’s going to write and direct it is coming here tomorrow if you could just meet him for an interview and maybe take a couple of photographs of the barn. We’re trying to raise funds and interest new members, and this would give people an idea of what we have in mind.”
When Lucy didn’t respond immediately, Patsy jumped in again. “I’ll be here, of course, to go over the details with you. I’m sure they’ll find somebody to fill my position soon, but this is such an important issue, and you’re familiar with the history of the area. Oh, please, Mrs. Pilgrim, you’d be doing me a tremendous favor if you would help out just this once!”
Lucy opened her mouth to say that this was not a good time, and then she thought, Why not? She had been seeking a new direction in her life, and this was as good a time and as good a direction as any. Besides, it was only temporary, wasn’t it?
“What time do you want me?” she asked, then had that stomach-knotting sensation you get when you take the wrong turn on the interstate. What had she gotten herself into?
“I have a feeling I’m going to need an angel looking over my shoulder,” Lucy said the next morning as they breakfasted on Augusta’s cheese omelet before leaving for Bellawood. She had changed her clothes three times because she wasn’t sure what to wear and finally decided on tailored gray slacks with a white blouse and comfortable flats. She felt she looked something like an overgrown pigeon, but it would have to do.
Augusta was looking forward to spending more time at Bellawood because, as she admitted, she felt at home in the past.
“I expect your friend who makes the lovely furniture will be there as well,” Augusta said, smoothing the skirt of her tiered georgette dress on which creamy white flowers cascaded against a background of a watercolor blue.
Too Late for Angels Page 22
