“Couldn’t say. Ola works part-time over at the phone company. Had a big job there, but she cut back when her health got so bad.”
“Really? I’m sorry.”
“Practically ran the place. And ran herself ragged! I said to her, I said, ‘Ola Cress, you’d better slow down. Gettin’ too old to be pushin’ yourself like that.’ And sure enough, she had to have that anglo plastic—you know, where they put them balloons in your veins.”
I nodded. Ola’s neighbor was getting downright blabby. I was dying to ask her about Joey, but I knew she’d be waiting to tell Ola Cress everything I’d said, and I’d already said too much.
“When you see her, tell her I’m sorry I missed her,” I said.
“You’re not stay in’ then?”
“Not long I’m afraid. Just passing through.” I offered my hand again. “Thanks for your help Mrs.—”
“Grace. Grace Pittman.” She stood watching me as I got behind the wheel of the car and drove away. I guessed she’d been looking out the window the whole time I was prowling around across the street.
“Any luck?” Augusta wanted to know.
“I think Joey’s been there, but where he is now is anybody’s guess.” I told her about finding the swing with the doll in it. “I led the neighbor to believe I wouldn’t be back; don’t want to scare our friend Ola away. I have a feeling she doesn’t trust anybody.”
“I suspect she has reasons,” Augusta said. “Did her neighbor know when she might return?”
“If she knows, she’s not saying. I think we should find a place to stay for the night, then drive by Ola’s a little later, see if there are any lights.”
The Berry Patch Cafe on the corner of Main and Nutmeg offered a great hamburger and blackberry cobbler every bit as good as Mom’s, only I wouldn’t tell her that. I got an order to go for Augusta. My waiter’s name was Justin. He had red hair, a huge smile, and a great big yearning to get out of Ruby. As soon as he graduated from high school, he told me, he was going to get a job in Nashville and live with some cousins. Life in Ruby was about as exciting as yesterday’s oatmeal, and he was ready to move on.
“And here I was thinking it was kind of a nice place,” I said. “Thought I might even spend the night. Are there any motels close by?”
“Nothing like that, but there’s Mr. Humphreys’s place a couple of blocks down from the library. It’s an old white house—kinda sits back from the road. He’ll give you breakfast and everything.”
“A bed and breakfast. Sounds great. Think he might have room for me?”
Justin shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Nobody much comes here unless they have to. You can call if you want. He left us some cards.”
The name Nightingale House was printed with a lot of curlicues, and beneath it Tisdale Humphreys, Proprietor, with the address and phone number. Mr. Humphreys, when I called, said he would have the Azalea Room, along with tea or sherry, ready when I arrived. On leaving, I asked Justin if he knew Ola Cress and if she had a little boy staying with her, and I think it kind of took him by surprise because he frowned and shook his head.
“Oh, I know who she is all right, used to come in once in a while, but I haven’t seen much of her lately. Don’t know anything about a little boy.” He totaled my bill and stuck it under my plate. “Funny you should ask, though. You’re the second person wantin’ to know that this week.”
“I should’ve asked him if he knew my sister,” I mumbled as we drove away.
“What’s that?” Augusta was looking out the window and it bothered me a little that she wasn’t listening to what I said.
“That young waiter back there. He might’ve known Maggie, but I was so surprised by what he said, I didn’t think to ask.” I told Augusta that somebody else had been asking questions before us.
“Did he have a beard?” Augusta asked.
“Who, the waiter?”
“No, the person asking questions, because there’s a man behind us in a dark-looking car who seems to be following closer than I’d like. Looks like he has a beard.”
I started for Mr. Humphreys’s and as we passed the town library, I pulled in without signaling and parked out front. A light still shone from inside and I could see somebody at the front desk. The car that had been behind us passed without slowing. “False alarm,” I said.
Augusta didn’t blink. “Maybe.”
We waited a couple of minutes longer but the car didn’t come back. Since it was dark, I decided to try Ola’s again just to see if there was anyone there. Maybe her nosy neighbor wouldn’t notice me at night. But the windows were still dark at Ola Cress’s, and across the street at Grace Pittman’s the only things that moved were the story-tale figures on the television screen.
The streets of the little town were empty as we drove to Nightingale House, and only an occasional street-lamp splashed the sidewalks with a pale yellow light. A wooden sign bearing the name of the establishment swung from a post by the gate. It was meant to look weathered, I think, and did. A vine, probably wisteria, twined overhead on an arched trellis, and I followed a brick walk to the wraparound porch where a welcoming light beckoned. Augusta, I noticed, had done her disappearing act, but I knew she was around somewhere.
“Please come in, and here, let me take that bag.” Tisdale Humphreys was sixtyish, trim, and more well groomed than any winner of the Triple Crown. I felt downright shoddy in my wrinkled pants and baggy sweater, but I let him relieve me of my overnight bag and plodded along after him into a room he called the front parlor. I expected stiff Victorian, but this room was bright and elegant with a comfortable-looking sofa and two armchairs on either side of a marble fireplace where a cheery fire burned low in the grate. When offered a chair, I accepted gratefully and cozied right up to the warmth. I accepted the sherry too, and hoped my host would join me. I had a feeling he knew just about everything going on in Ruby and would be glad to share it under the right conditions.
Naturally, he had the same idea. “And what brings you to Ruby?” he asked, passing a tray of fruit and cheese, and every fabricated story flew right out of my head. I told him the truth.
If my candor surprised him, he recovered quickly. “I’m sorry about your sister, but to discover she had a child—how wonderful! You must be excited.”
“If I can only find him.” I told him about getting Ola Cress’s number from the pediatrician in Athens, and how she had reacted when I called. “She acts like she’s afraid of something, and I don’t want to frighten her away.”
He refilled my glass and his own. “Yes, Ola would be careful. I don’t know her well, but I can see why she might be inclined to shy away. A bit of a loner, I think.”
“Did you know my sister, Maggie? I think she might’ve lived here awhile. Her name was Dobson, like mine.”
“I’ve seen her, of course, walking dogs for some of the neighbors now and then. I believe she offered some sort of pet care service when their owners were out of town.”
I smiled. “That was Maggie all right.”
“Unfortunately, I never met your sister.” My host stood to stir the fire. “I only bought this place a few years ago. You should’ve seen it . . . a disaster, I assure you!
“Now Ola, I understand, was for years the backbone of the telephone company and I knew her in that capacity, but for the last couple of years she’s had to take it kind of easy I believe. Stays to herself mostly.”
“So you never saw her with a small boy, a baby?”
He smiled. “I can’t imagine Ola Cress with a baby, but she had that house made into a duplex not too long ago. Needed the extra money I suppose. Your sister lived there for a while, I know, and there might have been a child as well. Neighbors might know.”
I knew one who would, I said, but this probably wasn’t a good time to ask her. And I told him about Grace Pittman.
“Ah, yes, Grace! Well, you were wise to tiptoe around that one. Anything you said would get back to Ola and everybody else in town.”
/> I barely sipped my sherry. I wanted it to last as long as possible, not because I particularly like the taste, but because I was reluctant to leave a comfortable chair and pleasant company. “I’ll try again tomorrow,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to hope she’ll be back by then.”
He set his glass aside. “And if not, what then?”
“I understand she has a brother somewhere near Chattanooga. Maybe the people at the phone company can give me an idea where to find her.”
But from the look on Tisdale Humphreys’s face, I had a feeling I was chasing smoke dreams.
Tired from the long drive, I climbed into the big mahogany four-poster, plumped the downy pillows, and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Good night, Augusta, wherever you are,” I whispered before I dozed off. I slept well that night snuggled under hand-stitched quilts that smelled of lavender. Mr. Humphreys had done a beautiful job of decorating the room with hooked rugs in soft shades of rose and green on the polished oak floors, and white embroidered curtains that let in the light.
That light woke me gently the next morning and I lay in bed trying to think of what I would do if Ola Cress eluded me again, until the aroma of something wonderful lured me downstairs. My host had prepared thick slices of French toast served with orange marmalade and just-right bacon at a small table in front of the fire. It was going to be difficult to leave here, I told him.
“Whenever you want to come back, I’ll have a place for you, and if there’s any way I can help, just let me know,” he said, wishing me luck as I told him good-bye.
Augusta waited in the car rubbing her hands together. “I thought you’d never come,” she said. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been here all night.”
“Only for a little while, but I could do with some good hot coffee. Does this heater work?”
“I didn’t know angels cared about the temperature,” I said, turning on the heater.
“Actually, I don’t think we’re supposed to, but my last assignments happened to be during the warmer months, and I’m afraid I’ve become acclimated to it.” Augusta wrapped her long scarf about her until she resembled a brilliant cocoon.
I couldn’t work up the nerve to look when we passed the house on Cinnamon Street, so I asked Augusta to see if there were any signs of life.
“I’m sorry, Prentice, but it doesn’t seem as if she’s there. I don’t see a car, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.”
“Let’s try the phone company first,” I said. “At least they might be able to let us know when she’ll be back.”
The receptionist at the Ruby Telephone Company, who looked to be about ten, didn’t seem interested in anything I had to say, but I told her anyway. “I’m looking for Ola Cress,” I said, “and I understand she works here at least some of the time. Can you tell me when you expect her?”
The receptionist didn’t know, but somebody named Willene at the desk behind hers said Ola had taken some time off to be with her brother who had been in poor health. “Frankly,” Willene said, standing to lean over the counter, “I think Ola needs looking after as much as he does. That poor girl getting killed in that train accident just about tore her up.”
I held to the counter for support. “Are you talking about Maggie Dobson?”
“Maggie. Yeah, I think that was her name. None of us really knew her, but Ola—well, she got real attached to her and that baby.”
Joey. “The baby. Do you know what happened to him?”
Willene shook her head. “I reckon the poor little thing went to live with his mama’s folks, or his daddy’s. Pity both his parents gettin’ killed like that.”
I didn’t know whether to shake her or to hug her, and worse still, I started to cry. That seemed to stir up even the indifferent receptionist who offered a chair and a tissue.
Willene brought water. “Here, sip on this, honey, and try to get yourself together. I didn’t for all the world mean to upset you like that.”
Finally I was able to explain my relationship to Maggie and her little boy. “I was hoping Ola could help me find him,” I said.
“I don’t know how to reach her at her brother’s,” Willene said, “but the people at The Toy Box Child Care Center might know where the little boy is. Your sister worked there for a while. I bet one of them could at least give you an idea where to look.”
I ran all the way to the car before I thought to go back and ask for directions.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Toy Box Child Care Center was not hard to find. A multicolored sign about the size of a bread truck hung in front of a small frame house painted daffodil-yellow. It must have been outside playtime when we arrived because bundled-up toddlers were being pushed in swings or pulled in wagons while older children rode tricycles or climbed a jungle gym. Two young women, obviously supervising the activities, stopped talking as they watched my approach, and one of them stepped forward to meet me.
“Can I help you?” She stooped to wipe a little girl’s nose but the child ducked her head and ran away.
“I hope so. Are you the director?”
“That would be Jackie. You’ll find her inside.”
I thanked her, stepped over a plastic pail, and dodged a rubber ball on my way to the door. I found Jackie in the tiny kitchen pouring juice into training cups while something that smelled like chicken noodle soup simmered on the stove.
“Excuse the clutter. You’ve caught me at lunchtime.” She offered a hand. “Jackie Trimble. Are you here to enroll a child?”
“I hope I’m here to find one,” I said. “I understand Maggie Dobson worked here for a while.”
“Yes, she did. That was the saddest thing. So tragic! We all hated to lose Maggie, and the children miss her too.” She turned to take sandwiches—tiny triangles oozing jam—from the refrigerator. Jackie Trimble wore her brown hair in bangs and a long pageboy that hung about her face. She had the faintest trace of a mustache and dark-rimmed glasses that she kept shoving back in place. She didn’t look at me.
“I’m looking for Joey,” I said. “Do you know where I can find him?”
“Lord, I wish I did!” She lifted the lid of the soup pot and glanced back at me. “You related to Maggie?”
“Her sister.”
“Oh. Look, I’m sorry about Maggie. Joey too. I’m afraid Ola Cress has carted him off somewhere. Thinks she’s hiding him, I reckon.”
I frowned. “Hiding him from who?”
She shrugged. “From anybody, I guess. I could see Ola was getting too attached to that baby; never had any of her own, you know. Course I don’t know what Maggie would’ve done without her.”
“You mean she wants to keep Joey?” My composure flew out the window and I know my voice went up an octave. “Do you know where she went?” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into the flesh. Was I chasing a mad woman? “I think it’s time to call the police,” I said numbly.
“Oh, no, don’t do that! Not yet.” Jackie stopped in the middle of stirring the soup. “If you frighten her, there’s no telling what she’ll do.” She lowered her voice. “Look, Joey’s fine. She loves him, she’ll take care of him, and she’s got to come back to Ruby sooner or later. It’s the only home she has. That’s when you need to confront her. She’s probably frightened now and on the run. You might lose that little boy forever.” Her voice said, Trust me! But I couldn’t see her eyes.
I could almost believe her, but not quite. For some reason, I kept thinking of Snow White being offered the apple. Have a bite, won’t you, dearie? But I needed some questions answered.
Joey was born in August before Maggie came to Ruby, Jackie confirmed as she filled small bowls with soup. My sister started helping at The Toy Box in September, and it worked out fine, she said, because Maggie could bring the baby with her.
“Maggie and I became good friends, and I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been worried to death about Joey.” Jackie followed me to the door, wiping her hands on her
apron. “If you find where Ola Cress is keeping him, how about giving me a call? And I’ll do the same for you. I feel like we oughtta keep in touch, and heck—I don’t even know your name.” She tore off a sheet of tablet paper. “Here, write your name and phone number on this.”
I stopped to write something down and gave it to her just as the children romped in from outside, then thanked her and backed my way out the door.
“That woman thinks Ola Cress plans to keep Joey,” I told Augusta as we got under way.
“How do you know she doesn’t?”
“I don’t, but there was something about Jackie Trimble I didn’t quite trust. She never would meet my eyes, and she acted like she was going to burst a seam to find out where Joey is. Besides, if she and my sister were such good friends, why didn’t she know Maggie had a family?”
Augusta nodded. “I see. But still you gave her your name and number.”
“Ah! You saw, but you didn’t see.” I found it a relief that angels don’t always know everything. “That’s not what I wrote on the paper.”
“What did you write?”
“Before I started working for Martha’s Journal, I filled in as an office temp,” I said. “For about three months I worked as a receptionist for a podiatrist in Atlanta, and his phone number just popped into my head.” I laughed. “I’m afraid they’re going to be upset if she calls. I told her my name was Ophelia Foote.”
Before we left Ruby, I wanted to make one last stop at Cinnamon Street, just in case we might catch the evasive Ola unaware, but the house still had an abandoned look, and the mail that had been there the day before still jammed the letter box. Just to be sure, I pulled the car in the driveway and looked to see if it was the same correspondence I’d seen the day before. It was, and there had been no delivery since, so it appeared that not until recently had the local post office been notified to hold or forward her mail. Ola Cress had left in a hurry, I thought—probably after my call. I could almost feel two peering eyes from across the street fastening on me like bright brown leeches. Oh, well, let prying Grace have her excitement, I thought. And I looked shamelessly in Ola’s windows where the shade wasn’t lowered all the way.
An Angel to Die For Page 6
