My aunt obviously couldn’t restrain a sneer at Becky Tinsley’s selection of romances but checked them out anyway. “I don’t think the sheriff and his gang know how to put on their drawers in the morning,” she said aside to me. “Don’t have a lead, they say. Why anybody would want to dig up a corpse is beyond me, and they don’t seem to have a clue about that poor woman they found! That Fool Faris wasn’t any good when he was alive, and he sure isn’t going to win any prizes dead.”
“They mentioned something about a cult, some teenagers—”
She shook her head. “Didn’t find out anything there, but I don’t think that’s who did it. And frankly, neither does the sheriff.”
For all her blustering, I noticed my aunt’s lip trembling, and when she said his name, That Fool came out a little softer than usual. Aunt Zorah never stopped loving Faris Haskell, and you can take that to the bank!
When I got home, I found Augusta gathering armfuls of sunshiny forsythia and bright coral quince. One pinkish blossom tilted over a dainty ear, and the necklace trailed against her breast like a string of violet stars. She looked like a perfume ad in a pale fluted chemise with a rose-splashed overlay of sheerest gossamer that flowed behind her when she walked. Augusta wouldn’t fit today’s idea of a model. There was a roundness to her arms, and her shoulders weren’t even close to being bony, but her goodness made her beautiful, and her clothing seemed to have been cut from a bolt of cloth that was part sea and part sky.
After a season of cold and rain, the day was warm and sunny, and since the house had strong new locks, we decided to take some of the flowers to Maggie’s and my father’s graves. I changed into boots and a sweater, and off we went across the dried winter grass and around the wooded hill where new leaves budded. I could smell spring, feel it, not only in the flowers we carried, but in the awakening earth itself. There was hope for my mother, hope for me, and its name was Joey. It made me want to sing. So I did. It was a song I’d learned long ago in grade school: Welcome sweet springtime, we greet thee in song . . . and Augusta with her (sometimes) soulful voice joined in.
The gaping rectangle where Uncle Faris had been was still there. Uncle Faris himself, if we ever got him back, would be reburied in higher ground, and the new road would slash the gentle hillside below where he once lay. Already bulldozers waited to peel back the earth in readiness for the new homes to march in ordered lines where my granddaddy planted corn. The developers had promised to rebuild that part of the stone wall at the bottom of the old family graveyard. Even the dead deserve privacy, and I don’t guess the new home owners wanted to be reminded of the fate that awaits us all.
I mixed daffodils with the other blossoms and found the fruit jars we kept there for that purpose, but first I had to get water from the creek. Even though the day was mild, the brown water rushed cold and deep and I walked along the banks looking for a gradual slope where I could reach it without slipping.
Augusta trailed along in her own time, laughing at a family of rabbits, admiring a squirrel’s nest high in a sycamore tree. When we reached the old homestead, she stayed behind to run her fingers over the moss-covered stones, examine the pit that was the root cellar, touch lightly the place where the fireplace had been. She had lived in such a house, she said, and it made her think of the people there.
“Do you miss them?” I asked. “Will you think of me when you go?”
Augusta smiled. “I’ll carry you in my heart.”
But I could see she wanted to stay behind, and so I left her there. There was plenty of daylight left, the sun felt warm on my face and I must have walked for a half mile or more. If it had been warmer, I would have taken off my shoes and waded to dip up water, but today I was careful not to get my feet wet. I had started back to the cemetery, a dripping jar in each hand, when something caught my eye about halfway through the trees on the side of a hill. I set down the jars and moved closer. Fresh red dirt was mounded beside a crude trench. Oh, Lord, please don’t let me find Uncle Faris here! I was afraid to look and afraid not to. For all I knew, whoever dug this thing might still be around. I stepped forward to take a quick look when a crow cawed with his loud sore throat voice from a limb above me and scared me clean into next week.
I turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush like a frightened animal, and raced across the pasture to the old homestead where Augusta sat quietly on the hearthstone. The trench had been empty, but I knew it was waiting for somebody.
CHAPTER NINE
I guess you’re thinking you might as well set up camp here,” I said to Donald Weber when he came out to look at our latest mysterious hole in the ground.
“You’re not far from right, because that’s kind of what I had in mind,” he said. “We’ve tried to keep an eye on your place, but this is so far from the house, they could have a square dance out here and nobody would see it. Hear it either. Of course whoever’s doing all this digging knows that. Tonight, by golly, we’ll come in the back way and see what happens.”
“You mean like a stakeout?” I asked.
“I guess you could call it that.” We stood back from the trench because the area was trampled with footprints and we didn’t want to disturb them by adding ours. Sergeant Sloan leaned over to look into the oblong hole. “Maybe somebody’s planning to bury an animal. Big dog or something. Know of any neighbors who’ve lost a pet?”
I shook my head. “If they had, they’d bury it on their own property. I think whoever dug this means to put a person here.” Probably Uncle Faris—or what was left of him, I thought.
“Looks like there were two of them.” The deputy pointed out two distinct sets of prints—one a little larger than the other. “And I suspect at least one of them borrowed your bathtub the other night. A lot of red mud, Sheriff Bonner tells me.”
The idea of it made me feel like somebody had tied a string to my backbone and jerked me inside out. I immediately thought of Jasper. “Ralphine Totherow used to do some cleaning for us,” I said. “Mom could’ve given her a key.”
But Sergeant Sloan shook his head. “Already checked on that. She says not. She did tell us that Jasper has been after her for money. Found him sittin’ on her doorstep yesterday; said he was broke and hungry and didn’t have anywhere to go.”
So the elusive Jasper had turned up at last! I could have told him where to go, and I hoped Ralphine did. “What did she do?” I asked.
The sergeant grinned. “Gave him a box of crackers and some peanut butter and sent him on his way.”
I frowned. “Where is he now? Did you get a chance to question him?”
“Ralphine called us as soon as he left, but the son of a gun seems to have disappeared altogether. His wife thinks he was on the run, said somebody was after him.”
“He was telling the truth that time,” Deputy Weber said. “That man has more hidey-holes than a rabbit.”
“Or a snake,” I said.
“Some of the sheriff’s men are going to be watching that back part of the property tonight to see if the grave diggers return,” I told Augusta later. “I hope they clear up all this mess before Mom learns about it. We’ve been lucky so far she hasn’t seen it in the papers.”
Augusta nodded but didn’t answer because she was standing on a chair hanging curtains in the kitchen. Already the room looked transformed. Mom would be pleased if she ever came back home. But I doubted if she would. Of course she’d never be able to find anything because Augusta had put a lot of her cooking utensils in all the wrong places. I found Mom’s egg-shaped timer in the refrigerator and those little plastic things you stick in the ends of corn on the cob were pinning up grocery lists on the kitchen bulletin board.
Funny. It couldn’t have been five minutes before my mother phoned to ask if I was all right. “I’ve had you on my mind all day and just wanted to hear your voice. Is everything okay? How’s it going with the job hunting?”
“I’m working on that,” I said. How could I admit I hadn’t even updated my résumé?
How I wanted to tell her about Joey! But there were too many “ifs” to get into that just yet. I looked forward to putting that baby in my mother’s arms, bringing feeling back into her heart. And to seeing her eyes come to life when I did it.
“By the way, I had the locks changed,” I told her. “I’ll send you a key.”
“Why did you do that? Prentice, is something the matter out there?”
Thanks heavens Mom rarely watched television, and newspapers would collect for days before she’d get around to reading them. “Of course not,” I lied, “but I didn’t know how many people had keys, and it kind of made me uneasy.”
“Besides the two of us, I can’t think of anybody but Be-trice and Zorah,” she said. “And there’s that extra one in the garage.”
“Where in the garage?” I hadn’t thought about that.
“Your dad kept one hanging under a shelf just to the right of the door. Never carried a house key. Said he was afraid he’d lose it.”
I had lived with my parents eighteen years before I went away to college, and I never knew that about my father. We had been like strangers to each other since Maggie rode out of our lives. I wondered how many other things I never took time to know.
“So Ralphine never had one?” I asked.
“Heavens no!” My mother laughed. “Not that I’d object to giving her one, but I wouldn’t want that Jasper getting his hands on it.”
My mother paused, and I knew something was up other than my welfare. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked again.
“Mom, I’m fine. Really. What is it?”
“You’re not still upset with me about leaving? About what happened between you and Rob?”
“You mean what didn’t happen?”
“Oh, dear! You are upset. Prentice, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Would it make you feel better if I came back home?”
“No! No, it wouldn’t. Please don’t!” I realized I really didn’t want my mother to come home. But I did want her to make the offer. “I think it’s good for you to be away, for a while at least. And I guess I need to work out some things on my own too.” The fact that I had a bit of heavenly help would have to be my secret.
I could hear relief in her breathing. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that! Elaine has persuaded me to take a little cruise, says a vacation would do me good. Your father and I never really went anywhere, you know, and now that I’ve sold the property, I can afford to travel once in a while.”
“That’s good, Mom. Sounds wonderful, and you deserve it. Where will you be going? When?”
My mother would be leaving in a couple of days for a ten-day cruise in Alaska, she said. I surprised myself by wishing her bon voyage and meaning it. Must be Augusta’s influence.
“By the way,” I said, “you do have the pearls, don’t you?”
“Pearls?”
“Your grandmother’s pearls. Mom, please tell me you have them! They’re not in the box.”
“Oh. The pearls. Well, of course, don’t worry about that. Now, honey, I must run. My four o’clock piano student’s here—”
I wondered why my mother would take the pearls and leave the other keepsakes behind, but at least that sneaky Jasper Totherow hadn’t gotten his filthy hands on them. While it was still light I went to the garage to see if Dad’s key was still there. I found the nail where he had kept it beneath the shelf by the door, but the door key wasn’t there. I felt the shelf to be sure, checked the floor underneath . . . nothing!
As I started back to the house I heard something that made my heart drop like a rock. It sounded like a dentist’s drill at high speed hitting bone, or a prehistoric creature from a science fiction film. Was Noodles stuck in the drainpipe again? Silly cat! It wouldn’t be the first time. I ran toward the awful caterwauling that was now reaching a crescendo. Who or whatever was making that noise must be in horrible pain.
Inside, Noodles cringed underneath the sitting-room sofa with only one black ear and a pink nose protruding. The sound vibrated all around me until even my teeth screamed for mercy. And it was coming from upstairs.
“Augusta?” Surely this must be a beastly demon sent to overpower my guardian angel, and they were locked in some kind of otherworldly battle between good and evil. What could I do? Probably nothing, but I had to try. I raced up the steps, scared to death of what I might see, but prepared to face the devil himself.
Augusta stood by a floor lamp in my parents’ room with a music stand in front of her and my father’s fiddle tucked under her chin.
She looked up and smiled at me. “I hope your mother won’t mind, but I found this in the hall closet when I was looking for curtain rods, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to play.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her how hopeless that seemed. “Lessons might be a good idea,” I suggested, trying not to shudder at the thought.
“You can see why that would be awkward in my position. Requires personal contact. Line dancing I learned from a video . . . and what a wonderful gadget that is!” Augusta whirled about and performed a sample step. “But this . . . I don’t suppose you—?”
“Oh, no! That was Dad’s fiddle. Used to play for square dances.” Dad had tried to teach me to play, but I lost interest after a while and never pursued it. I wished now I had at least made more of an effort.
Augusta again tucked the instrument under her chin. “I thought if I could just practice enough, I might have a chance for the Heavenly Orchestra. We have some great composers up there, you know. Why Beethoven just finished another symphony. Number 473, I believe.”
I hoped Beethoven was still deaf if he had to hear Augusta audition. I’m afraid I snatched the instrument from her. “I’ll just show you a few scales,” I said, stepping in front of the stand. “Where on earth did you find this music? I’d forgotten all about it!” There were sheafs of music on the stand, songs I’d learned to play years ago, and before I knew it, I had fiddled away almost two hours.
When Augusta called me to supper, it was after seven o’clock and nearly dark. It made me feel a little safer to know policemen stood watch over that troublesome area on the other side of the hill behind us. Augusta and I ate our supper of baked potatoes and salad in front of the fire while Noodles stretched out in Dad’s chair, and it was the first time I’d consciously relaxed since I learned Uncle Faris had vacated the premises. I had eaten two of Augusta’s blissfully delightful brownies for dessert, and was about a nod away from dozing off when the ringing of the telephone jerked me awake.
“Prentice? Are you okay? Any more bodies turn up out there?” Dottie Ives wanted to know. “Look, Rob’s been on my case again, and I’m beginning to feel like Dear Abby! Didn’t you get his message?”
“Well, yes, sort of, but I haven’t had a chance to get back to him . . . Dottie, I’ve learned I have a nephew! Maggie had a little boy!” I told her about my trip to Tennessee and the phone calls that led to it.
“Maggie? Oh, Prentice, that’s grand! But don’t you have any idea where he is?”
“Not yet, but we’re tracking down every possible lead. Right now all we can do is wait.”
“Wait for what? How can you bear it? You must be going nuts not knowing where that baby is.”
“Don’t remind me. But you can see why I’ve had to put Rob on hold,” I said.
“Absolutely! But do give him a call when you get a chance. I’m running out of excuses.” Dottie laughed. “Guess I’d never qualify for a job on the psychic hotline. I thought you’d be bored to death by now, just sitting by the fireside watching smoke roll up the chimney.”
“I could use a little boredom right now,” I said.
“Don’t tell me they’ve found another body!”
“As we speak, police are staking out the family cemetery to see if they can catch whoever’s playing some kind of grisly game with Uncle Faris’s coffin. It looks like somebody’s hollowed out another grave up on the hillside, but we don’t know who they’re
planning to plant in that one.”
“You lie.”
“Well, sometimes, but not about this, and I don’t want to leave home until we hear from Ola Cress.”
“You keep saying we. Is somebody there with you?”
I glanced at Augusta who was reading my old copy of Tom Sawyer and laughing now and then. “No, of course not. It’s only a figure of speech.”
“I can’t believe that woman just disappeared with Maggie’s child! She must be crazy.”
“Please don’t say that! I don’t think she realizes who I am,” I explained. “I mailed her a letter this morning and we—I—hope to hear something soon.”
My friend said one of her favorite words, which you won’t find in a church newsletter. “Prentice, it’s unreal how calm you are,” Dottie said. “Are you sure you’re all right? You sound different somehow.”
I smiled. I was different. I didn’t even want to think how the old Prentice would’ve reacted in the same situation. The Prentice before Augusta. “I’m fine,” I said. “And I’ll let you know what happens. Honest.”
“Let me know nothing! I’m coming to Liberty Bend!”
“No, really, Dottie, I’m perfectly okay. There’s no need to worry.”
“Worry my ass! I just don’t like the idea of something happening to my future business partner.”
I laughed. “Future what?”
“You heard me. I’ve been thinking about it, Prentice. We could start our own public relations firm! Why not? We both have the background for it, and I have a few contacts. Just think about it, okay?”
I promised her I’d give it some thought, and she promised to stay where she was unless I hollered for help. Right now the only things I wanted to do were find my sister’s baby and learn the police had arrested the person who had invaded our property and our lives.
Well, maybe one more thing. Immediately on hanging up, I replayed Rob’s message on my answering machine and his voice had the same effect as hot buttered rum. My middle went all warm and mushy, and throwing all reservations aside, I dialed his number.
An Angel to Die For Page 8
