Miss Dimple Suspects: A Mystery

by Mignon F. Ballard

  “We’ll probably get all the details from Aunt Lou,” Charlie told her. “I don’t know how she does it, but she’s just like that motto for the Atlanta Journal. She ‘covers Dixie like the dew!’”

  * * *

  “That woman’s name sounds familiar,” Jo Carr said later as she helped herself to just a tiny bit more of her sister’s chicken pie. Charlie’s mother was rail thin and, much to Lou’s disgust, could eat all she wanted without gaining a pound. “Mae Martha Hawthorne … now, where have I heard that before?”

  Charlie’s younger sister, Delia, frowned. “I’ve heard it somewhere, too. She must not have lived here long, though. I don’t remember ever meeting her.” She spooned applesauce into Tommy, her eight-month-old son she called “Pooh Bear,” as he struggled to get down from his chair.

  Charlie’s uncle Ed looked at his empty plate and flapped his arms. “Am I clucking yet? We’ve eaten so much chicken I swear I expect to grow feathers. Fried chicken, stewed chicken, chicken salad, baked chicken … What else can you do with that bird?”

  “Oh, hush, and count your blessings! We’re lucky to have it,” his wife told him. “Keep on clucking and you might just lay an egg!”

  Charlie laughed. “You know just about everybody around here, Uncle Ed,” she said, passing her mother the rice. “Willie Elrod said somebody telephoned the Ashcrofts from a neighbor’s house.”

  “That would probably be the Ingrams—or one of them,” her uncle said. “They’re brothers, Esau and Isaac. One’s married, but I can’t remember which, and the other lives close by.”

  “That would be Esau,” his wife announced. “Ida Ellerby—she’s in the choir with me, you know—well, she has a cousin who lives out that way, and Ida said there’s some kind of nurse—Chinese, I think—who lives with the Hawthorne woman, and she was the one who made the call this morning. From what Ida said, this Mae Martha has only lived there since sometime last winter. Seems her grandson wanted her to be close to kin when he enlisted in the service.”

  “Mae Martha Hawthorne … now I know where I saw that name,” Jo said. “There was an article about her in the Atlanta Constitution not too long ago. She’s an artist, paints a lot of rural scenes in what I guess you’d call a primitive style. I think there’s one in the library.”

  Lou made a face. “I don’t know why people make such a big fuss over that kind of art. Now, when Mama painted a picture of a vase of flowers, it looked like a vase of flowers! You remember the one she did of the hydrangeas, Jo? It’s hanging in our bedroom.”

  Jo nodded. Their mother’s watercolor of pansies was her favorite, and the still life she painted in oils hung over the mantel in their dining room, but it was such fun baiting her sister! “You’ll have to admit, they’re restful to look at, and this article said she seemed to have a way with colors.”

  “Oh, good! Maybe she’ll have an exhibit,” Delia said, wiping Tommy’s face.

  “If you’re all that eager to see that kind of thing, maybe Charlie and Annie will let you come look at the bulletin boards over at the grammar school,” their aunt said. “Now, where are those cookies you brought for dessert, Delia?”

  Delia and Charlie had baked a batch of the spicy molasses cookies called “crybabies” to send to their brother Fain and Delia’s young husband, Ned, who were on the other side of the world, both fighting somewhere in Italy. The cookies didn’t require much sugar, which was rationed, and were especially good for shipping. They had sent packages meant for Christmas as early as October so these might not reach them for several weeks—if at all.

  “I hope little Peggy Ashcroft will be all right,” Charlie said as she helped clear the table after dinner. “From what I heard, she was one sick little girl.”

  “Had a real high fever, but between the nurse and Miss Dimple, they managed to keep it under control,” Lou said. “Funny, though,” she added, frowning. “When the Ashcrofts and Doc Morrison drove up there to bring her home this morning, the nurse wasn’t even around.”

  “Maybe she was asleep,” Delia suggested. “If she was looking after a sick child all night, she probably didn’t get much rest.”

  Lou Willingham shrugged. “All I know is Amanda Morrison said the doc told her they wanted to thank the woman, but Dimple said she hadn’t seen her since she went to make the telephone call.”

  “And guess who turned up on the Ashcrofts’ doorstep last night?” Annie said. “Peggy’s cat, Peaches!”

  “All this trouble over a cat!” Ed muttered. “And I’ll bet it was under the house sleeping the whole time.”

  * * *

  “I do believe if it weren’t for the dog, Max, I might’ve been stumbling about on that hill all night,” Dimple told her friend Virginia as they sat in Phoebe Chadwick’s front parlor later that afternoon. A fire burned low in the grate and a tray of ginger mint tea and some of Odessa Kirby’s applesauce muffins sat on a small table in front of them.

  “Remind me to get him a bone the next time I go to Shorty Skinner’s,” Virginia said. “If anything had happened to you or that child, I’d never forgive myself. I can’t believe I slept the whole night through!”

  Dimple took a sip of her favorite tea, and then another. Had it ever tasted this good? “That’s because you were sick and needed the rest, Virginia. I hope you’re feeling better now.”

  “Much better, thank you. Now, tell me all about your adventure. I hear from Doc Morrison that Peggy has a bad case of tonsillitis. I don’t even want to think of what might’ve happened if you hadn’t found her when you did.”

  “Wait! I want to hear every word.” The home’s owner, Phoebe Chadwick, stuck her head in the doorway. “And by the way, I want you to know Odessa brought those muffins by for you today as soon as she heard what happened.

  “She usually doesn’t cook for us on Sundays,” she said aside to Virginia, who, of course, knew that already. Phoebe pulled up a hassock and made herself comfortable. The rug was threadbare and the loveseat needed re-covering, but every time she mentioned it, her guests protested that they liked the room as it was. Well, so did she.

  “I’m afraid to leave town anymore if you’re going to disappear on us again,” she said to Dimple, who seemed to have done exactly that the year before. “Maybe we should sign in and out like the girls do now in college to keep up with our comings and goings.”

  “I don’t think I have to tell you how grateful I am to be back,” Dimple said with the faintest hint of a sigh. “But the people there were so kind to us. I’d love for you to meet them.”

  “I hear the woman who lives there is an artist,” Phoebe said.

  Dimple nodded. “I think you’d both enjoy her paintings. In fact, I believe you have one at the library, Virginia, the one with the children and the calf. They remind me of my early days growing up on a farm. I’d love to purchase one for Henry for Christmas.”

  “Mae Martha Hawthorne.” Virginia smiled. “Oh, I do like her work. I didn’t know she lived anywhere around here.”

  “Her companion, Suzy, told me Mae Martha’s grandson moved her there back in the winter to be closer to her nephews, and it was probably a good thing as he was killed last May in the Aleutians,” Dimple explained. “She’s a pleasant person but seems to be extremely shy, and from what Suzy tells me, keeps to herself most of the time. Her nephews and a hired man take care of errands for her. She doesn’t have a telephone or a car.”

  “My goodness, you’d think they’d get lonely way out there on that hill,” Virginia said, choosing a muffin.

  “I suppose it suits her,” Dimple said, “but I feel a bit sorry for Suzy. She seems sad to me somehow, but such a capable nurse! It was grand how she stepped in and took care of Peggy. I’m afraid my energy was exhausted by then and it was a relief to have a responsible person take matters into her own hands.”

  “Someone told me she’s from China,” Phoebe said. “I wonder if she’s homesick.”

  “She speaks perfect English, and Mae Martha said her g
randson met her at Emory, so I expect she’s been over here a good while,” Dimple told her. “I’d like to go out and visit them sometime soon, thank them for their kindness. Perhaps I’ll take along some of my Victory Muffins.”

  Phoebe and Virginia exchanged brief glances at this suggestion as everyone but Miss Dimple was aware that the muffins she claimed would help to keep you healthy, and regular as well as patriotic, tasted like sawdust and could probably be used as a building material should the need arise.

  “Odessa’s baking this week,” Phoebe said quickly. “I’m sure she’ll want to send along a loaf of her yeast bread.”

  “I suppose you plan to be at school tomorrow as usual,” Virginia said to Dimple, knowing full well what her answer would be.

  “Of course. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, and there’s quite a lot to do before school lets out for the holidays.”

  “Only two more weeks,” Phoebe reminded her. “I don’t know what they’ll do about the Christmas assembly program now that Kate Ashcroft’s taking a leave of absence to look after Peggy. Doc thinks she should have those tonsils out as soon as she gets better.”

  “They’ll have to find someone fast,” Dimple said, frowning.

  “Someone who’s able to play the piano and sing,” Virginia added.

  “And has experience with children,” Phoebe pointed out.

  But please not Alma Owens! Dimple thought, and she could tell by their expressions the other two were thinking the same thing. But nobody said it out loud.

  * * *

  “I believe we might be in luck,” Geneva Odom announced the next afternoon after the children had been dismissed for the day. Geneva taught the second grade in the classroom across from Charlie’s. “Frog—I mean Mr. Faulkenberry—said he’d located someone to take up rehearsals for the Christmas program.” Stepping into Charlie’s classroom, she saw Miss Dimple had also dropped in and Dimple Kilpatrick never addressed the principal as Froggie, nor did she think it was amusing.

  “She … or he will have her work cut out for her,” Annie said, joining them. “I wonder how he found a replacement so quickly.”

  “I believe this young woman’s husband is serving in the navy and she wanted something to keep her busy,” Geneva said. “She’s from somewhere in north Georgia and is supposed to be here tomorrow.”

  “Where will she stay?” Annie asked. “I don’t think there’s an extra bed at Phoebe’s.”

  “Delia and Tommy have taken over the upstairs at our house,” Charlie said.

  Miss Dimple thought for a minute. “It would be nice if she could have access to a piano.”

  “Miss Bessie, of course!” Charlie reminded them. “Our neighbor, Bessie Jenkins, has rooms to spare plus a piano in the living room, and I think she’d enjoy the company.”

  “Would you mind asking her?” Miss Dimple said. “I know this is very short notice…” She frowned. “Does anyone know her name? I think we should all try to make her feel welcome.”

  Geneva nodded. “I believe he said Charlotte, and I don’t have to try to make her feel welcome. You might have noticed I can’t carry a tune.”

  “I wasn’t going to mention that,” Charlie told her, laughing. “I’ll talk with Miss Bessie as soon as she gets home. She works at the munitions plant in Milledgeville three days a week, you know, with Mama and Aunt Lou. And speaking of welcome—I know we’ve told you this before, but, Miss Dimple, we are all so glad to have you back with us safe and sound.

  “I was wondering,” she added, “if you would drive with me out to visit Mrs. Hawthorne sometime. I’d like to buy one of her paintings for my sister for Christmas—that is, if I can afford it.”

  Dimple Kilpatrick’s smile lit up her face. “I think that’s a lovely idea! Her young nurse, Suzy, doesn’t seem a lot older than you and she must be lonely out there. I think it would be nice for her to get to know someone close to her age.”

  And there was something else that bothered her about Suzy, but Miss Dimple hadn’t quite figured out what it was. Oh, well, she thought. It would occur to her in time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Oh, my goodness, the dust in that front bedroom must be an inch thick, and I’ll need to put clean sheets on the bed.” Charlie’s neighbor had barely had time after work to change into comfortable slippers when Charlie showed up at her kitchen door with her request.

  “That’s what I’m here for. Just toss me a dust rag and tell me where you keep the sheets.”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t have time for that. I expect you’ll be wanting to get supper on the table.” Miss Bessie peered into her own kitchen cabinet and decided on a can of vegetable soup.

  “Now, put that back! You’re invited to have supper with us—that is, if you don’t mind scrambled eggs and cheese. And I think Delia made banana bread today.”

  Bessie Jenkins smiled. “You don’t have to do that, but I accept anyway. My feet are about to give out on me, and it’s dark as sin by the time we get home these days. Too late to go to the store.”

  Charlie switched on a light in the hallway. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have somebody here to keep you company? You could take time about in the kitchen … and she plays the piano, too.

  “It will probably only be for a few weeks,” she added, noticing her neighbor’s hesitation.

  “Well, are you going to tell me my new roomer’s name?” Bessie asked, rummaging in the closet for furniture polish and a scrap of what used to be flannel pajamas.

  * * *

  “I hear poor little Violet has just about made herself sick over that child running away like she did,” Bessie said as they made the bed together with sheets that smelled faintly of mothballs. “I hope Peggy will be all right.”

  “Miss Dimple checked on her today and said she seemed to be somewhat better,” Charlie said, tucking in the bottom sheet. “I can understand how Violet feels, but how was she to know Peggy would slip out the back door the minute her back was turned? We’re all relieved that everything turned out the way it did. It could’ve been much worse.”

  “I remember how we all grieved over the little Greeson child,” Bessie said. “It was before your time, Charlie, but I don’t know of anyone it didn’t affect. I still think about it sometimes.

  “You know,” she said later as she looked thoughtfully at the freshly made bed and furniture that now smelled of lemon oil, “I believe I’ll have a Christmas tree this year if I can remember where I put the decorations. It could be a difficult Christmas for this young woman—Charlotte—with her husband away in the navy.” She smiled. “Don’t you think some of those nandena berries would look pretty on the dresser with a little greenery? I’ll gather some for a vase tomorrow—give it a holiday look.”

  * * *

  Charlie Carr was busy the next afternoon helping the temporary music teacher get settled at her neighbor’s house, so the visit with Mae Martha and Suzy would have to be delayed. Dimple Kilpatrick took the opportunity to call on the Ashcrofts with twenty-four laboriously printed and crayon-illustrated get-well messages from Peggy’s classmates. She found Peggy propped up with pillows on the living room sofa with her cat, Peaches, at her feet and her rag doll, Lucy, tucked in snugly beside her. Peggy tossed aside a picture book, Puss in Boots, to welcome her and at once began reading her friends’ greetings.

  “She’s bored,” Kate Ashcroft whispered aside to Miss Dimple, “and that’s a good sign. Her fever’s not nearly as high as it was yesterday, and she ate most of her oatmeal this morning and a little chicken noodle soup for lunch.”

  Dimple was glad to see the child’s eyes weren’t as red and puffy and that she seemed more alert. “I’ll have to admit, this young lady gave us quite a scare,” she said. “When does the doctor think they’ll be able to take out her tonsils?”

  “Probably not for another couple of weeks, but before Christmas, we hope.” Kate smiled. “We promised her all the ice cream she can eat.”

  Miss Dimple only nodded. She remembere
d from her own experience how much it hurt to swallow even ice cream.

  “I understand they’ve hired someone to fill in for me at school,” Kate continued, “and I’m relieved they found a replacement on such short notice. I don’t like having to leave with the Christmas assembly program only a few weeks away, but, as you can see, I have no choice.”

  “The young woman dropped by the school for a short time today, but I didn’t have a chance to do more than speak to her. Charlotte Nivens, I believe she said her name was, but she prefers we call her Lottie. She’ll be staying with Bessie Jenkins, so she’ll only have a short walk to the school.”

  “Good! I’ll telephone her tonight to discuss plans for the program.” Her hostess offered cake and coffee but Miss Dimple politely declined. She seldom indulged in sweets before supper. “Miss Dimple,” Kate began, “Mathew and I don’t even know how to thank—”

  “You already have, so please don’t say any more.” Miss Dimple held up a hand. “I’m so very happy things worked out as they did and that I could be a part of it.”

  “I’d like to thank Mrs. Hawthorne and the other person who took such good care of Peggy, but they don’t have a telephone,” Kate Ashcroft said. “Of course I plan to write to them, and when Peggy is feeling stronger, she’ll be writing to several people as well to thank them for their help and apologize for the trouble she caused—

  “No, she should, and we know she should,” she added before Miss Dimple could reply. “Violet told her we would look for Peaches when we got home and she disobeyed by running off on her own. She should be made to realize how much grief she caused, not just to Mathew and me, but to Violet, and you, and all those who love her and took time to search for her.”

  Miss Dimple, who had always stressed responsible behavior to her students, agreed silently, although the memory of a very sick little girl huddled alone in the cold almost caused her to protest. “A few of us plan to drive out to see Mrs. Hawthorne after school tomorrow,” she told her. “If you’d like to send a message along I’ll be happy to deliver it.”