Miss Dimple Picks a Peck of Trouble: A Mystery (Miss Dimple Mysteries)

by Ballard, Mignon F.

  “Man wouldn’t give his name and Luther didn’t know who he was or what he was up to,” Mary Joy said, “so he told him he didn’t know how to get in touch with me.”

  The three visiting women exchanged glances. “So that’s why that car was following us,” Charlie said, and told the others what had happened.

  “Did you recognize the car?” Mary Joy asked. But Charlie shook her head. “It was covered in mud and hard to see through all that rain, but I think it was black.”

  The others hadn’t been able to see the car well, either, but as Annie pointed out, at least three-fourths of the automobiles made before the war were painted black. Manufacturers hadn’t been making many since, as the country needed those materials for the war effort.

  Mary Joy frowned. “Do you think the person who called was the one who followed you here?” she whispered to Charlie.

  “We turned off the road and waited behind this old mill until the car passed, and didn’t come out until it disappeared over the hill. I hope they’re still looking in the wrong direction. I didn’t notice anybody following us after we left it behind,” Charlie assured her.

  “Among those we told about coming here, who would’ve passed the information along?” Miss Dimple said. “I can’t imagine who it would be.”

  “It would only take two,” Charlie told her.

  “And who would that be?” Annie asked.

  Charlie shrugged. “Someone we told and Florence McCrary.”

  Mary Joy sighed. “You mean that woman who works the switchboard at the telephone company? Oh, law! I reckon the whole town knows by now!”

  “But they don’t know how to get here. If they did, they wouldn’t have been following us,” Charlie told her.

  Miss Dimple sipped her tea. Mary Joy had garnished the drinks with a sprig of fresh mint, and that and the tinkle of ice almost made her forget it was over ninety degrees.

  “There must have been a reason someone wanted to frighten your mother off her land,” she said to Mary Joy. “Has anyone approached you about wanting to buy it?”

  She shook her head. “Not me, but I think there was somebody bothering Mama for a while.”

  Miss Dimple frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t say much about it, but I remember her getting several phone calls. I think it was back in the spring or the first part of the summer. You know, Mama was pretty patient, but this was getting on her nerves. She finally told them to leave her alone.”

  “Did she receive anything in writing?” Dimple asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Mostly it was just phone calls, but a man came out one time to talk to her about it.”

  “What man?” Charlie asked.

  Mary Joy shook her head. “Mama didn’t know him. Said she never saw him before.”

  Miss Dimple paused to stroke a gray-striped cat that curled about her ankles. “And did he come back after that?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. At least not that I know of,” Mary Joy told her.

  “He will,” Annie said. “You can count on it.”

  “I think he already has,” Miss Dimple said.

  Mary Joy leaned forward in alarm. “Do you think he set that fire? That it was deliberate?”

  Dimple nodded. “Either he did or he told someone to do it.”

  “I always thought we’d go back there one day—Luther and me,” Mary Joy said. “It was only Mama and me after Papa died, and that place is home to me.

  “That little piece of land between the house and the road isn’t big enough to farm. Mama put in soybeans a couple of times, and once in a while she’d plant a little corn. You could put a few head of cattle on it I reckon, but other than that, I don’t see what anybody would want it for.”

  “How many acres?” Charlie asked.

  Mary Joy shrugged. “About fifty, I guess, or close to it. Papa bought it from Mr. Claude Keever. He’s dead now, but he owned the farm next to us. His son Bo has it now, and I know he’s not gonna let go of any of his.

  “What makes you think somebody set that fire on purpose?”

  Dimple explained that it looked like the fire had started away from the road, closer to the house. “Fortunately, the creek stopped it from going any farther.”

  “And that’s not all,” Annie began. “Charlie’s mother and her aunt Lou found—”

  “Found the place where it looks like it might have started.” Miss Dimple spoke up, shooting a warning look at Annie. It was tragedy enough to lose one’s mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Mary Joy that Leola might have been frightened to death.

  As they were leaving, Miss Dimple remembered to ask Mary Joy if she had any idea what might have been bothering Prentice or if she knew whether the girl was seeing someone other than Clay.

  Mary Joy smiled. “Why, Mama wouldn’t have mentioned it to me if she was,” she said as she followed them to the car. “They kept their secrets, those two. I didn’t get back home as much as I wish I had, so I really didn’t see much of Prentice this summer—or Mama, either,” she added sadly.

  * * *

  Although they had parked in the shade, the car felt like a furnace as they left Maisie Hodges’s place behind, and even Miss Dimple admitted discomfort as she blotted her face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

  Everyone was hungry, but they agreed it would be best to wait until they were clear of the area to stop and eat the sandwiches Odessa had packed with a container of ice.

  “Let’s stop for a minute,” Miss Dimple suggested before Charlie reentered the roadway. “If someone did follow us here, they could be waiting nearby.”

  But no other cars were in sight as Charlie nudged cautiously onto the road.

  “Didn’t we see another mailbox on the way in?” Dimple asked, looking about. “There should be a neighboring house close by.”

  “Right. I noticed it when we passed,” Charlie said. “Do you want to stop there?”

  Dimple nodded. “I think perhaps it would be a good idea. What if someone did follow us here or succeeded in locating Mary Joy on his own? I don’t like leaving those two women out here by themselves without anyone to keep an eye out for them.”

  * * *

  Olin Frix and his wife, Lila, agreed when they spoke with them a few minutes later. The couple, who looked to be in their fifties, had just finished their midday meal and invited the visitors into their small, dark parlor, where they sat on equally dark, scratchy upholstered furniture. And this time the offer of tea was politely declined as the three thought, no doubt, of the quickly melting supply of ice meant to keep their lunch chilled.

  “We see most everybody who comes down this road,” Lila told them, fanning her moist red face with a current copy of The Saturday Evening Post. “I hadn’t noticed anybody today but the Hicks boys, who live up the road apiece—and you all, of course.”

  Her husband stood in the doorway, obviously eager to get back to work. “We’ll keep an eye out,” he said, frowning, “but to be on the safe side, Maisie and her daughter-in-law oughta go back and stay with Luther until whatever this is blows over.”

  Miss Dimple looked at Charlie and then at Annie. “I think you could be right. I’ll phone Luther tonight.”

  “I wish you luck getting Maisie Hodges to leave that house,” Lila said, smiling. “That woman’s more stubborn than any mule.”

  Her husband jammed on his hat and made for the door. “You should know,” Olin told her, and with a grin, he hurried outside.

  * * *

  “They might be perfectly all right,” Miss Dimple said as they walked back to the car, “but I’d feel better if they were with Luther in Covington.”

  “‘Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none,’” Annie said, quoting from Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well, and Miss Dimple reminded her that she was more concerned about those who had already done wrong and meant to do more.

  They stopped for a brief lunch under a shade tree on the way home, narrowly avoiding
another quick shower, but aside from that, the trip was uneventful.

  “What now?” Charlie asked as she turned into Phoebe Chadwick’s driveway.

  Annie paused with her hand on the door. “Don’t you think we should say something to Leola’s neighbor? Maybe someone has been interested in his land, too.”

  “Bo Keever. I think you’re right. I taught his sister, but I know him only to speak to,” Miss Dimple said.

  “I’ll bet I know someone who does,” Charlie told them. “Elberta Stackhouse. They’re practically neighbors. She lives right down the road.”

  “Good. I’ll phone Luther tonight, and you can speak with Elberta,” Miss Dimple said. “It should be obvious to anyone now that someone set that fire at Leola’s to frighten her off her land. All we have to do is find out who.”

  “And why,” Annie added.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The skies were overcast when Charlie drove out to the tidy brick bungalow on the outskirts of town, where Prentice Blair had lived with her aunt. As she approached the house, Charlie blinked back tears as she recalled the July day not long ago when they had come here expecting Prentice to have returned home early from her job at the Peach Shed.

  * * *

  “Well, of course I know Bo Keever,” Bertie Stackhouse said. “Known him all his life.” The two sat in Bertie’s kitchen over a plate of muffins neither of them touched while Charlie explained what they suspected about the fire at Leola’s.

  Bertie frowned. “I remember her mentioning something about somebody wanting to buy her land—said it was aggravating—but she didn’t take it too seriously.” Bertie’s eyes misted. “Leola didn’t complain a lot. She was a very private person. Why, I doubt if she would’ve even let on if she’d felt threatened.” She found a handkerchief in her pocket and blew her nose. “God, how I miss her! Miss them both!”

  “School will be starting soon,” Charlie said gently. “It should help to keep your mind occupied with other things. I hope you’re planning to continue teaching.”

  Of course she was. That was who she was, what she did. For the first time, Elberta Stackhouse allowed herself to think about her future, a future without Prentice. Did she really want to stay here? Adam Treadway wasn’t going to be patient forever. Was she willing to face life without him, as well?

  But first she would have to face the ghost of a tragedy and the man who was responsible for it.

  “You know Bo Keever better than I do.” Charlie’s voice brought her back to the present. “Would you call him for me? If he’s had the same offer, maybe he can tell us who was interested.”

  But instead of contacting her neighbor by phone, Bertie decided it might be best to visit him in person, and a few minutes later they found him mending a pasture fence when they turned in from the main road.

  Mopping his red face, Bo welcomed the two and invited them into the shade of a large red oak where watercress grew in a clear spring. There he offered his visitors a seat on a makeshift bench, then knelt and splashed cold water over his face, shook his head, and sputtered.

  “Bertie,” he began, and the old plank creaked as he sat beside her, “not a day goes by that Maggie and I don’t think about you. What can I do for you, sugar? Just say the word.”

  But he shook his head when Bertie asked him if anyone had expressed an interest in buying some of his land.

  “I reckon anybody around here would know they’d be wasting their time there. Why, this farm’s been in our family for over a hundred years. My daddy would whirl in his grave if I let so much as an inch of it go.” He frowned. “Why you askin’ me that?”

  Bertie told him what they suspected about the fire at Leola’s place, and Bo jumped to his feet. “The hell you say! Why haven’t I heard about that before?”

  Charlie explained they hadn’t been sure but it was looking more and more likely that the fire had been deliberately set, especially after her mother and aunt found the remains of a charred cross.

  If a storm could begin in a man’s eyes, Bo Keever’s would have been flashing lightning. “That woman was like a second mother to me, and I remember when my daddy sold that little parcel of land to Leola and Floyd,” he said. “Floyd Parker had worked side by side with him for Lord knows how long, and we were glad to have them as neighbors.” He sat and put his head in his hands. “Why in the world would anybody want that place bad enough to do a thing like that?”

  That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bertie told him. She spoke in a low, steady voice. “And if anybody approaches you, I hope you’ll—”

  “I’ll sure let you know, Elberta,” he said, frowning. “You know I will.”

  But Bertie shook her head. “Don’t let me know. Call the sheriff.”

  * * *

  “If Bo should hear from whoever’s trying to buy that land, the sheriff better get here quick,” Charlie said as they started back to Bertie’s.

  “Why is that?” Bertie asked.

  “From the look on Bo Keever’s face, I don’t think that fellow would stand much of a chance,” Charlie told her.

  * * *

  “I think you’d better come over right away,” Miss Dimple said. The telephone had been ringing when Charlie got home and she’d dashed through the house to answer it, hitting her shin on the cedar chest in the hall in her hurry. “Has something happened to Mary Joy?” she asked. “Were you able to get in touch with Luther?” What if the person who had been following them had waited until they left Maisie Hodges’s place, and then …

  “No, Mary Joy’s all right—at least as far as I know. Just come,” Miss Dimple repeated, and Charlie did.

  Frazier. It had to be Frazier … or Joel, Annie’s pilot brother and Will’s friend. Or maybe it was Phoebe’s young grandson, Harrison, who was serving in the South Pacific. Charlie raced across Katherine Street, took a shortcut through a neighbor’s backyard, and arrived breathless and panting on Phoebe Chadwick’s porch. Phoebe, Velma, and Lily sat in a group at one end of the porch, talking quietly together, and when Phoebe saw Charlie, she hurried to meet her. “They’re in the parlor,” she said. “Annie and Miss Dimple…” And she gave Charlie an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

  Charlie’s breath came fast and her mouth was so dry, she could hardly swallow. “Who? What is it? What happened? Did Annie get a telegram?” Please God! Don’t let it be the boy on the black bicycle!

  Phoebe held open the screen door. Her voice was gentle. “I’ll let them explain.”

  She found Annie sitting ramrod-straight on one end of Phoebe’s worn velvet love seat. Miss Dimple sat next to her in a mahogany Sheffield side chair with the flowered needlepoint seat Phoebe had stitched years before. Only their hands were touching.

  Charlie dropped to her knees in front of them. “Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry! Is it Frazier?”

  Annie looked up and without a word put a letter into Charlie’s hands. It was written on the thin tissuelike paper issued to servicemen and women, and Charlie paused to get control of her trembling hands before reading it. At least, she thought, it wasn’t the horrible yellow telegram.

  The brief message apparently had been scrawled hastily with a pencil and addressed to Miss Annie Gardner, Elderberry, Georgia. Glancing at the signature at the bottom, Charlie didn’t recognize the name. She glanced up. “Alex Carpenter?”

  “Just read it,” Miss Dimple urged her.

  Dear Annie,

  I remembered you lived in a little Georgia town called Elderberry, so I’m hoping this will reach you okay. Frazier was in my unit, but we got separated after bombs killed several of our men. I couldn’t find Frazier among the dead, but we’ve been under fire and I haven’t seen him since that happened over a week ago. Knowing him, I reckon he’ll come out just fine, but it’s hard to send word from here with the Germans out to get us as much as we’re out to get them. He talks about you all the time and I know he’d want me to tell you how much he loves you. I hope by the time you get this you will have heard from h
im.

  Lt. Alex Carpenter, U.S. Army

  The letter was dated July 27, 1944.

  Charlie felt relief wash over her, but her hands still shook as she read the note once again. “Annie, this is a good thing. He said he couldn’t find Frazier among the dead, and surely you would have heard by now if he’d been … if something had happened.”

  Annie nodded and Charlie could see she was trying to smile. “You should call Frazier’s parents,” Charlie suggested. “Maybe they’ve heard something more by now.”

  “I already have.” Annie held out her hand for the letter and folded it; then, as if thinking better of it, she opened it in her lap and stroked the paper lightly with her fingers.

  “What did they say?” Charlie asked.

  “His mother cried.” Annie seemed to disregard her own tears. “They haven’t heard from him, either.”

  “And also no telegram from the War Department,” Miss Dimple reminded her. “I believe Frazier’s friend was attempting to reassure you—at least as best he could.”

  “But that was written weeks ago, and Frazier had been missing a week already … and he said they were under fire from the Germans. We all knew that, of course. They’re having to fight their way inland a little at a time.… I don’t even want to think about it. Anything could’ve happened to him!” Annie stood suddenly and went to the window, as if she were hoping to see Frazier rounding the corner at the end of the block. “Why doesn’t he write?”

  “Probably because he doesn’t have the opportunity, or the means to send anything just now.” Miss Dimple spoke in a firm voice. “Until he does, I believe he would want you to try to go on with your life as best you can.”

  Charlie gripped the back of Miss Dimple’s chair and looked away. How awful to live in limbo like this! This continued not knowing was eating away at everyone. But it could be worse, much worse. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and took a deep, calming breath.