“Did you make your quota?” Annie asked.
Virginia beamed at the idea of outselling the neighboring competition. “That and more—much more! Chief Tinsley finally got here—thank goodness—said it must’ve been a false alarm, and Buddy’s turning the money over to him. He’ll keep it in the safe over at the jail until the bank opens Monday.”
Somewhere behind the footlights, Sebastian began playing a jazzed-up version of “I Love You Truly” and, from the back of the auditorium, a tuxedo-clad “groomsman” ushered a weeping Bo Albright, in flowered hat and garish gown, to a seat in the front row; the soloist warbled “At Last” while the “minister” in an ancient frock-coat stopped up his ears in mock—or not-so-mock—horror. The wedding had begun.
The bridesmaids jogged, loped, and plodded down the aisle in a most undignified fashion while scratching themselves and tripping over the hems of their gowns. Two, who seemed to be in a race to finish first, even pummeled one another with their bouquets.
It would have been difficult to tell whether the audience laughed more when one of the grapefruit in Coach McGregor’s brassiere bounced onto the stage and rolled away, or when the “pregnant” bride waddled down the aisle with a huge pillow under his/her dress. In fact, after the show ended, everyone was still laughing so hard it took most of them a minute or so to react to the gunshot backstage.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ed Willingham tossed aside the tight cummerbund, loosened his tie, and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. Those stage lights were hot as blazes and his old tuxedo was a size too small. At least he didn’t have to wear a long dress or one of those ridiculous wigs like some of the other men. He had to admit he had fun as the shotgun-totin’ father of the bride, but Ed was glad it was over. He’d rather stand on his feet all day long poking about in somebody’s mouth than be under those stage lights in that dad-blasted tuxedo for another five minutes!
After bows, the “wedding party” (minus the bride’s pregnant padding, at Emmaline’s insistence) had assembled onstage for Bo Albright’s assistant to take pictures for next week’s Eagle, and Ed had made his way backstage as quickly as possible. The first one to reach the small dressing room, he hurried to shed his jacket and stiff, confining shirt and was buttoning a comfortable one he’d brought from home when everything suddenly went dark.
Stumbling into the hallway, he crashed into someone with an enormous pillowlike bosom trailing what seemed like an acre of lace.
Delby O’Donnell swore under his breath “Will you get off my foot? I can’t see a damn thing back here and if I don’t get outa this outfit, I’m gonna pass out from a heatstroke!”
“Sorry.” Ed backed away and stepped on somebody else. “Who’s messing with the lights back here?” he shouted, and had started to return to the dressing room to avoid further confusion when the deafening sound of gunfire stopped him in his tracks. Ed froze, crushed against the wall by Delby’s lace-shrouded bulk, as from the opposite side of the stage, someone shouted out in pain.
* * *
From her seat in the back of the auditorium, Charlie was horrified to see many in the audience flood the aisles in a rush to get to the door. Others, like her, were apparently too stunned to react right away. When the houselights came up she saw her mother and aunt Louise with determined looks on their faces bulldozing their way to one of the side doors that led to the backstage area.
“My uncle Ed’s back there!” Charlie yelled, jumping to her feet, but Miss Dimple put a hand on her arm.
“Wait! You’ll get crushed in all this crowd, and that won’t do your uncle or anyone else any good. I expect someone was playing with one of the props back there.”
What Miss Dimple said made sense, and Charlie restrained herself until she realized her uncle hadn’t brought along any ammunition for the BB gun he’d borrowed from Reynolds Murphy, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone else would need a firearm for the follies. When a cry went up from the backstage area, Charlie climbed over the seat in front of her and threaded her way down a side aisle with Annie close behind her.
“What happened? What happened? Is anyone hurt?” she asked several people as they clamored to find out what had taken place.
“I heard somebody’s been shot!” It was obvious that Oscar “Froggie” Faulkenberry was attempting to control the tremble in his voice. He held a picture hat of purple lace with a bedraggled pink flower drooping from its brim like a shield in front of him. “I was just coming offstage when it happened and have no idea what’s going on—but I intend to find out.”
“Is Doc Morrison still here?” somebody asked, and Charlie had to look twice to recognize her sister, who had changed from her Sleeping Beauty costume but still wore pink circles of makeup on her cheeks.
Elias Jackson, the high school principal, grabbed the mike and asked for order. “There has been an accident, but it’s nothing to be alarmed about,” he announced. “Please proceed calmly to an exit. If there’s a doctor in the audience, you’re needed backstage immediately.”
Charlie knew Doc Morrison was in attendance as she’d seen him earlier. The other local doctor had been about to retire when the war broke out and was called upon only in emergencies.
“Here he is!” she shouted, noticing the doctor making his way toward the stage. “Everybody make room and let him pass.”
“Back here!” Charlie’s uncle Ed, white-faced and grim, met the doctor onstage. “I’ve tried to stem the bleeding, but we have to get him to the hospital.” He grabbed the principal’s arm. “We need an ambulance now!”
Stepping aside to let the doctor pass, Charlie asked who had been hurt.
“It’s Jesse Dean,” her uncle said. “Took a bullet in the shoulder. Whoever fired that rifle seemed to be aiming at the area around the props table. It’s a miracle he’s still alive!”
Charlie, exchanging looks with Annie, rushed after them. Not only was Jesse Dean Greeson a good friend, but the three of them had survived a dangerous situation together the year before. Why would anyone want to harm kind, meek-mannered Jesse Dean? she wondered. In addition to clerking in Harris Cooper’s grocery, he was diligent in his volunteer position as air-raid warden and always seemed glad to lend a hand wherever needed. Certainly it couldn’t be that someone resented the fact that he wasn’t serving in the military, as almost everyone knew the young man had done his best to enlist but was rejected because of poor eyesight.
Jesse Dean lay on the floor where he fell, with Harris Cooper kneeling by his side, holding a cloth in place to try to stop the bleeding. The grocer looked up in obvious relief as the doctor stooped beside him. The wounded man’s face was pale and wet with perspiration, and Charlie resisted an impulse to blot it with the hem of her skirt, which was just as well because Doc Morrison barked at them all to get back and give him room.
His eyes were closed, but Jesse Dean moaned when the doctor checked his wound, and although he was able to answer the doctor’s questions, Doc Morrison had to bend down to hear him. “There doesn’t seem to be an exit wound,” Doc said, more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll have to get you to the hospital to get a closer look, but you’re doing fine, son. You just stay with us, and we’ll have you back bullying all those folks on your route in no time.”
Jesse Dean managed a weak smile, and Charlie found herself smiling, too. Their street was on his route during air-raid drills, and everyone on it knew you didn’t dare show a sliver of light. Jesse Dean took his job seriously.
“Well, where’s that blamed ambulance?” Doc demanded, rising to his knees. “We could get him there faster in a pack saddle!”
“Should be here any minute,” Delia told him. “Mr. Jackson said Emmett Riley was on the way.”
Hardly a minute passed before they heard the siren of the approaching vehicle, although everyone knew it wasn’t an ambulance but a hearse, as Emmett was one of the town’s two undertakers along with Harvey Thompson. Charlie’s aunt Lou loved telling her longstanding joke a
bout the obvious competition between the two men, who always turned on the siren when passing the other’s establishment. “Well, I see Emmett’s on his way to the grocery store again,” she’d say, and much of the time it was true.
* * *
“The weapon could still be around here somewhere,” H. G. Dobbins reminded them after Jesse Dean and the doctor were on their way to the hospital. A worried Harris Cooper, still in makeup, followed in his own car. “Has anybody thought to look?” H.G. asked.
Elderberry’s police chief, Bobby Tinsley, had left the auditorium earlier to put the proceeds from the evening’s rally sales in a safe at the jail for safekeeping, so the deputy stepped in until he could be reached.
Nobody had thought about the weapon, of course, because their attention was on Jesse Dean.
“It sure sounded like a rifle shot to me,” Ed Willingham said, “and it had to have come from the opposite side of the stage. The curtains were closed right after the photographer from the Eagle finished taking pictures, so anybody could’ve stood back here waiting and no one would’ve paid any attention.”
His wife frowned. “Waiting? Waiting for what? For Jesse Dean?”
“He was the one who usually helped with the props,” Millie said. “Except for the last few rehearsals…”
“… when Buddy stepped in to give a hand,” Annie finished. “There are two props tables, one at stage left and the other at stage right, and Jesse Dean was having trouble keeping track of things on both sides until Buddy’s aunt Emmaline suggested he help out.”
“Where is Buddy?” A quiet voice spoke up from the fringes of the group and Charlie recognized it as Miss Dimple’s. “I hope he hasn’t been injured as well.”
“He was backstage just awhile ago, but I don’t see him around now,” Froggie Faulkenberry said, looking about, and no one else had seen him, either.
“Well, there’s no rifle backstage—at least that we can find.” Evan Mitchell, the Presbyterian minister, still in pink organdy, and Sebastian Weaver had searched the dressing areas they said, but the two classrooms used for chorus and drama were locked. “If there’s a weapon back here, I don’t know where it could be,” Sebastian added.
“It’s certainly not on the prop table over here,” Charlie told them, “but this must be where somebody stood to fire the shot.”
“But Jesse Dean…” Annie shook her head. “I just don’t understand why anyone would do this to him.”
“Quite possibly Jesse Dean wasn’t meant to be the victim,” Miss Dimple suggested. “If you’ll remember, both men were wearing black—”
“And they’re about the same height and build.” Lou Willingham spoke up. “Do you think somebody might have shot Jesse Dean by mistake?”
Virginia Balliew stepped forward from where she had been standing with Miss Dimple. “Then don’t you think we’d better warn Buddy? If he was the intended target, he could be in danger.”
“We’ll have to find him first,” Coach McGregor reminded them. “I just hope we’re not too late.”
“Maybe he left with his aunt.” Reynolds Murphy, who had managed to unbutton the top of his gold taffeta gown, fanned himself with the billowing skirt. “I saw Emmaline leaving while they were taking pictures.”
Coach McGregor turned to go. “Then they should be at home by now. I’ll see if I can find them.”
“Whoa! Not so fast!” H.G. held up a hand. “It’ll be quicker if we call.” He nodded to the principal, who nodded in return and ran to use the telephone in his office. He looked, Charlie thought, as if he’d been up all night, and the last time she’d checked the time it was only a few minutes before eleven.
“I think it would be a good idea for all of us to stay together until Chief Tinsley gets here,” the deputy continued. “I’m sure he’ll want to ask questions of anyone who was backstage at the time we heard the shot.”
“Buddy seems to have disappeared,” Reynolds Murphy said. “And Harris followed the ambulance to the hospital.” Frowning, he looked about. “But I think the rest of us are here.”
“Golly!” Delia whispered to Charlie. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a real whodunit.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet Jesse Dean feels that way, too,” Charlie said. “I hope he’s going to be all right.”
“Harris Cooper said he’d try and let us know as soon as he learned anything,” her mother said, “but since your aunt Lou and I weren’t backstage when all this happened, we’re going to head on home.”
“Oh, my gosh! I guess Violet’s wondering where on earth I am,” Delia gasped. “I’ll go with you.”
H.G. rose on his toes and exhaled so that all could hear. “I’m sorry to have to inconvenience anyone, but it would be an advantage, I think, to have a few of you remain who might have observed something from the audience.” He looked right at Annie. “I hope you don’t mind. Of course I’ll see that you get home safely.”
“Certainly,” Annie said with a sidelong glance at Charlie. “Charlie will stay and help me, won’t you?”
Charlie nodded. “Sure. And please don’t worry about getting us home. Uncle Ed can give us a ride,” she said with a meaningful look at her uncle.
“If you learn anything, please wake me when you get home,” Jo whispered to Charlie on the way out, and Charlie promised that she would.
Miss Dimple and her friend Virginia left at the same time, and the rest of them were sitting in the first few rows as H.G. had instructed when Elias Jackson dashed in to tell them in a breathless voice that Buddy Oglesby had not left with his aunt and that Emmaline didn’t know where he was.
Charlie noticed that the deputy frequently focused his gaze on Annie as he spoke, and apparently Annie noticed it, too, as she fidgeted in her seat and seemed intent on looking at the floor. Fortunately, Chief Tinsley and another officer arrived shortly and, after thanking the deputy, politely requested that he join the others.
“First of all,” he told them when everyone was settled, “Harris called from the hospital to let us know that Jesse Dean’s doing all right. Doc removed a bullet from his left shoulder and patched him up just fine. He’s sleeping right now, and from what Doc says, I doubt he could tell us much anyway, but I sent Warren over there to keep an eye on things.”
Ed spoke out from the second row. “To tell you the truth, we’re concerned about Buddy. Nobody’s seen him since before this all happened, and he was working that side of the stage earlier, so we’re not so sure he wasn’t the one who was meant to take that bullet.”
The policeman frowned. “Did you check with Emmaline?”
Ed nodded. “She hasn’t seen him, either, but said he sometimes stays out late. I think he plays poker with some of the men from the Home Guard on Saturdays.”
“Do you know who they are?” the chief asked, and Ed gave him a couple of names.
Bobby Tinsley looked at his watch and said something to Fulton Padgett, the policeman who had accompanied him, who nodded and left immediately.
He turned again to Ed. “Didn’t you report a missing rifle a week or so back?”
“That’s right. Did you find it?”
“Not yet,” the chief said, “but I think we found one of the bullets. Doc took it out of Jesse Dean’s shoulder. Doesn’t your rifle shoot a 22 LR?”
Ed Willingham’s face turned stormy. “You mean some tomfool idjit used my rifle to shoot Jesse Dean Greeson? Well, that just gripes my middle kidney!”
It was as close to cursing as he would come.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Where was he to go? And what was he to do? Who would’ve thought it would come to this, especially in an auditorium packed with people, but that had been the perfect cover, hadn’t it? The sudden darkness, the pandemonium that followed the gunfire. And the board that controlled the stage lights was right beside the props table on that side of the stage. How convenient was that?
Buddy drove to the pinewoods on the edge of town and parked his car to think about what to do next.
* * *
From their seats in the third row of the auditorium, Charlie and Annie wrote down the names of all those they remembered seeing near the stage close to the time they heard the shot. At Chief Tinsley’s request, others were doing the same.
“Most of those who were in the earlier skits left as soon as the womanless wedding was over,” Annie told him. “The fifth- and sixth-grade girls went home with their parents, and I heard the high school kids in the dance number talking about going somewhere for Cokes.”
Charlie sighed. “As far as I know, except for Sebastian, the men in the wedding were the only ones back there.”
“What about Millie?”
Annie looked about. “I remember seeing her backstage after we heard the shot. Before that she was sitting somewhere near the front with Delia, wasn’t she?”
“Right.” Charlie frowned. “But where is she now?”
“Nervous stomach,” Coach McGregor explained of his wife. “Gets all torn up in emergencies. Been like this since I’ve known her, but she’ll be fine,” he added, seeing their concern. “Just needs to get home and rest. Said she’d catch a ride with the Baptist minister and his wife. They live just across the street, so I expect she’s probably asleep by now.”
“Before you heard the shot,” the chief said, continuing, “did you notice anyone going backstage who was not involved in the wedding?”
Charlie shook her head, as did Annie. Neither had observed anything unusual.
“What about afterward?” he asked the two of them. “Did you see anybody leaving that area?”
“I just remember people scrambling to get out while we were trying to wade through them in the opposite direction,” Charlie told him. “The only ones I saw backstage, in addition to those who were in the wedding, were friends and relatives frantically trying to find out what happened.”
“And it was black as pitch back there until somebody finally managed to turn on the lights.” Geneva’s husband, Sam Odom, spoke up. “Why, Adolph Hitler himself could’ve been standing right next to me and I wouldn’t have known it.”
Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause Page 10
