Bobby Tinsley sat on the edge of the stage and seemed to study his feet. “All right then,” he said finally. “Can any of you give me an idea when you last saw Buddy Oglesby?”
“He was at the props table on the right side of the stage just before we took our bows,” Reynolds Murphy volunteered. “I noticed him when I left my flowers there.”
Charlie held back a smile as she remembered the hideous mismatched bouquets of artificial flowers the bridesmaids had carried.
“And I got rid of my fan there, too,” Delby said. A couple of others added that they, too, had happily shed some of their wedding accessories at Buddy’s table. Others had exited on the other side, where Jesse Dean collected their props.
Chief Tinsley looked from one to the other. “So what made Jesse Dean switch to the other side?”
“I think I know.” Ed Willingham spoke up. “I’m afraid that might be my fault. I borrowed some of my costume from Mrs. Brumlow, and she made good and sure we all knew she wanted everything kept together. But I dropped one of the gloves during the wedding, and somebody picked it up and threw it backstage to Jesse Dean’s table on the left. As soon as the show was over—but before we took our bows—I left the other glove, along with the top hat and ascot, on the other side with Buddy because that’s where I always exited. Jesse Dean must have noticed the glove was in the wrong place—you know how conscientious he is—and everybody knew Emmaline would’ve had a fit if she didn’t get all of her stuff back, so it looks like he made a point to return it to the table with the other things.”
“And which side was he on before the lights went out … before you heard the shot?”
This was met with silence as the men looked at one another in an effort to remember.
“He was still on the left!” Sam Odom, who had played the minister, exclaimed. “I remember him looking kind of shocked when I threw down the book I was using for a Bible. It was actually an outdated textbook I had back in college.”
“So he must have gone over to return the glove while the rest of you were taking bows,” Bobby said. “I guess that’s when Buddy left since none of you seems to have seen him since…” The police chief took a pencil from his pocket and threaded it through his fingers. “That is, if he left. Did any of you notice anything out of the ordinary about Buddy tonight?” Bobby asked.
“I doubt if any of us had time to notice much with all that’s been going on,” Reynolds told him, “but … well, maybe it was just me, but I thought Buddy had seemed on edge the last few days. I just assumed it was because of all his responsibilities for the rally.”
Several others admitted that they had noticed it as well. “And don’t forget how he reacted at rehearsal the other night when somebody mentioned that skeleton they found,” Sam added. “I thought he was going to hit somebody.”
Chief Tinsley frowned. “But, think now … let’s be sure … none of you has seen him since the incident with the rifle tonight?”
Everyone jumped as the front doors of the building slammed abruptly and Officer Padgett hurried down the aisle to speak in an undertone to the chief.
Bobby Tinsley stood with a sigh. “I might as well tell you we haven’t had any luck locating Buddy Oglesby with any of his poker buddies, and his aunt says he still hasn’t shown up there…” He shook his head as he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his glistening forehead. “I don’t mind telling you, it isn’t looking good.”
“Do you think it will be all right if we leave now?” Reynolds asked, half-rising from his seat. “It’s really late, and I have to check on things at the store before I can go home.”
The chief held up a hand. “Now, just hang on a minute there! How many of you who were in the wedding drove here tonight?”
The high school was located several blocks from the main residential area, and every one of the men raised a hand.
“We still haven’t located the weapon that was used, and I’ve asked a couple of my men to search the classrooms that were locked, as well as the cars,” Chief Tinsley said. “After that, you’re free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it looks like we have a dangerous person running loose, and that rifle might still have prints.”
The two young women, he added, were free to leave, but because they were riding with Charlie’s uncle Ed, they would be forced to remain as well.
“I’m glad to stay if you think it will do any good, but that rifle is probably at the bottom of the river by now,” Jordan McGregor said, yawning.
“I think you’re right,” Sebastian Weaver agreed. “Whoever used that weapon tonight wouldn’t put it back in his own car. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“None of this makes any sense to me!” Sam Odom muttered.
“Well, then, let’s hurry and get on with it,” Uncle Ed said. “It was past my bedtime an hour ago.”
“You can search the whole town for all I care, but I’m getting out of this blasted dress!” Reynolds Murphy announced, tugging at his gold taffeta gown.
* * *
He had changed into a lightweight shirt and comfortable trousers a few minutes later when one of the older policemen returned with a weapon held over his head like a trophy.
“Is that my rifle?” Ed asked, rising.
“You tell me,” Bobby Tinsley said, holding the gun at a distance.
“Sure looks like it,” Ed said, trying to get a closer look. “Where’d you find it?”
The large room grew silent as Chief Tinsley looked about before answering. “Under a blanket in the trunk of your Plymouth, Reynolds. Mind telling us what it was doing there?”
The merchant’s face grew red as he glared at him in apparent confusion. “How am I supposed to know that since I sure as hell didn’t put it there? Is this some kind of joke?”
“If it is, it isn’t funny,” Coach McGregor said. “Anybody could’ve put that gun in there.”
“That’s right,” Ed Willingham echoed, stepping up to stand with Reynolds. “I don’t see how you could even think that of Reynolds, Bobby. Why, you’ve known him all your life.”
“Right,” Delby added. “Besides, when do you think he would’ve had time to do it?”
Chief Tinsley pretended to study about that for a minute. “Well … being as most of your vehicles were parked just behind the auditorium, it would’ve taken only a short time for somebody to dash out one of the back exits, shove the gun in the trunk, and be back inside before any of you noticed he was gone. With all the confusion when the lights went out and after the shot was fired, how many of you can vouch for Reynolds—or anybody else—during that time?”
“Huh! I can damn well vouch for Ed!” Delby claimed. “He stepped on my foot, and I’m almost sure he tore my train.”
This brought laughter in spite of the seriousness of the situation, except for Reynolds, who continued to frown.
“And I can do the same for Delby,” Ed said. “I honestly don’t see how he could have run outside and back in that getup with all those pillows in his bosom. Besides, he was standing next to me when we heard the shot.”
“What about the rest of you?” the chief asked. “Any of you remember who was near you at that time?”
Sebastian said he had just passed Sam Odom and Evan Mitchell in the passageway behind stage right and had heard both men shouting questions after the shot was fired. H. G. Dobbins, on his way to the dressing room, claimed to have heard them as well.
“For what it’s worth, I was on my way backstage to get out of that long-tailed dress when the lights went out,” Reynolds volunteered.
“Any idea who might’ve been near you?” Bobby Tinsley asked.
Reynolds shook his head. “No, but all hell broke loose after we heard that shot, and then Jesse Dean hollered, except we didn’t know yet it was Jesse Dean. Somebody bumped into me as I was fumbling around, trying to find my way in the dark, but I couldn’t tell who it was.” He looked about at the others. “You all do believe me, don’t you?”
A
chorus of positive endorsements followed, and Charlie found herself agreeing with the rest of them. She had always liked Reynolds Murphy and while in high school had spent a couple of weeks during Christmas vacation working in his store for spending money. Murphy’s Five and Ten was a favorite place for many of the local children as well because Reynolds let them browse freely through the comic book selection.
The local police chief, she noticed, maintained a stoic expression. “Oh, go on home, all of you!” he said finally. “But, Reynolds, don’t plan to take any trips before we get to the bottom of this.”
* * *
Charlie found Jo and Delia waiting up for her when she got home that night. Her mother had sacrificed precious sugar to make hot chocolate, and the three sat sipping it at the kitchen table. She was certain her aunt Lou had stayed up to greet her uncle as well.
“Poor Reynolds!” her mother said. “Why in the world would he want to shoot Jesse Dean?”
“Everybody seems to think Buddy was meant to be the victim,” Charlie told her.
“Well, why would he want to shoot Buddy, either?” her mother huffed. “That’s just plain ridiculous! Somebody must’ve planted that rifle there.”
“Wonder why they chose that particular car,” Delia said.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the closest one,” Charlie said, yawning. She wished she had a marshmallow to melt in her drink. She missed marshmallows, which were in short supply, along with most everything else. Charlie drank her chocolate slowly, relishing the rich, dark sweetness. Thank goodness she didn’t have to go to school tomorrow! She felt she could sleep for a year.
“Poor Reynolds!” her mother sighed again. “Well, at least they didn’t arrest him.”
But soon they would hear otherwise.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Oh, this was just too good! What luck! If one played one’s cards right, there was no telling how much this could be worth. Of course there was danger involved, but it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Actually, the thought was stimulating. Not that the other little scheme wasn’t proving profitable. Not by a long shot, but that was easy money. This would require caution—extreme caution—in addition to some long-term planning, and, of course, a good bit of luck.
But that was what made it fun.
* * *
Miss Dimple Kilpatrick sat in her usual pew in the fourth row from the back on the left-hand side of Elderberry First Methodist Church and fingered the tiny gold bar pin at her throat. The pin had belonged to her mother, gone so long now Dimple could barely recall her face, but touching the simple jewelry somehow brought her closer, as well as bringing a brief respite of peace.
With all the war going on in the world, peace would be most welcome here in her little town, but that was not to be. Even here in this sacred place the talk before the service was of nothing but the shocking news of the night before.
The morning was warm, and even with the windows open, people in the congregation stirred the air with cardboard fans showing Jesus blessing the children on one side and an advertisement for Riley’s Funeral Home on the other. It came to her attention that someone nearby was wearing Evening in Paris cologne, and the scent was overpowering. Miss Dimple reached for a fan.
The minister chose to speak that day about pathways and the choices thereof, using as a reference Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” a favorite poem of hers. Miss Dimple wondered what pathway Buddy Oglesby might have taken since he seemed to be missing. There had even been speculation earlier that perhaps he was fleeing from Reynolds Murphy or whoever shot poor Jesse Dean. And now Reynolds was being questioned, not only on suspicion of shooting Jesse but of killing his own wife!
For now the pathetic remains in the water-soaked grave had a name: Cynthia Murphy. Everyone thought she had run off with a traveling salesman when she’d disappeared several years before, and no one, it seemed, had been shocked, or even surprised. Cynthia Murphy was a well-known flirt, and most people considered her absence good riddance, except for Reynolds, who had never stopped looking for his wife or expecting her to return. Finally, feeling inadequate to raise his young son alone, he had enrolled the boy in an expensive military school. Everyone knew Reynolds Murphy was an expert marksman and even instructed the men of the Home Guard in riflery, but was he capable of committing murder? She fervently hoped not, yet someone had buried Cynthia Murphy in the Hutchinsons’ river-bottom field, and the fact that the woman’s dental records matched the teeth on the skeletal remains had recently come to the attention of the authorities.
She had been pleased when, at the beginning of the service, the minister had announced that Jesse Dean was improving and requested the congregation pray for his recovery. Miss Dimple planned not only to do that but to visit her friend as well. Perhaps Phoebe’s cook, Odessa, also a friend of the young man, would bake him some of her special gingerbread cookies.
Across the aisle Louise Willingham plucked at the neckline of her dress as she fanned. Being rather generously endowed, Lou seemed to suffer more in the heat than her slender sister Jo, who sat beside her. Ed Willingham had not accompanied his wife to church today, she noted, probably because he wanted to avoid talk of all the dreadful happenings of the night before.
Louise, on the other hand, had seemed to relish the attention before church that morning as she attempted to answer questions right and left. As fond as she was of Lou Willingham, Dimple Kilpatrick knew without a shadow of a doubt that every story the woman told would grow like Jack’s beanstalk as the day wore on.
“Well, for all we know, poor Buddy Oglesby could be lying dead out there somewhere,” Alma Owens said after church that day as people gathered in hushed clusters on the lawn. “I heard nobody’s laid eyes on him since that happened to Jesse Dean. And is it true they found the rifle in Reynolds Murphy’s car? It’s hard to believe he would do such a thing!”
Bessie Jenkins, who happened to overhear, stepped up, eyes snapping. “You can hardly blame Reynolds for whatever happened to Buddy, Alma, since he was right there in the auditorium the whole time.”
Alma sniffed. “He managed to get away long enough to hide that gun in his trunk, didn’t he?”
“Miss Bessie’s right,” Charlie said, slipping an arm around her neighbor. “We don’t know who put that rifle in Reynolds’s car.” In fact, she thought, they were a long way from knowing much of anything.
She had been saddened and shocked when they learned the identity of the remains that morning, although even back in high school Charlie had heard rumors about Cynthia Murphy, who was, according to whispers, “no better than she should be” and “too fast for her own good.” Apparently, Charlie thought, the latter had been true. “This must be horrible for Reynolds,” she said. “He never gave up hoping Cynthia would come back—even had the kitchen remodeled with new cabinets and everything. Said she’d always hated the ones they had.”
“Looks like she was ‘one that loved not wisely but too well,’” Annie said as they walked home.
Charlie smiled at her friend’s choice of quote. “Doesn’t seem like she loved too well, either. Somebody must not have thought so.”
Annie shook her head. “But you know how nice Reynolds is! I just can’t believe he’d do a thing like that.”
Charlie frowned. “I remember when she disappeared. Reynolds had been on a buying trip to Atlanta and came home to find her gone. Ross, their son, was on some kind of outing with the Scouts, and nobody was at home. They say he was frantic not knowing where she was.”
“Who could blame him?” Annie said. “Didn’t they have any idea what might’ve happened?”
“A waitress at some dive in the next county said she’d seen her with a man not long before they discovered her missing.” She paused. “The man wasn’t Reynolds. Maybe we’ll know more after they check the gun for prints,” Charlie added. “It won’t tell us who killed Cynthia, but they might be able to know if Reynolds handled the gun last night.”
“Even I would k
now better than to shoot somebody and not wipe my fingerprints from the weapon,” Annie said.
“Or put it in my car where anybody could find it,” Charlie added. “A little too convenient if you ask me!”
“You think somebody planted it there on purpose? Who?”
Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think it’ll be a long time before anybody in Elderberry puts on a womanless wedding.”
“At least it brought in a lot of money for the rally. In addition to the ticket sales, Virginia told me last night they sold several thousand dollars in War Bonds.”
“I know she’s glad this is over,” Charlie said. “All the responsibility of being in charge of the rally must’ve been stressful. What happened to Jesse Dean last night had nothing to do with her, so I think we should congratulate her on a job well done.”
“I didn’t see Virginia at church this morning,” Annie said. “I hope she’s all right, but I guess she’s just exhausted after all this.”
Charlie nodded. “Probably still asleep.” She walked a little faster. “We’re having hot dogs and baked beans for lunch. Wanna join us?”
“I thought you’d never ask!”
* * *
“Virginia?” Dimple Kilpatrick stood at the door of the small bungalow on Myrtle Street and peered in the narrow side window. She really hadn’t expected to see her friend at church that morning after the exhausting activities of the day before, but Odessa had baked date-nut bread earlier and Virginia was fond of having it with cream cheese for supper.
“Virginia?” Again Miss Dimple called and twisted the old-fashioned bell in the center of the green-painted door. The Sunday issue of the Atlanta Constitution had been tossed into the boxwoods by the steps, and she retrieved it, clamping it under one arm while holding the bread wrapped in wax paper in the other. Now she was beginning to be concerned. Virginia Balliew was never too tired to read her morning paper.
The interior of the house appeared dark. On the table by the window she saw the back of a photograph she knew was of Virginia’s late husband, Albert, beside a stack of books her friend planned to read. Across the room on the mantel, yellow and orange bittersweet berries cascaded from a brown earthenware pot.
Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause Page 11
