Stopping for a cup of tea, she continued to pour over names and faces of the other students, and had almost given up on learning anything of interest when she came to the page featuring the senior class dance.
Buddy Oglesby, wearing a dark suit and a wide grin, stood under a flower-covered archway with a pretty dark-haired girl who reminded Dimple of Clara Bow in the old silent movies.
Underneath the photograph, the cutline read: Buddy and Cynthia—Still waters run deep!
Had Reynolds Murphy’s wife, Cynthia, attended Elderberry High School? Certainly she didn’t remember teaching her in the first grade, so she must have enrolled later. Dimple thumbed back to the beginning of the annual from that same year, which would have been the year Buddy graduated. And there, in the freshman class, already looking older and more knowledgeable than her classmates, was Cynthia Ann Noland, who would later marry Reynolds Murphy and end up in a lonely, waterlogged grave beside a cotton field.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Annie attached postage to letters for Frazier and her brother Joel, pressing them down with her fingers to be sure the glue held, and slipped them through the slot in the post office lobby. If she moved fast enough, maybe she could make it to Brumlow’s Dry Goods before they closed for the day. She had been eyeing a certain pullover sweater on display there for several weeks and was hoping Emmaline would finally put it on sale. The sweater was a deep burgundy, the color of ripe mulberries or sweet gum leaves in the fall, and it would look perfect with her gray pleated skirt. Frazier liked her in vivid colors, and it had been a long time since she’d bought something new. Annie smiled to herself. Soon she would be meeting him in Atlanta for their last time together before he left for overseas, and she was counting the days.
* * *
She was disappointed, but not surprised, to find the price of the sweater the same. Annie didn’t see Emmaline in the front of the store, but her daughter Arden, who was waiting for Bessie Jenkins to decide on a pair of gloves, smiled at her as she came in.
“I’ve been wanting to congratulate both of you for the fine job you did with the follies Saturday,” Arden said, including Bessie as well. “The costumes were great, and you did a fantastic job with the entertainment, Annie.”
Annie thanked her, as did Bessie, but neither seemed to know what to say next since Arden’s cousin Buddy seemed to have disappeared, and there was still some doubt as to whether he’d had something to do with what happened to Jesse Dean. It had even been rumored that the federal government was sending somebody to investigate.
Annie wandered about the store pretending interest in a display of jewelry under the glass case until she noticed the fine lace-trimmed underwear at the lingerie counter, and her face grew warm as she thought of what it might be like to feel the delicate peach-colored panties next to her skin. What if she and Frazier …
“Can I help you with something, Annie?” Arden asked, and Annie quickly moved away from the counter. Bessie had obviously made her purchase and left, and Annie returned her attention to the sweater.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of this going on sale anytime soon?” she asked, fingering the garment.
Arden smiled and shook her head, then glanced toward the back of the store, where Annie supposed her mother lurked. “We overstocked on this particular item, so I can give you a few dollars off,” she said in a low voice. “But please don’t spread the word.”
Annie knew she probably meant for her not to say anything about her discount to Emmaline and kept a watchful eye on the back as Arden rang up the sale. She wouldn’t blame Arden Brumlow if she did it just for spite, as everyone knew Emmaline discouraged her daughter’s marriage to her ensign fiancé to keep from having to hire extra help in the store.
At any rate, the sweater was hers, and she could hardly wait to wear it when she met Frazier in Atlanta. Annie left the store with her purchase in the familiar green-and-white bag, eager to show off the new addition to her wardrobe to her friends at Phoebe Chadwick’s.
She was waiting to cross Court Street when someone blew a horn and a familiar truck pulled up beside her.
H. G. Dobbins reached across and opened the door on the passenger side. “Hop in! I’ll give you a ride.”
“Thanks, but I have another stop to make,” Annie lied. Oh, well, she could always use a bottle of hand lotion from Murphy’s.
“Then how about supper tonight? Pick you up at six?”
“I’m sorry, H.G., Miss Phoebe’s planning on me for supper there, but thank you anyway.” Annie glanced at the traffic light. Drat! It had changed to green, forcing her to continue standing there.
“I hear there’s a pretty good movie, The Desperadoes, I think it’s called, playing over in Milledgeville. What say we try for tomorrow, maybe grab some supper on the way?”
A few cars were beginning to line up behind him, and although most were too polite to blow their horns, Annie could tell they were getting impatient. Well, so was she, and it embarrassed her to be put in such a position. Why couldn’t the man take a hint?
Stepping up to the truck, she put a hand on the passenger door and spoke as directly as possible. “I’m seeing someone, H.G., so I won’t be able to go out with you … and I believe we’re holding up traffic.” She noticed that he still wore the cowboy boots. Maybe he slept in them.
The deputy frowned, omitted a loud “Huh!” and roared away. Clutching her package, Annie hurried homeward. Surely the persistent man had finally gotten the message!
* * *
Charlie’s aunt Lou frowned as she shoved the thick yellow dough through her cookie press. “I’ve never made cheese straws with margarine in my life, but it’ll just have to do. Maybe they’ll taste all right.”
Charlie sat at her aunt’s kitchen table cracking pecans for the miniature tarts Lou would make with dark corn syrup and heavy cream for her upcoming party. “Everything you bake tastes good, Aunt Lou, and if people don’t know about rationing, they must’ve been living on the moon.”
“All this business with Reynolds Murphy’s wife turning up dead like that has sure put a damper on things, and now the police are questioning him about her murder,” Lou said as she lined up dainty pastries on a baking sheet. “Why, Reynolds was crazy about that woman—gave her anything she wanted. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”
Charlie said she guessed Cynthia Murphy would rather not have turned up dead, either, if she’d had a choice in the matter.
“Oh, you know very well what I mean, Charlie Carr!” Her aunt Lou made a face at her as she slid the cheese straws into the oven. “And now it looks like Buddy Oglesby’s disappeared with all that money from the bond sales, and poor Virginia’s about to have a nervous breakdown. You can’t tell me this didn’t all start when what was left of that woman turned up on the Hutchinsons’ farm.”
Her aunt had a point, Charlie thought as she picked out the last of the nut meats and scooped the shells into a newspaper. It did seem that many of their recent problems had begun there.
“I hear Jesse Dean’s home from the hospital,” Aunt Lou continued. “Bless his heart, I think I’ll take him some vegetable soup and cornbread. Do you think he’ll be able to eat things like that?”
Charlie laughed. “He didn’t seem to have a problem with the cookies I brought him, and he’s able to walk a little now. He’s still weak, of course, but raring to go. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him back at the store before too long.”
Her aunt frowned. “Does he seem uneasy about … well, you know … somebody coming back to finish the job? Poor Jesse Dean! I’d be looking behind me every minute.”
“I know. He did seem a little jumpy, but I suppose that’s natural after what he’s gone through. From what I’ve heard, the police aren’t sure that bullet was meant for Jesse Dean.”
“Then who?” Aunt Lou asked.
“Could’ve been Buddy,” Charlie said. “He was usually on that side of the stage, and both were wearing dark clothing.”
Aunt Lou put her empty mixing bowl in the sink and filled it with water. A damp spot from leaning against the sink spread across her red striped apron, but she didn’t seem to notice. “But they haven’t been able to locate Buddy, so how do they know somebody didn’t shoot him, too?”
“He’s been acting peculiar lately—all nervous and jittery. Several people have noticed it. I don’t like to believe it’s true, but have you considered that Buddy might’ve been the one who did the shooting?” Charlie reasoned. “After all, both the War Bond money and Buddy Oglesby disappeared about the same time Jesse Dean was shot.”
“If he really did take that money, he’d better steer clear of Virginia Balliew,” her aunt said. “He’d have a better chance with Bobby Tinsley and his crew.”
Charlie agreed, but if Buddy wasn’t the one who fired the rifle, the evidence pointed to Reynolds Murphy, the genial merchant who always tossed in extra candy for children who shopped at his store. No. It had to have been somebody else.
Charlie helped herself to a glass of iced tea from the white stoneware pitcher her aunt always kept in the refrigerator. She wasn’t going to think about it anymore—for a while, at least. “Who’s coming to your party Saturday? Anybody I know?”
Her aunt laughed. Of course her niece knew them all. “The list is out in the hall by the telephone, and just about everybody’s coming. Except for Jesse Dean, who’s not able, and a couple of people who plan to be out of town.”
* * *
“Of course you’re going, Virginia!” Dimple Kilpatrick stood in front of the open door of her friend’s closet, reached in, and chose two dresses, a blue-and-white georgette and a green tailored shirtwaist with wide lapels. “There’s nothing wrong with either of these.”
Virginia groaned. “The blue one’s too summery. It is October, you know.”
Dimple nodded. “And still warm as springtime outside, but green’s more your color anyway.”
Virginia pushed it away. “I never have liked that dress. Really, Dimple, I’d rather not go.”
Miss Dimple hung the garments back in the closet and sat on the side of the bed. “This has nothing to do with dresses, does it?” When her friend didn’t answer, she continued. “No one in his right mind thinks you had anything to do with the missing bond money, but if you keep to yourself and act like you’re ashamed, they might begin to wonder.”
“I just don’t think I can do it. I have to make myself open the library every day and sit there pretending as if nothing’s happened, but I know what people are thinking.”
“Then perhaps you might want to consider a mind-reading booth at the Halloween carnival this year. I wasn’t aware you had that gift.”
Dimple was pleased when Virginia smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, Dimple … all those people! Everybody in town will be there.”
Miss Dimple touched her friend’s shoulder. “And every one’s a friend. Now, what about this gray one with the turquoise trim?”
Sighing, Virginia waved her hand. “If only the police had arrived sooner Saturday night, all this might have been avoided.”
Dimple paused, gray dress in hand. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? There was some kind of false alarm that sent Bobby Tinsley way out to the edge of town, so he was late getting to the auditorium to collect the money.”
“Of course! I remember Charlie going to look for a telephone, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I know you didn’t let that satchel out of your sight during the first part of the follies.”
“Buddy helped with sales during intermission and turned the money over to Bobby as soon as he arrived.”
“But as it turned out, it wasn’t all the money,” Dimple said. “Someone had to switch what was in that other satchel just before the entertainment began after intermission.”
“Dimple, I counted every penny of that money and put it in the satchel myself,” Virginia insisted.
“And then what?”
“Well, I knew the police were on the way, so I left it with Buddy and went back to my seat in the auditorium…” Pausing, Virginia grasped the closet door for support. “Oh, Dimple, that must’ve been when he did it. He took the money out of the satchel and crammed it full of leftover follies programs before turning the satchel over to the police.”
“How long do you think you were gone before the police came to collect it?”
Virginia frowned. “Not long. Probably about five or ten minutes. The lobby was empty because it was almost time for the womanless wedding to begin.”
“And Buddy was there the whole time you were gone?”
“He said he was, but you know as well as I do that Buddy Oglesby’s word is worth about as much as last year’s ration book. Dimple, what in the world am I going to do?”
Dimple Kilpatrick draped her friend’s gray dress across the foot of the bed. “Well, first of all, I think you should tell Bobby Tinsley exactly what you’ve just told me, and tomorrow you should wear this dress and those lovely aquamarine earrings your Albert gave you and go to the Willinghams’ party.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
What a fool the woman had been! She had actually believed him when he told her they would run away together. Everybody knew she slept with any man who took her fancy. Well, he’d taken her fancy and he’d enjoyed it, but that was the end of it. And now, after all this time, she turned up like a bad penny! Still, there had been times when he’d remember her laugh, the intoxicating scent of her, and the way she could tease a man to distraction. Two years was a long time, but not long enough.
* * *
Lou Willingham passed around a silver tray of dainty sandwiches cut in a variety of shapes. The tray had belonged to her grandmother on her father’s side, and she had made the sandwiches after she got home from the ordnance plant the day before. “Please have a sandwich, Marjorie, and how about another cup of Russian tea?”
Marjorie Mote smiled and selected a sandwich shaped like a pumpkin. (Lou had put her Halloween cookie cutters to good use.) “I just can’t resist olives and cream cheese, and your cheese straws are always a treat, Lou. What a nice idea this was.”
“I’m afraid we get so busy we don’t make time to visit anymore, so this gives me an excuse and an opportunity to introduce everyone to Jordan and Millie.” Lou moved along with her tray and glanced back to see Marjorie chatting with Bessie Jenkins. It was good to see her neighbor enjoying herself once again after losing a son during the first year of the war. The Motes’ remaining son was now stationed with the army somewhere in Europe, and the gold star in their window had been joined by a blue one.
Phoebe Chadwick sat quietly in a corner with a plate on her lap and an expression on her face that clearly read “keep out.” Earlier Lou had seen her sister, Jo, go over and speak to her, as had several others, but apparently their conversations had been brief.
Well, this would never do! Lou quickly replenished her supply of sandwiches and went over to sit beside Phoebe. “A penny for your thoughts?” she said.
“What?” Phoebe blinked and looked about. “I’m sorry, Lou. My mind’s a million miles away.”
Lou smiled. “With your nephew, I’ll bet. How is he?”
“Harrison’s doing all right, or at least he says he is. It’s a shame, though, how they drill these poor boys until they’re completely exhausted.”
Lou set her tray aside and took the woman’s hand. “They’re turning them into men, Phoebe. God bless ’em. Now, let me refresh your punch. Have you tried one of my tarts?”
Phoebe thanked her and declined, sinking back into her reverie, and Lou made her way across the room, where Alma Owens had poor Harris Cooper backed into a space between two overstuffed chairs.
“And to think we’ve been trading with Reynolds Murphy all this time after he did such an unspeakable thing!” Alma said. “But you know, I always did think his eyes were too close together.”
“It hasn’t been proved yet that he did anything, A
lma. They’re only holding him for questioning,” Harris said while signaling “help me” to Lou with his eyes.
“Well, it certainly took them long enough, and I don’t know about you, Harris, but I hope they won’t release him anytime soon. Why, I won’t feel safe walking our streets. After all, how do we know we won’t be next?”
“Well, now, I don’t know about … that is, we just can’t…” Harris looked frantically about for a route of escape, and Lou obligingly stepped up to the rescue. “I think someone’s looking for you in the dining room,” she said to Harris, nodding her head in that direction. “Another sandwich, Alma?” she asked, blocking the woman with her tray.
Catching Miss Dimple’s eye across the room, Lou made her way through the gathering to inquire in what she considered hushed tones about Phoebe’s strange behavior. “What on earth’s gotten into Phoebe Chadwick?” she asked. “She looks like death warmed over, and I can’t get two words out of her.”
Unfortunately, Lou had never learned to whisper, and Dimple hastily drew her into a private corner, but she was sure those standing nearby caught every word. “Yes, I’m worried about her, too,” she said, speaking softly. “I know she’s been concerned about Kathleen’s boy being drafted, but it’s more than that, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Lou shook her head. “If you could just get her to tell you what’s troubling her, maybe…”
Miss Dimple glanced at her friend still sitting gray and droopy with an empty punch cup in her lap and saw misery etched on her face. She took a deep breath. “Well, whatever it is, I plan to do my best to put a stop to it. You can count on that.”
It was unlike Dimple Kilpatrick to let emotions get the better of her, but she found it difficult to disguise the anger in her voice. She was almost certain her friend had been receiving threatening messages, and someone was responsible, possibly someone in this very room. Noticing Lou’s concerned expression, she quickly helped herself to a ghost-shaped sandwich, commented on the lovely refreshments, and moved on.
Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause Page 13
