Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause

by Mignon F. Ballard

  Miss Dimple agreed and hoped it would work out for all of them. “Have they heard any more from Hugh?” she asked.

  “We know he was wounded at Vella Lavella in the Solomons and he’s on a hospital ship somewhere, but that’s all,” Buddy told her. “Arden says her mother won’t go in the front of the house because she’s afraid she’ll see the boy on the black bicycle. You know, the one who delivers the telegrams.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Miss Dimple rose early as usual. Today the sun was not as lively as she, and the sky in the east was lightly streaked with the soft gray light of a promised dawn as if the Creator had barely stroked it with a giant brush. Miss Dimple never tired of watching the earth slowly come to life with faint tinges of gold and rose, followed by a glorious burst of color no artist could reproduce, no matter how hard he tried.

  Pausing to collect scraps of litter on her morning walk, Miss Dimple thought of her friend Virginia, her joyful self once again now that the missing bond money had been returned. The extra money that had been in the envelope was exactly the amount Phoebe had paid to the person who had been blackmailing her, and they were almost certain that person was Millie.

  And if Millie McGregor was blackmailing Phoebe, was it possible she had been doing the same thing to someone else?

  With the point of her umbrella, Miss Dimple speared part of a Hershey bar wrapper and a discarded paper bag that had probably held someone’s lunch, and shoved them into the container she carried for that purpose. Millie had been found in the vacant lot next door to the abandoned house that had been her “collection center.” Had she been running from one of her blackmail victims when she collided with that tree?

  * * *

  Phoebe Chadwick was having a wonderful day. Kathleen had written to tell her she and her husband were coming for Thanksgiving and if all went as planned, Harrison might be able to join them—for a day or so at least. She had also received a chatty letter from Harrison, who told her he would soon be sending her a photograph of himself in his uniform, and she could hardly wait. What a handsome soldier he would make! The photo would share the mantel in the parlor with his mother’s wedding picture. She and Kathleen had decided to wait until they were all together to tell him the truth about his heritage. Phoebe’s sister and her husband, who had raised Kathleen, had died fairly close together when Harrison was eight or nine, so Phoebe had become accustomed to the role of surrogate grandmother, but now it would be different!

  Odessa, delighted that Phoebe’s appetite had improved, was making her favorite chicken pie for supper, and the rich aroma made Phoebe’s stomach growl in anticipation. Humming to herself, Phoebe went into the kitchen to see if she could help.

  “Well, I got all this here grease that oughta go to the butcher if anybody’s goin’ to town.” Odessa held up the can she kept to collect the used cooking grease that was employed in the manufacture of explosives; they turned it in to Shorty Skinner, the butcher, on a regular basis.

  “I believe Miss Dimple said something about the post office,” Phoebe told her as she plucked a used paper bag from the bin in the pantry and slipped the can inside.

  “Be sure she asks for that can back,” Odessa said. “You can’t get one like that with a lid and everything no more.”

  Phoebe promised, and Miss Dimple did the same. She needed shampoo as well as stamps but would stop by the butcher shop first, she said.

  She was leaving the butcher’s a little while later when Dimple met Josephine Carr on the same errand, and the two women visited together for a few minutes under Shorty Skinner’s green-striped awning, where they could be out of the afternoon sun.

  “What a frightening experience that must have been for you and Louise when you discovered poor Millie McGregor,” Miss Dimple began. “I think you were most courageous to stay and help.”

  “It was a little nerve-racking,” Jo admitted, “but what else could we do? And Lou was the brave one. She insisted on staying behind while I went for help.”

  “She must’ve been looking over her shoulder the whole time,” Miss Dimple said. “Charlie tells me you saw someone running away.”

  Jo nodded, frowning. “I wish I could’ve been more help with the description, but it was dark and I couldn’t see his face.” She hoped Miss Dimple wouldn’t ask what she and her sister had been doing there.

  “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jo said, “but I think it was a man … and there was something else … something about the way he ran.”

  “What do you mean?” Miss Dimple asked, shifting the empty can to her other hand. She knew she must reek of stale cooking grease.

  Jo hesitated. “It seemed … familiar somehow … distinctive.” She shrugged. “Probably doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Perhaps it will come to you,” Miss Dimple said. She thought of Buddy Oglesby’s distinctive walk, but the police didn’t seem to consider him a serious suspect.

  Jo shook her head, frowning. “I hear they’re questioning that deputy—the one who wears the boots. Seems he and Cynthia Reynolds were … well, more than just friends. My goodness, that woman did get around, didn’t she? Makes me wonder—did Reynolds have his head in the sand all this time?”

  Dimple Kilpatrick had wondered the same thing, but she managed to maintain an impartial expression. “I suppose we can be grateful Reynolds’s sweet tooth led him to Jesse Dean’s neighborhood the night of the fire,” she said.

  “Sweet tooth? What do you mean?”

  “If Reynolds hadn’t been on his way back from the Super Service to buy ice cream, he wouldn’t have seen the blaze,” Dimple explained.

  Jo stepped aside to make room for passersby. “I see,” she said, nodding. But she didn’t see. Something didn’t seem right.

  * * *

  “I get shivers all over every time I hear her sing!” Lily Moss said, hugging herself. Charlie had dropped by Phoebe’s after supper that night to finalize plans with Annie for the school-assembly program, but they became sidetracked when sounds of The Bob Hope Radio Show came from the parlor. Kate Smith had just finished singing Irving Berlin’s “God Bless America,” and Charlie had to agree with Lily. The song inspired her, too.

  “Heck, if I weren’t so dad-blamed old, I’d enlist right now!” Velma said. “Bless his heart, Bob Hope does his best to keep the boys’ spirits up with these USO shows, doesn’t he? He and Dorothy Lamour and Frances Langford—it sounds like they have a lot of fun doing it, too.”

  Annie laughed. “Spike Jones was on there not too long ago. Have you heard his crazy song, ‘In Der Fuehrer’s Face’?”

  “I’d like a chance at the fuehrer’s face,” Phoebe said. “The garbage can’s just about full—can’t think of a better place to put it.”

  Sebastian smiled, Charlie noticed, but didn’t enter the conversation.

  “What’s this I hear about that deputy being questioned?” Velma said when the program was over. “What’s his name? R.G. or J.T.—something like that—the one who was in the womanless wedding.”

  “H. G. Dobbins.” Annie made a face. “He gives me the willies. I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he did.”

  Peering through her bifocals, Miss Dimple worked at patching the elbow of a small blue jacket that obviously belonged to one of her students. Some of the children came from families where the mother didn’t have the time, inclination, or skills to mend a tear, and from the look of this garment, it had led a rough existence. “They must not have had enough evidence to hold him,” Miss Dimple said. “I saw him in town this afternoon. Naturally, if anything comes of it, that would be under Sheriff Holland’s jurisdiction.”

  “From what Aunt Lou tells me, Reynolds Murphy found out he’d been having an affair with his wife and said something about it to Bobby Tinsley, but I don’t know if that’s true.” Charlie shrugged. Everybody knew her aunt exaggerated, but that particular bit of information had come from Uncle Ed, whose dental office was right
across from City Hall.

  “Oh, my!” Lily said. “But if he knew that, why did he wait so long to say something about it?”

  Charlie told them what she’d heard about Reynolds’s finding out the deputy’s nickname was Cowboy. “He didn’t really know the man until the two of them were in the follies together.”

  “Still, that doesn’t seem like enough to make them suspect the fellow,” Sebastian said, frowning.

  “Yes, but she’d also been seen with H.G. at some of those roadhouses outside of town, and that was not too long before she disappeared,” Charlie explained.

  “I think she’d been seeing Buddy Oglesby some, too,” Annie said. “Reynolds must’ve been blind not to realize what was happening right under his nose.”

  Phoebe looked up from hemming the skirt she had made for Odessa’s birthday. “I think he’s always been that way about Cindy’s goings-on,” she said. “I remember how Reynolds grieved when she disappeared. He absolutely adored her.”

  Sebastian folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it aside. “I believe there are some men—and women, too—who will put up with almost anything rather than lose the person they love.”

  Charlie looked at Annie. As much as she loved Will, she could never ignore something like that, and she didn’t think Annie could, either. “I’d feel better believing he didn’t know,” she said.

  Lily spoke up. “Well, it makes me feel uneasy. That deputy is running around free as a bird, and they’ve let Buddy Oglesby go, too. How do they know one of them isn’t responsible for what happened to Jesse Dean? And I shudder to think about poor Millie McGregor.”

  Velma nodded. “And don’t forget Cynthia Murphy. She might’ve been wild as a haint, but she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  “At least the bond money’s back where it belongs,” Annie said. “I wonder if Buddy did take it.”

  Miss Dimple looked up from her darning. “Buddy Oglesby has made some unwise decisions, but he isn’t a thief.”

  “Well, if he didn’t take the money, who did?” Velma asked.

  “Perhaps time will tell.” Miss Dimple went back to her stitching.

  * * *

  “I feel I owe you an explanation.” The car slowed beside her as she walked home from school that afternoon, and Miss Dimple stopped and stepped closer to see who was speaking. Jordan McGregor reached across and opened the door on the passenger side. “Could I treat you to a Co-Cola at the drugstore or someplace? I hope you have a few minutes to spare.”

  Dimple Kilpatrick was so well organized she had her lessons planned through the month of December, and she certainly had a few minutes for this heart-wounded fellow. Also, he intrigued her. “Of course,” she said, getting into the car. She didn’t care for carbonated soft drinks, but that wasn’t important. Lemonade would be fine.

  “I hope you’ll excuse my rudeness for not coming around and opening the door, but there seems to be a lot of traffic at this hour,” he said. Miss Dimple smiled and agreed. It was almost five o’clock, and those who had cars were driving home from work.

  “I understand Ray’s Café sometimes has passable coffee,” Miss Dimple said, “if that suits you just as well.”

  Jordan McGregor nodded and turned left on Court Street. “That would be fine,” he said. He seemed relieved, and Dimple thought she understood why. Lewellyn’s Drug Store was usually crowded, and after what the poor man had been through, she felt that even though most would be thoughtful enough to give them some privacy, others might interrupt to express sympathy and concern.

  “I believe Ray’s is usually fairly quiet this time of day,” she said. “Their biggest rush is at lunchtime, and those who come for supper don’t arrive until later.”

  Two middle-aged men were in deep conversation over pie and coffee at a table in the window when they entered the restaurant. Dimple recognized one as Clyde Jefferies, who owned the local feed and seed store, but she didn’t know the other fellow. He wore overalls, so she assumed he must farm in the area. She and Jordan took a table in a far corner of the restaurant so they would be less likely to be disturbed.

  Jordan McGregor didn’t waste any time. “I suppose you’ve guessed that Millie took that bond money?”

  Dimple, who took pride in her composure, felt as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. What he had said was true. She did think Millie had taken the money, but she didn’t expect him to greet her with the admission.

  They ordered coffee and, at Jordan’s insistence, apple pie. Dimple knew it wouldn’t be as good as Odessa’s, but it proved to be a fair competitor. She told him that, yes, she had come to the conclusion that Millie had taken the money while Buddy was in the restroom, and they were relieved to have it returned.

  Jordan put down his coffee mug and stared silently at his plate before continuing. “There’s a name for what Millie had, Miss Dimple. It’s called kleptomania. She took things that didn’t belong to her.”

  Miss Dimple was familiar with the term and nodded sympathetically.

  After a minute, Jordan continued, and it was obvious he was having trouble with his emotions. “Earlier, you asked me about my time in New Guinea, and it led me to believe you might’ve been misled.” Flustered, he paused and ran an index finger around the rim of the mug. “You see, my wife … well, sometimes Millie exaggerated. She’d enlarge on a story if she thought it would bring more attention. In this case, I’m afraid she did, and I have no idea how many other tales she embroidered. It was an illness, and I know now she needed help, but she resisted that, and I was afraid I would lose her if I persisted … of course, in the end I did, didn’t I?”

  Dimple Kilpatrick knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, no matter the situation. Such a long, long time ago in another war she had lost someone, too. Reaching across the table, she took his hand. No words, just a brief gesture, but Jordan’s face softened. “I was never in New Guinea, Miss Dimple. My unit was scheduled to go there, but there was an accident at the base—nothing dramatic or heroic. We were on maneuvers and the truck we were in turned over and crushed my leg. Frankly, all of us were lucky to get out alive, but it finished me for the army, I’m afraid.” Jordan took a swallow of his coffee and faced her across the table. “Others have told me they heard the same story from Millie. I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t enough of a hero to suit her.”

  “Sometimes it takes a hero to admit the truth,” Miss Dimple said, “and to deal with our troubles during difficult times. I think you’re doing just that. Our young boys need you, Coach McGregor. Our town needs you, and I hope you’ll come to call Elderberry home.”

  “Thank you.” The coach’s smile was brief. “I hope the money was all there.”

  “That and more,” she told him. “Virginia found seventy-five dollars over what had been missing. Do you have any idea where that might’ve come from?”

  He frowned. “I have an idea, but I don’t know what to tell you to do about it. I suppose I’ll just have to leave that up to Virginia.”

  During the drive home Miss Dimple was pleased to hear Jordan McGregor relate how supportive his fellow faculty members had been and how touched he was by the comfort he’d received from members of the high school football team. “Already some of the boys are talking about enlisting,” he said. “Such fine young men! I just hope this war will be over by the time they’re old enough for the draft.”

  Jordan didn’t mention the manner in which Millie had died until they drew up in front of Phoebe’s home and he walked with her to the door. “I don’t know what Millie was doing in that empty lot that night when she fell and struck her head, but from what I’ve heard, it seems she was being pursued. It drives me crazy wondering why and by whom, yet there’s nothing I can do but hope and pray the police will deal with it soon. First I think it might be one person, then another. It just doesn’t make any sense!”

  Miss Dimple agreed. “Everything seems to have come to a boil all at once,” she said. “I hope we’ll have s
ome answers soon.”

  The coach paused as they reached the door. “There’s one more thing that bothers me,” he said before leaving, “Unfortunately, my wife was in the habit of saying things that weren’t true, but she did tell me something that has since caused me to wonder. Millie said she saw the person who put that rifle in Reynolds Murphy’s car the night of the follies … it wasn’t the one I might have suspected.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Harris Cooper’s wife, Angela, stood in the bedroom doorway watching Jesse Dean pack his bag. “Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” she asked. “You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” Jesse Dean said. “You’ve both been so good to me, but it’s time to go home. I can’t stay here forever, and my neighbors tell me the damage to my roof has already been repaired.” Jesse Dean closed the suitcase with a feeling of finality. He didn’t want to leave this safe place and these loving people who had become like parents to him, but it was time to face his fears. “Doc Morrison says I can even come back to the store next week,” he added, smiling.

  He flushed as Angela gave him a parting hug. “Harris is waiting in the car,” she told him. “And I think you’ll find a surprise there as well.”

  The surprise waited on the front seat, but happily moved over to make room for Jesse Dean. He had brown floppy ears, a wet pink tongue, and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging.

  “His name’s Jake, and don’t ask me what breed he is because I don’t know, but he’s all yours,” Harris said.

  And Jesse Dean enfolded the puppy in his arms and laughed. Now he wouldn’t be alone.

  * * *

  Shame on you! Josephine Carr told herself. She had been putting off going to see Emmaline Brumlow, when she, of all people, knew only too well the worry and uncertainty a mother endured after receiving tragic news from the front. Charlie, her own daughter, had called on the family twice and said Emmaline was beginning to face what had happened and was attempting to come to terms with it. That morning Jo had made up her mind to do her duty and was on her way with a loaf of cheese bread she’d made with Charlie’s help from a recipe they’d clipped from Good Housekeeping.