Миранда Джеймс - Digging Up The Dirt

“Thank you,” An’gel said. “We will do our best not to make you regret your confidence in us.”

Kanesha chuckled, a rare sound. “I’m sure you will. Y’all take care now.”

An’gel thanked her and wished her a good day before she ended the call. She entered the house with her mind focused on the best approach to take with Mrs. Turnipseed when they found her.

When they left the house at twelve forty, An’gel declared that she would drive. In the car, she waited for Dickce to fasten her seat belt, and then she backed out of the garage.

When they reached the end of the driveway and An’gel prepared to turn onto the highway, Dickce spoke. “I looked up the address on a city map, and it’s not far from the square. Would you mind stopping at the bookstore for a minute so I can run in and pick up a book they’re holding for me?”

An’gel sighed. “I suppose not.” She preferred not to stop, but Dickce would get annoyed with her if they didn’t.

The bookstore occupied a space down the street from the point at which they entered the square. Traffic was heavy, and An’gel had to drive slowly.

Dickce clutched at her arm suddenly. “Look over there.”

“Where?” An’gel said.

“There, going into Helen Louise’s bistro.” Dickce pointed.

An’gel glanced over in time to see Hadley Partridge open the door and usher Arliss McGonigal inside. Then the car in front of them started moving, and An’gel had to switch her attention back to the street ahead of them.

Dickce giggled suddenly. “Oh, my, this is going to be interesting.”

“What?” An’gel said. With traffic moving she wasn’t going to look and risk running into the car in front of her. “What did you see now?”

“Barbie Gross just came out, carrying a box, and she looks peeved at something. Or someone.”

“You’re imagining things.” An’gel was happy to find an open parking spot right in front of the bookstore. She pulled into it.

“I’m not going to waste time arguing with you.” Dickce unbuckled her seat belt. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.” She slipped out of the car and shut the door.

An’gel watched as her sister entered the store. She thought about what Dickce said. An’gel knew what her sister was thinking, that Barbie was annoyed over the fact that Hadley and Arliss were going around together. Unless Hadley took turns squiring all of the garden club board members around, most of them were bound to be peeved at not getting attention from him.

For Pete’s sake, An’gel thought, we’re not in high school . We’re all old enough not to fall into these traps.

Dickce was as good as her word. She returned promptly to the car, book in hand. In a moment they were on their way to Mrs. Turnipseed’s house.

Dickce directed her to the right street, and not more than five minutes later they pulled up in front of the house. The neighborhood was an older one of smallish houses on large lots. The lawns all looked well-kept, except for that of Mrs. Turnipseed. The grass needed cutting, and the house could have used a fresh coat of paint, An’gel thought. The house looked unoccupied, and that worried her.

She and Dickce walked up to the front door, rang the bell, and waited.

CHAPTER 17

An’gel was about to ring the bell again when the door opened abruptly.

A tall, angular, gray-haired woman, around eighty years of age, dressed in a calf-length dressing gown and flat-soled shoes, stared at them. “What do you want?” Her tone sounded belligerent, An’gel thought.

She wasn’t about to let that faze her, however. “Mrs. Turnipseed?” After the woman nodded, she said in a pleasant tone, “Perhaps you remember me? I’m An’gel Ducote. This is my sister Dickce Ducote.”

Mrs. Turnipseed said, “I remember you, sure. What can I do for you?”

“I know this is an imposition, just showing up on your doorstep,” An’gel said, “but if we could have a few minutes of your time, we’d like to talk to you.”

Mrs. Turnipseed stared at them a moment. An’gel thought the woman was about to slam the door in their faces. Instead, she stepped back and waved them in.

An’gel entered, Dickce right behind her. Based on what she’d seen of the yard and the outside of the house, An’gel expected signs of similar neglect inside. Her jaw nearly dropped, however, when she walked into the small living room.

Opulently furnished with antique furniture, the room looked spotless. There was a scent of lemon furniture polish in the air, and every surface gleamed. An’gel suspected the large rug on the floor was Aubusson. It reminded her of their own carpets at Riverhill. She wondered whether Hamish Partridge had given Mrs. Turnipseed these beautiful furnishings or whether they’d been in her family for several generations.

“What a beautiful room,” Dickce said with an appreciative smile.

“Yes, it certainly is,” An’gel said.

Mrs. Turnipseed nodded to acknowledge the compliment. She pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t y’all have a seat, ladies?”

“Thank you,” An’gel said. She and Dickce did as their hostess directed. Mrs. Turnipseed chose a chair that faced the sofa across an ornately carved coffee table. She stared at them, evidently waiting for them to speak.

“Again, we apologize for dropping by unannounced,” An’gel said.

“You said that already. What is it you want?” Mrs. Turnipseed crossed her arms over her flat chest.

An’gel didn’t appreciate her rude tone and, under different circumstances, wouldn’t have tolerated it. Now, however, she and Dickce needed information from this woman, so she let it pass.

“You worked for many years for a friend of ours, Hamish Partridge,” An’gel said. After Mrs. Turnipseed nodded, she continued. “I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that Hamish left everything to his brother Hadley in his will.”

Mrs. Turnipseed scowled at the mention of Hadley’s name. She did not speak, though, so An’gel forged ahead.

“We’ve seen Hadley since he returned to town,” An’gel said. “He seemed to be quite surprised that no one knew anything about the whereabouts of his late brother’s wife, Callie.” She paused to gauge Mrs. Turnipseed’s reaction. There was none that she could discern.

“At the time Hadley went away,” Dickce said, “no one seemed to know why he left so abruptly. Then, when it turned out Callie was gone, too, well, people just assumed she had gone with him.”

“But Hadley says she didn’t,” An’gel added. “And Hamish never would say anything about it either.”

Mrs. Turnipseed shrugged. “Mr. Hamish didn’t have to share his private business with anyone.”

“We respected his privacy at the time,” An’gel said, “but perhaps that was a mistake. Callie disappeared, and if she didn’t run off to join Hadley, what happened to her? Can you tell us anything about it?”

“I don’t see that it matters none now.” Mrs. Turnipseed shrugged again. “That was forty years ago. What she did was her business, that Mrs. Partridge. All I know is, she was gone, and Mr. Partridge never mentioned her name to me the rest of his life.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about why she left or where she went?” Dickce said.

“Wasn’t my business,” Mrs. Turnipseed replied. “Look here, I wasn’t even there when Mrs. Partridge up and left. I was gone to my sister’s house to visit a few days, and when I come back, well, Mrs. Partridge and that no-good Hadley were gone. Mr. Partridge never offered to explain, and I didn’t ask. Wasn’t my business.”

“I see.” An’gel felt suddenly deflated. She had been so sure that Mrs. Turnipseed would know something about Callie’s disappearance. She wondered whether the former housekeeper had heard about the discovery at Ashton Hall. If she hadn’t, should she and Dickce be the ones to break the news?