Hark! The Herald Angel Screamed: An Augusta Goodnight Mystery (with Heavenly Recipes) Page 8

  Augusta rewarded Clementine with the biscuit and went to the closet for the broom. I watched in amazement as she twirled it about the floor in so many loops and whirls, before putting it back in its place. After all the guests who had passed through our kitchen that night, not a crumb or a speck of dirt remained. “I wish I could do that. Do you think you could teach me?” I joked.

  But Augusta didn’t smile. “Why does Idonia believe someone was following her?”

  “She has no idea, but she was truly frightened, and she isn’t the high-strung type.”

  “I did notice one thing that rather bothers me,” Augusta said. “That locket Idonia was wearing—the one shaped like a flower—is exactly like the one the Tanseys’ daughter wore in that photograph on their piano.”

  re you absolutely sure?” Ellis asked Augusta the next day. “Could you really tell that much about a photograph? Maybe Idonia’s locket isn’t absolutely identical to the one Dinah Tansey wore.”

  “There could be several like that,” I said. “How do we know the Tansey girl had the only one of its kind?” Unlike Augusta, I hadn’t paid much attention to the locket in the photograph and held on to the hope that Melrose DuBois wasn’t a liar and that our good friend wouldn’t be hurt because of him.

  Augusta continued putting away dishes from last night’s party and her silence seemed to go on forever. When she spoke, her voice was so soft I had to move closer to hear. “The seed pearls are missing in the same places,” she said, turning to face us. “I’m sorry, but it seems that something’s not right.”

  Ellis had dropped by after church that Sunday to collect her chafing dish and had surprised us with a huge red poinsettia for the dining room. “I would’ve brought it in time for the party yesterday, but I don’t know where you’d have put it with all that food,” she said.

  Frowning now, she traced with her finger the Z-shaped scratch on my kitchen table where Roger had tried to build a picture frame from scrap lumber for his Boy Scout project. “So where did Melrose get the locket he gave Idonia? You don’t suppose he stole it, do you?” Her face turned almost as red as the plant she brought. “And I was beginning to like him, too!”

  Augusta spoke calmly. “Let’s not accuse anyone until we know the truth. No purpose is ever served by hopping over the firearm.”

  Ellis rolled her eyes at me and shrugged. “Jumping the gun,” I mouthed when Augusta wasn’t looking.

  “Isn’t Claudia supposed to visit the Tanseys this afternoon to help deliver that fruitcake?” I said. “Maybe we can catch her before they leave.”

  “That chicken! I knew she’d let Opal Henshaw browbeat her into going, but now I’m glad she did.” Ellis reached for the phone. “I’ll give her a call and ask her to try and get a good look at that photograph.”

  “Just tell her not to mention it to Opal,” I reminded her. “The less she knows about this, the better.”

  “Didn’t you say the police planned to have another look around your grandmother’s old home?” Augusta asked while Ellis made her phone call. “I wonder if they’ll discover anything.”

  “Captain Hardy said he’d let me know if something turned up, but if I don’t hear from him by tomorrow, I’ll give him a call,” I said. “There was a small mention about the man falling from the balcony in the Columbia paper today, but it still didn’t identify him as Dexter Clark.”

  Augusta looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the authorities aren’t ready to release the man’s identity.”

  “They must have a reason for keeping it quiet,” I said.

  Ellis finished her phone call and told us that Opal planned to come by for Claudia promptly at two o’clock to deliver their Christmas baskets. “Poor Claudia!” she said. “It’s probably going to take them most of the afternoon. Can you imagine spending all afternoon with Opal Henshaw?”

  “You did remind her to make a point to look at that photograph, didn’t you?” I asked her.

  “I reminded, and Claudia promised. Let’s just hope she isn’t too obvious about it.”

  “Well?” I asked Ellis later that day when she came over to dress for Bellawood’s candlelight tour. “Have you heard anything from

  Claudia?”

  Ellis nodded. She didn’t look happy. “Called a few minutes before I left. She said the locket in the picture looked like the same one to her and that Opal was curious about it, too. Said she was sure she’d seen one just like it.”

  Please don’t let this be happening to Idonia! “What are we going to do?” I said. “Should we say anything to Idonia?”

  “Say anything about what?” Nettie came out of my bedroom snapping the elastic in her long skirt. “This blasted thing’s about to cut me in two. If you hear a loud pop, you’ll know what happened.”

  The planners of the event had asked The Thursdays, as hostesses, to dress in period clothing and allowed me to bring several items home for Nettie, Ellis, and me. “Try that blue gingham. It might be more comfortable,” I said, and while Nettie was getting into the dress, Ellis and I told her what we suspected about Idonia’s locket.

  “I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell her,” Nettie said. “This is not good! It might be better to speak directly to that rat Melrose.” She finished buttoning her dress and tied an apron around her plump middle. “Ah, that’s better! At least I can breathe.”

  We dressed in layers because, except for fireplaces in some rooms, the areas at Bellawood weren’t heated. Ellis chose an ankle-length black skirt with a high-necked white blouse, and draped a blue knitted shawl about her shoulders. Her dark curls, now streaked with gray, looked becoming tied back with a black ribbon. “I’ll be darned if I’m going to look like that woman in the American Gothic painting with my hair pulled back and parted in the middle!” she informed us.

  I wore a mop cap to cover my short straight hair and slipped on a purple-flowered dress large enough to have room for all the layers underneath.

  “Are we supposed to bring anything?” Ellis asked as the three of us climbed into her van.

  “Nettie’s punch bowl is already there and the docents are taking care of refreshments,” I said. “All we have to do is meet and greet.”

  “I wonder what the others are wearing,” Nettie said, spreading her skirt about her.

  “Idonia said she was going to borrow something for herself and Jo Nell from the high school drama department,” Ellis said. “Her niece teaches over there, you know, and Zee told me she was wearing a dress she had in college.”

  “Not that Southern belle hoopskirt thing!” I said. “Bellawood’s a farmhouse, not Tara.”

  Nettie laughed. “Didn’t she wear that in some kind of pageant one time? Remember when Stone’s Throw put on that bicentennial play? That dress was cut so low I thought surely her bosom was going to bounce right out of it!”

  “Genevieve Ellison will have apoplexy,” I said, but I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. There was no way I would be able to fit into a gown I’d worn in college!

  It had turned dark by the time we arrived and someone had already lit the luminaries that lined the long drive up to Bellawood. A man dressed for the cold in muffler and cap directed us with a flashlight into the meadow across from the house where several other vehicles were already parked.

  I parted reluctantly with my wrap at the door, while Ellis was whisked immediately to the building that housed the kitchen, and Nettie to the schoolhouse, where, we were told, Jo Nell waited. A quartet from the Baptist Church, scheduled to entertain guests with carols, was assigned there as well. I obediently took my place in the drafty entrance hall and watched them hurry away to spend a toasty evening in their allotted places.

  The old house looked festive and welcoming from the wreath on the front door and banks of greenery on the mantel to the pungent smell of wood smoke and pine. I spoke briefly to Andy Collins, known to most of us as the Dulcimer Man, who was setting up in the parlor where candles glowed in hurricane lamps and firelight flickered on the hearth
. Zee would be stationed in the upstairs hall, I learned, and Idonia in a second-floor bedroom, and every time I heard footsteps cross the porch, I braced myself for Genevieve’s outburst when she saw Zee’s revealing gown. I could hardly wait!

  It served me right, I suppose, to be disappointed. The rose taffeta had faded over the years and Zee had even sewn a lace insert at her throat. Still, she managed to look trim and youthful with an antique brooch at her neck and her hair piled high on her head. Zee had chosen a dark auburn as her hair color for the season and it really was becoming.

  “Zee, you look beautiful! Scarlett would be jealous,” I said, ushering her into the hallway. “But where’s the hoopskirt?”

  She laughed. “I let Melanie borrow my hoop for a party one time and never saw it again.” Melanie was Zee’s daughter by her first husband—or maybe it was her second. “Anyway,” she added, “can you imagine trying to drive in one?” She twirled, showing off dainty slippers. “Consignment shop—aren’t they adorable? Of course, my feet are freezing! And how about this fancy brooch I found at a flea market? They have the most fascinating things in there.”

  Genevieve came along to hurry Zee upstairs before I could answer, and soon afterward a great swirl of frigid air ushered in Idonia stamping her feet and hugging her new suede coat about her.

  “Good heavens, it’s cold out there! And Zee just ran off and left me as soon as she parked the car. Had to hike all the way from across the road by myself in the dark, and I’d give my right arm for something hot to drink.” Idonia pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into her pocket as she glanced upstairs. “I hope there’s going to be some heat up there.”

  I told her Genevieve had put space heaters in some of the upstairs rooms and that Zee was probably in a hurry because she said her feet were cold.

  “Well, of course they’re cold since she insisted on wearing that sorry excuse for shoes.” Idonia slowly unbuttoned her coat and passed it over to a waiting docent. She wore a prim gray silk with tucks down the front and a lace collar. The infamous gold locket was her only adornment.

  “They’re serving cranberry punch in the dining room,” I told her, “but I don’t think it’s hot.”

  “What’s Melrose doing with himself tonight? Is he planning to drop by?” I called after her as she made her way upstairs.

  She gave me a backward wave of her hand. “He was going to, but his cousin needed him to help out at the funeral home, so I guess he won’t be coming.”

  Fulton McIntyre, of course. Our minister announced in church that morning that Fulton had died, which was no surprise since the man was ninety-three and ailing. So that’s why Idonia’s so crabby, I thought. I knew something must have gotten her dander up. If Idonia was upset over playing second fiddle to a dead man, what would she think if she knew what we suspected about her locket?

  I didn’t have time to think about it, however, as guests began to arrive and I stayed busy guiding them from one room to another. From the parlor came the strains of “What Child Is This?” and “Away in a Manger” played sweetly on the dulcimer and for a second I thought I saw Augusta sitting in a corner by the fireplace listening. A closer look proved me right: it was Augusta and her expression was so blissful and serene it made me forget for a moment just how bossy she can be. I had mentioned to her earlier that the Dulcimer Man was scheduled to play, so I wasn’t surprised to see her there. Augusta had attended one of Andy’s concerts with me earlier in the year and I knew she was fond of his music. When I glanced in there a few minutes later she was gone.

  “Augusta was in here a little while ago,” Ellis whispered when I dropped by the kitchen during a break later that evening. “Didn’t stay long … guess she came to hear the Dulcimer Man.”

  “I saw her in the parlor,” I said, sipping gratefully on the hot spiced cider served from a pot on the hearth. “Aren’t the Fiddlesticks coming back? I passed Albert and Miranda leaving with their instruments.”

  “Nope. I believe a flute trio from the high school band is next on the agenda,” Ellis said as she added more ginger cookies to the tray on the table.

  I turned in front of the fire to get thoroughly warm before crossing back across the yard to the main house. “Better let me have a cup of that punch to take back to Idonia,” I said. “She was asking for something hot to drink.”

  Ellis laughed. “She’s already been in here. Drank two cups in here and took one back with her.”

  “Did she seem upset?”

  “No, just thirsty. I thought she was going to drink the punch bowl dry. Why?”

  I told her about Idonia’s earlier behavior. “I guess she’s just disappointed that Melrose couldn’t join her tonight.”

  “If there’s anything shady going on about that locket he gave her, Melrose DuBois had better get a running start!” Ellis said.

  In keeping with the period, we had been asked not to wear watches that night, but because long sleeves covered my wrists, I could keep mine well out of sight. It was almost eight-thirty when I returned to my post in the hallway, and every room in the old house seemed to be filled with visitors. It was easy to imagine the home as it had been in the past with friends, music, and laughter, and if a building has a spirit, this one must have been happy. Plans were for the open house to end at nine, but some of the musicians stayed longer, and several of the town’s older citizens settled down to exchange tall tales by the dining room fireside, so it was closer to ten before everyone cleared out.

  I was helping some of the docents clear away the clutter downstairs when Zee rushed into the room on the verge of tears. “Lucy Nan, something’s wrong with Idonia! You’ve got to come quick! I can’t wake her up.”

  We all raced upstairs behind her to find Idonia seated at a small writing desk in a rear bedroom, her head upon her chest. The room was close and warm because of the space heater, and Idonia, who was unaccustomed to late hours, had been out caroling the night before.

  “She’s probably just worn out,” I said, calling her name. “Idonia! Wake up! It’s time to go home.” I got no response.

  “I felt her pulse,” Zee said. “She’s breathing okay, but she seems to be out like a light.”

  By that time Nettie and Jo Nell had joined us. “She’s not on any medication, is she?” Nettie asked. “Sometimes antihistamines can make you drowsy.”

  “Nothing but a low-dose thyroid pill,” I said. Idonia was usually as healthy as a horse.

  Jo Nell sniffed at a punch cup beside her. “What’s she been drinking?”

  “Just hot spiced punch, and so have I,” I told her. “There’s nothing in there to harm her.”

  “Wait a minute … I think she’s waking up,” Zee said as Idonia blinked her eyes. “Is it time to get up?” she mumbled before closing them again.

  “That does it!” I said. “Who has a cell phone? I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  o, wait! Don’t!” Nettie said. “We might be able to catch Glen Smiley before he gets away. He was talking with somebody out front just a few minutes ago. Idonia would hate it if we made a big issue of this.”

  Genevieve rushed into the hallway and hollered downstairs in her loud demanding voice for somebody to run and find the doctor. Glen Smiley graduated from high school in the class just ahead of ours and has been practicing medicine in Stone’s Throw for close to thirty years. Although his name is somewhat of a misnomer, as his bedside manner leaves something to be desired, you won’t find a better diagnostician, so I was relieved to hear the doctor’s monotone muttering in the hallway below.

  “What’s going on here, Lucy Nan?” he asked, taking the stairs in great loping strides. But I could only shake my head. I was too frightened to speak.

  “Idonia Mae, I want you to look at me,” he said, kneeling beside her chair. “Look at me and tell me where you are.”

  Idonia’s eyelids fluttered and her head rolled to one side. “Don’t feel so good … leave me ‘lone.” She sounded more like herself in spite of the slurred wor
ds.

  “Have you had anything to eat or drink tonight?” the doctor persisted, examining her more closely. Idonia slumped forward until her head rested on the desktop. She didn’t answer.

  “She drank a lot of that spiced cider,” I told him, gesturing toward the cup.

  “Is this it?” He picked it up and sniffed it. “You-all didn’t slip any vodka in there, did you?” He directed the question at Genevieve without so much as a flicker of a smile.

  “Certainly not!” she answered, looking from one to the other of us. I could tell she wasn’t quite sure about the rest of us.

  “I can’t do anything for her here,” he told us, taking a cell phone from his pocket. “She needs to go to the ER, but first we’ll have to get her out of that chair before she slides onto the floor.”

  “It’ll take them about five or ten minutes to get here,” Dr. Smiley said, after making his phone call. “Meanwhile, let’s get her over on that bed so the EMTs can take a look at her.”

  I heard somebody gasp behind me and turned to find Genevieve with a fist rammed into her mouth. “That bed’s almost two hundred years old,” she said. I honestly thought she was going to faint.

  “Then it oughta hold up a few minutes longer,” the good doctor said. “And we don’t need all of you in here, either,” he added. “At least one of you can go outside and watch for the ambulance.”

  “I—I will! I’ll wait for them out front.” Jo Nell’s voice trembled. “Only I’ll need to borrow a flashlight. I don’t—can’t remember where I put mine.”

  “Take mine. I left it by the front door,” I said. I could tell she was about a sniff and a swallow away from crying.

  “And somebody needs to find Ellis,” Jo Nell said. “Oh, Lordy! What if something’s happened to Ellis, too?”

  “Nothing has happened to Ellis. She’s probably still straightening up out in the kitchen,” Nettie assured her. “Don’t worry, Jo Nell, we’ll find her.” And giving Genevieve’s arm a jerk, she propelled the startled woman from the room.