Part 4 (1/2)

”You know where she lives, way out in the middle of nowhere, and the house sits back from the road. I've been telling Gertrude she needs to move closer to town.

”Anyway, she'd started on her daily walk-does three or four miles every morning-and just as she came out of her driveway, she says a car careened around that curve there and headed straight for her!”

”She must've been terrified! How did she get out of the way?”

”Gertrude said she thought the idiot would see her and swerve, and when she finally realized it wasn't going to, she sort of rolled backwards into the ditch.”

I tried not to think of that.

”And listen to this, Arminda,” my grandmother added. ”While Gertrude was climbing out of the ditch, she saw the same car turning around to make another pa.s.s! she saw the same car turning around to make another pa.s.s!”

”I'd probably drop dead from fright,” I said.

Vesta put the extra place settings away. ”No, you wouldn't, and neither did Gert. She knew if she tried to escape down the driveway, the car would follow and run her down, so she cut across the woods to a neighbor's. Only trouble is, the closest neighbor lives about a half mile away and is deaf as a post.” Vesta shook her head. ”Ben Thrasher. His daughter's been trying to get him to wear a hearing aid for years.”

”Can she identify the car?” I said.

”Gertrude said it was sort of a tan color. Maybe a Toyota or a Honda-or it could've been a Saturn.”

”That really narrows it down,” I said.

There were times back in high school when I wished Gert would come down with acute laryngitis, but I never considered turning the poor woman into road kill. ”Why would anybody want to do that?” I said. ”...Unless they think she knows something about Otto's murder?”

”Don't see how she could,” my grandmother said, ”but it's another reason for Gertrude to move closer to town.”

”Isn't there a Mr. Whitmire?”

”Oh, Arminda, he's been gone for years.”

”Oh,” I said. ”I didn't know.” Gertrude Whitmire and I had something in common.

”Have you heard from Mildred?” Vesta asked.

I nodded. ”I asked her to join us for supper, but she said Edna Smith was bringing vegetable soup and corn m.u.f.fins.”

Vesta frowned. ”Still has her nose out of joint, but I suppose she's all right for the time being. I don't know why Hank Smith isn't as big as a barn with all the baking Edna does. Why Sylvie must've gained ten pounds since she's been back,” she added, speaking of the couple's daughter.

Born late in her parents' marriage, Sylvia Smith was a couple of years younger than Gatlin but had been educated at some prestigious boarding school, so I never really got to know her. ”I thought she was living in London,” I said. ”Doesn't Sylvie work in a museum over there?”

Vesta nodded. ”Did. And seemed to be doing very well, according to Hank. She was in line for a big promotion when Edna had that knee replacement surgery last summer and Sylvie came home to see about her parents. Don't know why she never went back.” My grandmother made a noise that sounded like something between a grunt and a snort. ”I said something to Edna about it once, but she made it clear she didn't want to discuss it. Edna can get a little stiff-necked at times, but they've always been good friends to us, and it's kind of her to keep an eye on Mildred.”

We sat at Vesta's heirloom dining table eating leftover chicken pie from the night before, and looked out on her tiny balcony, where a dead fern waved in the wind. ”Mildred gave it to me when I moved in here,” my grandmother said. ”I told her I'd forget to water it, but she wouldn't listen.

”And since we're speaking of Mildred,” she continued, ”I went by the bookshop this morning to see how she was doing, but she wouldn't let me in. Said she was taking inventory, of all things. I was going to see if she wanted to go somewhere for lunch. Thought it might do her good to get out, but she wasn't having any part of it. Acting the martyr, if you ask me.”

I hadn't asked, but I agreed. ”She thinks somebody was prowling around the shop while she was away. Said she was going to check and see if anything's missing.”

”What would anyone want? Nothing there but old books, and most of them aren't worth more than a quarter.... Here, please have some of this salad. The Circle committee brought enough for a battalion, and I'll never get rid of it all.”

The salad was green and wiggly, but I took some, anyway. ”And why would anybody want to kill Otto?” I reminded her. ”Nothing about this makes sense! I don't guess you've heard any more from the police?”

My grandmother helped herself to one of Mary Ruth G.o.dwin's yeast rolls and pa.s.sed them along to me. ”If they know anything, they haven't shared it with the rest of us. Gertrude Whitmire says she doesn't know if she'll ever work up the nerve to set foot in that place again.” She b.u.t.tered her roll and sighed. ”Well, enough of that. Tell me, how are things at the Nut House?”

If you only knew! I thought. But I told Vesta about the library table with the club minutes in it. ”Must have been some sort of secret girls' thing,” I said. ”Had something that looked like an emblem at the bottom-a flower with a star in the center. The same thing's on that alma mater your mama st.i.tched that hangs at the academy, and Gatlin said she thought she'd seen something like it on a quilt.” I thought. But I told Vesta about the library table with the club minutes in it. ”Must have been some sort of secret girls' thing,” I said. ”Had something that looked like an emblem at the bottom-a flower with a star in the center. The same thing's on that alma mater your mama st.i.tched that hangs at the academy, and Gatlin said she thought she'd seen something like it on a quilt.”

”Dear heaven! I haven't seen that thing in ages. They took time about keeping that quilt, you know.”

”Who did?”

”Why, the girls who made it. The Mystic Six. My mother was one. It was some kind of silly secret thing they organized at the academy. The quilt was supposed to tell a story about the school. I always thought it was kind of sad with that young professor dying in the fire and all.”

I smiled. ”The Mystic Six. Wonder what that was all about?”

”Who knows. But they were quite serious about it, I believe. Even had a pin.”

I declined more salad. ”Really?”

”I guess it was kind of like a sorority pin,” Vesta said. ”Mama had one, although I never saw her wearing it, but it looked like that design you saw in those old minutes, and it had her initials on the back. I keep it in my jewelry box.”

Elvis was singing somewhere upstairs when I got home that night, and I found Augusta in the room at the end of the hall with the record player that had belonged to my mother. She was shuffling to the music of ”Jailhouse Rock,” ”Jailhouse Rock,” and the expression on her face could only be described as blissful. Mom's collection of 45s were fanned out on the table behind her. and the expression on her face could only be described as blissful. Mom's collection of 45s were fanned out on the table behind her.

Augusta opened her eyes when she heard me and pulled me into the dance. ”I haven't heard anything this good since Glen Miller did that thing about the little brown jar,” she said, swinging me out and around.

”That's jug jug,” I said. I was beginning to get a little dizzy.

”Oh. Well, anyway, I'm sorry I missed that era.”

”What era?”I asked.

”The fifties. What do you call this-boogie woogie?”

”Rock and roll,” I said. ”So, where were were you in the fifties?” you in the fifties?”

”Heaven, of course. I'm only a temp, Arminda. Between a.s.signments I'm in charge of strawberry fields up there.”

”Really? They actually grow strawberries?”

”Well, of course. Or it wouldn't be Heaven, now, would it?”

The music ended and I was glad for a break, but Augusta found another record to her liking-this time something called ”Heart break Hotel.” ”Heart break Hotel.” ”You're going to have to teach me the steps,” she said, listening to the beat. ”You're going to have to teach me the steps,” she said, listening to the beat.

I laughed as she tapped her feet in time. ”I think you'll you'll have to teach have to teach me me.”

I was having such a good time dancing, I almost forgot to check the initials on the back of the pin I'd found. If my grandmother had Lucy's pin, then whose pin did I find on the bathroom floor?

I turned the gold disk under the light. The initials A. W. A. W. were inscribed on the back. were inscribed on the back. Annie Westbrook. Annie Westbrook. So Lucy's younger sister had not been wearing her pin when she drowned in the Saluda. But what was Otto doing with it? So Lucy's younger sister had not been wearing her pin when she drowned in the Saluda. But what was Otto doing with it?