Shadow Of An Angel Part 15

"I wonder if there's a copy of the school newspaper somewhere," I said. "Says here it was called the Minerva Minutes Minerva Minutes. Lucy was editor. Be interesting to see what she wrote."

"I'll look again, but I didn't see anything like that in the case. Could be somewhere else..."

I think my cousin continued speaking, but I didn't hear what she said because I had just found a picture of the young girl who died, and I couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but something practically jumped out and conked me on the noggin, shouting, Look at me! Look at me! Annie Rose Westbrook reminded me of someone else, someone I knew: not my mother, or Gatlin, or even Vesta. It was in the tilt of her eyes, the tiniest hint of a widow's peak, and a smile that even now looked like a token gesture for the photographer. I felt as if I were looking at a younger version of Mildred Parsons. Annie Rose Westbrook reminded me of someone else, someone I knew: not my mother, or Gatlin, or even Vesta. It was in the tilt of her eyes, the tiniest hint of a widow's peak, and a smile that even now looked like a token gesture for the photographer. I felt as if I were looking at a younger version of Mildred Parsons.

"Gatlin, look at this and tell me what you think!" I held up the book for my cousin, but she quieted me with a raised hand.

"Wait a minute! Is that Gert calling?"

I listened while Gatlin rose and went out to the landing. I could hear Gertrude Whitmire yelling from below.

"Somebody wants me on the phone," Gatlin called from the doorway. "I can't imagine who!"

I hurried after her downstairs to find Mrs. Whitmire standing beside her desk while speaking to someone on the phone.

"Yes, she's coming. She's right here," she said. "Hold on just a minute.

"Something about a dog," she whispered, handing the receiver to Gatlin.

"Oh, Lord-that bad Napoleon! Don't tell me he's gotten out again!" Gatlin reached for the phone. "Yes, this is Gatlin Norwood. Is there a problem with Napoleon? h.e.l.lo..."She shrugged and frowned. "Oh, dear! I see. Is he still out there? Can you see him?" My cousin made a face and rolled her eyes. "Right. Of course. I'll get there as soon as I can.

"That was Mabel Tidwell from across the street. Good grief, does the woman have built-in radar? Wonder how she tracked me down here.... Anyway, gotta go. Seems Napoleon's taken a liking to her azalea bed."

"Uh-oh! Is he still there? Want me to help you chase him down?"

"If I hurry, I think I can corner him. Mabel was watching from the window, trying to keep track of the silly beast. Poor woman just moved in this fall and already my dog's destroying her yard. Guess we won't be on her Christmas cookie list!"

Gertrude stepped from the bathroom, purse tucked under her arm. "I hope it's nothing serious. Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

"Thanks. I left my car at the bookshop, but you can drop me there if you don't mind." Gatlin sighed. "This is the second time this week! Looks like we'll have to build a higher fence."

The older woman dug in her purse for keys and jangled them impatiently. "I really have to run if I'm going to make that meeting. Arminda, I'm sure you won't mind locking up?"

I was sure I would, but how did you argue with the queen of routine?

"Just be sure you lock that case before you leave and turn off the lights upstairs. You can leave the key in my desk, and the front door will lock behind you." Gertrude shifted her weight to favor her injured ankle, and I could see she was trying to hide her pain. "I wouldn't mind waiting, Arminda, but Gatlin doesn't have much time-"

"No, it's all right. You go on. I'll only be a few minutes." Just long enough to see if I can find more in the academy yearbook about my long-dead aunt Just long enough to see if I can find more in the academy yearbook about my long-dead aunt.

I switched on every light within reach as soon as the door closed behind them and practically raced up the stairs to the third floor. The Planet The Planet lay where I had left it, and this time I went through it page by page from start to finish, making note of any mention of the girls who had belonged to the Mystic Six. lay where I had left it, and this time I went through it page by page from start to finish, making note of any mention of the girls who had belonged to the Mystic Six.

Flora and Annie Rose, decked out in flowing white and trailing garlands, were featured as members of the May Court. Irene's mother, Pauline, with dark curls and dimples, presided over the French Club. Pluma Griffin and Mamie Trammell belonged to the Happy Hikers and the Watercolor Society, the latter of which, had Lucy for treasurer.

I became so fascinated with the girls' various activities, I almost forgot what I came to look for. How did they have time to fit studies into their busy schedule?

If the yearbook was anything to go by, these were six normal girls enjoying the privilege of a select private academy before marriage and family set them upon a plotted course for life. Except for the secretive group they belonged to and the "hot potato" quilt, I could see nothing unusual about them.

Other than copies of The Planet The Planet, the gla.s.sed-in case held a couple of textbooks; a composition book open to an essay on "Choices," written in a graceful, flowing script; a small handbook listing the rules of the academy (I planned to come back to this one later); a maroon felt cap monogrammed with an M M and the year and the year 1915 1915, and several cla.s.s photographs taken in front of Holley Hall.

The building settled about me as tired old houses seem to do at the end of the day. Don't you know it's time to go home? Don't you know it's time to go home? It seemed to say. It seemed to say. I'm tired. Leave me alone! I'm tired. Leave me alone!

Somewhere below me a stair squeaked. Old timbers popped and groaned at the onset of evening, and I had to fight the instinct to crawl into a corner and hide. Only there was no place to hide, and imagination or not, I knew it was time to get out of Holley Hall.

I heard the clock in the hallway downstairs strike five and hurried to put the yearbooks back into the case and lock it before leaving. And as much as I disliked the idea, I turned off the overhead light before pulling the door shut behind me. The lights I had left burning earlier should give me more than enough illumination from below.

But the stairwell was as dark as the thoughts I was having, and the only light came from a street lamp somewhere outside. Too late I heard the m.u.f.fled step behind me, then heavy fabric, musty and smothering, came down over my face and arms, and before I had time to struggle, pain ricocheted through my head. I felt myself pitching forward, and this time there was nothing to grab on to.

Chapter Nineteen.

Instinct told me to go limp-which wasn't a problem, since I didn't have the strength to struggle, and every time I tried to move, the Fourth of July exploded in my head. Whatever had been thrown over me had been collecting dust for at least a hundred years, and I coughed and gasped for air, making the situation even worse. Somebody standing over me grunted as he tugged at the fabric, and I cried out as what felt like a foot came in contact with my back, rolling me into a close, suffocating shroud.

I fought to free my hands, but they were pinned to my sides, and I was being dragged like a bundle of dirty sheets over creaking wooden floors.

And where was Augusta? No wonder she was a temporary guardian angel! She probably couldn't hold a permanent job.

But she had warned me, hadn't she, about doing my part? About not allowing myself to become vulnerable. And what had I done? I had left the house without telling her and ended up in the very place where my cousin Otto met his end.

The person push-pulling me grunted and panted, and thankfully stopped to rest now and then as he hauled me inch by inch across the floor. If only I could delay him until somebody came! Augusta had told me angels don't usually swoop down and rescue people, but this time I think G.o.d might allow just a little swoop. After all, this seemed to be a matter of life and death. My My life. life. My My death. death.

If only I could see! I struggled to move my arms, tear the smothering cloth from my face, but I couldn't work them loose. My breathing came too fast, and my heart beat so loud I thought it would explode.

Jarvis, how could you let this happen to me!

But Jarvis was gone, dead, and it looked as if I might soon join him. I wasn't ready.

This person was going to kill me, and Augusta wasn't going to fly down and s.n.a.t.c.h me up. The only one who could save me was me. me.

Save your strength, Minda!

The direction came from somewhere within me, and I let myself go lax. If only Gatlin would come back! Or Gertrude Whitmire. Anybody! My head struck something hard, and I yelled out. That would definitely leave a bruise-if I lived that long. I had been struck in the hallway, and if I wasn't completely turned around, we must be near the stairwell.

The stairwell. Whoever had waited for me in the dark hall meant to pitch me over the railing!

I couldn't free my arms, but I had enough leverage to bring my knees to my chin. I tucked in my head, doubled into a ball, and heaved myself toward what I hoped was the opposite direction. It might only delay at best, but I would s.n.a.t.c.h whatever time I could. By d.a.m.n, I wasn't going to make this easy!

The person who had been dragging me made some kind of hissing noise, and what must have been the toe of a shoe grazed my shin. I squirmed into a sitting position, inching backward until I was braced against the wall, and prepared myself for a fight.

In silence I waited for the inevitable jerk or the prod of a heavy shoe, my muscles tensing in expectation. The quiet became more threatening than the sound of someone moving about, because I didn't know what to expect or when to expect it, and so I sat, almost afraid to breathe. What were they waiting for?

My nose began to itch, and I couldn't free my hands to scratch it.

Your nose does not itch, Arminda Hobbs! Think of something else... something pleasant... like that good-looking young doctor whose call you didn't return....

A door opened, and heavy footsteps thumped in the hallway below, then hesitated on the stairs. Someone was coming. "Dear G.o.d in heaven, what's this?" A man spoke; his footsteps grew louder, closer.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and kicked out, wriggling from his grasp.

"Hey! Watch it! I'm not going to hurt you."

I heard him groan and strain as he stooped beside me. "How in the world did you get all trussed up like this? What's been going on here?"

Now I recognized the voice. Hugh Talbot. You might know he'd try to blame me for almost becoming a victim in his precious academy.

"Wait a minute now-they've got the blasted thing tied with a cord or something!"

I stiffened as clumsy hands pushed and tugged at me, took long breaths as the dusty cloth loosened.

I sat up and shook off the last of the mummy like wrappings: thick velvet draperies that looked as if they'd once been blue, and stared into the owlish eyes of Fitzhugh Talbot.

They blinked at me. His hairpiece bristled like a worn hairbrush, and his face was a dusky gray. In fact, the whole place was gray because no one had turned on a light. "Arminda," he said, looking closer. "Is that you?"

Before I could reply, the front door slammed open below and I heard somebody taking the stairs at least two at a time. "Minda! Are you in here? Is everything all right?" Gatlin called. "Why is it so dark up there?"

My legs weren't so shaky, I found, that I couldn't run to meet her.

Again we sat in the dismal front parlor of Minerva Academy and waited for the police. And this time, out of consideration (or fear of a lawsuit?) for what I'd been through, Hugh Talbot had turned up the heat. Still, I shivered as I sat in the burgundy velvet chair pulled close to a gas fire that hissed and curled, then hissed again.

"I thought something was wrong when I got home and found Napoleon still in his pen," Gatlin said. "Then Mabel Tidwell said she'd just come home from her sister's in Greenville and hadn't called me about the dog or anything else.

"I tried to phone you here, Minda, but all I got was voice mail." My cousin stood beside me, her hand on my shoulder. "You're going straight to the emergency room as soon as we leave here. Are you sure you feel like waiting for Chief McBride?"

"What's another knot?" I tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. "It'll match the one on the other side of my head." I was so glad to be alive and out of those awful wrappings, I didn't mind waiting for medical attention if it would bring us closer to finding out who was in such a hurry to send me out of this world.

"At first I thought it was somebody playing a joke," Gatlin said. "One of Dave's students, maybe. I could just imagine some of those clowns watching from a parked car somewhere and laughing while I made a fool of myself yelling for Napoleon."

"What made you change your mind?" I asked.

Her hand tightened on my arm. "I don't know. Something. Sounds kinda crazy, I know, but it was almost like a voice whispering in my ear, telling me to get over here in a hurry."

Hugh Talbot had been standing quietly by the window, watching, I a.s.sume, for the police. Now he turned to me. "Arminda, I wouldn't have had this happen to you for anything in the world. We're going to get to the bottom of this. I promise."

"I'm sorry I kicked you," I said. "I thought it was-whoever hit me over the head coming to finish me off."

"Do you have any idea who it might've been?" Gatlin asked. "Did they say anything? Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?"

"All I heard was a lot of grunting and panting," I said. "Whoever it was is probably soaking in a hot bath right now."

I said that without looking at Hugh Talbot because I wasn't completely sure it hadn't been him. He had happened on the scene just before Gatlin came bursting through the door and charged up the stairs. How could I be sure he hadn't been there all along, and had seen her coming from the window in the upstairs hall, then saved his skin (and mine) by playing the hero?

Gertrude Whitmire and Chief McBride reached the academy at the same time, but Gertrude, being the pushier of the two, had the first say.

"Arminda, please tell me you're all right!" she demanded, descending on me with cane in hand and Hershey on her breath. "I was carrying my groceries inside when Hugh phoned to tell me what happened! And I was the one who asked you to stay. I feel terrible, just terrible!" And she stationed herself across from me as if she meant to make herself my permanent guardian.

"Let's take a little walk," the chief suggested after noting the stories from Hugh and Gatlin. "I imagine you're about ready for some fresh air."

And I was, although I realized he wanted to question me away from the others.

"Now, tell me," the chief said as we paused where the pathway curved away from the building. "Who knew you were coming here today?"

"It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing," I told him. "Gatlin and I decided to browse around the old library as we were leaving the Grill this afternoon. n.o.body knew we were coming."

"Was anyone else with you? Or could somebody have overheard?"

We sat on a cast-iron bench that felt cold all the way through my pants, and yellow light from a lamp behind it made shadows loom on the walk. "Sylvia Smith was there with her mother, but I don't think they were listening to what we said," I told him.

"Maybe Gatlin or Mrs. Whitmire mentioned it to somebody after they left here earlier," I suggested. Or Hugh Talbot might have been waiting for his chance Or Hugh Talbot might have been waiting for his chance The chief took my elbow to escort me inside just as his nephew and another policeman pulled up alongside Gertrude's car, parked near the front steps. Her groceries-or some of them, I noticed, were still on the front seat.

The boy, Duncan Oliver, they had suspected of causing my bicycle accident, had already been living in Columbia at the time, the younger policeman told me.

"We'll question everybody in this blasted town if we have to!" Chief McBride said, glaring at the ground as we walked.

"You get on over to the doctor now and have 'm take a look at you, and if you think of anything else that might help us, give me a call, all right?"

I nodded. He was a kind man, and I was close to tears- if I tried to speak, there would be no stopping them.

Harrison Ivey wasn't on duty at the emergency room-thank goodness! The poor, helpless victim is not the image I like to project, and I'd just as soon he not learn about my recent misadventure. The staff nurse checked me over and gave me something for my headache, and at Gatlin's insistence, I went home with her for the night, stopping by the Nut House only long enough to grab a toothbrush and pajamas.

While inside, I sensed an atmosphere of-dare I say it- annoyance of a most unangelic nature and found Augusta stewing over a basket of needlework in the upstairs room that had been my grandmother's. Her long fingers moved almost faster than the eye could see as the needle wove in and out of what seemed to be a pile of old socks.

"I thought you hated darning socks," I said.

Augusta didn't look up. "I said I dislike dislike mending things," she said. Two red spots the size of fifty cent pieces burned on her cheeks. "I also mending things," she said. Two red spots the size of fifty cent pieces burned on her cheeks. "I also dislike dislike it when someone goes back on her word." it when someone goes back on her word."

"Look, Augusta, I'm sorry. I know I promised to be careful, but I only meant to stop at the bookshop. If I had known-"

"But you didn't know, and I didn't know where you'd gone. Fortunately I was able to get a message to your cousin. I a.s.sume she reached you in time to prevent-"

"Minda! Need any help up there?" Gatlin, who had followed me inside, called from the landing.

"No thanks! Be down as soon as I can scrounge up some clean underwear!" I hollered back.

"I don't guess you found anything in the attic?" I said to Augusta in an attempt to get her off my case.

"As a matter of fact, I did: your grandmother's christening dress, your mother's birth announcement, and a composition book that might have belonged to Lucy."

I heard Gatlin's footsteps on the stairs. "Minda? Who are you talking to up here? I do believe you've had too many licks on the head!"

"I told you I had a guardian angel," I said. "Then if I were you, I'd get rid of her. Her performance of the last few days leaves a lot to be desired."

"I'm thinking about it," I said, making a face at Augusta.

Still, I noticed that she followed me down the stairs and would probably be waiting at Gatlin's. At least I hoped she would.