Shadow Of An Angel Part 2

"I can't imagine. Maybe he wanted to catch upon something.

"Here, let me get a tray for this," I said, noticing Gertrude's hand trembling. Gatlin, I saw, was quickly removing everything breakable from the table.

"Wordy Gerty's kinda shook up," my cousin said later.

Although a cold November wind stripped brown leaves from the water oak in Gatlin's yard, the two of us escaped the crowded house and sat for a few minutes on the back steps watching the children's rope swing sway eerily in the dusk.

"Wouldn't you be? I'd be terrified to go back in that place again!" I pulled up the collar of my coat and wished for warmer shoes. "You don't really think Mildred means it about finding the murderer, do you?"

"Don't ask me. I've never seen her this way. Okay, it's a given Otto was murdered, but I can't believe it was planned." Gatlin warmed her hands around a mug of hot spiced punch and let the steam waft into her face.

"Then what do you think happened?" I paused to pet Napoleon, who had been chasing a squirrel through the leaves.

"He either stumbled upon a would-be burglary or irritated somebody to the point they couldn't take it any longer. Otto could be unbearable at times, always looking down his nose at people, and he had that annoying laugh."

"Gatlin, people don't get murdered because of an annoying laugh," I said. "And if it wasn't planned, why did the plastic bag have no prints?"

She shrugged and offered me a sipof her drink. "We don't know if that was what he actually used."

"You say he he. Do you think it was a man?" I slipped the dog a bite of cheese I'd sneaked out for him.

Gatlin pretended not to notice. "No idea, but I'd place my bet on a woman. Cousin Otto was an awful chauvinist. I don't see how Mildred put up with him!"

"Mildred made him that way," I said. "Her world revolved around Otto. I can't imagine what she'll do now."

I was about to find out.

"So there you are!" Vesta opened the back door and streaked the dark steps with yellow light. "I wish you'd come in here and talk some sense into Mildred. She insists on going back to those rooms behind the bookstore tonight!"

After a period of weepy withdrawal, Mildred Parsons seemed to have undergone some kind of metamorphosis from a shy and shadowy background figure to an outspoken woman of purpose. It remained for the rest of us to try to figure out what that purpose was.

Gatlin went first. "Mildred, if you don't want to go back to Vesta's, you can stay with us until you decide what to do."

"I've already decided what to do. I'm going home and get to the bottom of this." Mildred tucked her worn black purse under her arm and looked around for her coat and her funny old hat with the pink feather.

"Did you take the tranquilizer Hank gave you?" Vesta asked. "You still have them, don't you?"

"I think the rest of you need a tranquilizer a lot more than I do." Mildred snapped open her purse, fished out an almost full bottle, and rattled the pills in my grandmother's face. "Here, you take them."

Vesta flopped, puppet like, into a chair and let her long arms dangle. Tall, angular, and ever active, she had always been the strong one in our family. Now the s.p.u.n.k seemed to be seeping from her, and I didn't like it. "The doctor didn't prescribe the tranquilizers for me, Mildred, but right now I think I could use a few!"

"What you could use is some sleep," I said, putting my arms around her. "You go on home now and get some rest. Gatlin and I will take care of Mildred."

I whispered the latter, but Mildred overheard me. "I'll take care of myself if you'll just get me back to my own place," she said.

And I did.

One of the ladies from the Lucy Alexander Circle promised to see my grandmother safely home, and I left Gatlin to look after Faye, her youngest, who was coming down with a cold.

I was sorry for Mildred; I knew how she felt, but I wanted to shake her for heaping misery on top of anguish. Didn't she know Vesta was grieving, too? Didn't she care? And then I remembered how I had reacted when Jarvis died. I had turned from friends, rejected family, and steeped myself in bitterness until I reached the point where even I couldn't stand to be around me.

"Mildred, I know what it's like to lose someone you love," I said as we drove through the dimly lit streets of downtown Angel Heights. "Believe me, I know how lost and helpless you feel. I hope you'll let us help you." My words sounded oddly familiar, as if I were quoting someone else. The woman, of course! The one with painted toenails and shimmering hair. She had said almost the same thing to me.

Mildred spoke with a tinge of her former shyness, and I could barely see her face in the darkness. "I'm sorry about your husband, Minda. That was an awful thing! And your sweet mother-I loved her, you know. Next to Otto, she was my favorite." She paused. "And I'm glad to see you and your grandmother are trying to work things out."

She turned away from me as we drove past Phinizy Street, where she had lived a good part of her life, and I had to make an effort to hear her. "I know I'm making things difficult, and I regret that, really. But if I have to become a hateful old woman to see things through, then so be it!"

"I'm sure the police are just as eager as you are to find out who killed Otto," I said, slowing as we neared the center of town. "The chief told Gatlin they were checking on everyone with a criminal record who might be in the area, and I know they dusted for prints."

"Well, I could tell them they're wasting their time! Gertrude Whitmire told me herself she found the front door unlocked when she arrived at the academy Sat.u.r.day morning, and there was no sign of a forced entry."

"Hugh was there that morning. He probably unlocked it," I said.

"No, no! Hugh didn't get there until later. Gertrude a.s.sumed Otto was working in the library upstairs, so she didn't think much about it. Whoever killed Otto was already in the building that night, or else he let them in."

Mildred seemed convinced she was right and I was too tired and it was too late to argue. Instead of parking in the narrow alley behind Papa's Armchair, I found a s.p.a.ce in front of the shopand waited while Mildred groped for her key. The windows of the small store were dark, and the place gave me the creeps-especially after what had happened to Otto. "I wish you'd stay with me at the home place, at least for tonight," I said as I helped her out of the car. "Don't you think it would be better to come back in the daylight? I really don't like leaving you here."

But Mildred didn't answer. I might as well have been talking to the wooden sign creaking over our heads. She fumbled for a minute with the lock, and I pushed open the heavy door with peeling green paint, then quickly stepped inside and switched on the light.

Mildred stood blinking in the fluorescent glare. "Someone's been here," she said.

"What do you mean?" I looked around. Everything seemed in order to me.

She frowned and looked about her. "I'm not sure, but something's not right." Mildred disappeared between rows of shelves that towered above her, and I trailed after, afraid to let her out of my sight. What if someone waited there? I watched while she nudged a book into place, shifted another to a different shelf. Insignificant things. What did they matter?

"I knew it! Here, look." Mildred stood in the doorway of the tiny back office. "Somebody's been in this desk."

Papers were scattered on the desktop, and a drawer had been opened a couple of inches, but other than that, it appeared undisturbed. "Otto might've left it that way," I said, smothering a yawn.

"But this isn't Otto's desk. He keeps his files and computer in our living quarters in the back. This is the desk I use for household accounts and to write up the minutes of the UMW, things like that.

"United Methodist Women. I'm secretary," she explained, seeing my blank expression. "And just look at that mess! I would never leave a desk like this."

I thought it looked neat compared to mine. "Maybe you'd better check to see if anything's missing," I said.

Mildred ruffled through her papers and peered into the desk drawers. "Everything appears to be here. There's nothing here of interest anyway-at least to anyone but me. And they've moved my jar of pencils, too."

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, I might've laughed, but I knew she'd never forgive me. "Your pencils?"

"Yes." She kicked at something beneath the desk. "See, they even dropped a couple on the floor. I always keep that jar on the left side of the desk because I'm left-handed. Somebody must have been looking for something in there and put it back on the wrong side."

"Looking for what?" I asked.

"When we know that, maybe we'll know who killed Otto," she said.

"I think we should call the police," I said after we had searched her small apartment behind the store. It consisted of only two bedrooms and bath, a small kitchen and eating area, and a narrow sitting room with just enough s.p.a.ce for a sofa, two side chairs, and a television. I could tell that Mildred had tried to make it homelike with crocheted doilies on the chair backs and a potted yellow chrysanthemum on the end table.

"What for?" she said. "So they can tell me I'm imagining things? Obviously whoever was here has already found what they were looking for. I doubt if they'll be back. At any rate, I'll worry about it in the morning. Right now I'm going to bed."

"What do you mean they've found what they were looking for? Is anything missing? Tell me what it is, and we'll report it to the police."

"I'm not sure; I'll have to look again tomorrow when I'm not so tired." She gave my arm a dismissing pat. "You run on home now, Minda, and get some sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

No amount of cajoling could convince this stubborn woman to come home with me, so I made her promise to call at the first sign of an intruder, waited until I was sure she'd double-bolted her doors, and then headed for the familiar house on Phinizy Street.

Jarvis would be surprised to see me turning in before midnight. Oh G.o.d! I forgot he was dead! Again! Oh G.o.d! I forgot he was dead! Again! The familiar hot, stinging sadness oozed through me like lemon juice in a cut. My husband used to tease me about being a night owl because I could read until the small hours and forget what time it was. Not tonight. Parking behind the family home, it was all I could do to drag myself from the car and upthe steps to the back porch. A dim light came from somewhere inside. I didn't remember leaving it on, but was glad I had. If Gatlin's small house hadn't been so crowded and she didn't have a sick child to contend with, I would have stayed there one more night. I wasn't looking forward to coming here alone. The familiar hot, stinging sadness oozed through me like lemon juice in a cut. My husband used to tease me about being a night owl because I could read until the small hours and forget what time it was. Not tonight. Parking behind the family home, it was all I could do to drag myself from the car and upthe steps to the back porch. A dim light came from somewhere inside. I didn't remember leaving it on, but was glad I had. If Gatlin's small house hadn't been so crowded and she didn't have a sick child to contend with, I would have stayed there one more night. I wasn't looking forward to coming here alone.

After Mom died and my dad remarried and moved to Atlanta with his new wife, I had spent the remainder of my high school years with Vesta in this house. During that time, Otto had clerked for a while at City Hall, tried his hand at selling insurance, and enrolled in a division of the university to study for his master's degree in world history. He never received it. The Nut House was home to me until I married Jarvis, and we had hosted our wedding reception on the front lawn.

But I wasn't going to think of that. Tonight I would crawl gratefully into the cherry sleigh bed that had been my mother's in my old room with the yellow striped wallpaper. And tomorrow I would get started with the rest of my life.

If only Cousin Otto didn't have to go and get himself murdered! And what if the person who searched the bookshop came here? What if he was here now? now?

Arminda Hobbs, you're getting as nutty as Mildred! n.o.body was in that bookshop, and n.o.body is going to be here. Now get upstairs, turn off your mind, and go to bed!

Yeah, right. But Otto's still dead, isn't he?

Other than the tiny light, the house was dark. It was big. And I was alone in it-I thought.

I switched on every light in the house and looked neither to the right nor the left as I took the stairs two at a time. If somebody was waiting there, I didn't want to see them.

But it was hard to miss the bright-haired lady in the upstairs hall.

Chapter Four.

It was the same woman who had greeted me from the front porch the day Otto was killed, and she seemed to be admiring the paintings lining the upstairs hall. When she turned toward me I saw that she held a mug of something that smelled like coffee. And cinnamon. The rich aroma wafted to greet me, and I stood stock-still about four steps from the top and clutched the railing like a lifeline.

Could this be the person who had been poking about in Otto's bookshop? The one who had killed him? She didn't seem dangerous, and the m.u.f.fins she'd brought had been absolutely heavenly, still...what on earth was she doing here at this hour? I took a step backwards.

"I thought you'd never get here! You must be exhausted." Mug in hand, my visitor leaned over the railing and smiled at me, her long necklace swinging. It winked at me in turquoise and violet, and I found myself watching the colors blend and change. "I expect you could use some of my apricot tea." Smiling, she moved toward me. "It'll warm you, help you sleep."

I'll bet, I thought. Cousin Otto wouldn't be suffering from insomnia, either. I knew I should run, get out of this house as fast as I could and bellow for help at the top of my lungs, but I didn't. I stood on the stairs and waited for her to come closer with her good-neighbor smile and summer-kitchen smell. "What do you want?" I said finally. I should have been afraid, but she seemed harmless, and what could she do to me? Whack me over the head with her coffee mug? Or maybe she was "just a little addled," as my mother used to say, and had somehow wandered into the wrong house. "Do you live around here? If you know your address, I'll help you get home," I offered. I hadn't heard of anyone missing who was- well-not quite right in the head, yet I had to admit her attire was I thought. Cousin Otto wouldn't be suffering from insomnia, either. I knew I should run, get out of this house as fast as I could and bellow for help at the top of my lungs, but I didn't. I stood on the stairs and waited for her to come closer with her good-neighbor smile and summer-kitchen smell. "What do you want?" I said finally. I should have been afraid, but she seemed harmless, and what could she do to me? Whack me over the head with her coffee mug? Or maybe she was "just a little addled," as my mother used to say, and had somehow wandered into the wrong house. "Do you live around here? If you know your address, I'll help you get home," I offered. I hadn't heard of anyone missing who was- well-not quite right in the head, yet I had to admit her attire was different different. I glanced again at the bright pink toenails in glittering gold sandals, the colorful swirling skirt. Was she making a fashion statement, or what? My guess was what what.

"I am home," she said, covering my hand with her own. "Don't you remember? We met earlier. I'm Augusta Good-night."

"I know," I said. "You told me, but I believe you're in the wrong house. This is my grandmother's place. Vesta Maxwell. Maybe you know her."

"It's been a while since I was here last." She spoke with a faraway look in her eyes. "So much has changed."

I didn't see how she could have been away so long she didn't know my eighty-year-old grandmother who had lived here all her life, but that wasn't my main concern at the moment. How was I going to get this woman out of my house? "Is there someone I could call?" I asked, moving at last downstairs toward the telephone in the kitchen.

"I really don't think that's necessary. First I believe we should talk. I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" She whirled past me in a froth of brilliance, filled the kettle at the sink, and set it on the stove. "I'm so glad this is gas. I never got used to those electric things. You do take tea, don't you?"

I nodded numbly. I would just pretend to drink while I tried to think what to do. Or maybe I would wake up and find this was all a dream.

But dreams don't smell. The apricot tea smelled faintly of ginger, and when she put a slice of something dark and moist in front of me, I found myself shoveling it into my mouth as if I'd had nothing to eat all day.

"Date-nut bread," she said. "Made it this afternoon. Would you like another slice?"

"Yes, please." I noticed Augusta was putting away her share, too, so it must be okay to eat it. This woman might be crazy, but she sure knew how to cook! The tea was sweet and warm, and I could feel myself relaxing. She sat across the table and looked at me over her cup, and again I thought of those carefree summer days at Camp Occoneechee. I could almost hear the laughter of children as they splashed in the cooling waters of the lake. "Who are are you?" I said. you?" I said.

"I'm your guardian angel, Minda."

"Right, "I said.

"I'm here for a while to help you if you'll let me. You've been through trying times, I know, but we'll work through this together."

"You're a little late," I said.

She refilled our cups with steaming tea and dribbled honey into hers. "What do you mean?"

"Where were you when the only man I've ever loved was struck and killed by lightning? Must've been your day off."

She nodded sadly. "If only we could prevent things like that from happening! Henrietta was most distressed about that."

"Henrietta?"

"Your guardian angel. Well-until recently. With so many babies being born, we've had to accelerate our apprentice program, and Henrietta was chosen to a.s.sist in their training." Augusta Goodnight smiled. "It's an honor to be selected, and Henrietta was pleased, naturally, but she regretted having to leave you-especially now."

Well, goody for Henrietta! I thought. "If you can't keep people safe, then what good are you?" I asked, turning the fragile cup in my saucer. Augusta had used the good stuff, I noticed, instead of the st.u.r.dy, everyday ceramic ware Vesta had left behind. I ran a finger along the edge of the round oak table, took in the apple green walls with the sunflower border. Was I actually in my grandmother's kitchen having a conversation with some weirdo who claimed to be my guardian angel? I deserved to live in a nut house! I thought. "If you can't keep people safe, then what good are you?" I asked, turning the fragile cup in my saucer. Augusta had used the good stuff, I noticed, instead of the st.u.r.dy, everyday ceramic ware Vesta had left behind. I ran a finger along the edge of the round oak table, took in the apple green walls with the sunflower border. Was I actually in my grandmother's kitchen having a conversation with some weirdo who claimed to be my guardian angel? I deserved to live in a nut house!

"Before I leave, I hope you'll find that out," the woman said. "Henrietta personally requested I take her place while she fulfills her other duties, and I don't plan to disappoint her. Or you."

Augusta whisked the dishes to the sink, and in seconds they were clean, dry, and put away. "We can't change things, Arminda. We can only counsel and lend support. But by our influence, we seek to guide you as best we can-if you'll let us."

Again she sat across from me and ran the lovely stones of her necklace through her fingers, and from the expression on her face, I could tell she considered me a first-cla.s.s challenge. "It was a sad and shocking thing to lose your Jarvis at so young an age, and of course you still miss your mother, but I believe there's a purpose for you back here in Angel Heights-and one for me, as well."

I didn't remember telling this woman my husband's name, but she might have heard it from someone else. "Are you telling me that Jarvis died so I'd have to come back to Angel Heights?" My tranquil mood seemed to have worn off.

"Certainly not! But you have to be somewhere, and right now, I think this is a good place to start. Your family needs you, Minda, and I believe you need them. Things here aren't as they should be."

"No kidding. I suppose you're referring to Cousin Otto's unfortunate demise."

"I'm afraid it began long before that," she said.

"How? When?" My eyelids were getting heavy, and I thought longingly of the bed waiting upstairs.

"That's what I hope to find out," she said quietly.

"You don't know? I thought angels knew everything." I yawned.

"I'm afraid you're confusing us with The One In Charge," Augusta said.