Chapter TWENTY-ONE
“Violet, wake up! Somebody’s out there!” My cousin’s head had dropped lower, and what had been light snoring sounds were now close to the dish-rattling stage. I gripped her shoulder. “Shh! You’ve got to stay with me. It looks like somebody was curious enough to take the bait.”
“You don’t have to shake me, Kate. I was only resting my eyes a minute.” Violet adjusted her glasses and looked where I was pointing. “Are you sure it wasn’t a shadow or something? I can’t see a thing.”
“That’s because whoever’s out there has gone into the toolshed. I thought you said it was locked.”
“You said it was locked. There’s no way you can lock that old door.” And my cousin Violet began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny? Don’t you dare go bananas on me now!” I really wanted to shake her this time. “Didn’t you say some kind of evidence is hidden in there?”
“Just because I said it doesn’t mean you can take it to the bank, Kate.”
“Then where is it? What did you do in there?”
Violet crept close behind me as I slowly opened the door to the back porch. Of course, it squeaked. “Nothing,” she said. “I just did a little painting, is all.”
I was almost afraid to ask. “What kind of painting?”
“I guess you could call it fuschia or maybe hot pink,” she said. “It’s that kind that glows.”
“You mean fluorescent? What did you paint?”
“Oh, just a couple of feet of the floor inside the door, but I didn’t do it until this afternoon and it’s supposed to take about twenty-four hours to dry.” Violet’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, and I was scared to death that whoever was out there could hear her.
“Keep your voice down . . . think of something sad,” I whispered. “Think of poor Ella.” And think of what might happen to us if whoever that is comes this way!
With our backs to the wall, we inched our way to the other end of the porch where wisteria vines concealed us from view. Parting the tendrils, I found my eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see the outline of the toolshed to the right of the muscadine arbor. A few seconds later, someone came out.
I motioned to Violet, then stepped aside so she could see, and she grabbed my wrist in a tourniquet grip. “Can you tell who it is?” she asked.
“Looks like a man.” I almost laughed. “Seems to be having trouble with sticky feet.” The person crossing the lawn stopped every few steps to wipe his shoes on the grass. Even from where we stood, I could see the cotton candy glow of his footprints until finally, having had enough, I suppose, the figure bent and pulled off his shoes.
Violet drew her purple shawl about her as if she meant to follow but I put up an arm to bar her way. “Oh, no you don’t!” I said. “I’ll trail him at a distance and see where he goes. Wait here until I get back!”
She snatched at my shirt. “But what if you don’t?”
“Then holler like hell! Now, please, Violet! He’s getting away!”
I had to hope she stayed where I told her as I didn’t have time to look back. Thank heaven the person running ahead of me didn’t look back, either. I don’t believe he knew he was being followed, but he had to have known he had wandered into Violet’s trap and was probably being watched. As I passed the garden, the smell of roses drifted out to meet me and I wondered again what my uncle had been searching for in there. Farther on, mounds of honeysuckle on what used to be a pasture fence filled the air with its sweet, heady scent. A chorus of frogs had started rehearsals nearby, and somewhere in the distance a lone dog bayed. The night was warm, and now and then a breeze ruffled leaves in the ash tree at the edge of the field with a soothing, oceanlike sound. But I wasn’t soothed.
I waited in the big tree’s shadow while the dark figure in front ducked behind a row of cedars and came out on the other side. Then, slipping into his shoes, he crossed the gravel farm road and seemed to pick up speed as he darted behind the shed where Casey kept his car. I had to run to keep up.
A mosquito kept buzzing around my ear, I had a pain in my side and somehow a pebble had worked its way into my shoe, but I didn’t dare take time to stop and dump it out. Using the cedars for cover, I tried to keep up without being seen but there was no way to cross the narrow road without taking a chance in the open. Should I keep low and creep, praying I wouldn’t be noticed, or hope for the best and run?
I ran. My heart did a bongo-beat solo I was sure you could hear a mile away, and I felt so light-headed I clung to the first object I came to, which happened to be a pine sapling, sticky with resin. A skunk had wandered through the area not too long before, so I was kind of glad of the strong pine smell. But the man I had been following seemed to have disappeared, and if I was going to find out where he went, I couldn’t stand there forever—no matter how scared I was. What if he’s waiting for me up ahead, I thought. Or even worse, maybe he had crept up behind me.
“Sure seems like a good time for a guardian angel to appear if one’s on duty!” I muttered under my breath, glancing around for any sign of Augusta. But the only movement I saw was a bat fluttering over the top of the shed. She must be around somewhere, I thought, since, if I remembered correctly, the angel had given her consent to Violet’s plan, but she was taking her own sweet time making her presence known!
I was about halfway between the tree and the shed when I heard the unmistakable sound of a screen door shutting. Dear God, was the man in Casey’s house? I had overheard the caretaker mention to Grady on the porch right after supper that he planned to go to bed early in case Uncle Ernest needed him to help get ready for the visitation tomorrow.
A light came on in the hallway of the house and I hurried to the cover of a billowing forsythia bush underneath the window just in time to see the figure pass by the open door of the kitchen and enter the bedroom behind it. I looked for a place to hide near the bedroom window, but the area was bare of shrubbery, so I edged along the side of the house, hoping to crouch beneath it before he turned on a light. I was too late.
A dull yellow light filled the window square, but there was a brighter strip at the bottom. Whoever was in there had pulled down a shade leaving an inch or so uncovered just above the sill. Thank you, God, I thought. Or was Augusta responsible for my good fortune? Maybe she hadn’t deserted me after all! I was feeling a little more confident about my chances when I walked smack into a spiderweb big enough for a tarantula and let out a sound that was something between a gargle and a groan. Immediately I hit the ground, brushing what felt like a convention of tickly spiders from my face and hair while waiting for the worst. There was no way he couldn’t have heard that yell!
Well, actually there was one, I noted, as a toilet flushed somewhere inside.
Unless he had flushed the toilet to make me think he hadn’t heard me! In which case he would be slipping around the side of the house to confront me . . . just about now.
I looked up to see a figure pass by the window in the bedroom and held my breath, waiting for him to raise the shade and find me there. Since I hadn’t heard any yelling or sounds of a struggle inside, it seemed a safe bet the figure I had been following was Casey Grindle himself, but I wanted to be sure—that is, if I lived that long.
All right, Kate McBride, it’s now or never! I felt like a voyeur looking in a strange man’s bedroom window, but it was for a good cause, I told myself. Standing on tiptoe, I could just see over the sill to watch Casey staring in apparent dismay at the pink-spotted soles of the shoes he held in his hand. He had shed the dark gray cap he had been wearing and I suddenly realized I had never seen the man without something on his head. I soon understood why.
When Casey began to unbutton his shirt, I started to turn away. Now I knew who had been looking for Violet’s “hidden evidence” in the toolshed, although the reason wasn’t clear, and I certainly didn’t need to stay long enough to watch the caretaker disrobe. But what was I to tell them when I reached the house—that Casey was looking for something in the toolshed? He was the caretaker, wasn’t he? Maybe he needed a tool.
Oh, wake up, Kate! Not in the middle of the night! The man’s up to something.
Another door opened, and I risked one more glance. Casey, whose back was to me now, took a suitcase from the closet shelf, and when he turned, I almost toppled backward onto the lawn. Casey Grindle had breasts!
I blinked. There was no mistaking it. The shirt hung open in front revealing a lace-trimmed bra, and unless Casey was into cross-dressing, he was a she. I watched brazenly as the caretaker peeled off the dark pants and shirt, tossed her ruined shoes in the trash can and slipped into a neat navy pantsuit and matching flats. She looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, and although on closer observation I was able to notice her more feminine characteristics, the woman was of hefty build, and from where I stood, seemed to have enormous feet.
I stood there in something close to a trancelike state while Casey (if this was her name) pulled items from closet shelves and dresser drawers and dumped them into her suitcase. She didn’t mean to hang around long.
Did her rush to leave have anything to do with Ella’s death or Belinda’s encounter with yellow jackets, I wondered. And Violet had seemed to think Uncle Ernest was in some kind of danger. At least he would be staying the night at Ma Maggie’s, I thought, although I couldn’t imagine why Casey Grindle—or whoever she was—would be interested in harming my uncle.
A persistent mosquito stirred me into action. I had to get back to the house, and to Violet, who was probably frantic by now—if she hadn’t dozed off again. I left the caretaker rummaging through boxes under her bed and backed away from the window, skirting the shed that housed Casey’s car, then made my way carefully across the gravel road and climbed up the slope on the other side. So far, so good! Once I reached the stand of cedars, I would be out of the line of vision and could run without having to worry about being seen. I didn’t understand the reason for Casey Grindle’s abrupt leaving, but I knew we had to stop her.
The night air was cool on my face as I ran, and if I hadn’t been on a crucial mission, I would have relished the experience. Or most of it.
Inhaling the Christmassy smell of cedar, I took a deep breath, emerged at full speed on the other side of the small grove of trees and skidded at least a couple of feet on the dew-wet grass. Then, feeling like Brer Rabbit, I rolled through a nasty patch of briars and bumped to rest against a tree stump.
“Oh, dear! I hope you haven’t broken anything. . . . But I’m afraid you’re going to have to hurry.” Augusta, in a whispering dress of lilac chiffon, leaned over me with an expression of concerned impatience.
With difficulty, I pulled myself to my knees and began to pluck briars from my hands. “Well, fancy meeting you here,” I told her. “A little late, aren’t you?” I rubbed my aching shoulder.
She stood, plainly indicating I was to do the same. “Preventing minor accidents is not in my job description, Kathryn. Can you imagine how much time that would take? I should think you’d know better than to run on wet grass in the dark like this—besides, I was busy elsewhere.”
“Doing what?” I struggled to my feet and trotted obediently beside her. The angel’s brilliant necklace winked at me in orchid and indigo.
“I’m not sure where this Casey is going, but I thought it best to delay her,” she said, pausing to look at me. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine,” I said. I frowned. “Delay her how?”
“I never learned much about vehicles,” Augusta said, “but I do know one can’t get past a large obstacle. There was a dead sweet gum tree beside the drive, just before you reach the main road. It needed only a little encouragement to fall.”
“How clever of you, Augusta! That should buy us time.”
My companion was silent for a minute and began to walk faster. “However,” she said, “I’m afraid I underestimated the woman’s strength. Lifted that tree right off the road and tossed it aside. Amazing! Not as amazing as Sampson, of course, but I believe he had more hair.”
I wasn’t about to get into all that. “How long has she been gone?” I started to run—regardless of the wet grass.
“Not long. Just a few minutes, but I think we should hurry, Kate.”
“Augusta, just who is Casey? You know something, don’t you?”
“I have an idea. . . . And I’m a bit concerned about your uncle.”
“Not to worry. He’s staying with my grandmother tonight,” I said.
For an angel, Augusta didn’t look so calm anymore. “Then I think you should telephone him as soon as you reach home.”
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I was out of breath when we reached Bramblewood, and it seemed every light was burning. Grady ran across the lawn to meet me. “What in hell’s going on? Violet had us scared to death. What’s this wild tale anyway? Are you all right?”
I followed him into the kitchen where his mom and dad tried to comfort Violet who, between sobs, was blaming herself for my likely demise.
“Oh, why, why did I let her go?” she wailed. “Out chasing around in the dark of night after that . . . that wicked person! Who knows what will become of her!”
“Probably nothing good,” I said, giving her a reassuring hug, “but don’t write me off just yet.”
“Kate!” Cousin Violet almost smothered me in her embrace. “You’re here! Did you find out who it was? Where is he?”
“Will somebody please tell us what this is all about?” Uncle Lum glanced at his wrist to discover he wasn’t wearing a watch. “It must be after three!”
Aunt Leona tried to cover a yawn. “We were about to send for the police.”
“If you’ll let me catch my breath and get a drink of water, I’ll tell you,” I said. And did.
When I finished, Violet nodded, purple curls bobbing. “Casey. Just as I thought.”
“Casey’s a what?” Grady shook his head at me. “Come on, Kate, you’re making this up!”
Violet’s face was solemn. “No! No, she’s not. I’ve suspected it for some time.”
“Suspected what?” Uncle Lum asked. “We can’t have somebody arrested for pretending to be the opposite sex. Casey seems harmless enough to me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not, but we need to call Uncle Ernest right now,” I said, heading for the phone.
“At this time of night?” My aunt gathered her robe together. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
I didn’t answer. And neither did Uncle Ernest.
“Nobody’s answering,” I said, dialing again. “Even if Uncle Ernest can’t hear it ringing, Ma Maggie would. They have to be there! Where else could they be?”
“I expect they’ve turned off the ringer,” Aunt Leona said. “Your grandmother says some woman has been calling in the wee hours wanting to speak to somebody named Homer Earl?”
Uncle Lum nodded. “That’s what they’ve done, all right. Uncle Ernest wouldn’t put up with that.”
“Whatever it is will keep, though, won’t it?” Grady said. “Casey’s leaving in the middle of the night is strange, I’ll admit, and an inconvenience to Uncle Ernest, but I can’t see that it’s earth-shattering.” He shrugged. “Obviously the man—woman—whoever it is—has an identity problem.”
Cousin Violet snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong. She knows very well who she is, and so do I. She’s Rose. She’s your uncle Ernest’s wife.”