Digging Up The Dirt

CHAPTER 13

An’gel nodded. “You’re right, Benjy. I’ve been thinking about that myself. We also have only his word that he was not in love with Callie, that he thought of her only as a friend, and not a lover.”

“If he’s not telling the truth in either case, I’m wondering why he would be lying,” Benjy said.

“To shift the blame completely to his brother, for one thing.” Dickce frowned. “It’s a little drafty here by the door. Let’s go back to the dining room and finish clearing the table. We can discuss Hadley while we do that.”

An’gel and Benjy followed her. When they reached the dining room, An’gel said, “We need to track down Mrs. Turnipseed. Even though she’ll be biased against Hadley, according to him, she still might be able to tell us something.”

“Especially about the last few days before Callie disappeared.” Dickce paused in stacking dessert plates on the tray. “I just thought of something. Wasn’t there another woman who worked for them? A housemaid, I seem to remember. Now, what was her name?”

“You’re right, there was a woman,” An’gel said. “I can’t remember her name at the moment, but I do remember that Callie was fond of her and thought she was a good worker. We’ll have to ask Clementine tomorrow if she can think of the woman’s name if it doesn’t come to one of us before then.”

“My memory simply isn’t what it was.” Dickce sighed. “I used to be able to remember people’s names and their faces.”

“We both did,” An’gel said. “No use complaining about it now. Let’s get all this to the kitchen and be done with it.”

They carried everything to the kitchen and set the dishes and cutlery in the sink. Benjy bade them good night.

“I need to let Peanut out for one last run before bedtime,” he said. “See you in the morning.” He gave them each a quick peck on the cheek before he left through the back door.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” Dickce said as she filled the sink with hot water to soak the dishes. “I worry about him, though. He needs friends his own age. Right now all he has is the two of us, Clementine, Peanut, and Endora.”

“I think he’s doing fine,” An’gel said. “He needs time to adjust after everything that’s happened to him in recent months. Once he starts classes at Athena in the spring, he’ll start to make friends.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Dickce turned off the tap and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “That’s done. I’m ready to call it a night and get ready for bed. I hope I don’t have nightmares about what we found today.”

“That was gruesome,” An’gel said as she followed Dickce out of the kitchen. She left one light burning in the hall before they climbed the stairs to their respective bedrooms on the second floor. “Try to think about other, more pleasant, things before you go to sleep. That usually works for me. Good night.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t know whether it will work. Good night.” Dickce stepped into her room and shut the door.

An’gel forced her thoughts away from the subject of Callie Partridge while she prepared for bed. Once she was done, instead of climbing into bed, she went to the armchair by the window where she liked to read and turned on the lamp. She didn’t feel ready for sleep, and reading often calmed her thoughts and helped her drift off more easily.

Charlie Harris had recommended that she try a series that featured a Scottish noblewoman in post–World War I Scotland. She was halfway through After the Armistice Ball, the first book by Catriona McPherson, and enjoying it thoroughly. Within moments of picking it up she found herself once more immersed in the story.

By the time An’gel turned the last page, the clock read 11:14. An’gel yawned and set the book aside. She would have to thank Charlie for his recommendation and find more books by the author. Right now, though, she was ready to climb into bed. She soon fell asleep and slept soundly until her alarm went off at seven.

At breakfast forty-five minutes later she eyed Dickce with concern. “You obviously didn’t rest well, Sister. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Dickce yawned before she answered. “I tossed and turned a good bit of the night. I couldn’t go to sleep for the longest time, and when I did I had nightmares about bodies rising out of graves and coming after me.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.” Benjy frowned. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Heavens, do I look that bad?” Dickce smiled. “I may take a nap sometime today, but for now, I’m awake. This coffee ought to perk me up.”

“Clementine’s coffee is strong enough to do the trick,” Benjy said. “One cup is enough to do me for the rest of the day.” He nodded at his empty cup before he picked up his glass of orange juice.

“We’ve been drinking it for years,” Dickce said. “Takes me at least three cups to get completely awake on days like this.”

“If you drink three cups of that coffee, you’ll be running around the house like a hamster on its wheel,” An’gel said. “I’d advise you to have one at the most and in a little while, go back upstairs and lie down for an hour or two.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Dickce said. “But I’ll follow my own prescription if you don’t mind.” She picked up her cup and drained it, then got up to go to the sideboard to refill it from the carafe there.

An’gel frowned but didn’t otherwise respond. She knew how Dickce was when she got in one of these moods. She decided to concentrate instead on finishing her meal. She was eager to start the search for Hamish Partridge’s faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Turnipseed, and the housemaid whose name she had finally remembered this morning while she was in the shower.

The housemaid had such a distinctive name, An’gel was surprised she hadn’t remembered it last night. Coriander Simpson. Surely a woman with a name like that wouldn’t be hard to trace. An’gel hoped she was still living. She thought the woman was in her late twenties—early thirties at most—during the time she worked at Ashton Hall.

Mrs. Turnipseed had to be around somewhere, she reasoned, if Hamish Partridge had left her a pension in his will. If all else failed, she could contact Hamish’s lawyer to find out whether the firm had any contact information for the housekeeper. That would mean asking Hadley the name of the firm. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been Pendergrast and Harris, the firm now run by Alexandra Pendergrast and Sean Harris, Charlie’s son. Hamish had detested Alexandra’s father, Q. C. Pendergrast, founder of the firm. The loathing had been mutual.

But first, she realized, she needed to talk to Kanesha Berry. She wanted to propose her scheme to meet with the women to the deputy before she went ahead with it. An’gel didn’t want to compromise Kanesha’s investigation, but from what she remembered of Mrs. Turnipseed and certain of her attitudes, she thought she stood a better chance of getting information from her than the deputy did. The housemaid might be a different matter, but An’gel still thought it couldn’t hurt for her to talk to Coriander Simpson first.

An’gel shared her plan with Dickce and Benjy. When she finished, she asked, “What do you two think?”

“I think you definitely should talk to Deputy Berry first,” Benjy said when Dickce didn’t respond right away. “She doesn’t seem like the type of person who would like other people doing her job for her.”

Dickce chuckled. “No, she surely is not that type.”

“What will you do if she tells you she doesn’t want you to talk to these women?” Benjy asked.

An’gel frowned. “I would comply with her wishes in that case. I’m not going to rush in like one of those snoopy old ladies in a mystery novel and have Kanesha angry with me. I do believe, though, she will welcome my—our—help in this instance.”

“Especially with that Turnipseed woman.” Dickce sniffed. “I’ve recalled a few things about her, and I don’t think she would respond well to Kanesha. I remember Callie telling us one time she had to speak to Mrs. Turnipseed about how badly she treated the housemaid.”

“What do you mean?” Benjy asked. “I think I can guess.”

“Mrs. Turnipseed had pretty outdated ideas about race and the way other people should be treated.” An’gel grimaced. “I have no time for those attitudes, and if I do talk to her, I imagine it will be difficult not to tell her exactly what I think about that.”

“Knowing you, you’ll go all Julia Sugarbaker on her.” Dickce giggled.

Benjy laughed, too. “I know what that means.”

An’gel did not share their amusement. “If I do talk to Mrs. Turnipseed, I had obviously better do it on my own.”

“Oh, come on, Sister, don’t get huffy.” Dickce grimaced at An’gel. “You know how you can be when you get angry over stuff like that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” An’gel said after a moment’s reflection. “I do sometimes get caught up in the moment.”

The doorbell rang. An’gel frowned. “It’s pretty early for anyone to come calling. Is either of you expecting someone?”

“Not I,” Dickce said.

“Me either.” Benjy pushed his chair back. “I’ll go see who it is, and then I probably need to rescue Clementine from looking after Peanut and Endora.”

“Thank you, Benjy,” the sisters said in near unison.

“It might be Kanesha,” Dickce said. “Or do you suppose it could be Hadley?” She brightened.

“Kanesha, perhaps,” An’gel said. “But I can’t see Hadley ringing our doorbell at eight fifteen in the morning.”

An’gel heard two feminine voices in the hallway as their unexpected guests approached. She and Dickce rose from their chairs.

Benjy ushered in Barbie Gross and Lottie MacLeod. Both women appeared excited.

“Morning, girls,” Barbie said. “Sorry to burst in on you like this.” She glanced at the table. “But I see you’ve been having breakfast, so you can handle the news.”

“What news?” An’gel said, trying not to sound annoyed or impatient.

“We had to tell you in person.” Lottie’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as she continued. “Sarinda’s ghost is haunting her house.”