Digging Up The Dirt

CHAPTER 28

An’gel followed as Dickce pushed the serving cart, now laden with the remains of their dinner, dirty plates, and utensils, back to the kitchen. Could she possibly be right? she wondered. She debated whether to share her idea with her sister. Dickce might think she was being foolish to think such a thing. After all, An’gel thought, what motive could there have been to murder Coriander Simpson?

She continued to play with the idea in her mind while she and Dickce rinsed the dishes and put away the meager leftovers of the chicken tetrazzini. When they finished their tasks, Dickce declared she was going to the front parlor for a glass of postprandial brandy.

“Sounds good,” An’gel said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Dickce looked at her oddly but didn’t question her. The moment she left the room, An’gel picked up the kitchen phone and punched in a number.

“Good evening, Elmo,” she said when the elderly doctor answered. “How are you doing?”

“Tolerable, just tolerable,” Gandy replied. “How about your lovely self, An’gel?”

“I’m doing fine.” An’gel moved over to the table and sat. Elmo could be long-winded sometimes, and she felt tired. “I hope you won’t mind my calling, but there’s something weighing on my mind. I’m hoping you can help me with it.”

“What’s that?” the doctor asked, sounding concerned. “Your sciatica acting up again?”

“No, that’s not bothering me, thank heavens,” An’gel said. “No, what I wanted to talk to you about is Callie Partridge.”

“What about her?” Gandy said.

When An’gel didn’t immediately respond to his question, the doctor went on. “This is about the remains found up at Ashton Hall, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” An’gel said. “Ever since we found them, Callie has been weighing heavy on my mind. I just wondered if you were able to help the sheriff’s department identify them.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t. I suppose it’s all right to tell you this, but Callie, you see, had never broken any bones to my knowledge, and there was no evidence of broken bones in the remains. So that was a washout. The remains are approximately the size Callie was, about five foot seven, but that’s not positive proof. That anthropologist from the college thinks the woman was roughly the same age as Callie was when she disappeared, but he can’t say precisely how old she was.”

“What about dental records?” An’gel said.

“They’re trying to track down her dentist. He left town a good twenty-five years ago, and he was in his early sixties then, if I’m remembering correctly. Her records may no longer be available.”

“That’s frustrating,” An’gel said. “At this rate we may never know for sure who was buried in that grave.”

“If they can track down a member of Callie’s family and get a good sample, a DNA test will provide the answer,” Gandy said.

“True,” An’gel said, “but who knows how long that could take?” She debated whether to share her idea that the remains might belong to Coriander Simpson. She decided the notion was a bit too farfetched and would only complicate matters at this point. She would have to think about it more before she discussed it with anyone else.

“Thank you, Elmo,” she said. “I appreciate you answering my question. I know you must think I’m being a busybody.”

Gandy chuckled. “Not at all, my dear. We’re all concerned about this.”

An’gel thanked him again and ended the call. She realized Dickce would be wondering why she hadn’t come to the parlor for her brandy. She’d better go, she decided, before Dickce came looking for her.

“What took you so long?” Dickce asked the moment she entered the parlor.

“I had a phone call I wanted to make.” An’gel headed for the liquor cabinet and poured herself some brandy. She took the snifter and joined her sister on the sofa.

“I see.” Dickce sipped at her brandy. “And this was a call you couldn’t make with me listening in, I gather?”

“Not really,” An’gel said, slightly annoyed at her sister’s snippy tone. “If you must know, I called Elmo Gandy to ask him whether he had been able to help identify those remains as Callie Partridge.”

Dickce leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“There was no conclusive evidence. No broken bones, and Callie had never broken any, to his knowledge. Approximately the right age and height, but that’s it, really.” An’gel stared at the amber liquid in the snifter before taking a sip.

“What about dental records?” Dickce asked.

An’gel repeated the doctor’s words. “The only hope, really, is DNA testing, if they can find a member of Callie’s family.”

“They ought to be able to find someone,” Dickce said. “I don’t recall Callie ever saying anything about a brother or a sister, but surely there’s a cousin around somewhere.”

“I believe she was an only child,” An’gel said. “We’ll have to hope for a cousin. If anyone would know, Hadley should. I’m sure Kanesha has already talked to him about it.”

“No doubt,” Dickce said. “Changing the subject here, but have you called the insurance company about the car?”

An’gel shook her head. “No, I haven’t. Frankly, it went clean out of my mind until you mentioned it. I’ll call in the morning. We’ll have to get the report from the sheriff’s department anyway, and we can’t do that until tomorrow.”

“I didn’t really take the time to look at the damage,” Dickce said. “The moment I saw it all I could think about was you. Now it’s too dark to see that good.”

“I’m deeply thankful it was still drivable.” An’gel downed the rest of her brandy. “Otherwise, well, I don’t want to think about the otherwise.”

“No, let’s not.” Dickce rose and held out her hand. “How about a little more brandy?”

An’gel gave Dickce her snifter. “Perhaps a bit more. Thank you.”

When Dickce returned with the brandy she said, “Another change of subject. Do you remember what Coriander Simpson looked like?”

An’gel thought for a moment, tried to dredge up a clear memory of the young woman. All she got was a hazy picture of an attractive woman with short hair and café au lait skin. She shared the meager description with Dickce.

“That’s about the best I can do,” Dickce said. “I do remember, though, that she was slender, like Callie, and about the same height.” She paused for a sip of brandy. “Maybe I should have asked Mrs. Simpson for a picture of her I could borrow. I didn’t think about it at the time, though.”

“She might have thought that it was a strange request,” An’gel said.

“You’re probably right.”

“I wonder if there are any pictures of her at Ashton Hall,” An’gel said. “We might ask Hadley.”

“What reason could we give for asking for a picture of a former housemaid?” Dickce asked.

“Good point.” An’gel thought for a moment longer, then felt foolish as a memory surfaced. “We have a picture of her. I just remembered.”

“We do?” Dickce said. “Why do we have a picture of her?”

“From that big party we had here that last Christmas before Hadley left and Callie disappeared. Don’t you remember?”

Dickce nodded. “Now that you mention it, I do. Didn’t Coriander Simpson come over to help Clementine supervise the caterer’s staff that evening?”

“She did,” An’gel said. “The question is, where are the picture albums from back then? You packed a bunch of them away, didn’t you, about fifteen years ago?”

“I did,” Dickce said. “I know exactly where they are, too. Unfortunately, we can’t get at them tonight.”

“Why?” An’gel asked. “Where are they?”

“In the Athena College archives,” Dickce replied. “That particular Christmas party was a fund-raiser for the library. They needed money for something—can’t remember now what it was—and we hosted the event. Eulalie Estes asked me for them, and I didn’t see any need for us to keep them.”

“I’d forgotten it was a fund-raiser,” An’gel said. “I guess we’ll have to go by the archives tomorrow and visit with Charlie and Diesel and get a copy of any picture we can find with Coriander in it.”

“After we get the car to the body shop,” Dickce said. “It’s always fun to visit Charlie and Diesel.”

“That takes care of our morning,” An’gel said. “I think we need to talk to Hadley in the afternoon. I know Kanesha has probably already questioned him more than once, but she probably didn’t ask him everything I plan to.”

“Do you think we ought to tell her what we’re doing?” Dickce said. “She might prefer that we keep our noses out of this.”

“We’re simply going to be talking to an old and dear friend about memories from the past,” An’gel said. “I can’t see the harm in that. Besides, I think we’re more likely to get Hadley to open up to us than Kanesha is. He’s hiding something, I’m almost sure of it, and I intend to find out what it is. If it helps put an end to this situation, then Kanesha will be happy to have the information.”

“Hadley’s more likely to open up to you, you mean,” Dickce said.

An’gel didn’t care for the mischievous glint in her sister’s eye. She wished Dickce would give up trying to needle her about Hadley. She was tired of it, and she was having a hard enough time suppressing certain memories without Dickce’s teasing to keep them resurfacing.

“I’m feeling tired. I’m going up to bed.” An’gel rose. “Would you mind taking my snifter to the kitchen?”

“Not at all,” Dickce said. “You have had an unusual day, and I’m sure you’re ready to put it behind you. Go on up, and I’ll make sure everything is locked up for the night.”

“Thank you, Sister.” An’gel appreciated how sweet Dickce could be when she wasn’t feeling her best.

She climbed the stairs slowly. She could feel the stiffness in her back and knew it might be worse in the morning. Her neck was a bit sore as well. She decided a nice hot soak in a tub with Epsom salts might be exactly what she needed to help with her back. Their mother had always sworn by Epsom salts for a variety of issues, and over the years An’gel and Dickce had realized the benefits of their mother’s advice. With her plan in mind, An’gel headed straight for her bathroom to begin filling the tub.

The next morning An’gel felt only a slight stiffness when she awoke, and she hoped a hot shower would soon put that right. The soreness in her neck had diminished a bit, but if it persisted she would probably have to have it x-rayed, she realized.

She called their insurance agent at eight o’clock, and he promised to have everything taken care of. He would contact the sheriff’s department in case they wanted someone at the body shop to examine the car further before repairs began.

By nine o’clock, An’gel and Dickce were finished at the body shop. Dickce drove them to Athena College in the rental car the insurance agent had arranged for them and parked near the antebellum home that served as the offices of the library’s director as well as the home of the rare book collection and college archives.

They stopped to chat briefly with Melba Gilley, the director’s administrative assistant, before continuing upstairs to the archive. An’gel had called Charlie Harris from the body shop to make sure he would be available and that he would have time to help them find the pictures they sought.

An’gel knocked on the open door, and Charlie Harris looked up from his desk. His face broke into a wide smile as he rose and came around the desk to greet them. Right behind him came Diesel, his Maine Coon. Diesel was Charlie’s constant companion, and An’gel and Dickce were as fond of the cat as they were the man.

“Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, this is such a pleasant surprise,” Charlie said. “It seems like ages since we’ve seen you. You’re both looking well.”

He had two chairs already arranged for them, and in his usual courtly fashion, he made sure they were seated comfortably. Diesel had to warble for each of them in turn and have his head scratched. His greetings completed, he stretched out on the floor between their chairs.

“It has been ages, Charlie,” An’gel said. “You’re looking well, and Diesel looks as handsome and spoiled as ever.”

Charlie laughed. “We’re doing fine, and we’re both glad to see you. What can we do for you this morning? You said you needed to look at some pictures you gave to the archive back in Miss Eulalie’s time, I believe.”

“Yes, they’re pictures from a fund-raiser at Riverhill that we held for the library’s benefit. Eulalie asked for the pictures fifteen years ago, though the party actually took place four decades ago.”

“I see,” Charlie said. “I’ve been looking through our records, and I’m pretty sure I know where the photographs are. Miss Eulalie kept excellent track of everything. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll go next door and retrieve the box.”

“We don’t mind waiting at all,” An’gel said. “I’m sure Diesel will be happy to keep us company.”

At the sound of his name the cat chirped and meowed, and An’gel and Dickce smiled.

“I’ll be right back.” Charlie strode from the room.

The sisters took turns rubbing Diesel’s head and back while they waited.

“I hope we’re not misremembering about those pictures,” An’gel said. “Surely there’s one of Coriander among them.”

“Bound to be,” Dickce said.

Charlie returned a couple of minutes later with an archival box. He set it on his desk and removed the lid. From inside it he pulled out a smaller box of an appropriate size for photographs.

“There are four of these, each with about forty to fifty photographs,” he said. “They’re all pictures from that fund-raiser, according to Miss Eulalie’s notes.”

“That sounds about right,” Dickce said. “The photographer was snapping pictures constantly.”

“Why don’t you let each of us have a box to go through,” An’gel said. “Shouldn’t take us long to find what we’re after.”

Charlie gave them cotton gloves to put on. The gloves would protect the photographs from any oil or other residue on their fingers.

An’gel settled her box in her lap and cautiously began to go through the photographs. At first the process was awkward, but she quickly got used to the gloves. She had to resist the temptation to linger over certain pictures, especially those that brought back particular memories. She forced herself to focus.

Moments later, Dickce said, “I’ve found her.” She brandished a photograph. “Here’s Coriander Simpson.”