Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel by Mignon F. Ballard Page B

yawn.
    Augusta smiled. “Before your walk.”
    â€œYes, before my walk,” Dimple agreed.
    And she did.
    Grumpy Hazel answered, her voice sounding as if she were hollering up a chimney filled with soot. “Who is this? Dimple? Is that you? I suppose you know you’ve waked the whole household.”
    The words I’m sorry were on Dimple’s lips, but she swallowed them just in time. She wasn’t one bit sorry. “That’s too bad. I’d like to speak with my brother, please.”
    Dimple heard a rumble of voices in the background and finally Henry himself took the receiver in hand. “Dimple? What’s going on? Is anything wrong?”
    Dimple was so relieved to hear his voice, she almost cried, but this wasn’t the time for crying. “Of course I’m all right, Henry, but I’ve been worried sick about you. Why haven’t you returned my calls or answered my letters? It’s been months since I’ve heard from you.”
    She found herself listening to dead air for a few seconds until her brother finally spoke. “I’m so sorry, Dimple. I wasn’t aware you had phoned, and it’s been … well … stressful at the plant lately. One of these days maybe I can explain, but I’m all right, and I will write soon—I promise. Take care of yourself, now. I don’t have but one Dimple.”
    As soon as Henry said good-bye, Dimple Kilpatrick buttoned up her coat, jammed on her hat, and grabbed her umbrella, but she waited until she reached the porch to let the tears begin. Now was the time for crying.

 
    C HAPTER S EVEN
    â€œWell?” Virginia asked when Dimple saw her in town the next day. “Did you send the telegram?”
    Dimple had stopped in at Cooper’s Store to pick up soy flour and molasses for her Victory Muffins, as well as bananas and cheese for Augusta, and heard Virginia calling to her from the sidewalk in front of Brumlow’s Dry Goods.
    â€œI didn’t have to,” she said, shifting her burden. “I reached Henry on the telephone this morning—caught him just before he left for the plant.”
    Her friend made a harrumphing noise. “And what did he have to say?”
    â€œSounds as if things have been more stressful than usual at Bell Bomber. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell my brother has a lot on his mind. It must have something to do with a special project—some kind of plane, I imagine. He can’t talk about it, of course.” Miss Dimple managed a smile, although she didn’t feel like smiling at all. “And he promised to write soon. That’s about all I can ask.”
    â€œDid you find out why he didn’t return your calls?”
    Dimple shrugged. “Seems he didn’t get the messages.”
    â€œAh-ha!” Virginia said.
    Dimple ignored the inference. What good would it do to make an issue of something she couldn’t change? However, thanks to Augusta’s advice, she was glad she had ignored Hazel’s rudeness and insisted on speaking with Henry. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any more suspicious visitors at the library?” she said.
    Virginia shook her head. “Bobby or somebody else on the force has been patrolling faithfully, and I can’t say I’m not grateful.” She frowned. “Whoever was out there might’ve meant no harm at all, but it made me feel uneasy. You sensed it, too, Dimple—and he did run from the police. Anyway, he’s probably long gone by now.”
    Dimple hoped it was true. She didn’t want to alarm Virginia, but she would be grateful if the police would continue to keep an eye on the library for a while at least.
    â€œBobby tells me Dora’s husband is on his way here to see to her arrangements,” Virginia said. “Wonder what kind of person he is, and why she left the way she did.”
    Miss Dimple wondered, too. “I’ve