Miss Dimple Suspects by Mignon F. Ballard

wife, Coralee, lived in the old family place and his brother had a small house near his blacksmith shop a little farther down the road.
    Charlie drove slowly along the rutted red dirt road that snaked its way up a hill where winter bare trees stood stark against a mottled background of brown. During her search for Peggy, Dimple Kilpatrick had walked a distance of several miles from the other side of those same hills. The rustic cottage where Mae Martha lived, she learned, had belonged to a family from Atlanta who used it as a weekend getaway, but the people lost interest in it when the father died, and after the place remained empty for several years, Mae Martha’s grandson convinced her to buy it to be closer to her relatives while he was away.
    “I thought we might see somebody outside when we passed Esau’s place,” Charlie said, avoiding a hole in the road that looked like it went down to China, “but it seems deserted around here.”
    “Wait, I believe there’s someone up ahead,” Miss Dimple said, and Charlie slowed as they came in sight of a stocky grizzled man with a rifle over his shoulder and a burlap sack in his hand.
    Charlie rolled down her window. “We’re on our way to visit Mrs. Hawthorne,” she told him. “Do you know if they’re at home?”
    The man glanced at them but didn’t slow in his walk. “They were there about an hour ago,” he said, swinging the sack by his side. “Don’t know where else they’d be.”
    Annie giggled as Charlie thanked him and drove on. “The strong, silent type. Wonder what he has in the sack.”
    “Probably a squirrel or two, or rabbits perhaps,” Miss Dimple answered. “That must be the man who does odd jobs for Mae Martha. I believe she said his name was Bill.”
    “Ugh! Creepy if you ask me,” Annie said. “I don’t think I could eat a squirrel, or a rabbit, either.”
    “You could if you were hungry,” Miss Dimple said, and had.
    *   *   *
    Max greeted them, first with barking, and then with wildly wagging tail when he recognized a friend, and Dimple stooped to pet him, calling him by name. The two women who lived here would surely know they had visitors by now, she thought, and looking up, saw Suzy glance at them from the kitchen window.
    “Why, it’s Dimple, isn’t it? And you’ve brought company. Come in, come in.” Mae Martha Hawthorne stood in the doorway with what looked like a man’s shirt over her dress and hugged herself in the cold.
    “I’m afraid we’ve interrupted your painting,” Dimple said, noticing splotches of color on the woman’s shirt.
    “Aw, I was fixing to quit anyhow.” Mae Martha paused to rub her right elbow. “These old bones are lettin’ me know I’m no spring chicken anymore. Would you all like some coffee? Bill brought me up some from the store just a little while ago and I think Suzy’s already put on a pot. Lordy, it’s good to have real coffee again!”
    Miss Dimple declined, but Charlie and Annie said they would love to have a cup, and would it be all right if they looked at some of her paintings?
    “Oh, law, go ahead. I just keep on paintin’ ’cause I don’t know when to stop,” Mae Martha said. “And a good thing, I reckon, because folks keep buyin’ ’em.”
    “Where is Suzy?” Dimple asked. “I was hoping to thank her, as well as you, for coming to our rescue the other night. I’ve brought some fruit from Peggy’s parents as well as a letter and some other things.” Miss Dimple looked about for Suzy but didn’t see her.
    “Oh, she’s here somewhere. She’s a funny one, that Suzy, but she was in here just a minute or so ago.” Mae Martha took the coffeepot from the kitchen stove and poured it into three mugs. It looked to Dimple exactly like the oil she’d seen her brother empty into his car. “Sure you won’t join us in a cup?” she asked Dimple. Dimple was sure.
    “Suzy!” Mae Martha bellowed. “Suzy! Where’ve you gotten off to now? We got some friends come to