The Angel and the Jabberwocky Murders by Mignon F. Ballard Page B

room.” Ellis shook her head, her face stormy. “Of course he was in her room. They’d called him to fix the radiator. Months later they found the girl’s ring behind the commode. She’d set it on top of the tank while she took a shower—but by then the damage had been done.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, damage? ” I spooned up bowls of lemon mystery for everyone. It’s really lemon pudding cake, but Mama always called it lemon mystery—makes it sound sort of exotic.
    â€œRuined his health, that’s what. Poor thing fretted so, he went downhill like ice on a hot slide,” Ellis said. “I don’t think Dorsey Clack lived a year after that.”
    So the singing janitor had reason to have a grudge against the college, but would he go so far as to take it out in murder?
    Ellis must’ve had the same thought. “Londus just doesn’t seem the sort to go around doing in young women.”
    I thought of all those interviews I’d read where neighbors claimed what a nice, sweet boy he was…why, they couldn’t imagine him doing an awful thing like that! “Maybe not,” I said, “but he certainly had the opportunity.”
    I cleared away the dishes after supper while Augusta helped Ellis with the cross-stitch she was attempting for her soon-to-be new grandson. Her daughter Susan was expecting in January and Ellis had brought over her snarled efforts and appealed to Augusta’s angelic nature. “I’ll give you the secret recipe for my biscuits,” she promised. When Clementine began barking at footsteps on the back porch, I assumed Roger had come to take advantage of dessert, but it was my cousin Jo Nell who stuck her head in the doorway. “I meant to give this back to you after our meeting Monday,” she said, presenting me with our great-grandmother’s china platter wrapped in layers of newspaper. Our ancestor had hand-painted it with a dainty scattering of violets and it had a special place in my dining room. Jo Nell borrows it as often as possible, but the platter had been left to me and I mean to keep it.
    â€œThere’s no rush, you know,” I said, thanking her. “I could’ve picked it up later, but since you’re here, how about some dessert and a cup of coffee?” I knew my cousin had come because she wanted to pump me about what was going on at Sarah Bedford.
    â€œI can’t stay long, but…is that lemon mystery? Well, maybe just a little…” My cousin sat in the chair next to Augusta’s, but of course she couldn’t see her. “I suppose you’ve heard about all the awful goings-on with that Hornsby fellow—meeting in that old shed with that young girl. Willene Benson told me they’d found all sorts of things in that loft. A regular love nest, she said.”
    My stomach did a somersault as I watched her spoon up another mouthful of dessert, and I wished I hadn’t eaten so much stew.
    â€œI know how these girls talk—thought you might’ve heard more about it. The sooner they catch up with that one, the better!”
    I nodded in agreement. “Sounds like you know more about it than I do,” I said, and began drying dishes at the sink so I wouldn’t have to watch her eat. The conversation had taken a revolting turn and I was ready to change the subject.
    â€œCan’t help but feel sorry for Blythe Cornelius,” she continued mournfully. “Willene says she feels responsible.”
    Ellis tugged at a thread. “Why is that?”
    â€œShe wasn’t in the dorm for most of the night. One of the girls came down with a really bad virus and Blythe sat up with her in the infirmary. That old nurse they’ve got over there is so lazy she wouldn’t bring you water if she was sittin’ next to the sink, and she must be near about as old as I am.”
    â€œBut Blythe isn’t a housemother,” I said. “It