Free Miss Dimple Disappears by Mignon F. Ballard Page A

could only hope.
    Miss Dimple stiffened as she heard someone unlock the door at the top of the stairs and the slow heavy tread of footsteps descending. The man always wore a long raincoat that had seen better days along with that crazy Halloween mask, and left her tray of food on a table at the other end of the room. He never came close enough for her to get a better look. Today he wore a clown mask that made him appear even more ridiculous.
    “You’ve hardly eaten,” he said, examining the breakfast he’d left earlier and which she had barely touched. “What’s the matter? My cooking not good enough for you?”
    It most certainly is not! Miss Dimple’s stomach turned just thinking of the huge glutinous biscuits soaked in greasy gravy, but she dared not express her feelings aloud. Who knew what this person was capable of doing? And she wouldn’t be surprised if he had something to do with Wilson Malone’s death. She’d eaten a little of the scrambled egg, however, and drunk all of her coffee, which was surprisingly good, but oh, she did long for a cup of hot tea!
    “If you’ll bring me the ingredients, I’ll make some of my muffins. I believe you’ll find them both nourishing and satisfying,” she said. “I can make a list of what you’ll need.”
    “Oh, I know what you’re up to. Do you really think I’d let you near a stove?”
    “There’s no reason you couldn’t make them yourself if you follow my recipe. It’s quite simple, really, and extremely beneficial to the digestive system.” Miss Dimple managed a faint but audible sigh. “My physician strongly recommends them for someone in my, ah, delicate state of health.” She coughed daintily into her handkerchief. Ben Morrison, who was her doctor as well as just about everybody else’s, had probably never seen the muffin recipe she’d discovered years ago in a copy of The Farmer’s Almanac, and at her last checkup, he’d told her she’d probably outlive him.
    “What’s wrong with your health? You’re not sick or anything, are you?” There was alarm in his voice and he moved a few steps closer to see, she supposed, if she was showing any outward signs of illness.
    “I’m afraid I’ve always been rather delicate, and I haven’t felt myself for the last several days.” At least that was the truth! “It would ease my mind if you could bring me those pills from my desk drawer … for my heart, you know.” It was true the pills were filled from a prescription, but they were intended for a slight touch of rheumatism she’d suffered earlier in the year.
    “And just how am I supposed to do that?” he wanted to know.
    “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way. I’m afraid you’ll have to jimmy open the desk drawer, though, as I seem to have misplaced the key.”
    She knew the man’s concern was not that he cared about her well-being but it was obvious he needed her to remain in good health. Dimple Kilpatrick was certain now that she was being held for ransom.
    “And if it’s at all possible,” she added, “a cup of strong hot tea would boost my immune system. Ginger mint usually works for me.”
    Miss Dimple reminded herself to rise slowly and walk with tottering steps to sit on the side of the bed. “It’s sometimes a bit difficult to find now with the war on, but Mr. Cooper manages to get some in now and then.” And Harris Cooper knew she was one of a few people in town who favored that kind of tea.
    Arms folded, he stood in the center of the room until his silence became threatening. “I’ll see about getting the pills after you’ve done a little favor for me,” he said finally. The tone of his voice made her go rigid.
    “And just what kind of favor might that be?” Miss Dimple took deep, measured breaths and folded her hands demurely. It wouldn’t do to let him know she was afraid.
    “Nothing to be concerned about. It will only involve your writing a brief note.”
    “A note to whom? What kind of note?” She didn’t