Free Miss Dimple Disappears by Mignon F. Ballard Page B

bother to keep her intense dislike of this person from her reply.
    “You’ll know that when the time comes, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as you’re asked!” He really seemed most annoyed, and his voice had a peculiar squeak, as if it needed lubricating.
    Miss Dimple frowned. “I believe you might be coming down with a cold, Mister …”
    “Smith. Just call me Smith. And I’m not coming down with a cold!”
    “Well, if you are, you might want to rub your chest with warm camphorated oil, then cover it well with a flannel cloth. And a cup of hot ginger mint tea would do wonders for your throat. I can tell by your voice you’re not in the best of health.”
    Miss Dimple shivered and drew the quilt about her. She was going to ask Mr. Smith if he would kindly provide her with some mysteries from the library but he had already stormed back upstairs.
    *   *   *
    Well, here we are, Charlie thought, but for the life of her, she could think of absolutely nothing to say. The restaurant was appropriately lighted for a romantic dinner. Starched white tablecloths made ghostly circles in the candlelit room, and on a phonograph somewhere in the background Frank Sinatra crooned, “Night and Day.” The only thing missing was the wine, but because they lived in a dry county, there was no chance of that. It would’ve been comforting, she thought, to have something to sip, or just to hold as they waited for the waitress to take their order. And wouldn’t the good people of Elderberry be shocked? Wine with dinner was fine for people in the movies, but it wasn’t an accepted practice in their little town—especially if you were employed by the Board of Education.
    Suddenly, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. What was wrong with her? She had been going out with Hugh for over a year now, even before she finished college and came home to teach, and usually felt comfortable in his presence. Tonight, however, she searched for something to say.
    In order to read the menu, Charlie held it to the light of the candle until she noticed the flame had begun to singe the edge of the paper, and in snatching it away, she almost tipped over the vase of yellow chrysanthemums in the center of the table. Good heavens, she almost set the restaurant on fire! Maybe she should’ve just stayed at home. Hugh, too, was unusually restless. He unfolded his napkin and folded it again until she was tempted to lean over the table and snatch it from him. Charlie wished the waitress would hurry and fill their water glasses. She was beginning to get a headache. Should she mention that she saw his mother in the drugstore that afternoon? Possibly not the best subject to discuss over dinner.
    Charlie cleared her throat. “What does Arden hear from Barrett?” she asked. Hugh’s sister’s fiancé was in San Diego with the navy and she wrote to him almost every day.
    Hugh, who had apparently been experiencing a similar dilemma, spoke at the same time. “So, any news from the elusive Miss Dimple?”
    Charlie laughed and so did he. “You first,” she said, relieved that they could make light of the situation.
    “I think Barrett expects to be shipped out soon. He just doesn’t know when.” Hugh frowned. “It’s hard for Arden … being here, you know.”
    Charlie told him they were still trying to speak with Miss Dimple’s brother in Kennesaw. “We’re hoping he might know where she is. Phoebe says the two of them have always been close.
    “Aunt Lou says she heard Miss Dimple ran to Ida Ellerby’s for help early one morning not long before she disappeared,” she added. “Said she was being chased by a dog.”
    Hugh smiled and shook his head. “I’m crazy about your aunt Lou, Charlie. Nobody makes a better sweet potato pie, but you’ll have to admit she does exaggerate just the tiniest bit.” He shifted in his seat and suddenly reached across the table for Charlie’s hand. And that was when the waitress chose to