Free Miss Dimple Picks a Peck of Trouble by Mignon F. Ballard

ducked her head and inhaled quickly, noticing Hattie’s gloved hand on her arm. The tattered lace mitt was edged in tiny seed pearls and felt scratchy on her skin.
    “What do you know? Tell me. Where am I not supposed to go?” She wanted to pull away and run, but suppose Hattie really did know something?
    “The Shed. I know what I saw there. I know what I found … but they don’t. They don’t even know I have it.” The veil hid the woman’s eyes, but there was triumph in her voice.
    “Delia? Are you in here?” Delia heard her sister’s voice and was relieved to see Charlie and Miss Dimple appear behind them in the narthex.
    “She says she knows something,” Delia told them. She was surprised at how shaky her voice sounded, and she wasn’t sure her knees were going to support her. “Says she saw what happened to Prentice.”
    “Hattie, if you know something, you must tell the police. It could be something that would help.” Miss Dimple spoke with a voice of reason, but reason was lost on Hattie McGee.
    “No! That’s just what they want. Don’t you know that? It’s in my secret place. They’ll never find it there. They’ll never find me.”
    There was fear in her voice and it went to the bone. Dimple felt it like an electric shock and it was obvious that the others reacted to it, too. Charlie hurried to her sister and pulled her out of Hattie’s reach.
    “What did you find?” Miss Dimple continued, speaking in a soft voice. “Tell me. What are you afraid of?”
    Hattie shook her head, showering a flurry of wilted petals. A pink one caught on her veil; a red one seesawed into the water fountain and stuck there, looking like a big drop of blood.
    “Why, the Nazis, of course, and you’d better be afraid, too. They took her, you know, and that’s when they dropped it—right back there behind that shed.”
    “Dropped what ?” Delia ignored her sister’s calming hand on her arm. Mad Hattie couldn’t help being as crazy as a bedbug, but Delia had lost her best friend. Her head ached, her dress stuck to her back, and she resented being cornered by this smelly creature who spoke in riddles. “What did they drop?” she asked again.
    Hattie McGee lunged closer, her flowery hat tilting at an angle. “Why, it was gold!” she whispered with breath that could be used to subdue the enemy. “It was gold— real gold!”
    “Look, we have to go,” Charlie said, stepping between them. “Our family’s waiting for us to go to the cemetery, but if you really know something, anything—” But before she could finish her sentence, Hattie turned and fled down the hallway, shedding rose petals like some macabre flower girl.
    By the time they made their way outside, most of the people had dispersed except for a few groups murmuring sad good-byes in the shade of the old stone building, and the funeral procession was already winding its slow, antlike way to the cemetery.
    Miss Dimple hurried to join Virginia, who had waited for her in the narthex and had overheard only part of the commotion in the hallway. “What was that all about?” she asked.
    “I wish I knew,” Dimple admitted.
    *   *   *
     
    Delia and Charlie made their way across the steaming asphalt parking lot to find their mother and aunt Lou, who were already in the car with the motor running. Charlie slid quickly into the backseat and Delia hurried to join her. It would be awful to be late for Prentice’s graveside service because of Hattie’s ridiculous ramblings.
    What now? she thought when she heard running footsteps behind her and turned, to find Clay racing in her direction.
    For a horrible minute, she thought he was going to take her hand. Clay’s tie was crooked, his coat rumpled, and his face damp and flushed. He looked like an overgrown Boy Scout. But, damn him, he wasn’t!
    “I’ve got to talk to you, please!” Clay stumbled to a stop and put out a hand to brace himself against the car. Delia stepped back