Digging Up The Dirt

“I think he’s doing fine,” An’gel said. “He needs time to adjust after everything that’s happened to him in recent months. Once he starts classes at Athena in the spring, he’ll start to make friends.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Dickce turned off the tap and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “That’s done. I’m ready to call it a night and get ready for bed. I hope I don’t have nightmares about what we found today.”

“That was gruesome,” An’gel said as she followed Dickce out of the kitchen. She left one light burning in the hall before they climbed the stairs to their respective bedrooms on the second floor. “Try to think about other, more pleasant, things before you go to sleep. That usually works for me. Good night.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t know whether it will work. Good night.” Dickce stepped into her room and shut the door.

An’gel forced her thoughts away from the subject of Callie Partridge while she prepared for bed. Once she was done, instead of climbing into bed, she went to the armchair by the window where she liked to read and turned on the lamp. She didn’t feel ready for sleep, and reading often calmed her thoughts and helped her drift off more easily.

Charlie Harris had recommended that she try a series that featured a Scottish noblewoman in post–World War I Scotland. She was halfway through After the Armistice Ball, the first book by Catriona McPherson, and enjoying it thoroughly. Within moments of picking it up she found herself once more immersed in the story.

By the time An’gel turned the last page, the clock read 11:14. An’gel yawned and set the book aside. She would have to thank Charlie for his recommendation and find more books by the author. Right now, though, she was ready to climb into bed. She soon fell asleep and slept soundly until her alarm went off at seven.

At breakfast forty-five minutes later she eyed Dickce with concern. “You obviously didn’t rest well, Sister. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Dickce yawned before she answered. “I tossed and turned a good bit of the night. I couldn’t go to sleep for the longest time, and when I did I had nightmares about bodies rising out of graves and coming after me.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.” Benjy frowned. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Heavens, do I look that bad?” Dickce smiled. “I may take a nap sometime today, but for now, I’m awake. This coffee ought to perk me up.”

“Clementine’s coffee is strong enough to do the trick,” Benjy said. “One cup is enough to do me for the rest of the day.” He nodded at his empty cup before he picked up his glass of orange juice.

“We’ve been drinking it for years,” Dickce said. “Takes me at least three cups to get completely awake on days like this.”

“If you drink three cups of that coffee, you’ll be running around the house like a hamster on its wheel,” An’gel said. “I’d advise you to have one at the most and in a little while, go back upstairs and lie down for an hour or two.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Dickce said. “But I’ll follow my own prescription if you don’t mind.” She picked up her cup and drained it, then got up to go to the sideboard to refill it from the carafe there.

An’gel frowned but didn’t otherwise respond. She knew how Dickce was when she got in one of these moods. She decided to concentrate instead on finishing her meal. She was eager to start the search for Hamish Partridge’s faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Turnipseed, and the housemaid whose name she had finally remembered this morning while she was in the shower.

The housemaid had such a distinctive name, An’gel was surprised she hadn’t remembered it last night. Coriander Simpson. Surely a woman with a name like that wouldn’t be hard to trace. An’gel hoped she was still living. She thought the woman was in her late twenties—early thirties at most—during the time she worked at Ashton Hall.

Mrs. Turnipseed had to be around somewhere, she reasoned, if Hamish Partridge had left her a pension in his will. If all else failed, she could contact Hamish’s lawyer to find out whether the firm had any contact information for the housekeeper. That would mean asking Hadley the name of the firm. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been Pendergrast and Harris, the firm now run by Alexandra Pendergrast and Sean Harris, Charlie’s son. Hamish had detested Alexandra’s father, Q. C. Pendergrast, founder of the firm. The loathing had been mutual.

But first, she realized, she needed to talk to Kanesha Berry. She wanted to propose her scheme to meet with the women to the deputy before she went ahead with it. An’gel didn’t want to compromise Kanesha’s investigation, but from what she remembered of Mrs. Turnipseed and certain of her attitudes, she thought she stood a better chance of getting information from her than the deputy did. The housemaid might be a different matter, but An’gel still thought it couldn’t hurt for her to talk to Coriander Simpson first.