Digging Up The Dirt

A tall, angular, gray-haired woman, around eighty years of age, dressed in a calf-length dressing gown and flat-soled shoes, stared at them. “What do you want?” Her tone sounded belligerent, An’gel thought.

She wasn’t about to let that faze her, however. “Mrs. Turnipseed?” After the woman nodded, she said in a pleasant tone, “Perhaps you remember me? I’m An’gel Ducote. This is my sister Dickce Ducote.”

Mrs. Turnipseed said, “I remember you, sure. What can I do for you?”

“I know this is an imposition, just showing up on your doorstep,” An’gel said, “but if we could have a few minutes of your time, we’d like to talk to you.”

Mrs. Turnipseed stared at them a moment. An’gel thought the woman was about to slam the door in their faces. Instead, she stepped back and waved them in.

An’gel entered, Dickce right behind her. Based on what she’d seen of the yard and the outside of the house, An’gel expected signs of similar neglect inside. Her jaw nearly dropped, however, when she walked into the small living room.

Opulently furnished with antique furniture, the room looked spotless. There was a scent of lemon furniture polish in the air, and every surface gleamed. An’gel suspected the large rug on the floor was Aubusson. It reminded her of their own carpets at Riverhill. She wondered whether Hamish Partridge had given Mrs. Turnipseed these beautiful furnishings or whether they’d been in her family for several generations.

“What a beautiful room,” Dickce said with an appreciative smile.

“Yes, it certainly is,” An’gel said.

Mrs. Turnipseed nodded to acknowledge the compliment. She pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t y’all have a seat, ladies?”

“Thank you,” An’gel said. She and Dickce did as their hostess directed. Mrs. Turnipseed chose a chair that faced the sofa across an ornately carved coffee table. She stared at them, evidently waiting for them to speak.

“Again, we apologize for dropping by unannounced,” An’gel said.

“You said that already. What is it you want?” Mrs. Turnipseed crossed her arms over her flat chest.

An’gel didn’t appreciate her rude tone and, under different circumstances, wouldn’t have tolerated it. Now, however, she and Dickce needed information from this woman, so she let it pass.

“You worked for many years for a friend of ours, Hamish Partridge,” An’gel said. After Mrs. Turnipseed nodded, she continued. “I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that Hamish left everything to his brother Hadley in his will.”

Mrs. Turnipseed scowled at the mention of Hadley’s name. She did not speak, though, so An’gel forged ahead.

“We’ve seen Hadley since he returned to town,” An’gel said. “He seemed to be quite surprised that no one knew anything about the whereabouts of his late brother’s wife, Callie.” She paused to gauge Mrs. Turnipseed’s reaction. There was none that she could discern.

“At the time Hadley went away,” Dickce said, “no one seemed to know why he left so abruptly. Then, when it turned out Callie was gone, too, well, people just assumed she had gone with him.”

“But Hadley says she didn’t,” An’gel added. “And Hamish never would say anything about it either.”

Mrs. Turnipseed shrugged. “Mr. Hamish didn’t have to share his private business with anyone.”

“We respected his privacy at the time,” An’gel said, “but perhaps that was a mistake. Callie disappeared, and if she didn’t run off to join Hadley, what happened to her? Can you tell us anything about it?”

“I don’t see that it matters none now.” Mrs. Turnipseed shrugged again. “That was forty years ago. What she did was her business, that Mrs. Partridge. All I know is, she was gone, and Mr. Partridge never mentioned her name to me the rest of his life.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about why she left or where she went?” Dickce said.

“Wasn’t my business,” Mrs. Turnipseed replied. “Look here, I wasn’t even there when Mrs. Partridge up and left. I was gone to my sister’s house to visit a few days, and when I come back, well, Mrs. Partridge and that no-good Hadley were gone. Mr. Partridge never offered to explain, and I didn’t ask. Wasn’t my business.”

“I see.” An’gel felt suddenly deflated. She had been so sure that Mrs. Turnipseed would know something about Callie’s disappearance. She wondered whether the former housekeeper had heard about the discovery at Ashton Hall. If she hadn’t, should she and Dickce be the ones to break the news?

She glanced at her sister, and Dickce raised her eyebrows. An’gel had no doubt Dickce knew exactly what she was thinking. After a moment, An’gel decided she might as well tell Mrs. Turnipseed. The news was probably all over town by now anyway.

“You may not have heard,” An’gel said, “but there was a startling discovery at Ashton Hall a couple of days ago. Do you know about it?”

Mrs. Turnipseed tensed and shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Noting the reaction, An’gel said, “They discovered the remains of a person on the grounds of the house.” She kept her gaze riveted on their hostess.