Digging Up The Dirt

“I promise we’ll have time to talk,” Hadley said as he escorted her to the door. “Perhaps tomorrow.” He opened the door and peered out. “I hate to send you out in this.”

An’gel looked outside. The rain seemed heavy, but the walk to her car was short, and she had an umbrella. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a short drive.”

“If you’re sure.” Hadley gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. As soon as she was out on the verandah, he shut the door behind her.

She grimaced at the closed door, then unfurled her umbrella. She managed to make it into the car without getting too damp, although the umbrella dripped on her. She sat in the car for a moment and watched the rain. The highway would be slick, but as she had said to Hadley, it was only a short drive.

She drove slowly, the windshield wipers on high, until she reached the end of the driveway. Visibility wasn’t great, but she couldn’t see any traffic on the highway. She turned onto it and drove toward home.

She was perhaps a hundred feet from the driveway to Riverhill when she felt an impact from behind, and her car went into a skid on the wet road.

CHAPTER 25

Coriander Simpson was dead.

For a moment Dickce couldn’t take it in. She realized she should have considered the possibility, but she was shocked nevertheless.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said after a moment. “I had no idea.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Simpson sighed. “So long ago, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday we got the news.” She kept stroking Peanut’s head, and he stared at her with his most soulful gaze. Dickce thought her hostess drew comfort from the dog’s presence.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” Dickce said.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Simpson replied. “I don’t rightly know the details, but I can tell what I do know.” She leaned forward in her chair and twisted her upper body so she could face the door. “Where is that child?” She raised her voice. “Monique, honey, where are you?”

“I’m coming,” Monique answered, evidently from the hallway, Dickce decided, because the words were pretty clear. A moment later Monique came into the room at a slow pace, her attention focused on the tall glass of iced tea she held. She walked up to Dickce. “This is for you, ma’am. I’m going back to get Great-granny’s tea.”

“Thank you, Monique,” Dickce said as she accepted the glass. She was grateful that Peanut remained by Mrs. Simpson’s side. She had feared he would, in his puppy-like enthusiasm, bound over to Monique and have tea and glass going everywhere.

The child giggled before she scampered out of the room.

“What a precious child,” Dickce said.

“She is that,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Now you go on and drink your tea. Monique will be back soon with mine.”

“Thank you.” Dickce took a sip of the tea and then another. “It’s delicious.” The tea was strong the way she liked it, and the sweetness was perfect.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Now, what was I going to tell you? Oh, yes, about Coriander. Like I said, I don’t rightly know the details. We got a telegram telling us she was dead, and that was about it.”

“My goodness,” Dickce said. “That’s strange. Where was she when she died?”

“Over in Europe,” Mrs. Simpson replied. “I think it was in England. Now, I expect you’re wondering how she ended up there when she’d never been anywhere except here and Mississippi before.”

“Yes, I was wondering that,” Dickce said when it seemed that Mrs. Simpson required a response. “She must have left the employ of Mrs. Partridge.”

“She was planning to get married over there,” Mrs. Simpson said. “A couple months before she quit working for Miss Callie and left the country she sent me a letter, telling me she’d done fell in love with a man, and he wanted to marry her. She didn’t tell me who he was or even what his name was, but she promised she’d come home and bring him to meet me.”

“Did she?” Dickce asked.

“No, she never did. After that, the next I heard was that telegram telling me she was dead.”

Dickce found this story odd. There was something about it that simply didn’t sound legitimate. She would have to tread carefully because she didn’t want to upset Mrs. Simpson.

“When exactly did all this happen?” Dickce wondered if Coriander had left Ashton Hall after Callie disappeared, or before. She couldn’t remember Callie ever telling them that her housemaid had left her.

“It was forty years ago,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Would you like to see the telegram? It’s got the exact date on it.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, if it’s not too painful,” Dickce said, “I would like to see it.”

Mrs. Simpson raised herself slowly from her chair. “You stay right there, sweet boy,” she said to Peanut before she stepped past him. The Labradoodle obeyed.

Dickce sensed that any offer of assistance would be rebuffed, but she was ready in case Mrs. Simpson should falter. She gave Peanut a stern look, hoping he would be still until Mrs. Simpson was back in her chair.