Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel by Mignon F. Ballard

thing.
    â€œOh, here we are acting like we don’t have any manners at all,” she exclaimed, clasping a hand to her chest. “I’m Josephine Carr, and this is my sister, Louise Willingham. We were hoping to speak with some of poor Dora’s neighbors in order to learn a little more about her.”
    â€œWell … I’ve just finished putting up green tomato pickles, so I’m afraid the whole house reeks of vinegar, but I guess you can come in. We can sit right here in the living room. I’m Priscilla Barnslow.”
    Priscilla Barnslow wore a stained white apron over her blue plaid housedress, and, obviously noticing the stains, pulled off the apron and tossed it aside as they followed her into the first room off the hall.
    â€œWe won’t take up much of your time,” Jo said, after they were seated—she and Lou on a chintz-covered sofa, and Priscilla on a small parlor chair upholstered in what looked like rose brocade. “We just want to get an idea about her family life, her friends, or at least someone who might tell us why she left so suddenly.”
    Priscilla looked down at her hands, chapped and rough, probably from housework, as most women’s were. “I really didn’t know Dora all that well, although we’ve lived next door for almost ten years now. It did surprise me, though, that she left the way she did.”
    â€œWhat about her husband, Leonard?” Jo asked. “Was everything all right there?”
    Priscilla didn’t answer right away. “As far as I know,” she said, sighing. “He spends a lot of time out at his farm. Raises beef cattle, you know, and Dora volunteered some … as most of us do. Things have to get done, and it’s up to us to do it, isn’t it?”
    The sisters agreed that it was, and Lou smiled, thinking the smell of cloves and allspice coming from the kitchen wasn’t unpleasant at all. “So I don’t suppose she mentioned anything about leaving?” she asked.
    â€œI usually saw her when we were hanging out clothes together, or we sometimes volunteered at the Red Cross—you know, rolling bandages, things like that. She never said anything about that to me, but of course she wouldn’t. If Dora told anybody, it was probably one of her friends from church.”
    Glenese Pitts, Priscilla told them. They might check with her. She and Dora had chaired a circle together at the Methodist church, and she’d seen Glenese visiting next door from time to time.
    Jo hesitated as they rose to leave. “About Leonard Westbrook,” she began. “From what you’ve observed, do you think he might’ve had anything to do with what happened to his wife?”
    Priscilla Barnslow drew in her breath. “Oh my. I really can’t answer that.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Jo said. “I shouldn’t have—”
    â€œHe did seem upset about her leaving—almost desperate to find her and bring her home,” Priscilla added, following them to the door. “But it wasn’t the sad kind of worry, the heavy kind that drags you down, shuts out all the light.…” She lowered her voice. “I didn’t see that at all.”

 
    C HAPTER E LEVEN
    Virginia Balliew was not one of those people who dreaded Mondays. Virginia loved just about everything to do with her job in what everybody called “the cabin,” and she always looked forward to beginning a new week. She loved the warm, mellow smell of the place; the scent of new books, as well as the favorite old ones, read and loved over the years until the bindings were broken and ragged. And she especially loved the people she served there, knew what they liked to read and found pleasure in introducing them to something new and exciting.
    Next Saturday, she would be assisting the Woman’s Club with a Halloween costume party and story hour for Elderberry’s children, and her mind