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

supposed to be watching out for us here,” she reminded him. “What happened?”
    Pausing beside her, he sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose you could say being a little short on manpower happened, Miss V. We just couldn’t keep an eye on the place all the time, and I reckon whoever broke in here last night was aware of that.” And frankly, he’d thought the threat had been a bit exaggerated, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that.
    When she was finally allowed inside, Virginia began to call the cat, and after searching every room, finally found him under her desk.
    â€œHere, Cattus!” she called, “Come on, kitty. It’s all right now.” But even pleading on her hands and knees couldn’t budge the cat from his hiding place.
    Sighing, Virginia got to her feet. “Poor kitty! He’s scared to death.” She could only stand and look about. Although nothing was broken that she could see, it looked as if a wild animal had been on the rampage, with books tossed in every direction. While Warren dusted for fingerprints, Chief Tinsley checked the back door and windows in the two small adjoining rooms, and Virginia began to walk slowly about to take account of the damage.
    She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tucked the handkerchief away to launder. She was through with crying. But she wasn’t through asking questions. “Why?” she asked. “Why would anyone do this?”
    â€œIt appears they were searching for something,” the chief said. “Do you have any idea what it was?”
    Virginia tried to turn her back on the disaster around her, but that proved impossible, so she stood and stared into the empty fireplace, the only thing that hadn’t been disturbed. “I think it must have something to do with what happened to Dora Westbrook,” she said finally.
    Bobby Tinsley stood by the piano and looked about the room. It was littered with books: books open facedown; trails of books like stepping-stones; books piled in haphazard stacks. It was difficult to walk without trampling on them. He wanted to turn away, but there was nowhere else to look. “The day Dora Westbrook showed up here,” he said, “you say she spent a good bit of time on the porch. Did she ever come inside?”
    â€œWe tried to get her to come in—Dimple and I—but she insisted on staying out there on the porch … until—wait a minute! Just before we left to take her to Phoebe’s, she asked to use the bathroom.”
    â€œWas she gone very long?”
    Virginia reached down and picked up one of the books at her feet, a copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. She stroked it, held it for a few seconds, then laid it carefully on top of an empty bookcase nearby. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Honestly, I can’t remember.”
    â€œTry to remember this,” he insisted. “Did you follow her inside at that time?”
    Virginia shook her head. “No. I’m sure I didn’t. Dimple and I waited on the porch until she returned, and then I went back inside to get my purse. I locked the door behind us and we drove to Phoebe’s in my car.”
    â€œWell, it looks like she might have hidden something in here, and somebody wants it—wants it badly enough to kill for.”
    Virginia felt slightly nauseated and suddenly weak in the knees, but she didn’t have time to sit. There was too much to be done. “Let’s hope they found it,” she said, and began gathering books in her arms.
    â€œNow, listen to me, Miss V.” Bobby gently took the books from her and set them aside. “There will be plenty of time to take care of all this. What you need right now is rest. If you don’t feel up to driving, Warren or I will be glad to take you home.”
    â€œThat’s all right, Chief; I can do that.” Phoebe Chadwick stood in the doorway, and it was