Chapter 13

Lindy handed the sack to Hogan. “And I can’t see that anything on the page makes a bit of sense.”

Her remarks were something of a letdown, of course. Ever since I’d heard that Abigail had written something at the same time she wrote her will, I’d hoped that it would be something important. “Joe Doakes is my murderer,” maybe. Or “the holographic will was written under duress.”

But apparently that was not the case. And apparently we were not to learn anything about it anyway. Hogan merely nodded and said, “Thanks, Lindy. Finding something that has any meaning was always a long shot. I’ll get the lab to go over it. Even if there’s nothing significant written on the page, it may contain a fingerprint or other evidence that could mean something.”

“I can guarantee that it doesn’t,” Lindy said. “Contain a fingerprint, I mean. No one except the waiter approached her the whole time she worked on it.”

“Anyway, we’ve got it,” Hogan said. “And you were a real trooper to look through that Dumpster.” He stood up. “I’ll try to get a new report.”

As soon as he walked away, I grabbed Lindy and spoke in a low voice. “Okay, what did it say?”

“Nothing I could give any meaning to, Lee.”

“I understand. But what was it?”

“Well, there were a bunch of those things my grandma called ‘push-pulls’ and ‘ovals.’ It’s some sort of a penmanship exercise. They were dropped from the curriculum by the time we were in grade school.”

“I know what you mean. Little doodads in rows. Abigail must have made those when she was testing her new pen. Did she write any words?”

“It was all just gibberish, Lee. There was an occasional word written as if she was testing the spelling. She had written the word ‘Culpepper’ with two spellings, for example. Is the name Culpepper in the will?”

I nodded. “That was Bunny’s maiden name. Anything else?”

“There was a sort of list. Each item had a dash in front of it. But the actual items—well, they didn’t make sense.”

“None?”

“Unless you can decipher code. They seemed to be initials or symbols. One looked like an ampersand.”

“What were the initials?”

“There was an A, a capital A. That was followed by the word ‘beneficiary.’ The next line had another dash, followed by a capital B. That had a note reading ‘out.’ There was only one full name, and I didn’t recognize that.”

“What was the name?”

“It was crazy. Ambruster Hayworth.”

“Who on earth is that?”

Joe spoke then. “You gals had better stop speculating. Here comes Hogan, and I’m sure he’d rather work on this himself.”

“Lindy,” I said aloud, “they’ve got some coffee over there. Do you want to try a cup?”

That’s the way the rest of the night went. We all urged one another to go home. None of Dolly’s friends budged, though most of the detectives left. We drank a lot of coffee, told a few Dolly stories, laughed at some of them, and cried at others.

I told about the hobo jungle where I first met Dolly. Dolly didn’t live in the hobo jungle, but the path that led from the interstate to the jungle ran along the edge of her yard. Dolly used to put sack lunches out there for her wandering neighbors.

“She always included homemade cookies,” I said. “Dolly was never afraid of the men. And she figured that if they were there, they needed food. Dolly simply can’t stand to see anybody hungry.”

It was a long night.

It was nearly eight a.m.—still dark—when Andrew Hartley and Chayslee Zimmerman showed up the next morning.

“Hey!” I said. “Is our block still barricaded?”

“Just a cop car in the street and one in the alley,” Chayslee said. “I nearly came here last night, but I hated to leave Mary there alone, and she had to be at work at six thirty. How’s Dolly doing?”

“She’ll be shipped to a Grand Rapids hospital pretty soon,” Hogan said. “They want her to see a specialist there.”

That was news to me, but I didn’t question Hogan.

Instead I turned to Andrew. “Andrew, I didn’t even know that you’d ever met Dolly.”

“We’re neighbors!” he said. “I’m living in the apartment over Warner River Wine.”

I knew that, of course. And I’d seen him the night before, when he joined the crowd checking on what had caused the commotion I’d made with my key chain alarm.

“Now I remember. You came down last night to check on her. It was darn cold there, and you didn’t look as if you were dressed warmly enough.”

Andrew gave me a sharp look. “I ran out in a hurry,” he said. “I’m really concerned about Dolly. She’s great, of course. I’d barely moved in when Dolly dropped over to say hi. With homemade cookies and TenHuis chocolates, of course. Plus, she’s a genius about wine. All kinds of food lore. She’s helped me immeasurably.”

He turned his back on me and sat next to Hogan, asking questions. How was Dolly doing? Had the police gotten a statement from her? When did they expect her to be able to give a statement? Did they have any hint of who might have attacked her? His voice was pleasant; I nearly dozed off.

Hogan’s answers were noncommittal, but he said Dolly was still unconscious. After a few minutes Andrew seemed to give up on getting information.

“I’ll sure put her at the top of my own prayer list and the one at my church,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for her right now?”

“Not that I know of,” Hogan said. “Lee’s keeping a list of people who call or come by.”

“Make sure my name’s on it,” Andrew said. “I wouldn’t want Dolly to think I didn’t care about her. Not after all she’s done to help me.”

Chayslee sat with Lindy and me, joining in the praise for Dolly, citing her friendliness as she was getting settled in Warner Pier. She also asked to be kept in the loop with news of Dolly.

Andrew and Chayslee left soon after that, both saying they had to go to work in an hour or so.

I didn’t have a chance to ask Andrew which church he attended. Small-town America—in Texas or “up North”—is loaded with little churches, and big ones.

Andrew and Chayslee had barely gone when more people showed up—Barbara from the bank; Greg Glossop, druggist and Warner Pier’s most active gossip; and several others from the downtown business community. I was surprised that Mike Westerly was among them. The construction worker had seemed very rattled after he discovered Abigail Birdsong’s body. I wouldn’t have expected him to deliberately seek out people linked to a similar crime. But there he was, asking how Dolly was doing.

None of them stayed long, but they had each driven thirty miles to get there.

Joe nudged me. “What was it you were saying earlier? About Dolly not having many friends?”

“I guess I was saying I wasn’t a very good friend to her.”

He put his arm around my shoulders.

Aunt Nettie had taken an hour’s nap by then, but she still seemed exhausted. The rest of us ran out of conversation. Then the quiet was broken by a piercing voice.

“Where’s Dolly? Where is she? Dolly Jolly?”

Hogan sighed deeply and stood up. “Here we go,” he said. He gestured to Aunt Nettie, and she stood up, too.

They walked across the room, and I watched their progress, trying to understand just what was going on.

At the desk I saw a tall red-haired woman. She was nearly six feet tall and had red hair, but this woman was nothing like Dolly. Still, she was squawking for Dolly to be produced. Could she be Dolly’s sister, Molly?

Hogan approached the woman and spoke quietly to her. I assumed that he introduced Aunt Nettie and himself, but his voice was so low that I couldn’t swear to that. Then he led the newcomer straight through the doors to the treatment area, with Aunt Nettie trailing along.

“I guess that’s Dolly’s sister,” I said. “They don’t look much alike. Despite the hair.”

“There’s only one Dolly,” Lindy said. “But that woman does look familiar. Has she ever been to Warner Pier?”

“I don’t remember hearing of a visit from her,” I said, “and I’m sure I’ve never met her.”

Lindy shook her head. “I don’t remember any of Dolly’s family coming to see her. I’ve always thought it was sort of odd.”

“I know what you mean. Dolly goes to see them, but they never show up over here. That’s not usually the case when you live in a resort.”

Our whole group nodded in agreement. Those of us who live in a lively town—one with beaches, hiking trails, snowmobiles, great restaurants, theater, and other things that attract visitors—well, we sometimes find that we’re everyone’s favorite friend or relative. Old college pals, childhood friends, and relatives as far away as third cousins once removed show up and ask if our guest rooms are available. We learn to lie unless we really want to see those people, and we shamelessly recommend motels and B and B accommodations to old college roommates.

“Of course,” I said, “Dolly’s mom is an invalid.”

“I guess that’s it,” Lindy said. “Dolly goes there, but the sister never comes here. Although in the emergency her sister got free to come pretty quickly.”

“She must have left around four in the morning,” I said.

Joe chuckled. “You gals are sure suspicious.”

“And not very charitable,” I said.

We waited for the new arrival to emerge. It must have been about fifteen minutes later when Hogan, Aunt Nettie, and the tall red-haired woman came out. The woman—who must be Molly—was clutching Hogan’s arm with one hand and mopping her eyes with a tissue in the other hand.

“It’s simply awful to see Dolly like that,” she said. Her voice seemed to break. “She’s always such a bundle of energy.”

“There, there,” Aunt Nettie said. Or something like that. She seemed uncomfortable. I guess anyone would be, comforting a strange woman about a grievously injured relative, though Aunt Nettie can handle that sort of situation better than most can.

They walked toward us. As I had already seen, Molly had brilliant red hair much the same color as Dolly’s. She was tall, but not as tall as Dolly’s six foot two. And while Dolly was husky, Molly was on the skinny side. Dolly was covered with freckles, too, while Molly had that dead white skin that sometimes accompanies red hair.

The two of them were very different, I thought. Despite their hair, they didn’t look as if they were even related.

Hogan and Aunt Nettie introduced Molly around. Molly Jefferson. Yes, she was from Clinton, she told us. Yes, that was near Detroit, several hours across the state. No, she’d never been to Warner Pier before.

“Of course,” she said, “Dolly came over to Clinton frequently to see Mom.”

Aunt Nettie offered to take her to the hospital cafeteria for some breakfast. Molly declined. Hogan offered coffee from the waiting room’s urn. Another refusal.

“The doctor says they’re going to ship Dolly off to Grand Rapids to see a specialist soon,” Molly said. “She’ll go by helicopter, but I guess I’ll drive up there.”

“You ought to rest awhile,” Aunt Nettie said. “You can come to our house.”

Molly sighed a deep sigh. “Right now I’ll settle for a ladies’ room,” she said.

Aunt Nettie escorted her in the right direction. Lindy leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Molly sure seems familiar.”

I murmured back. “She seems familiar to me, too. But why would she say she’s never been in Warner Pier, if she has been? Could we have seen pictures of her?”

“I don’t think so. Dolly never displays snapshots unless they show a new dessert.”

“I’ll try to talk to her.”

Lindy nodded. “Maybe she’ll fess up.”

“Maybe she and Dolly quarreled or something. Look! Hogan is back. He might know something.”

I quickly moved to a spot beside Hogan. “Molly seems really familiar to both Lindy and me. But she says she’s never been in Warner Pier before.”

“So?”

“It just seems odd.”

“Molly and Dolly both have red hair. And they’re both tall.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“What are you thinking? That Molly is some sort of fraud?”

“That seems awfully far-fetched, Hogan.”

“If it will make you feel better, I’ll call her driver’s license photo up on the state system.”

“I hate to ask you to do that.” Actually I was eager for him to do it. I did feel uneasy and suspicious about this woman. And after Dolly had been attacked, we had to assume that she was in real danger.

I looked at Hogan closely. “But maybe an ID check would be a good precaution.”

Hogan laughed. “I’ll get Char to run one.” Charlotte Dumphrey was his personal assistant. Like every such person, she actually ran the day-to-day operations of his department.

Shortly after that someone called Hogan back to the treatment area again. Aunt Nettie and Molly went along. Then the rest of us moved outside to a spot that overlooked the helipad that all hospitals are apparently required to have these days.

A hidden portal from somewhere inside the hospital opened and a gurney came out, followed by the appropriate personnel, plus Hogan, Aunt Nettie, and Molly.

The ritual of loading Dolly aboard a helicopter ambulance was carried out. Then Hogan, Aunt Nettie, and Molly were escorted over to the observation area, joining the rest of us. We all watched as the helicopter took off, whoop-whoop-whooping into the clear morning air.

Then some of us went back to Warner Pier, and the rest went to breakfast at the closest IHOP. Over pancakes Molly and Hogan reviewed the route to the hospital sixty-plus miles away in Grand Rapids.

“You turn onto eleven,” Hogan said.

“Do you mean twenty-one?” Molly asked.

Hogan agreed that twenty-one was right, and I knew that it was. I wondered how Molly knew the correct route, if she wasn’t familiar with our end of the state. But she was the one with the map. Maybe she was simply reading it.

After breakfast, we all waved her off. Then I grabbed Hogan. “Listen,” I said, “this Molly. How did she know about the highways in Grand Rapids?”

Hogan growled. “Lee! It’s okay! Will you let go of this? Honestly!”

Then he walked away.

But Lindy turned up in his place. “So Hogan thinks our suspicions are crazy,” she said.

“I guess he’s got better things to worry about.”

“Maybe so, but I keep getting a flashback about this woman. I keep picturing her in an odd outfit.”

“What do you mean, odd?”

“Well, with her hair piled on top of her head. And feathers stuck in it.”

“Feathers?”

Lindy nodded firmly. “Feathers, Lee. Feathers. Purple feathers.”