Southern Ghost

that today when I spoke to our fire chief. Early this morning, I checked the garage at Tarrant House. The gasoline container used for the lawn mower was full. So, it was either replenished or not used. If replenished, I reasoned it must have been done this morning. I stopped at every gas station within the radius of several miles and inquired, presenting photographs of Char­lotte and Whitney. All responses were negative. This done, I drove—'

Annie gasped. 'Miss Dora, you drive?'

Miss Dora swept Annie with a furious reptilian gaze. There was a long moment of outraged silence, then the old lady snarled, 'Are you questioning my competence, young miss?'

'Oh, no, no, no. I just thought . . . I assumed you had a driver.'

Miss Dora permitted herself to be mollified. 'Perhaps you might be excused for that presumption. But I don't believe in unnecessary frills. I've driven myself for almost seventy years, and I shall continue to do so. In any event, I drove to Wisteree Plantation. I went directly to the garage. What a rubbish heap! Milam should be ashamed—discarded boxes, tools in no order, messy, half-full cans of turpentine and paint. I finally discovered the gas container, flung carelessly in a corner. Not, I think, its customary location, for there was a distinct circular ring of sediment from gas and oil and dirt beneath some shelves along one wall. The container was empty. Milam and Julia's garage, however, is such an untidy, ill-run mess that an empty gas can would come as no surprise. More to the point' —she leaned forward, the bony hands tight on the knob of her cane—'I examined both Milam's truck and Julia's car. The truck'—her aristocratic nose wrinkled in disdain—'was rusted out and filthy. Milam could have transported the con­tainer without leaving discernible traces. But, in Julia's

Honda'—the old lady's eyes slitted—'the floor carpet in the back behind the driver's seat was stained with a ring of oil, and there was a distinct odor, when the carpet was sniffed, of gasoline.' She thumped her cane.

Annie wasn't trying to disagree, but the suggestion didn't make much sense to her. 'Julia was just a young daughter-in-law when the Judge was shot. What could there possibly be either in the papers of the Judge or in Amanda's papers that could threaten her?'

Miss Dora glared. 'Obviously, young miss, that is what we must discover. The question is, how do we proceed?'

'Turn right on Chestnut,' Annie instructed.

Max flipped on the signal. 'I was tempted to tell her to take the investigation and do it all herself.' His voice didn't quite have the take-this-job-and- shove-it tone. But, it was close. 'If it weren't for Courtney Kimball, I would.'

'But Miss Dora is an asset.' Annie kept her tone bland, the better to assuage the grumpy male beast. 'I mean, she knows everything there is to know about Chastain. And everybody.' Annie clung to the door strap as the Maserati screeched around the corner.

'Humph.'

Annie tried to hide her grin. Max prided himself on his ability to charm any woman from eight to eighty. She contem­plated pointing out that, of course, Miss Dora was only the exception that proved the rule, but decided that wouldn't improve matters.

The Maserati jolted to a stop on the dry dirt street, kicking up a cloud of gray dust.

Annie checked the address Miss Dora had given them. This was it.

The white frame, one-story house was beautifully tended. The thin soil didn't support a stand of grass but azaleas, wiste­ria, and amaryllis flowered in profusion, accented by a fragrant spill of daylilies, hyacinth, and jessamine. The sidewalk had

recently been swept, the front steps were immaculate, the window panes gleamed.

And the shades were drawn and the front door closed, despite the lovely spring afternoon. And mail poked out of the letter box next to the door.

'Nobody's home,' Annie cried in disappointment.

But Max jumped out of the car, and, after a moment, Annie followed him. They knocked. And rang. And walked around the house—to discover that the garden was as lovely in back as in front—and Annie's verdict held. Which, of course, had the contrary effect of making Max determined to find Enid Friendley, just as Miss Dora had charged them to do.

Max tried the neighbors on each side and returned to the front steps, where Annie had plopped down to enjoy the gar­den scents. 'I found Enid's mother having coffee next door. She said Enid's at the church getting the parlor ready for a wedding reception. She didn't think it would do us any good to go over there because Enid wouldn't have time to talk.' He pulled his notebook from his pocket. 'We'll leave her a note.'

Annie looked over his shoulder as he wrote: