The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (17 page)

“Well, I don’t know,” Myra May replied, frowning. “I seriously doubt that Mr. Harper has a gun. He’s renting the old Lewis house, next door to my cousin Mabel, so I see him sometimes, puttering around in the backyard. Doesn’t strike me as the gun-totin’ type. And if he had one, he probably wouldn’t know how to shoot it. Or the robbers would’ve grabbed it and shot
him
and then stolen the car. Things like that happen, you know.”

She was right. Darling itself was law-abiding and so safe that people had never felt it necessary to lock their doors—until the hobos had made them nervous. But just down the road at the Watering Hole, people got shot up all the time. Moonshine whiskey and guns didn’t mix.

“Maybe it was the escaped convict,” Ophelia suggested. “From the prison farm. They say he’s not much more than a boy, but I guess he’s old enough to steal a car.”

Verna shook her head. “I still can’t believe that Bunny would do that. And she certainly wouldn’t be hanging around with an escaped convict” She chuckled sadly. “She had other fish to fry.”

Myra May pursed her lips. “Lizzy said she was driving the car when it went into the creek. Sounds like pretty clear evidence, if you ask me.”

Nobody said anything for a minute; then Lizzy spoke. “Fred Harper,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve met him—at the bank. He hasn’t been here in Darling more than a few months. He came from a bank somewhere else. Can’t remember where. But there’s more, ladies.” She turned to Verna. “Verna and I missed Bunny at lunch today, so Verna went to the drugstore and found out from Mr. Lima that she hadn’t come in to work. Tell them the rest of it, Verna.”

Verna filled them in on the general outline of her visit to Mrs. Brewster’s boardinghouse and her informative talk with Amanda Blake.

“You actually went to Bunny Scott’s room?” Ophelia asked admiringly. “You went through her things?” She sounded as if she thought Verna had done something brave.

“I didn’t intend to, but I’m glad I did. Seeing her room—well, it’s sad, that’s all. Just a little hole in the wall. And Mrs. Brewster is a witch. You can’t blame Bunny for wanting to escape.” She glanced inquiringly around the table. “Anybody know Maxwell Woodburn?”

The others shook their heads. “Why?” Ophelia asked. “Who’s he?”

“Somebody Bunny was apparently thinking of marrying. She’d been practicing ‘Mrs. Maxwell Woodburn’ on a scrap of paper. Amanda Blake thinks he might be her pen pal, in Montgomery. And what’s more—” She told them about the deposit book.

“Two hundred and seventy dollars!” Myra May exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Where in the world did that girl get that kinda money? Why, she couldn’t be making as much as I do, and I sure as shootin’ can’t salt away ten dollars a week! Hardly a dollar, truth be told.”

“It’s nice that she was saving it, though,” Ophelia remarked. “If everybody would save, we’d be better off. And if she was thinking of marrying this Woodburn fellow, why, of course she’d save, bless her heart”

Myra May rolled her eyes. “Well, sure, sweetie. But where did she
get
all that moola? Was she lifting it out of the drugstore till?”

“I guess it would be easy enough to do,” Ophelia said slowly. “But she wouldn’t take the same amount every week, would she? That would be a dead giveaway.”

“There’s more,” Lizzy said. “Tell them, Verna.”

“There was a jewelry box in the drawer of her dressing table,” Verna said. “Really pretty, with little bits of colored mosaics and mother-of-pearl.” The box was in her purse at this very moment, but she didn’t want to show it to them. She had told Lizzy about the earrings, but she hadn’t confessed to taking them. That was too much like theft. And now that she had them, she couldn’t think how to put them back.

“Tell them what was in the box,” Lizzy urged.

“Pearl earrings,” Verna said. “Large pearls. From Ettlinger’s.”

“Oh, my!” Ophelia breathed, wide-eyed. “I love pearls. Do you suppose they’re
real?”

Myra May laughed. “Honey chile, if she bought them at Ettlinger’s, they’re real. That’s the fanciest jewelry store in Mobile.”

“Who says
she
bought them?” Lizzy asked wryly.

“Lizzy’s right,” Verna said. “Girls as pretty as Bunny don’t buy jewelry for themselves.”

“Well, then, who?” Myra May was puzzled. “None of the single guys in this town have
that
kind of money.” She shook her head. “I mean, think about it, girls. Do you know any men in Darling who could give Bunny something like that?”

“Hardly,” Verna said.

“Maybe they’re from her pen pal,” Ophelia said. “The one she was thinking of marrying.”

Verna laughed. “Maybe that’s why she was thinking of marrying him. Because he could afford to buy her pearls.”

“Or maybe the man who gave them to her isn’t single,” Lizzy said uncomfortably. She was remembering something Bunny had said about Lester Lima not being quite the gentleman he looked to be. Which made her remember something she’d heard about a girl who had worked there the year before. Nadine, wasn’t that her name? Yes, Nadine.

“Not single!” Ophelia exclaimed, and colored. “What makes you say a thing like that, Lizzy?”

“Well, I just think we ought to keep all the options open,” Lizzy said. “I mean, if we’re going to solve this mystery—”

“What mystery?” Ophelia asked. “The poor little thing got so desperate to get out of town and meet up with the man she wanted to marry that she stole a car. Not much mystery there.”

“Anyway, that’s what we pay the sheriff for,” Myra May retorted. “It’s his mystery. Let him solve it.”

“He already has,” Lizzy replied. “He says she stole the car. Bunny and an unidentified man. But I don’t think so.” She looked around the table. “Well, I’m sorry. I just don’t.”

“But she was
in the car
,” Myra May repeated emphatically. “For heaven’s sake, Lizzy, you said that yourself. And there was booze. You told us that, too.”

Lizzy couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe it either,” Verna put in. “It just doesn’t seem right to me.”

“Well, then, what are you going to do about it?” Ophelia asked.

Lizzy and Verna exchanged looks. Then Lizzy nodded, and Verna spoke.

“Lizzy and I are going to investigate. The sheriff obviously thinks he knows everything there is to know about this case, and we don’t agree. So we’ve decided to conduct our own investigation.”

“An investigation,” Ophelia said admiringly. “You girls are
brave.”

Verna nodded, accepting the compliment. “We thought we’d talk to Don Greer at the picture show first. Bunny was there on Saturday night. He might be able to tell us who she was with.”

“We thought we’d talk to Mr. Lima, too,” Lizzy said. “Maybe he can tell us who she was seeing.” She looked around the group. “If you hear of anything that might help, please let us know.”

The clock on the wall cleared its throat importantly. Ophelia glanced up at it, startled. “My gracious, look how late it is! We’d better get our game started. Oh, and Lizzy, before I forget, I drove past the Dahlias’ house this morning, and saw that our sign is still leaning against the cucumber tree out front. I thought Zeke was going to plant it.”

Lizzy sighed. “He will, when he gets around to it. Or maybe I’ll do it myself, if I get tired of waiting. It’s not a huge job.”

“Let me know and I’ll come help,” Ophelia offered. She picked up a small glass bowl and dropped a handful of jelly beans into it. “Who wants to be the bank?”

“I will,” Myra May said.

The hostess always dealt first, so Ophelia picked up the deck and began dealing, cards facedown.

Lizzy picked up her cards and frowned at them. “Speaking of banks, I wonder—have any of you heard anything about the Savings and Trust?” Mr. Moseley had ordered her not to tell anybody that he had told her to take her money out. He hadn’t said she shouldn’t
ask
about the bank.

Ophelia looked up from her hand. “Is there something wrong? If anybody knows anything, tell me. Jed was dropping mysterious hints tonight, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, except that I’m not supposed to worry.” She made a face. “Which is what he always says when he’s worrying.”

Verna shrugged. “Haven’t heard a word. But the bank is right across the street from my office window, and I noticed a fair amount of traffic in and out of there today.” She glanced at Myra May. “Did I see you go in there this morning? Looked like you from a distance, anyway.”

Myra May kept her eyes fixed on her cards. After a moment, she said, “Voleen Johnson canceled her hair appointment at Beulah’s this morning.”

“She
did?
” they all chorused, wide-eyed, immediately seeing the significance of this surprising event.

“Oh, golly,” Verna said, in an awed tone. “Whatever is going on, it must be serious. Really.” She took three cards out of her hand and passed them to Myra May, who was sitting on her left.

Ophelia looked around the group. “All right. I want to know what’s happening. Does anybody know? Please tell me!”

“It’s a mystery to me,” Verna replied.

“Me too,” Lizzy said.

Myra May put her cards down. The time had come to tell her friends what she knew. Which wasn’t much, but just enough.

“Have you ever heard of a bank examiner?” she asked.

 

 

 

 

 

Bright and early on Tuesday morning, as soon as she had got Jed off to the Farm Supply and the kids off to school, Ophelia put on her gardening clothes (green twill pants, a long-sleeved blouse, and old shoes), took her floppy straw hat and a basket of garden implements, and walked to the Dahlias’ clubhouse, up Rosemont and around the corner on Camellia Street. She and Mildred Kilgore had volunteered to help Bessie Bloodworth in the overgrown back garden, pulling weeds and clearing underbrush. It was a beautiful morning, with the bluest of blue skies and a mild breeze, a perfect morning for working outside, as long as you were out there early, before eight o’clock, before the sun climbed high into the sky.

Mrs. Blackstone’s gardens had been a paradise of flowers, fruits, and vegetables for many years. Even in her mother’s day, back in the 1840s and ’50s, the gardens around the Cartwright mansion had been a sight to behold, according to all reports. Bessie, who was Darling’s unofficial town historian, had once shown the Dahlias several old photographs of the mansion’s gardens—every flower bed managed and maintained by slaves, of course.

Those days were gone, thank goodness, and everybody was free and equal. (At least, that’s how Ophelia liked to think of it.) But there was no money, and even if the Dahlias could find a few dollars, it would have to go to repair the roof. If they wanted to resurrect their part of what had once been that lovely garden, they were going to have to roll up their sleeves and do the work themselves.

When Ophelia came around the corner of the vacant lot, Bessie Bloodworth was standing out in front of the clubhouse, her hands on her hips. In her early fifties, Bessie was a tall, energetic-looking woman with thick, dark eyebrows, silvery-gray hair, cut short, and square, capable hands. She was wearing bib overalls and a hat and she had a rake in one hand.

“Looks to me like we don’t have a lot of work to do out here in front at the moment,” Bessie said, surveying the wisteria and the weigelas. “That snowball bush seriously needs cutting back, but most of the pruning here in front can wait until late fall or early spring. I think we ought to concentrate on the back garden. You agree?”

“Beulah’s sign still isn’t up,” Ophelia said, pointing to the painted sign that was leaning against the cucumber tree.

“That’s Zeke for you.” Bessie chuckled. “Lizzy asked him to dig a hole for it, but he does things on his own calendar. I suppose he’ll get around to it sooner or later.”

“Maybe we should do it ourselves,” Ophelia suggested. “Wouldn’t take long.”

A horn tootled and they turned to see a blue 1929 Dodge four-door sedan slow to a stop. It was Mildred Kilgore, an avid camellia collector. If there was a camellia anywhere that she didn’t have, she’d move heaven and earth to get it, even if she had to pay good money for it. She could do that, though. Her husband, Roger, owned Kilgore Motors, just off the courthouse square. It was a Dodge dealership, and Mildred always drove the latest model.

“Sorry to be late,” Mildred said, getting her gardening implements out of the car. She was dressed in a neat khaki skirt and plaid blouse, and looked so natty that Ophelia immediately felt grubby—but then, Mildred always had that effect on her. “Today’s ironing day, and I had to get Jubilee started on Mr. Kilgore’s shirts. Have I missed anything important?”

“We were just discussing what to do about the sign,” Ophelia told her.