The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (34 page)

Under his moustache, Dr. Harper’s mouth tightened. “That was a bad thing,” he said. “A real sad situation. I could hardly believe it when Fred telephoned me yesterday to tell me what’d happened. My brother was so distressed, poor fellow, that he couldn’t give me any of the details.”

“It must have been terribly upsetting for both of you,” Lizzy murmured. He didn’t seem to notice that she had taken her notebook and a pencil out of her purse.

“Oh, it was. Yes. Very,” he said fervently. He frowned a little. “Miss ... Lacy, you say?”

“Yes. Elizabeth Lacy. The girl stole it from your brother’s house, the way I understand it,” Lizzy said. “That was Saturday night, around midnight. On Monday afternoon, the car was found in the ravine at Pine Mill Creek, where the bridge had washed out.”

“She crashed right through a barricade, my brother said.” He looked away, chewing on his moustache. “Drinking. Killed in the wreck.”

Not true. Bunny had been shot—murdered. But since Dr. Harper didn’t seem to know this already, Lizzy didn’t think she’d tell him. Not just yet, anyway.

“A sad situation,” Dr. Harper said again, shaking his head gloomily. “I feel very sorry for my poor brother.”

But not for the poor girl who was dead? “You loaned the car to him, I understand,” Lizzy said.

“Well, yes. I suppose you could put it that way.”

Put it that way?
That was the way Fred Harper had put it to the sheriff.

“We shared the car, you see,” the dentist added. “When he was living here with me.”

“Of course.” Lizzy tilted her head. Well, that wasn’t so unusual. Lots of people—sometimes whole families—shared cars. “When he was living here,” she repeated. “That was ...”

“Last year. I don’t drive the automobile very often these days—my eyes, you know. When I need to go out of town, Fred takes me. We went to Montgomery two weeks ago. He wanted to keep it, and I agreed.”

Lizzy wondered briefly how, if Dr. Harper couldn’t see well enough to drive a car, he could see well enough to fix somebody’s teeth. She wasn’t sure she’d want him poking around in her mouth. But she only nodded sympathetically.

He sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to think about getting another car, though. The Pontiac is a total wreck, my brother tells me. The frame is bent. Can’t be repaired.”

“That’s too bad,” Lizzy said. She put her pencil to her notebook. “You purchased it here in Monroeville?”

“No, from the Pontiac dealer in Mobile. I’ve always been partial to Pontiacs. Every car I’ve ever owned has been a Pontiac. It’s that Indian on the hood. It appeals to me.” There was a gleam in his eyes. “You can put that into the story if you like. When I was a boy, I wanted to be an Indian fighter. I suppose that’s human interest, isn’t it?”

She nodded and wrote that down.
Wanted to be an Indian fighter,
“Did you know the girl?”

“The girl who stole the car? No, of course not.” He sounded slightly indignant, as if an acquaintance with a common thief was beneath him. “My brother said she worked in Darling. I don’t get over there very often.” The way he said
Darling
made it sound as if the town was beneath him, too.

“You’re
sure
you didn’t know her?” Lizzy asked, managing to sound just a little doubtful.

“Of course I’m sure.” Now he was definitely indignant. He eyed Lizzy. “Why are you asking? How would I know a girl in Darling when I don’t go over there?”

“I’m asking because—” Lizzy opened her purse and took out the photograph of a smiling Bunny perched on the hood of the car. “Because the
Dispatch
came into possession of this photo.” She held it out. “Your car, Dr. Harper. The date on the license plate is 1930, so the photo was taken earlier this year. And the young lady sitting on the hood is the one who was reported to have stolen the car. The one who died.” She paused, and then repeated her question. “You’re sure you don’t know her?”

He took the photograph and bent over it, squinting. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe—” He closed his eyes and passed his hand across his forehead. “This is the girl who—?” His voice squeaked and he gulped, trying again. “It’s ... it’s Eva Louise! She’s ... she’s
dead?”

“Yes, she is,” Lizzy said very politely, withholding censure from her tone. “So you do know her, then?”

He nodded dumbly. He was still peering at the photograph.

“And that is your car?”

He nodded again.

“Did you take the photo?”

“Oh, no!” Another squeak. “I’ve never seen ... I wouldn’t—” He swallowed hard, making an effort to control his voice. “I’ve never seen her wearing ... whatever that thing is called.”

“It’s a teddy,” Lizzy said quietly. “It’s her underwear.”

“Oh.” He was still looking at the photo, hungrily, Lizzy thought. “Her underwear,” he repeated. He licked his lips.

She gently took the photo away from him and put it back in her purse. “Eva Louise was a friend of yours?”

He sank down in one of the straight chairs and put his head between his hands.

“She was a friend?” Lizzy asked again.

“A ... friend.” His voice was muffled. “Yes. We ... we went out to dinner sometimes. We used to go to Mobile, until my eyes got too bad to drive.” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Beautiful. She was a beautiful girl. She loved pretty things.”

Lizzy felt she was taking advantage of him, but she did it anyway. “Did you give her gifts? A pair of pearl earrings, maybe?”

He nodded, sniffling. “She looked so beautiful in those earrings.” He sat up, putting his glasses back on, hooking them over his ears. “But I never expected to see her sitting on a car—
my
car—in her ... in her underwear!”

Lizzy was beginning to get an idea of what might have happened. “Could it have been your brother who took the photo?”

“My brother?” he repeated incredulously. “No! Of course not! Fred knew that Eva Louise and I were seeing each other. He wouldn’t—”

“Well, then, who else drove the car?”

“Nobody! Nobody else! Just—” He stopped.

“Then it must have been your brother who took the photo, don’t you think?”

The idea was beginning to sink in. He stared at her. “I—I suppose—”

She took a chance. “Tell me, Mr. Harper. Do you own a gun?”

“A gun? Well, yes. A twenty-two revolver. But I can’t see to use it now. Anyway, it’s not here. I ... I gave it to—” He broke off.

“You gave it to your brother?”

“Yes. Fred said he wanted it for target practice, so I gave him the gun and the ammunition. Why? Why are you asking? Why—”

“Because Eva Louise wasn’t killed when your car went into the ravine, Mr. Harper. She was shot in the head. The bullet was a twenty-two caliber.”

“Oh, no!” he cried. “Oh, no!”

When she left, he was still sobbing.

Thirty minutes later, Verna, Lizzy, and Myra May gathered in front of Buzz’s Barbeque, an unpainted, tin-roofed wooden building on a dusty street across from the Monroeville railroad depot. Hungry people getting off the train—especially city folks—might turn up their noses at the idea of sitting down to a meal in a place that looked like a good puff of wind might blow it over. But they changed their minds when they caught the enticing fragrance wafting from behind the shack: the pig Buzz was roasting over a hickory fire in a brick barbeque pit.

“Ah,” Myra May said appreciatively, taking a deep sniff. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful?”

“Heavenly,” Verna agreed, raising her voice over the loud huff-and-puff of the just-arrived steam locomotive, which was taking on the mail, goods, and passengers for the evening run to Montgomery and points north. The same railroad spur that served Monroeville also served Darling, built to connect with the Pine Mill Creek sawmill outside of Darling. The spur joined up with the main L&N line twenty miles to the east at Repton.

Just at that moment, a black Ford sedan came around the corner and pulled up in front of the depot, across the street from where they were standing.

Verna frowned, looking at it. “Hey, take a look, girls. Isn’t that the Snows’ Ford?”

“It sure is,” Lizzy said, surprised. “And that’s Ophelia behind the wheel. Who’s that with her? That redhead—I don’t recognize her.”

“That’s Ralph’s wife, Lucy,” Myra May said. She grinned. “I heard that Ophelia went out to her place and brought her into town to get groceries—Ophelia’s way of scotching a few nasty rumors. Ophelia said she was going to ask Lucy to join the Dahlias now that we’ve lowered the dues, so I guess we’ll get acquainted with her.”

“Who’s that with them?” Verna asked curiously. “I don’t recognize her.”

Clambering awkwardly out of the Ford’s rear seat was a tall, gangly woman in a faded cotton dress and an old-fashioned green slat bonnet—the kind that allowed a woman to shield her face and neck from the hot sun while she worked in the garden. This one completely hid the woman’s hair and most of her face, so it was impossible to tell whether she was young or old. She turned back to the auto and took out a small cardboard suitcase.

“I don’t think she’s anybody from Darling,” Lizzy said, studying her. “Maybe one of Lucy’s family. Or a relative of one of the neighbors.” Out in the country, when somebody was driving to Darling or one of the nearby towns, they always asked if the neighbors needed a ride or something from the grocery or the hardware or the feed store. “Let’s see who it is.”

“Yoo-hoo!” Myra May put up her hand and waved. “Hi, Ophelia! It’s us! The Dahlias!” And she started across the dusty street, with Verna and Lizzy right behind her.

And then something odd happened. Lucy and the strange woman turned, put their heads down, and hurried toward the depot. Lucy had her arm around the woman’s shoulders. The woman was leaning on Lucy, walking with her ankles turned out, clumsily, as if she wasn’t accustomed to wearing pumps.

Ophelia greeted them beside the Ford with an oddly nervous smile. “Lucy’s cousin is hurrying to make the train.” The breeze had come up again and she put a hand on her straw hat to keep it from blowing off.

“Where’s she going?” Lizzy asked conversationally.

Ophelia frowned. “Uh, to ... to Memphis, I think.”

“Been here for a visit?” Myra May tilted her head, studying Ophelia.

“I ... I think so,” Ophelia said. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Pretty afternoon, isn’t it? What’re y’all doing in Monroeville today?”

The three of them exchanged glances. “We were just about to discuss that,” Verna said, and made a grab for her own hat as the wind gusted. “Maybe you and Lucy would like to join us. We’re going to Buzz’s.”

“Well, I don’t know ... That is, I—” Ophelia bit her lip. She seemed more than usually flustered.

By now, Verna was feeling suspicious. “What’s going on here, Ophelia?” she demanded. “There’s something you’re not telling us. What is it?”

“Oh, no!” Ophelia exclaimed, widening her eyes innocently. “Oh, not at all! It’s just the way I said, honest, Verna. Lucy’s cousin is going to Nashville—No, Memphis, I mean. She’s been staying with Lucy and the boys for the past few days. They’ve been having such a marvelous time together, hunting mushrooms, picking flowers, going fishing. She’s really just the nicest person, even if—”

She broke off and looked from one to the other. “I’m babbling, huh?”

“You’re babbling,” Myra May said in a kindly tone. “Tell us what you’re hiding, Ophelia.”

Ophelia began to color. “Nothing,” she protested. “I’m not hiding anything. Honest!”

“Ophelia,” Verna said sternly, “we have played hearts together almost every Monday night for nearly ten years. I know when you’re lying. You’re hiding something. So what is it?”

“No, really! I—”

But Verna had left the group and was already on her way into the small frame railroad depot. It had an office and a ticket window at one end and a couple of benches so that waiting passengers could sit inside, out of the weather. The depot was empty, so she went through the opposite door to the wooden platform beside the railroad track.

The evening train was a short one, as usual—just the locomotive, the coal car, a baggage car, a soot-stained passenger car, and a red-painted caboose. Lucy was standing beside the nearly empty passenger car, helping her cousin up the steps. The conductor was standing at the head of the train, checking his watch and talking to the engineer, while the steam hissed and puffed from beneath.

“Have a good trip,” Lucy said to her cousin. “Be sure and write to me when you get there, so I’ll know you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” the cousin said, in a curiously high-pitched voice. “Really, I’m jes’ so grateful for all you’ve did. I’ll try to live up to it.” She bent down to take the cardboard suitcase out of Lucy’s hand.

But at that moment, a gust of wind caught her slat bonnet. The strings must not have been tied securely, for the bonnet went sailing off. Lucy, with great presence of mind, caught it one-handed in midair, while Verna gawked, openmouthed.