The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady (31 page)

“So that's why you were so nervous,” Ophelia said, thinking she understood.

“Well, that, yes. But there's more. When Ray and I were talking, he said something that made me suspect that he had killed Rona Jean, and I was just plain scared. When I saw you, I had just come from telephoning Charlie Dickens, at the
Dispatch
, to arrange a meeting. I'd already written to him about the bribery, but when I realized that Ray might have done something much, much worse, I wanted Charlie to go to the sheriff and tell him what I suspected. I was hoping that, if Charlie would do it, I could stay out of it, and nobody would find out that I had been involved with a . . . a killer.” Lucy's eyes filled with tears. “I was a coward, Opie. And stupid. Falling for Ray was so terribly
foolish
. I'm ashamed.”

“We're all foolish sometimes, Lucy,” Ophelia said quietly. “And I can testify to Corporal Andrews' personal magnetism. I felt it myself. Whatever else he is, the man is a charmer.” She paused. “But look at it this way. If you hadn't gotten close to him, you wouldn't have known what he was doing. That kickback racket he was running, I mean. And you wouldn't have known that he and Rona Jean even knew each other, so you couldn't have suspected that he killed her.” She reached across the table and took Lucy's hand. “If it weren't for you, he might have gotten away with it.”

“I don't know about that,” Lucy said doubtfully. “Buddy Norris says he's got fingerprint evidence.”

“Yes, but maybe Buddy would never have thought to fingerprint the corporal. And you were the one who supplied the motive. Mr. Moseley said that motive is the important key here—that when it comes to building the case for trial, it's just as important as the fingerprints.”
Ophelia waved away a pesky fly. “I hope you won't have to testify at the trial.”

“Me, too.” Lucy sighed heavily. “But of course I will if I have to. I've told Ralph everything, and he says he's forgiven me. So keeping it from him isn't an issue any longer.” She managed a small smile. “He even wanted to take some of the blame for himself. He says he's going to try to get his railroad shift assignments changed so he can be home more often. I've been wanting that for a long time. So something good might come of this, after all.”

“Charlie got what he wanted, too,” Ophelia said. “He told me this morning that the special edition of the
Dispatch
was a sellout. What's more, he's sold his story ‘The Eleven O'clock Lady' to both wire services, and to the
Atlanta Constitution
, as well
.
” She smiled. Charlie had been more excited than she had ever seen him. She had the feeling that this story was more than just a story to him. It was some kind of personal test. “He's also talked to an old friend of his from his days with the Associated Press,” she added. “Miss Hickok doesn't normally investigate CCC camps, but her boss wants her to come down here and report on the situation. Charlie's even hoping that she invites her friend, Mrs. Roosevelt. Wouldn't that be
exciting
?”

Lucy nodded. “I guess the only people who didn't get what they wanted were the ones who hoped that Rona Jean would give them her baby. Fannie Dickens, for one. Violet and Myra May, too.”

“I know,” Ophelia said sadly. “Charlie says that Fannie is terribly disappointed, but that they've started to talk about adopting a child. Which I guess is another good outcome of this.” She looked up and waved at Sarah, who was poised at the end of the diving board, looking beautiful in her new red
bathing suit. Daughters were wonderful creatures, she thought proudly. She was going to see that Sarah had all the opportunities that her brother did—and that included college.

“There's one more good outcome, if you're keeping score.” Lucy chuckled. “Guess who came to the picnic together this afternoon.”

“Uncle Sam and the Goddess of Liberty?” Ophelia rolled her eyes. “I'm terrible at guessing games, Lucy.
Tell
me.”

“Buddy Norris and Bettina Higgens, that's who! It seems the sheriff is dating Rona Jean's roommate.”

“Oh, my gosh!” Ophelia exclaimed. “I suppose they met during the investigation, huh? Beulah says that since Bettina works at the Beauty Bower, she doesn't have much of a chance to meet men.”

“I'm sure that's true,” Lucy said. “Anyway, I saw them together after the parade, and then the two of them settled down over there under the big weeping willow for lunch. A little while ago, I saw them walking along the creek.” She chuckled. “They were holding hands. They both looked rather shy, I thought. And romantic.”

“How sweet,” Ophelia said, smiling. “And speaking of romance, here's a ‘guess-who' for you. Guess who's getting married!”

Lucy pinched her lips together, thinking. “Getting married . . . getting married . . . Sorry, I don't have a clue. Who?”

“Liz Lacy's mother and Mr. Dunlap, of the Five and Dime! Liz told me about it while we were putting out the picnic food. They're planning a big church wedding, and then they're moving into Liz's mother's house.”

“Mr. Dunlap?” Lucy asked, blinking. “He's always struck me as . . . well, sort of rabbitish. And Mrs. Lacy is—” She hesitated. “Managerial. A bossy sheepdog.”

“Too true,” Ophelia agreed with a laugh. “But Liz told me that her mother says that in private, Mr. Dunlap is a
tiger.
”

“Well, you can't beat that,” Lucy said. “And speak of the devil, here comes Liz. And Verna.”

“Hello, girls,” Verna said. She was carrying a bottle of ginger ale in one hand and four paper Dixie cups in the other. “Is this a private confab, or do you have room for us?”

“There's plenty of room,” Ophelia said, eyeing the bottle. “I see you brought refreshments. That wouldn't be bubbly, would it?”

“Don't I wish,” Verna said, laughing. “Just plain old ginger ale. But suitable for toasting.” She began filling cups for everybody.

“What's the grand occasion?” Lucy asked, reaching for a cup.

Verna grinned and slid onto the picnic table bench next to Ophelia. “It's Liz's occasion. And it's not just grand, it's spectacular!”

Liz sat down beside Lucy. “It's a miracle, is what it is,” she said, all smiles. “On Saturday, I got a letter from my literary agent, Nadine Fleming. She wrote that she liked
Sabrina
very much, just as it was, and planned to show it to an editor she knows. Last night, she called long-distance to tell me that she had showed it to him and he's agreed to publish it! And Nadine says I need to begin another one, right away.” She shook her head. “I still can't believe this is happening. Maybe I'm just dreaming it.”

“You're not dreaming!” Lucy cried, flinging an arm around Liz's shoulders. “It's all real—and all wonderful!”

“Liz, that's so exciting!” Ophelia exclaimed. “I can't wait to read it!”

“I'll bet it wouldn't have happened if you had married
Grady,” Verna muttered knowingly. “You'd be having babies instead of books.”

Ophelia glanced over to the swimming hole, where Sarah was executing a perfect dive. “There's something to be said for babies, you know.”

“Of course there is,” Lucy agreed. “There's
everything
to be said for babies. But we're glad that Liz is having a book, instead. At least, this year.” She lifted her Dixie cup. “Here's to you, Liz. And to
Sabrina.
”

Verna stood up. “To Liz and
Sabrina
,” she said.

They all rose. “To Liz and
Sabrina
,” they said in unison, and lifted their Dixie cups
together.

Like the other books in the Darling Dahlias series, this sixth mystery takes place during the Depression. The previous book,
The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush
, was set in spring 1933, shortly after the March inauguration of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to whom the nation had turned for salvation (that isn't too strong a word) from the disastrous economic situation in which America found itself. Banks were flat broke, people were out of work, businesses were out of customers, families were out of money for food and rent, and almost everybody in the country was out of luck. The song “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” which depicted the nation's anger at the destruction of the American dream, was on many people's lips.

But by the summer of 1934, things were looking up for the fictional town of Darling—and for real towns all over the United States—partly because of the impact of the Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC was the New Deal's earliest
and best solution to the most baffling riddle of the Depression: how to create meaningful work for unemployed men and ensure that their wages went to support their families. A public works program, the CCC operated from 1933 to 1942, employing young unmarried men from relief families in conservation and natural resource development projects on rural land owned by federal, state, and local governments, and on some private lands. By President Roosevelt's executive order, the CCC also employed veterans of World War I, many of whom were destitute and had joined the 1932 Bonus Army, attempting to persuade Congress to give them the promised bonuses they weren't scheduled to receive until 1945. In return for their labor, the men received shelter, clothing, food, and a stipend of $30 a month, $25 of which was automatically sent home to their families.

Throughout the nine-year life of the program, nearly three million men lived in some 2,600 CCC work camps in every state and territory. The workers planted more than three billion trees, constructed or upgraded more than eight hundred parks nationwide, fought forest fires, built dams, and constructed service buildings and public roads. Administered by the U.S. Army and staffed by Army officers, the camps imposed a quasi-military discipline that took some getting used to. But the food was probably better—and certainly more ample—than the workers got back home. Most of the young men discovered that the daily physical labor required by the CCC projects improved their physical conditions, raised their spirits, and, best of all, taught them employable skills.

The camps also benefitted the areas around them. Camp administrators brought in some bulk supplies, but purchased butter, chickens, eggs, milk, bread, beef, pork, potatoes, and fresh vegetables from the local farmers, who were also invited
to put in bids for the use of their teams and equipment to help with camp projects. Materials were purchased from local sawmills, gravel pits, and rock quarries. Local women and men supervised the camp kitchens, laundries, and repair shops and administered the educational programs that were such a vital part of the program. And while the CCC boys didn't have a lot of spare change, they were always glad to spend whatever they had when they went to town on Saturday night for a game of pool, a movie, a milk shake, or a trinket for their best girl. The camp officers, too, were frequent town visitors, and they had more money to spend. In communities close to the camps, these purchases contributed from $5,000 to $7,000 a month to the local economies, saving many small businesses from failure and giving the towns a welcome new lease on life.

FDR had put a great deal of effort into the reforestation of his family estate in Hyde Park, and that became the first emphasis of the CCC, which quickly came to be called “Roosevelt's Tree Army.” The enrollees were put to work planting natively adapted tree seedlings in logged-over areas and badly eroded fields. This relatively brief nine-year effort, directed by the U.S. Forest Service, was so extensive and so successful that modern conservationists believe that it was responsible for more than half the total public and private reforestation that has been achieved in the nation's entire history.

But when the Dust Bowl hit in 1934, the need for soil conservation was on everyone's mind, and the CCC was put to work to remedy the environmental and human disaster created by fifty years of poor agricultural practice. The number of camps was dramatically expanded, most of them located in the Dust Bowl region, under the direction of the Soil Conservation Service, and the CCC set to work plowing hundreds of miles of contour terraces to reduce slope erosion (some
of which I can still see on our own Central Texas homestead), building farm ponds, controlling gullies, and planting soil-holding crops. In some areas, the need was for drainage; nearly 85 million acres of agricultural land were reclaimed by CCC workers, many of them Native Americans.

In other areas, the CCC did extraordinary and heroic work during natural disasters, like the Ohio River flood of 1937, the 1938 New England hurricane, floods in Vermont and New York, and blizzards in Utah and Wyoming. The CCC also developed recreational facilities in national, state, county, and metropolitan parks. Here in Texas, 29 parks were created or improved by the CCC. Nationally, by the close of the program in 1942, the CCC had developed more than 3 million acres for park use in 854 state parks, as well as 46 recreational demonstration projects in 62 areas within 24 states. In national parks and wilderness areas, CCC work on park trails, campgrounds, and picnic areas resulted in large increases in recreational use, which in turn improved hundreds of local economies.

The CCC was not without its difficulties, of course. Early efforts to integrate white and black enrollees ran into trouble, both in the camps and in nearby local communities. Logistics—moving men, materials, and equipment through difficult terrain—presented large challenges. As the Depression waned and job opportunities increased, fewer men enrolled in the program, and desertions and disciplinary problems increased. And there was the occasional unfortunate instance of fraud. In 1937, Reno Stitely, chief of the CCC Voucher Unit, was arrested for using fake payroll vouchers to embezzle nearly $85,000. Stitely's trial was a media sensation.

By the summer of 1940, France had fallen to Germany, and while Americans were strongly isolationist, President Roosevelt was looking ahead to the possibility of war. He
permitted CCC camps to be established on military bases where enrollees built airfields, military facilities, artillery ranges, and training fields. The CCC expanded its educational program to include engineering, blueprint reading, and other skills that might be of military use, and the young men were spending up to twenty hours a week in military drills. When the first one-year military conscription took place in September 1940, enrollment in the camps sharply declined, and by Pearl Harbor (December 7, 1941), many of the CCC enrollees had already entered military service. Camps that were not directly related to the war effort were ordered to be closed by May 1942. A few months later, Congress appropriated funds to close all of the camps. The program was over.

*   *   *

A note about language. To write about the people of the 1930s rural South requires the use of terms that may be offensive to some readers—especially “colored,” “colored folk,” and “Negro” when they are used to refer to African Americans. Thank you for understanding that I mean no offense.

Susan Wittig Albert
Bertram,
Texas