The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

“Verna must be so scared,” Violet said in a low voice. “I know I would be, if it was me. How’s she holding up?”


“Dunno,” Myra May replied glumly. “Haven’t seen her all weekend. I asked Liz about her when she came in for a doughnut this morning, but she didn’t seem to know a thing. Liz must’ve guessed that something was up, though. You should have seen the look on her face when she caught sight of Coretta Cole, having breakfast with those two bigwigs. Between them, they pull every string that ever gets pulled in Cypress County.”

“I thought Coretta was a friend of Verna’s,” Violet said.

“Obviously not.” Myra May’s mouth tightened. “You don’t treat a friend like dirt, the way Coretta is treating Verna. But five will get you ten that she won’t be in Verna’s job for long. She is totally disorganized. She’ll make a mess of that office in nothing flat.” Myra May had met Coretta when they both volunteered to run the Children’s Day program at the park for the Darling Ladies Club. Myra May had ended up doing most of Coretta’s work.

“She’s probably thrilled to be working full time again,” Violet said softly. “I heard from Mrs. Musgrove at the hardware store that Coretta’s husband got laid off out at the Coca-Cola bottling plant. The Coles have two kids in high school. I’m sure they’re hard up for money.”

“You’re too softhearted, Violet. Everybody’s hard up for money. And it’s no excuse for being underhanded. Why, Verna taught Coretta all she knows about that office. And now Coretta is taking Verna’s job!”

This wasn’t a wild guess. Myra May and Violet had pieced together what they knew about the situation from several overheard phone conversations, going back to the previous Thursday.

It had started with a call from the state auditor to Mr. Tombull, chairman of the board of county commissioners, at Tombull’s Real Estate, out at the end of Dauphin. Violet had to stay on the line at the beginning of the call because Mr. Tombull couldn’t be found right away. She needed to be sure he was available, so that she could connect the two parties. When he finally came on the line, slightly winded, the auditor announced right off the bat that there was a fifteen-thousand-dollar discrepancy in the county treasurer’s accounts. This announcement was so shocking that Violet didn’t stop listening, the way she was supposed to. Unashamedly, she eavesdropped on the rest of the conversation.

The auditor said he had sent Mr. Tombull a report of the missing funds, which had been turned over to Cypress County by the state of Alabama from the gasoline tax, to be used for road and bridge upkeep. The letter accompanying the report said that the county should begin its own investigation immediately.

“When a situation like this happens,” the auditor said, “we usually leave it up to the county to decide how it should be handled—that is, whether or not to bring in the local law enforcement. But we do expect that it will be dealt with expeditiously and the culprit brought to justice as soon as possible.” He had paused, cleared his throat, then added in an even sterner voice, “It goes without saying, Mr. Tombull, that there will be a full restitution of funds. This is the gasoline tax fund.” From the tone of his voice, it sounded as if the money were sacred.

“Oh, of course,” Mr. Tombull had replied, obviously caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events but attempting to cling to his dignity and authority. “We’ll get the person who did this. And oh, yes, sir. Full restitution. Of course, of course.”

Myra May was as astonished as Violet when she learned this news. Luckily, she was on the switchboard when the next call went through, no more than an hour later, from Mr. Tombull to Earle Scroggins. Mr. Tombull was as irate as a mule with a mouthful of bumblebees.

“How’d you let this happen, Earle?” he demanded. “We figgered you knowed what you was doin’ with those dang accounts. First I’ve heard about this-here audit, too. Whyn’t you tell me ’bout it when it happened, ’stead of lettin’ me hear it from the state auditor?”

But that was as much as Myra May got to hear at that moment, because Nona Jean Jamison wanted to talk long distance to Chicago, which meant that Myra May had to route the call through Montgomery, Nashville, Memphis, and then to Chicago, which took four or five minutes.

By the time she got back to Mr. Tombull and Mr. Scroggins, Mr. Scroggins was saying, touchily, “I said I’d handle it, Amos, and I will. O’ course, I cain’t rightly guarantee anything about the money. Restitution, I mean. But I’ll do the best I can to get to the bottom of this and see it’s made right, far as I’m able. You can count on that.”