The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

“Ask Earle Scroggins?” Verna interrupted her with a harsh, impatient laugh. “He won’t tell me anything.” She reached the edge of the carpet and turned. “I’ll just have to conduct my own investigation, Liz. I’ve known ever since I took over the treasurer’s office that there was something goofy with the bank accounts, I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. But now I will, I swear it.” Her voice hardened and her eyes were flashing fire. “If money is missing from the county treasury, I’ll find out where it went and who took it—or die trying.”


Lizzy shivered, not liking the sound of those last three words. “But Mr. Scroggins told you to turn in your key. How could you manage to get into the office to—”

Verna barked another harsh laugh. “You don’t think I gave that man my only key, do you? I’m not that dumb, Liz. I had two duplicate keys made at the hardware store a long time ago, just in case I lost one.” She sat back down in her chair, looking pleased with herself. “What’s more, I also have a key to the courthouse. I can get into that building any time I want to.”

“Oh,” Liz said. That kind of precaution was exactly like Verna, who liked to have everything under control. But still—“You’ll have to do it at night, won’t you? How long is it going to take?”

“Of course I’ll have to do it at night,” Verna said shortly. “And it’s not going to take that long, either. I watched that man—that auditor—when he was going through those books. He had a face that was carved out of stone and I couldn’t tell a blessed thing by his expression. But I know which records he spent the most time working on, and I made it a point to glance over his shoulder whenever he seemed to linger over certain pages. I noted them down, so I have a pretty good idea of where to look.”

Lizzy frowned, thinking what Mr. Moseley would say if he thought his client (assuming that Verna actually became his client) intended to trespass on county property, especially when she might be facing a charge of embezzling county funds. Hoping to dissuade her, she said, “But isn’t it awfully risky, Verna? If you’re caught, people will think you were there to try to cover something up. It will look just terrible. And if somebody’s trying to frame you, won’t they be expecting you to do something just like this?”

Verna was irritatingly sure of herself. “I won’t be caught, Liz. I’ll come in after dark and leave before dawn, and I’ll work in the room where we keep the records. It doesn’t have any windows. Nobody will know I’m there. And when I’m through, I’ll have a suspect list. I might even be able to tell you who dunnit.”

Lizzy wished that Verna hadn’t read quite so many crime stories, but now she was curious. “A suspect list? Who do you think might be on it?”

Verna looked thoughtful. “Mr. DeYancy set up those multiple accounts. And he never let Melba Jean or Ruthie know why or what was going on. At least, that’s what they said.”

“But Mr. DeYancy is dead,” Lizzy objected.

“Suddenly and unexpectedly dead,” Verna pointed out in a meaningful tone.

Lizzy frowned. “You’re suggesting that Mr. DeYancy’s dying had something to do with—”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Verna said flatly. “Just thinking about a list of possible suspects. Mr. Scroggins would have to be on it, of course. And anybody who’s had access to those account books over the past year or so. Including Melba Jean and Ruthie. One or the other of them might just be playing dumb. Or maybe even both of them. They might know a lot more about those accounts than they’re letting on. In fact, I have the idea that Ruthie—”

She stopped, hearing footsteps on the stairs, and her eyes widened. “Quick!” she hissed. “It might be the sheriff. Or Mr. Scroggins! I don’t want anybody to find me. Where can I hide?”

Liz didn’t stop to ask why Verna thought the sheriff or Mr. Scroggins would be looking for her in Mr. Moseley’s law office. “In the broom closet,” she said quickly, and pointed.

In a flash, Verna jumped out of her chair, disappeared into the closet, and pulled the door shut behind her.

But it wasn’t the sheriff or Mr. Scroggins. Myra May Mosswell stepped through the door, carrying a basket full of groceries.

“Well, hello again.” Lizzy was relieved to see her friend, but a little surprised. Myra May was always so busy at the diner in the mornings—she almost never took the time to drop in. And they had spoken just a little earlier. “Nice to see you, Myra May. Sit down and have a cup of coffee with me, won’t you?”

At that moment, she saw Verna’s coffee cup and her untouched doughnut. Hoping that Myra May hadn’t noticed, she quickly gathered them off the desk.

Myra May put her basket down beside the door and took the chair Verna had just vacated, not appearing to realize that the seat was still warm or that a cup of coffee and a doughnut had just disappeared from Lizzy’s desk. Her face was troubled and she leaned forward, her voice urgent.

“No coffee, thanks. I really need to talk to you about Verna, Liz. I’m afraid she’s in serious trouble.”

Lizzy wasn’t terribly surprised that Myra had some information, given what she had witnessed at the diner that morning, but she wasn’t sure how to respond. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, uncomfortably aware that Verna could hear every word.