The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

A few weeks earlier, Fannie had given a talk at the Darling Literary Society on The Murder at the Vicarage, Agatha Christie’s new mystery, and had quoted a number of lines she liked. She had also read aloud bits of the New York Times review of the book. The reviewer had been patronizing in an unmistakably male sort of way, feeling that Miss Christie was far from “being at her best” in the book. “The local sisterhood of spinsters is introduced with much gossip and click-clack,” he had written. “A bit of this goes a long way and the average reader is apt to grow weary of it all, particularly of the amiable Miss Marple, who is sleuth-in-chief of the affair.” The members of the Literary Society (fully half of them were Dahlias) had giggled at the phrase local sisterhood of spinsters. That was exactly how they liked to describe themselves, although not all of them were spinsters.

“There’s something wrong with Mrs. Biggs?” Miss Rogers asked, coming into the parlor with another plate of cookies. “I hope it’s not too serious. She is one of the library’s most supportive patrons.” She paused, and her tone became slightly disapproving. “She rather enjoys romantic novels. The Sheik seems to be her current favorite. In fact, I believe that the book is a day or two overdue. I shall have to telephone her.”

Bessie refrained from rolling her eyes. She had started to read the novel, which was still wildly popular, even though it had been out for over ten years. But she stopped when she got to the part where the hero, Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan, had dragged the heroine, Lady Diana, into his tent and cruelly ravished her while she screamed and resisted. Bessie knew she was old-fashioned, but she didn’t feel that the hero of a book ought to behave in such a violently lecherous fashion, even if he was a lord of the desert. In the movie based on the book, Rudolph Valentino (Sheik Ahmed) had taken pity on Agnes Ayers (Lady Diana) and had been a great deal more romantic—it was Hollywood, after all. But the scenes were still shocking enough that the film had been banned in Kansas City. Bessie found it interesting that Angelina Dupree Biggs was a fan of the book.

“The poor dear is losing her hair,” Fannie explained. She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that just too hideous for words?” She paused, reflecting. “Actually, I have a draped satin toque—teal blue—that would be appropriate for such a situation.” She looked at Beulah. “Do you think it would be too forward of me to offer to loan it to her until her hair starts coming back in? Assuming it does, that is,” she added thoughtfully. “It might not.”

“I think you should definitely offer,” Beulah said, although the thought of Angelina Biggs in a teal blue satin toque made her lips twitch. It was something that Lady Diana would have worn, however, so maybe Angelina would accept. “Fannie, that is very gracious of you.”

“Mrs. Biggs is losing her hair?” Miss Rogers asked in horror. She put the plate down with a little thud and her hand flew to her own hair, as if to assure herself that it was where it belonged.

“I knew something was wrong the moment I saw her this morning,” Bessie said somberly, remembering how Angelina had blundered out of the Dispatch office—and how Charlie Dickens had disclaimed any responsibility. “But poisoned? Somebody has poisoned Angelina Dupree Biggs? Who in the world would do such a thing?”

“She was doing it to herself,” Beulah said. “Can you imagine?”

Fannie saw the sideboard and clasped her hands. “Oh, just look at those charming refreshments! Miss Rogers, they do look delectable! You are such a dear.” She started forward as if to help herself, but Miss Rogers stepped in front of her.

“We usually wait until after we’ve finished a round, Miss Champaign,” she said primly.

“Oh, sorry,” Fannie replied, disappointed, and turned away.

“That’s all right,” Miss Rogers said in a comforting tone. “You’re new. We understand.”

“What was she doing to herself?” Bessie asked.

“Taking Dr. Baxter’s diet pills,” Beulah explained, seating herself at the card table. “Fannie, honey, you’re going to be my partner, so you sit opposite.”

“Diet pills?” Bessie asked incredulously, taking the chair to Beulah’s right. Miss Rogers sat opposite her, straightening the white lace cuffs on her mauve dress. “How could a little thing like diet pills poison anybody?”

“Because they have arsenic in them,” Beulah said.

“Arsenic!” Bessie and Miss Rogers exclaimed in one voice.

“Yes, arsenic—would you believe?” Beulah replied, fanning herself with her hand. “And who knows how much. I mean, I doubt that anybody’s watching when the pills are being made. They could make a mistake with their measurements and quantities and the like and nobody would be the wiser.” Without a pause, she added, “Miss Rogers, dear, those cookies look utterly divine. You’re sure you won’t relent and let us have just one before we start?”

“I think we can wait until we’ve Rooked,” Miss Rogers said as Bessie reached for the box of cards in the middle of the table.

“There was strychnine in them, too,” Fannie put in. “In the pills, I mean. And pokeberries. And goodness only knows what else.” She made a face. “I’m sure there are rules about such things, but the government can’t peek into every box.”