The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“You saw Bunny at supper on Saturday?”


“Not then.” Miss Blake shook her head. “It was at the picture show. Johnny Potter and I went to see Helen Morgan in Applause.” She clasped her hands and rolled her eyes in a fair imitation of the melodramatic Miss Morgan. “She was so swell. Helen Morgan, I mean. Really, truly she was. I cried and cried. Have you seen it yet, Mrs. Tidwell? If you haven’t, you must. You’ll just love it. Oh, and there’s a Tarzan feature, too. But it’s silent. Applause is a talkie.”

“You said you saw Bunny,” Verna prompted.

“Oh, sure. I saw her coming out of the ladies’ when I went to get popcorn for Johnny and me. But we just waved; we didn’t speak.”

“Who was she with?”

“Why, nobody.” Miss Blake held up her blouse, frowning at something she saw on the front. “Just look at that,” she muttered. “Grease. Or maybe coffee. Bunny is so careless.”

“She went to the picture show by herself?”

Miss Blake looked up. “Oh, I meant that nobody was with her coming out of the ladies’. I don’t know who she went to the picture show with.”

Verna gestured to the bed. “Mrs. Brewster said Bunny was here on Saturday night. What do you think?”

“I think...” Miss Blake hesitated. “Well, personally, I don’t think she slept here. I doubt she came home after the picture show.”

“Where do you suppose she is?”

“Don’t have a clue.” Miss Blake gave Verna a half-defiant look. “But it isn’t the first time she’s been out all night. Oh, she’s always here when Mrs. B checks the beds, or she makes it look like she is. And she’s always back in time for breakfast. Until now, anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Verna asked, surprised. “But I thought Mrs. Brewster locked the doors. How does she—”

“I’ll show you.” Miss Blake stepped out into the hall. Verna followed her.

“This window,” Miss Blake said in a low voice. “Don’t tell Mrs. B, but the girls use it sometimes. To come and go after hours. You can climb down the porch pillar, and there’s a trellis—a little shaky, but almost as good as a ladder for getting back in. Nobody can see you from the street, because of that big tree and the bushes. Not that I’ve done it myself,” she added righteously. “But Bunny has. And the others, too. But mostly Bunny.”

“Ah,” Verna said. “Of course.”

Experimentally, she raised the sash and put her head out. The porch roof wasn’t at all steep. If you were young and agile, it wouldn’t be much of a trick to climb out. And if the trellis bore your weight, you could use it to climb back in again. She put the sash back down, noticing that it moved easily and quietly. The girls probably promoted that with a bit of Vaseline on the cords.

“Well, I guess this tells us something,” Verna said.

“Shhh!” Alarmed, Miss Blake put a finger to her lips, glancing over her shoulder. “You don’t want to go giving away our secrets, do you? If Mrs. B found out—”

“I won’t tell her,” Verna said reassuringly. She paused. “Tell me—do you know the names of the young men Bunny has been seeing?”

“Well, there are several.” Miss Blake stuffed her red blouse into the pocket of her wrapper, then pulled the towel off her damp hair and shook it loose. “There’s Pete Crawford and Willy Warren and somebody else ... Can’t remember who; somebody she knew when she worked over in Monroeville. Bunny isn’t just real crazy about him, but he’s got more money than most, so she sees him sometimes.”

“What about Maxwell Woodburn? Is he the one she met in Monroeville?”

“Woodburn?” Miss Blake frowned, shaking her head. “No, he’s her pen pal up in Montgomery. He writes to her a lot. But as far as the boys here go, she always says they’re hardly worth thinking about.” She sighed plaintively. “It’s hard these days, you know? A boy maybe likes you, but he doesn’t have the money to take you out, so he doesn’t let on. That he likes you, I mean. And those that have money, you don’t like. I don’t mean you, exactly,” she amended hastily.

“I’m sure,” Verna said, very glad that she was past all that liking business. She paused for a moment, thinking. “What about the other girls who live here? Are they friends with Bunny? Would they be likely to know where she is?”

“No, not really,” Miss Blake said. “The home demonstration agent is a lot older, almost an old maid, and the other teacher says Bunny is wild.” She stopped, frowning, sounding worried. “You don’t suppose something’s happened to her, do you? I mean, they ... they haven’t caught that convict yet.”