The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“I don’t have any idea,” Verna said honestly. “What do you think?”


“What do I think?” Miss Blake sighed and rubbed the towel through her hair. “Well, I guess maybe she just got tired of Darling and ran off. She talked about that a lot. She was always threatening to get on the Greyhound and go down to Mobile, or even up to New York. She said she knew a lot about selling cosmetics, and that she could get a job pretty easily, with her looks and all.” She rewrapped her turban. “But it’s kinda funny that she didn’t take her clothes and her jewelry. I mean, if I was leaving town, I’d sure as shootin’ clean out my room and take a suitcase. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would,” Verna said, thinking regretfully of the clothes on the floor and the empty suitcase. “I would definitely do that.”





NINE





Lizzy Makes an Identification


Lizzy finished up her Monday afternoon work at the usual hour, but Mr. Moseley was still at his desk. In fact, he had been there since right after lunch, working on a stack of documents he had brought into the office with him. He had made several telephone calls direct from his phone without asking Lizzy to get the other party for him, the way he usually did. He kept the door shut while he was talking.

Usually, Lizzy knew everything that happened in the office, so she was intensely curious. Whatever was going on, it involved Mr. Riley, the certified public accountant who sometimes worked on cases that required an auditor. It also involved Mr. George E. Pickett Johnson, who had already called twice and had sent a packet of papers over from the Savings and Trust in the middle of the afternoon. There had been two or three other calls, as well—the same man each time, but he refused to identify himself and asked to be put straight through to Mr. Moseley, after which Lizzy was instructed to hang up. After the first call, Mr. Moseley told her to cancel the two appointments left on the day’s calendar. She knew that something very mysterious was going on, especially when he was still at his desk at the end of the afternoon.

Lizzy rapped on his door, and when she heard a grunt, she opened it. “It’s five o’clock and I was thinking of going home. Are you going to want me again today, Mr. Moseley?”

Mr. Moseley glanced up from his work. His brown hair fell in a boyish shock across his forehead and he pushed it out of his eyes. He had taken off his suit coat, undone his blue tie, and was working with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up on his forearms. His forehead was creased, but his eyes lightened when he saw her.

“I’ll always want you, Liz,” he said, in a joking tone. “You know that”

Lizzy felt herself blushing. She understood that it was just his way of saying that she was a good secretary and he liked her work, but his tone made the compliment sound more ... well, more personal than he probably meant. It was disconcerting. It renewed the romantic dreams she had folded and put carefully away, like old linens closed in a drawer with lavender.

She pressed her lips together. “Yes, Mr. Moseley,” she said evenly. “Would you like me to stay a little longer? In case you need me for something?”

He looked back down at the papers on his desk. “No, you go on, Liz. I’ll be here for a while. And I’m expecting somebody, so please leave the downstairs door unlocked.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, arms over his head. “There is one thing, though,” he said casually—too casually. “Do you have much money in the bank here in town?”

She frowned at the unexpectedness of the question. “In the bank?” She thought. “Well, not a lot. Maybe fifty dollars or so. I’m saving for some more work on the house. Why?”

“It might be a good idea if you took that money out” He glanced at the clock on his desk. “They’re closed over there now, but you could do it first thing in the morning. You can keep it here in the office safe if you don’t want that much money in the house.”

“Take it out of the bank?” she asked uncertainly. “But why would I—”

His eyes narrowed and his tone became stern. “Don’t ask,” he commanded. “Just do what I say. And don’t tell anybody else about this. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Don’t tell anybody,” he added emphatically. “That’s an order.”