The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“I want you to know that there wasn’t ever anything at all between me and Lucy Murphy,” he said firmly. “Whatever you’ve been hearing’.”


So he had heard it, too, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Actually, I had a little visit from Mrs. Adcock this morning. She just had to tell me ... Well, you know. Such a blabbermouth. Of course, I know better,” she added, in a comforting tone and adjusted his tie. “You wouldn’t do a thing like that”

Jed looked down, away from her. “No, I wouldn’t,” he muttered. “I just felt like—Well, hell, Opie. Ralph ain’t doin’ right by that little girl, leavin’ her out there with those two half-grown boys and a busted-up old car and a bunged-up horse. He oughta know better.”

“He ought,” she agreed. “And he probably does. But he’s got to make a living, like everybody else. He probably figures he’s lucky to have a job, so he doesn’t say ‘can’t’ to his boss as often as he maybe ought to.” She paused. “And maybe—”

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t’ve taken it on myself to look after her. Wa’n’t a bit smart, given the way people in this damn town like to talk.” He bent over and kissed her on the nose. “You did right, sugah-pie, goin’ out there and gettin’ Lucy and bringin’ her into town. That fixed their wagons.”

Ophelia nestled against him. “Thank you,” she whispered, putting her arms around his neck.

He kissed her quickly. “Anyway,” he said, disengaging and stepping back, “folks’ll have something else to talk about tomorrow.”

“Not us, I hope. What is it now?”

“You wait and see,” Jed said. His face darkened. “It’s not goin’ to be good, Opie, but I’ve taken care of us. You and me and the kids—whatever happens at the bank,” he added, “we got nothin’ to worry about”

“Taken care of what?” Ophelia asked, now alarmed. “What don’t we have to worry about?”

“Can’t rightly say just yet” Indulgently, he patted her on the cheek. “But I don’t want you frettin’ your pretty head about it,” he said, and was gone.



Ophelia was still pondering Jed’s mysterious words as she set up the card table and got out the cards and paper and pencils for scoring. The Dahlias’ Monday evening card party was open to all the club members, but not everyone came. Miss Rogers and Aunt Hetty Little didn’t play cards, and Bessie Bloodworth had Bible study at the Manor on Mondays. Alice Ann Walker often played with them, but she had left a message with Florabelle, saying that she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. So it would just be Verna, Myra May, and Lizzy—four, counting herself. Which was fine for hearts. They could play with as many as seven, but it was a little awkward.

She made tea, cut the still-warm peach cobbler, and laid out her prettiest lace-trimmed napkins (the ones her mother had embroidered with pansies). She was moving the chairs when she heard the knocker. As she opened the door to Myra May, Verna and Lizzy were coming up the walk.

“Good timing,” Ophelia said cheerfully, trying not to look at the dirty hem of Lizzy’s skirt. It looked like she’d been rolling in the mud. “Only have to answer the door once.”

A few minutes later, they were settled around the card table, glasses of iced tea at their elbows. But they weren’t playing cards. They were staring openmouthed at Lizzy, who had just told them that Bunny Scott had died in an automobile wreck. She had stolen a nearly new green Pontiac and crashed it through a barrier and into the Pine Mill Creek ravine.

“Dead!” Myra May exclaimed. “So she was one of that pair of thieves?”

Ophelia gasped. “That pretty little blond thing that works in the drugstore stole a car? Why, she’s no more than a child!”

“The sheriff says she stole it,” Lizzy said grimly. “But to tell the truth, girls, I can’t believe it, either. Verna and I have lunch with her every day ... had lunch with her. Bunny was always kind of silly and flighty, but she didn’t have any meanness in her. She’d never steal a car.”

“A green roadster?” Ophelia asked, frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a green roadster in this town. Who did it belong to?”

“The dentist in Monroeville,” Myra May said. “Fred Harper phoned the sheriff around midnight Saturday night to report it stolen—his brother’s car, he said. I was on the switchboard,” she added, in answer to the raised eyebrows. “I heard him. Said he couldn’t see the man very well, but he gave a pretty good description of the woman. She had short blond hair and was wearing a red dress. In her twenties. Staggering, maybe, like she was drunk.”

“Bunny was wearing a red dress,” Lizzy said quietly.

“Who’s Fred Harper?” Verna wanted to know.

“The chief cashier at the Savings and Trust,” Myra May said.

Verna rolled her eyes. “Oh, that one.”