The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Euphoria was happy to agree as well. “Whoo-ee,” she said. “I’s real relieved to jes’ keep on fryin’ chicken. That’s whut I does best in this world. That, and make meat loaf. Oh, an’ bake. I do love bakin’ pies, ’specially ones with meringue on top.” It was a fact that Euphoria’s fried chicken and mouthwatering meringue-topped pies—lemon, coconut, chocolate, and especially peanut butter—were spoken of with great fondness as far away as Monroeville. When Myra May chalked up “Peanut Butter Meringue Pie” on the menu board, it was gone lickety-split.

The papers signed, Myra May and Violet quit their jobs at the Old Alabama and moved into the apartment over the diner. Olive LeRoy, who had worked at the telephone exchange since the system was first installed, taught Violet and Myra how to manage the switchboard, and the three of them, with Olive’s friend Lenore Looper, set up a regular rotation for trading shifts, so that the board was covered all day and all night. Of course, there weren’t many telephone calls at night, but somebody had to stay near the board in case of an emergency, so there was a cot in the room for whoever was working the night shift.

Myra May herself usually opened the diner at eight and cooked and served breakfast. She always tried to be downstairs by seven, so she had time to stir up a batch of biscuits, cook up the grits and red-eye gravy, and make coffee. Once that was done, all that was left was frying bacon or ham and cooking up eggs, which she did to order, as people came in.

Business had fallen off a bit lately, but the breakfast trade was still pretty good. She could usually count on filling at least half of the counter stools at any given moment, and one or two of the tables. Of course, not everybody came in at the same time, which was good, because if they did, she’d have to get Violet to come down and help.

This morning—Tuesday morning—the crowd was the usual. There was Charlie Dickens from the Dispatch, Jed Snow from the Feed Supply, Marvin Musgrove from the hardware store next door, and J.D., Marvin’s helper. All of them sat, as usual, at the counter. Charlie Dickens and Jed Snow seemed glum, but the other two were talking up a storm about the Elk’s Club picnic, coming up on Saturday, and wondering whether Sparky’s arm was going to be in shape for the baseball game. Then the sheriff came in, smoking his usual smelly cigar, and Myra May had to tell him, as she usually did, to leave it outdoors. As usual, he glared at her, but complied, putting it on the outside windowsill where he could pick it up on his way out. Buddy Norris was with him, and the two of them, plus Tom Hinks from the Circuit Court office, took their usual table in the corner.

When Myra May carried the coffeepot to the table to pour their first cups, the sheriff and Buddy and Mr. Hinks were talking about Bunny Scott, and how she had died, and why they were sure she’d been driving the stolen car when it went into the creek, and drinking, to boot. They still hadn’t figured out who her accomplice was. Buddy thought it was most likely the convict, but the sheriff had a different opinion. He thought the convict was out of the state by this time.

The men didn’t try to keep their voices down, and Myra May listened carefully and made mental notes. However, they said nothing that she hadn’t already heard from Verna and Lizzy the night before, except that Bunny Scott’s body was over at Doc Roberts’ office this morning, where he was giving her a good looking-over before she was moved to Noonan’s Funeral Home. Mrs. Bledsoe—the girl’s mother’s cousin—was up in Nashville, helping her daughter with a new baby. The sheriff was trying to get in touch with her for the names of other relatives.

Then the door opened and Hiram Riley came in. Myra May knew him because he’d done an audit of the hotel accounts the year before. With him was a well-dressed stranger. Everybody in the diner turned their heads, watching as they went to the table in the farthest corner.

Charlie Dickens leaned toward Jed Snow. “Bank examiner,” he said in a low voice.

“Bad news,” Jed Snow returned, under his breath.

Hiram Riley and the bank examiner had their heads together, talking in low, serious voices, so that nobody at the counter could hear what was being said, even though they strained their ears. But when Myra May took them their hot plates of ham and eggs and grits and gravy, she heard enough to startle her so that she almost dropped a plate. She hurried back with an extra bowl of grits, and after that, another plate of biscuits, just so she could hear the rest. It was dynamite.

Impatiently, Myra May bided her time for another hour, until Euphoria came in to start cooking for the dinner bunch and Violet came downstairs to handle the counter. Then she took off her apron and hurried straight over to the courthouse. Luckily, the probate office was empty, except for Verna. She was sorting a stack of documents into alphabetical order, a pencil stuck behind her ear.

“What’s going on?” Verna asked, riffling through the papers.

“Have you heard about Alice Ann?” Myra May asked urgently.

“Alice Ann?” Verna looked up. “Heard what? She was supposed to play hearts with us last night, but she didn’t show up. Is she sick?”

“No. She’s being questioned.”