The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“Simply put it in her bag and walked out the door with it,” Miss Rogers said darkly, and it was clear from her expression that this was an exceptionally malevolent transgression. “I missed it immediately, of course, for I had seen it on the shelf not a half hour earlier. It happened to have been a personal favorite of mine—a book that everyone in Darling enjoyed reading and rereading. Further Chronicles of Avonlea, by Maud Montgomery.”


“I see,” Myra May said, thinking that somebody who was bold enough to walk past Miss Rogers with a stolen book—and one of the Anne of Green Gables series, at that—was bold enough to embezzle. “Is there anything else that might point to ...” She hesitated. “Well, to Miss Rutledge being involved in shenanigans at the bank?”

“You mean, anything in addition to that brand-new car and the house she bought for her mother in Monroeville?” Miss Rogers’ tone was acid.

“She bought a house?” Myra May asked, surprised.

“She certainly did. Quite a large one, too. New, from what I heard. Must’ve cost a great deal of money. Of course, I have no information about what might or might not have happened at the bank, and whether the car and the house have anything to do with that. I suppose she might have made her little bundle in the market, before the Crash.”

Miss Rogers pressed her lips together, turning her head, and Myra May knew that she was thinking of the money she herself had foolishly invested in stocks and the little cottage she had hoped to buy with all that money she was going to make in the market. No wonder she was angry at Miss Rutledge, who had committed three terrible sins. She had not paid a fine, she had stolen a book, and she still had plenty of money, when Miss Rogers had lost every penny of hers.

Myra May had thought about this all afternoon, while she was working. She had even gone so far as to call the operator in Monroeville and get Miss Rutledge’s telephone number and street address. So when Verna suggested that they split up to do their investigating, she had been glad to volunteer to talk to Miss Rutledge.

The Rutledge house, it turned out, was indeed quite large, although it was by no means new. In fact, it was old and in urgent need of repair. But there were pots of red geraniums on the front porch, red and green chintz cushions on the porch swing, and a small brass plate beside the front door, engraved with the words RUTLEDGE’S RESIDENCE FOR GENTEEL LADIES.

Miss Rutledge herself answered the door. In her fifties, she was erect and firm-featured, with a braided coronet of still-dark hair. She wore a gray skirt and tailored white blouse with a dark, mannish tie. “Yes?” she asked pleasantly. “May I help you?”

Myra May introduced herself and said, in a deeply apologetic tone, “Actually, I’m here at the request of Miss Rogers, at the Darling Library. I hope I’m not offending you, but I mentioned that I was coming to Monroeville and Miss Rogers asked me to stop in and remind you about the library fine.”

Miss Rutledge rolled her eyes. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she said. “Dorothy Rogers. She’d rather send somebody than spend two cents on a stamp. Such a parsimonious old dragon!”

Myra May gave a little laugh. Clearly, Miss Rutledge’s reputation as a woman who spoke her mind was well earned. She herself liked Miss Rogers, but the librarian was strict and she made sure that everyone obeyed her rules to the letter, whether the rules made sense or not. Lots of people would probably agree that she was a dragon—and parsimonious to boot.

“Forty cents!” Miss Rutledge heaved a sigh. “Well, that’s what I get for forgetting. Since you’re here, I suppose I might as well pay up, so Dorothy can scratch my name out of her little black book. Come into my office, and I’ll get the money for you.”

Somewhat surprised that collecting was going to be so easy, Myra May followed Miss Rutledge into the hallway. An older woman, obviously quite genteel, sat in the parlor, embroidering what looked like a napkin. Another, equally genteel, was reading aloud to her while she worked. A fat spaniel lay at their feet, snoring.

“The Bigood sisters,” Miss Rutledge whispered. “My first residents. There are two others, but they’re napping right now, as is my mother.” She gave what sounded like a snicker. “Genteel old ladies nap quite a lot, it turns out.”