The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Put it that way? That was the way Fred Harper had put it to the sheriff.

“We shared the car, you see,” the dentist added. “When he was living here with me.”

“Of course.” Lizzy tilted her head. Well, that wasn’t so unusual. Lots of people—sometimes whole families—shared cars. “When he was living here,” she repeated. “That was ...”

“Last year. I don’t drive the automobile very often these days—my eyes, you know. When I need to go out of town, Fred takes me. We went to Montgomery two weeks ago. He wanted to keep it, and I agreed.”

Lizzy wondered briefly how, if Dr. Harper couldn’t see well enough to drive a car, he could see well enough to fix somebody’s teeth. She wasn’t sure she’d want him poking around in her mouth. But she only nodded sympathetically.

He sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to think about getting another car, though. The Pontiac is a total wreck, my brother tells me. The frame is bent. Can’t be repaired.”

“That’s too bad,” Lizzy said. She put her pencil to her notebook. “You purchased it here in Monroeville?”

“No, from the Pontiac dealer in Mobile. I’ve always been partial to Pontiacs. Every car I’ve ever owned has been a Pontiac. It’s that Indian on the hood. It appeals to me.” There was a gleam in his eyes. “You can put that into the story if you like. When I was a boy, I wanted to be an Indian fighter. I suppose that’s human interest, isn’t it?”

She nodded and wrote that down. Wanted to be an Indian fighter, “Did you know the girl?”

“The girl who stole the car? No, of course not.” He sounded slightly indignant, as if an acquaintance with a common thief was beneath him. “My brother said she worked in Darling. I don’t get over there very often.” The way he said Darling made it sound as if the town was beneath him, too.

“You’re sure you didn’t know her?” Lizzy asked, managing to sound just a little doubtful.

“Of course I’m sure.” Now he was definitely indignant. He eyed Lizzy. “Why are you asking? How would I know a girl in Darling when I don’t go over there?”

“I’m asking because—” Lizzy opened her purse and took out the photograph of a smiling Bunny perched on the hood of the car. “Because the Dispatch came into possession of this photo.” She held it out. “Your car, Dr. Harper. The date on the license plate is 1930, so the photo was taken earlier this year. And the young lady sitting on the hood is the one who was reported to have stolen the car. The one who died.” She paused, and then repeated her question. “You’re sure you don’t know her?”

He took the photograph and bent over it, squinting. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe—” He closed his eyes and passed his hand across his forehead. “This is the girl who—?” His voice squeaked and he gulped, trying again. “It’s ... it’s Eva Louise! She’s ... she’s dead?”

“Yes, she is,” Lizzy said very politely, withholding censure from her tone. “So you do know her, then?”

He nodded dumbly. He was still peering at the photograph.

“And that is your car?”

He nodded again.

“Did you take the photo?”

“Oh, no!” Another squeak. “I’ve never seen ... I wouldn’t—” He swallowed hard, making an effort to control his voice. “I’ve never seen her wearing ... whatever that thing is called.”

“It’s a teddy,” Lizzy said quietly. “It’s her underwear.”

“Oh.” He was still looking at the photo, hungrily, Lizzy thought. “Her underwear,” he repeated. He licked his lips.

She gently took the photo away from him and put it back in her purse. “Eva Louise was a friend of yours?”

He sank down in one of the straight chairs and put his head between his hands.

“She was a friend?” Lizzy asked again.

“A ... friend.” His voice was muffled. “Yes. We ... we went out to dinner sometimes. We used to go to Mobile, until my eyes got too bad to drive.” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Beautiful. She was a beautiful girl. She loved pretty things.”

Lizzy felt she was taking advantage of him, but she did it anyway. “Did you give her gifts? A pair of pearl earrings, maybe?”

He nodded, sniffling. “She looked so beautiful in those earrings.” He sat up, putting his glasses back on, hooking them over his ears. “But I never expected to see her sitting on a car—my car—in her ... in her underwear!”

Lizzy was beginning to get an idea of what might have happened. “Could it have been your brother who took the photo?”

“My brother?” he repeated incredulously. “No! Of course not! Fred knew that Eva Louise and I were seeing each other. He wouldn’t—”

“Well, then, who else drove the car?”

“Nobody! Nobody else! Just—” He stopped.

“Then it must have been your brother who took the photo, don’t you think?”

The idea was beginning to sink in. He stared at her. “I—I suppose—”