The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“Thank you,” Lucy said simply.

Ophelia nodded, her eyes nearly filled with tears. “Yes, thank you, thank you! Y’all are the best friends anybody could have.”

“That’s for durn sure,” Myra May said emphatically. She finished her sandwich and wiped her fingers with her napkin. “And now, you two get to hear what the three of us have been up to this afternoon.” She looked at Verna and Lizzy. “Okay if I go first?” When they nodded, she reported on what she had learned from Imogene Rutledge, then summarized her conclusions in one sentence.

“Miss Rutledge thinks that the bank’s money problems were created by Mr. Johnson, who made a couple of unsecured loans to family members. She thinks he’s been moving money around to cover up his misdeeds, and she’s willing to tell the bank examiner what she knows. In fact, she’s agreed to drive over to Darling first thing in the morning and talk to him.”

“Sounds a little vindictive to me,” Verna said critically.

“Who cares?” Ophelia asked. “If she can get poor Alice Ann off the hook, she can be as vindictive as she likes.”

“Anyway,” Lizzy said, “he’s got it coming. Silly man—firing an outspoken woman who knew about those loans. That’s asking for it, seems to me. You’d’ve thought he’d have more sense.” She looked at Verna. “So what did you find out about Bunny?”

“That she lied to Mr. Moseley,” Verna said promptly. “And what’s more, he knows it—now. He was here this morning, asking about her at the house where she and her mother used to live.” She told what she had learned from the soda jerk about Bunny’s time as a cosmetics clerk at the drugstore and from the woman at Bunny’s old house. “The woman kept saying that Eva Louise was a good girl who didn’t have any sense at all when it came to men,” she added. “I guess we can take that for true, can’t we?”

“I sure can,” Myra May said dryly.

“I can, too,” Lizzy said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And I can tell you who the man was in that photograph, as well.”





TWENTY-THREE


Lizzy and Verna Hire a Lawyer Thursday, May 22, 1930





Lizzy and Verna were waiting for Mr. Moseley when he came into the office at seven thirty the next morning, folding his umbrella, shaking the rain off his hat. They had discussed whether Lizzy should talk to Mr. Moseley alone or whether Verna should be there. Lizzy thought it might be less embarrassing for him if she did it alone, but Verna thought that the two of them might be able to put more pressure on him to do what needed doing. They had finally decided to do it together.

“Strength in numbers,” Verna said, and Lizzy agreed.

“Mornin’, girls,” Mr. Moseley said cheerfully. He had met Verna often, of course—he had regular business at the probate office, and she dropped in to visit with Lizzy every now and then.

Knowing that Verna resented being called a “girl,” Lizzy spoke up. “We need to talk to you, Mr. Moseley. We’re hoping you can help us.”

Mr. Moseley smiled and rubbed his hands. He seemed to be feeling better. Lizzy wondered if his trip to Monroeville had anything to do with it. And perhaps he no longer feared that he was in danger of being targeted as a suspect.

“Sure thing,” he said, in what just missed being a patronizing tone. “What’s up? Did one of your pets run away? Got a little problem with the girls in your garden club?”

Lizzy replied quickly, because it looked like Verna might explode. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said, dismissing his offensive remark sweetly. In her experience, even the nicest of men often had lapses. The best thing to do was ignore them. She smiled at him. “But the subject is a little ... well, touchy, I’m afraid. May I get you a cup of coffee? Then we can sit down and talk about it.”

“Wonderful,” Mr. Moseley said warmly, returning her smile and proving (in Lizzy’s mind, anyway) that you really can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“Now, then,” he said, as they sat down in his office, he behind his desk with a steaming cup of coffee, Lizzy and Verna across from him. “How can I help you two pretty ladies?”

Lizzy and Verna exchanged glances, Verna trying not to roll her eyes. Then Lizzy leaned forward and laid Bunny’s photograph on the desk in front of Mr. Moseley. She sat back, not saying a word.

He frowned. “What? What’s this?” He was staring at the photo now, his eyes getting big.

Verna spoke up. “I think you can see what it is. Or who it is, rather. Bunny Scott, posing in her underwear.”

He set his coffee cup down so hard that the coffee sloshed into the saucer. “Yes, of course. But—”

“The car is the Pontiac that was reported stolen by Fred Harper,” Verna went on.

“How do you know?” Mr. Moseley asked sharply.