The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Bessie got back in the chair and Beulah picked up a comb. “Bettina,” she said, “get started on that shampoo, will you?”


When Bettina had the water running, Bessie asked, in a low voice, “Did she really buy your old beauty school wig, Beulah? The one you loaned to the Ledbetter girl for the Academy’s senior play?”

Beulah nodded. “She was thinkin’ to order one, but when I showed her mine, she said it would do just fine, especially since she wouldn’t have to wait for it to come in the mail.” Beulah’s eyes met Bessie’s in the mirror. “You want to know what I think, Bessie? I think Miz Jamison bought my old red wig for that friend you mentioned, Miss Lake. The one DessaRae says is hidin’ out in her room. And she dyed her hair brown ’cause she’s hidin’ out from that baldheaded Yankee, who means her no good, whoever he is. Those two ladies don’t want that man to know they’re here in Darlin’.”

“I agree,” Bessie said. “I don’t know who he is, but Miss Jamison is obviously afraid of him.” She thought of telling Beulah about Lorelei LaMotte and the Naughty and Nice Sisters and decided against it. The fewer people who knew about Miss Jamison’s previous career as a dancer in Mr. Ziegfeld’s Frolics, the better. She chuckled to herself. She always learned something when she came to get her regular shampoo and set. But today took the cake. She had learned so many different things, she hardly knew which to believe.

“That fella.” Beulah leaned forward, her cornflower blue eyes large and dark. “Do you reckon he might be a policeman from Chicago, Bessie?” She considered this. “Or maybe Mr. J. Edgar Hoover sent him from Washington. Do you think those two women could be wanted by the Bureau of Investigation ? Do you suppose they’re on the lam?” Her voice was hushed and eager—but not quite hushed enough, and Leona Ruth had good ears.

“The Bureau of Investigation?” she cried, from her place at the shampoo sink. “Why, Beulah, I’ll bet dollars to dumplings you’re right. That man at my front door—that Mr. Gold or Frankie Diamond or whoever he is—he looked for all the world like one of Mr. Hoover’s special agents, with that snap-brim hat and those shiny shoes. I wonder how come I didn’t think of that.”

“Oh, pooh, Leona Ruth,” Bessie said, making her voice light and teasing. If she didn’t put a stop to this, things were going to get out of hand. “There you go, jumping to conclusions. If Mr. Gold was a special agent, he would’ve shown you his badge. That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

“Not if he was undercover, he wouldn’t,” Leona Ruth retorted darkly. “Don’t you read the papers? Government agents go undercover all the time, especially revenuers. Makes me wonder what that woman is wanted for. Don’t it you, Bessie? D’you reckon she stole some money? Helped her gangster boyfriend rob a bank and kill somebody? She looks like a gun moll on the lam, don’t you think?”

“A gun moll?” Bettina asked incredulously. “Right here in Darling?”

Leona Ruth bolted straight up, a look of horror on her face, shampoo lather dripping onto her shoulders, so that Bettina had to make a grab for a towel. “Mercy me, Bessie,” she cried. “Do you s’pose that woman might’ve had a gun in that pretty blue handbag of hers?”

“Pretty please with sugar on it, Miz Adcock,” Bettina beseeched. “Lay back down and lemme rinse those suds outta your hair.” Leona Ruth, protesting, allowed herself to be rinsed.

Bessie’s heart sank. By the time Leona Ruth finished telling all her friends what she thought she’d seen, everybody in town would believe that Mr. J. Edgar Hoover himself had sent an undercover special agent from the Bureau of Investigation to round up Miss Hamer’s niece and her friend and take them back to Chicago or Washington or New York, where they would be charged with robbing a bank and shooting three or four innocent bank tellers.

“My goodness gracious sakes alive.” Beulah let out her breath in a rush. She leaned closer and whispered into Bessie’s ear. “I hate to say it, Bessie, but Leona Ruth could be right. I kinda liked Miss Jamison, but there’s really no tellin’ who she is or what she’s doin’ here. Do you reckon Miss Hamer is in any danger?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Bessie replied. She was about to add, “And I’m not sure I want to know, either,” when Beulah cut her off.

“Well, I think you oughtta find out,” she said in a tone of rebuke. “After all, you live right across the street, don’t you? And aren’t you just about the only person in this town—except for DessaRae and Doc Roberts—who’ll have anything to do with that crazy old lady? You may be one of the only friends she has in this whole entire town.”