The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

“Afternoon, Miz Bloodworth.” His glance went to Liz, approving her yellow hat. “Miz Lacy. That’s a right purty hat.”


He didn’t look at Mrs. Adcock. Bessie knew that he had once hit a baseball through Leona Ruth’s front window and she had made him pay for the broken glass by spading up her spring garden, which at the time was about the size of the baseball field out behind the Academy.

“A real serious problem,” Mr. Mann said sternly. “This fella here has been annoyin’ these ladies. He—”

“He’s not annoyin’, he’s a gov’ment agent!” Leona Ruth cried. “He’s here to—”

“I’m afraid that Mrs. Adcock is very high-strung,” Bessie said sweetly. “If you want to know the truth, Buddy, you go right on over to the Exchange and have a little talk with Verna Tidwell. She’s on the switchboard this afternoon. She’ll tell you who this man really is. He is from—”

“I don’t give a good goose turd who he is or where he’s from,” Mr. Mann said heatedly, “although it is purty obvious from the way he talks that he’s a damn Yankee from up north.”

“He’s also armed,” Bessie said.

“Armed?” Liz repeated in surprise.

“Under his jacket, left side,” Bessie explained. “My father had one of those shoulder holsters. He was attacked by a crazy man at his funeral parlor once when he was laying out the man’s wife, and after that, he wore it every time he worked on a corpse or did a funeral. I could always tell when he had it on by the bulge in his coat.”

“Armed, is he?” Buddy drawled. His glance sharpened and he took a step closer.

“Armed? Well, o’ course he’s armed,” Leona Ruth protested. “I tell you, he’s a gov’ment agent, sent here by Mr. J. Edgar Hoover to—”

“Lemme see your badge, Mr. Gov’ment Agent, sir,” Buddy said. Like Mr. Mann, he was taller than Diamond, and younger and fitter. And unlike Mr. Mann, Buddy had a gun.

Diamond cleared his throat and looked nervously away. “I ain’t carrying no badge right now.”

“Because he’s incognito,” shrilled Leona Ruth. “He’s undercover! He is on the trail of a—”

“Miz Adcock,” Mr. Mann said with exaggerated politeness, “I reckon you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, so I’ll ask you to jes’ keep still and let us menfolks get this sorted out.”

“No badge.” Buddy made a tsk-tsk noise. His voice hardened. “Then lemme see your gun. Slowly, now, Mr. Gov’ment Agent. No fast moves.”

Diamond looked from Buddy to Mr. Mann, assessing the possibilities of escape. Seeing none, he opened his jacket and withdrew a wicked-looking snub-nose revolver. Sullenly, he handed it to Buddy.

“Well, sir.” Buddy stuck the gun in his jacket pocket. “An armed undercover gov’ment agent with no badge who is botherin’ our womenfolks is something we just cain’t tolerate here in Darling.” His eyes narrowed. “Ain’t it about time for your train, do you reckon?”

Diamond shook his head quickly. “Not until tomorrow morning.”

“No, sir,” Buddy said. He cocked his head. “I can hear that train whistlin’ now, on its way in from over at Monroeville. Which means it’ll be goin’ out again in just about twenty minutes. You got a suitcase?”

“At the hotel,” Diamond said sullenly. “But I’m not—”

“Well, good,” Buddy said, and clamped a hand on Diamond’s collar. “Let’s go and get that ol’ suitcase, Mr. Gov’ment Agent, and I’ll make sure you get to the depot in time to catch your train.”

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me so easy!” Diamond shouted, dancing on his toes, trying to wrestle free of Buddy’s grip. “I’ll be back! You can’t keep me away.”

“Better not try,” Mr. Mann muttered darkly. “We’ll be waitin’ for you.” He raised his voice. “In Darlin’, we tar and feather revenooers.”

“But he’s an undercover agent!” Leona Ruth cried, as Buddy marched Mr. Diamond across the street to the Old Alabama Hotel. She was weeping now, big tears running down her face. “And that woman is a murderess! She is right here in our little town, walkin’ to and fro amongst us Christians like the devil in the Book of Job, figurin’ on who she’s goin’ to kill next. We’re none of us safe! Nobody!”

“Hysterical,” Bessie said in a pitying tone, shaking her head sadly. “This whole affair has been too much for the dear old thing. Come on, Miss Lacy. Let’s take Mrs. Adcock home, where she can go to bed with a wet washrag on her forehead.”

She took one arm and Liz took the other and they led Leona Ruth, weeping and sniffling, down Robert E. Lee Street.





FIFTEEN