The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

“Jeepers,” Buddy whispered. “And I gave ’im back his gun.”


“That is really too bad,” Verna said, “because you know as well as we do that there is nothing to keep that goon from hopping off that train and hoofing it back to Darling. He’s probably on his way right now.”

“What’s more,” Lizzy put in, “I’m afraid that he knows where Miss Jamison and her friend are staying. Before I could get a hand over Mrs. Adcock’s mouth, she managed to tell him that they’re on Camellia Street, across from the Magnolia Manor. She didn’t get the whole word out but he could probably figure out what she was trying to say. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if he didn’t try something.” She dropped her voice. “Tonight. He’s going to do it tonight.”

“Uh-oh,” Buddy said, very low. “You reckon?”

“Of course,” Verna replied grimly. “That man can’t afford to hang around this town any longer than it’s absolutely necessary—especially after Mr. Mann threatened to tar and feather him.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Buddy’s arm. “These women are guests in Darling, Deputy Norris, and they are in desperate need of protection. They need the strong arm of the law.” She squeezed. “They need you.”

Buddy tried not to look pleased. “You’re sayin’ a true thing there.” He leaned back in his chair, reached into his shirt pocket, and took out a packet of Camels. “We cain’t have no gangsters from Chicago comin’ down here and tryin’ to kill womenfolk, no matter what they done.” He pulled out a cigarette, struck a match on the sole of his boot, and lit it, the way he had seen Hoot Gibson do in one of his silent Westerns.

Verna straightened. “I am so glad you see the situation that way,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d even be willing to help us.” She hesitated. “Although I’m not sure that Sheriff Burns would approve. You know how he is.”

“I sure do. An old stick-in-the-mud is what he is.” Buddy pulled on his cigarette and squinted against the smoke, trying to look as if he were ten years older. “So what do you-all have in mind?”

“Here’s what we’ve been thinking,” Verna said, and began to outline a strategy. Lizzy contributed a suggestion or two, Buddy added another, and it wasn’t long before the details of their plot were mostly worked out. There was a lot they didn’t know, so they couldn’t be too specific, but at least they had a plan.

Lizzy could tell that the more Buddy heard, the more he liked the idea of being the “strong arm of the law,” especially because he was being called upon to protect a pair of damsels who were obviously in distress. He swigged the last of his Nehi and put his motorcycle cap back on. He pushed his goggles to the top of his head and stood, hooking his thumbs in his belt and cocking his head at an angle, like Tom Mix.

“Okey dokey, ladies,” he said, drawling it out. “Look for me along about dark. Where’ll you be?”

“At the Magnolia Manor, right across the street,” Verna told him.

“It’s Monday night,” Lizzy added, “and the Dahlias always get together on Mondays to play cards. You just rap on the door.”

“I’ll do it,” Buddy said. “Three raps, so’s you’ll know it’s me.” He looked down at Lizzy, his eyes light. His voice became shy. “Say, I hope you won’t mind if I happen to mention that you look awful purty in that yellow dress, Miz Lacy.”

Lizzy could feel herself blushing. When he had gone, Verna chuckled. “Got yourself another admirer, Liz? A mite young for you, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Lizzy said, and couldn’t help a giggle. “But he’s cute, don’t you think?”

“Not as good-looking as Grady Alexander,” Verna said firmly. “And not as mature as Mr. Moseley.”

“I wish you’d stop with that Mr. Moseley business,” Lizzy said sharply. “I have absolutely no interest in that man.”

“Oh, right.” Verna gave a skeptical chuckle. She glanced up at the clock over the counter. “I’d better get on back to the probate office and see what kind of a mess Coretta’s managed to make of things. Where are you headed?”

“Back to the office. I’m almost finished with the ‘Garden Gate’ column. I just have to add a couple of items and retype it. Mr. Dickens doesn’t need it until late tomorrow, but Mr. Moseley will be back by then and things are likely to be busy. It’s nice to have the rest of the afternoon to spend on it.”

“Where did Mr. Moseley go today?” Verna asked, as they carried their plates and cups and Buddy’s empty Nehi bottle back to the counter.

“Montgomery. He had some sort of hush-hush meeting with the Alabama attorney general. Something about a tax case. He sounded excited about it.”

“Taxes.” Verna wrinkled her nose. “Lawyers get excited about the durndest things.” She gave Lizzy a conspiratorial grin. “Come, Liz, the game is afoot.”