The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

The Dahlias’ Monday evening card party—they almost always played hearts—was open to all the club members, but only seven or eight usually came. Voleen Johnson, Miss Rogers, and several others never played cards, while Aunt Hetty Little played only poker. Mildred Kilgore often played hearts, but she had phoned to say that she and Mr. Kilgore had been asked out to supper at the country club. Alice Ann Walker and Lucy Murphy, also regulars at the card party, had gone to a meeting of the quilting club. Myra May had to work the switchboard. So it would be just one table of four: Bessie, Verna, Lizzy, and Ophelia. And since the Magnolia Ladies were all otherwise occupied tonight, they could set up their game in the parlor.

It was beginning to get dark and Bessie—still resolutely refusing to think that dreadful thought about her father and Harold—turned on the porch light. Then she put a pitcher of iced tea and a china plate filled with lemon chess squares, along with glasses, dessert plates, forks, and napkins, on the cherry sideboard. She was getting out the deck of cards and paper and pencil for scoring when she heard a knock at the door and opened it to Liz and Verna. The three of them were just sitting down at the card table when the telephone rang. It was Ophelia, regretting that she couldn’t come because her daughter had a fever and her husband had to go to a town council meeting.

“So it will be just us three,” Bessie said, and took out the two of diamonds, so that the deck had just fifty-one cards. “I always think it’s more fun to play with four, but—”

“Actually,” Verna said, with a glance at Liz, “it’s just as well that Ophelia isn’t here. I don’t know how much playing we’re going to get done tonight.”

“Oh?” Bessie asked, shuffling the cards. The hostess always dealt the first hand. “Let’s see, now. Since it’s just the three of us, we each get seventeen cards. Isn’t that right? And pass three instead of four?” She started to deal, then paused and looked at Verna. “Why aren’t we going to get much playing done tonight?”

“Because there might be a ruckus across the street,” Liz said. “Along about dark, maybe.” She glanced at Bessie. “Would it be okay if I opened the parlor window? We want to be able to hear.”

“Maybe we’d better tell Bessie what this is all about,” Verna said. “So she won’t be surprised.”

Bessie put down the cards. “Okay,” she said expectantly. “What’s it about?”

“Frankie Diamond,” Liz and Verna said, practically in unison.

Bessie raised her eyebrows. “What about him? He’s on the train back to Chicago, isn’t he?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Verna said. “We think maybe not.”

“We figure he’s not like the government revenue agents who let themselves be pushed around,” Liz said.

“He’s tough,” Verna said grimly. “He’s used to slugging it out with those Chicagoland gangsters. We think he might’ve jumped the train and come back. And if he was listening to Leona Ruth, he may know where to find the women. But it’s likely to be tonight. He won’t want to hang around here and risk getting collared again.”

“Oh, dear! And I told Miss Jamison that she didn’t need to worry!” Bessie reported what she had said, lamenting, “Now she’ll let her guard down!”

“No, she won’t,” Liz comforted her. “Sally-Lou is over there, paying a little visit to her auntie DessaRae. She’ll—”

“Hush,” Verna said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “I think I hear something. Bessie, let’s turn out the lights and go out on the porch. But we need to be quiet. It might not be happening just yet.”

“What might not be happening?” Bessie asked.

“You’ll see,” Liz said.

Bessie flicked the light switch and, moving silently, the three of them went out onto the porch. The night air, still warm from the heat of the day, was rich with the sound of cicadas and tree frogs. The moon had not yet risen and the sky was nearly full dark, the street darker yet under the overhanging trees. There were lights in the neighbors’ parlors and kitchens, and one house had a porch light. Across the street, Miss Hamer’s house spilled a block of light from the kitchen window, and there was a dimmer light upstairs.

They all stood quietly for a little while, for three minutes, maybe four. Bessie was just about to suggest that they go back inside and play a hand or two while they waited, when she saw a hunched-over shadow, heavy and bulky, moving slowly, creeping along the side of the house near the kitchen window. The shadow wore a hat.

She gasped and grabbed Verna’s arm. “Look there!” she squeaked. “It’s . . . it’s—him!”

“Bessie’s right, Verna,” Liz said excitedly. “Shouldn’t we go over there? What if Miss Jamison is in the kitchen, and he manages to get a shot through the window before—”

“Hang on a sec,” Verna said in a low voice. “Leave it to—”

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle. “Drop the gun, Diamond!” Buddy Norris shouted from behind the oak tree in Miss Hamer’s yard. “Hands against the wall! Now!” A glaring light spotlighted the shadowed figure and it froze, arm extended. Bessie could see that Frankie Diamond was holding a gun.