The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“Maybe,” Verna replied uneasily. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t asked about any of this, or that she hadn’t been told. It didn’t feel quite right, having all this . . . this secret personal information. How was she going to look Mr. Duffy in the face now, knowing all she knew?

“Yeah. Well, maybe he’s looking for somebody he can trust,” Ima Gail said, in a significant tone. “Are you on his list, Verna?”

“Hardly,” Verna said with a brittle laugh. “He’s not my type.”

“Well, he might not be a bad catch,” Ima Gail remarked. “That is, unless he loses his job with the bank, in which case he’ll be dead broke and you should probably look for somebody else. But you’ve got to remember what I said yesterday, Verna. Lower your sights. Nobody’s perfect, you know. Settle for what’s available and stop holding out for Mr. Ideal Husband.”

“But I’m not holding out for—” Verna began to protest.

“Listen, sweetie, I gotta go,” Ima Gail interrupted. “When are you coming to New Orleans? Make it during Mardi Gras, and we’ll paint the town. Better yet, why don’t you leave Darling and move over here? Why, with your experience, I’ll bet you could snap up a really good job in nothing flat.” She giggled. “There are plenty of good-looking guys here, too—and they do like their fun. You could go dancing every night.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Verna lied. New Orleans might be a good place for a few days’ vacation, but the big city, with all of its crowds and dirt and noise, didn’t appeal to her—and she wasn’t much of a dancer. Of course, life in Darling might not be very pretty, either, if the bank was permanently closed. That would make a huge change in everybody’s life. Nobody would be dancing.

“Thank you, Ima Gail,” she added. “And tell Jack thank you for me, too. I really appreciate the information.”

She said good-bye and cut the connection. And then she sat for a moment, thinking about what she had heard, about the bank and about Alvin Duffy’s losses. Before today, she had pretty much made up her mind that he was a Casanova, and a crook on top of that. She had been way off the mark, and she felt ashamed.

Next to her, Violet gave a discreet cough. “I couldn’t help but hear,” she said. “You said something about Mr. Duffy being widowed . . . and divorced?”

Verna blinked. Had she said that aloud? She hadn’t meant to, but she must have.

“I’m sorry, Verna.” Violet gave her a rueful smile. “I shouldn’t have been listening. I just . . . well, is he? Not that I care,” she said hastily. “But Myra May does. I’m afraid she’s just a teensy bit jealous. With no reason at all,” she added. “And if you tell me, I promise I won’t say a word to anybody else—except for Myra May. I don’t keep anything from her. And I do want her to know that she’s got nothing to worry about, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, he’s divorced,” Verna said. “And widowed.” She was suddenly tempted to tell Violet that he had lost his second wife to his best friend, and that his first wife had died of cancer and his son had been killed by a trolley car. But her wiser self prevailed. These were Mr. Duffy’s personal and very private woes. She had no business knowing them, let alone sharing them. If she hadn’t been trying to out-Ellery Ellery Queen—

“I like him,” Violet said thoughtfully. “In a friendly way, I mean. Some people might think he’s a flirt, but that’s just his big-city ways. I think he’s more respectful of women than Darling guys are—guys like Buddy Norris, I mean.” She eyed Verna with a sudden interest. “Hey, now I know why you look so different, Verna. You’re wearing a red cap!”

“Yes, Fannie made it for me. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Violet said with enthusiasm. “It looks really swell on you.” She cocked her head. “It makes you look . . . well, jaunty. You know, snappy. Jazzy. Sexy, even.”