The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Verna was a little taken aback by the abruptness, but not Aunt Hetty. She put down her cup and saucer, looked Miss Tallulah squarely in the eye, and said, “It’s the Darling Savings and Trust, Tallulah. We’re in danger of losing it, and if we do, it won’t be pretty.” She turned to Verna. “Verna, you tell her. You know more of the details than I do.”


Verna took a deep breath and began. It took only a few moments to sketch out the situation, and she didn’t pull any punches. “So as you can see,” she concluded, “Darling is in a pickle. What we need is somebody to buy half of the bank shares from Delta Charter. Of course, we’re not asking for a commitment right now. But we hope you might be willing to talk to Mr. Duffy. Alvin Duffy. He’s the new bank president.”

Miss Tallulah pulled her brows together. “The new president?” she asked sharply. “What happened to George?”

“Mr. Johnson has . . . retired,” Verna said, not wanting to go into an extended explanation, especially since she didn’t know the details. “He’s left the bank.”

Miss Tallulah sat for a moment, silent. Her face was very still, and Verna could not read her expression. “So it’s as bad as all that,” she said softly, as if to herself. “Poor, poor George. That bank was all he had to live for, all these years. Giving it up will kill him.” She turned to Aunt Hetty and said, briskly, “You agree that something has to be done about this, Hetty?”

“I purely do, Tallulah,” Aunt Hetty said, with emphasis. “I wouldn’t be sitting here in this chair if I didn’t.” She paused. “In all honesty, I can’t guarantee that it would be the best investment you’ve ever made. You might be pouring money down a rat hole. And I know that dollars don’t grow on trees. I’m sure you have plenty of places to plant your money.” She coughed delicately. “All I can say is that us rats need you, Tallulah, and we need you now. If you can help, Darling would surely appreciate it.”

Pushing her lips in and out, Miss Tallulah regarded her polished nails. At last, she looked up, frowning. “Well, tell your banker friend to come and see me. I don’t know that I can go as far as buying half the shares, but maybe I can do something.”

She cut off Verna’s and Hetty’s “Thank you” by leaning forward and picking up the knife. “Now, may I cut you another slice of cake?”

*

Back at the office, Verna had not even had time to take off her red newsboy’s cap and say hello to Sherrie and Melba Jean when the door opened and Alvin Duffy stepped in. He was carrying an old brown leather satchel plastered all over with travel decals.

“Got it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, and set it on her desk. “And it’s all here! You’ll be able to get your payroll out on time.”

“That’s wonderful,” Verna said. “Where did you find it, Mr. Duffy? Who took it?”

He grinned. “I’ll tell you if you’ll drop ‘Mr. Duffy’ and just call me Al.” There was a glint in his eye. “Okay . . . Verna?”

Feeling as clumsy as a schoolgirl, she ducked her head and replied shyly. “That’s fine, Al.”

His grin got wider. “Well, then. According to Purley Mann, an angel left it for him in the alley next to the back door of the Dispatch last night. He decided he would do the Lord’s work and dole out his find to friends in need, starting with old Ezekiel, who needed to play six games of pool at Pete’s Pool Parlor. Which is how Pete got the dollar he gave to Miss Mosswell.”

Verna couldn’t help but laugh. “I wonder how much of Mickey’s moonshine that angel had to drink.”

Al’s grin faded. “Speaking of moonshine, it was Purley Mann who sent the federal agents out to the still on Dead Cow Creek.”

“Uh-oh,” Verna said softly. “He told you this?”