The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

There was another mystery about Mr. Duffy, too. To be precise, how in the world did he manage to become the Savings and Trust vice president? His predecessor, old Mr. Conklin, had been the Savings and Trust vice president for some twenty years, every bit as long as Mr. Johnson had been president. When Mr. Conklin retired, everyone in Darling expected that Sam Stanton would be promoted up the ladder from head teller to VP. After all, it was in the natural order of things to move from teller to head teller and from head teller to vice president, and Sam Stanton had been next in line for close to a decade. When Mr. Conklin announced that he was hanging up his green eyeshade, Sam Stanton was so sure that the vice presidency was his that he traded in his 1922 Lincoln on a snazzy 1932 olive green DeSoto.

But instead, Mr. Alvin Duffy had arrived in Darling on the very day Mr. Conklin vacated his desk, and to everyone’s astonishment was introduced as the new vice president. Some said he had come from New Orleans, others said Atlanta. Some speculated that Mr. Johnson had hired him because he didn’t trust Sam Stanton, others guessed that Mr. Duffy was an old family friend who needed a job. But Mr. Duffy wasn’t telling, and nobody dared to ask Mr. Johnson, so there was no way to find out for sure. Of course, poor Sam Stanton had been so shocked by the news that he’d had to sit down quick before he keeled over. But at least he still had his job as head teller—until yesterday, that is. As of yesterday, the bank was closed and nobody knew what was going to happen to the people who worked there, including Sam Stanton and Mr. Duffy. Would they have a job when it reopened? Would it reopen?

Jed gave a skeptical laugh as Myra May poured his coffee. “You and me are gonna fix it so everybody’s got money?” he asked sarcastically. “That’s a whale of an idea, Mr. Duffy. But you’ll have to explain to me just how you plan to pull that one off. You got a vault full of money tucked away?” He picked up his coffee mug. “Or maybe you’re fixin’ to go in and rob the Savings and Trust now that Mr. Johnson is out of the picture.”

Out of the picture? What did that mean, exactly? Myra May was dying to linger and hear more, but it was time to remind the men that she was there and ready to take their order. Until this moment, she had been totally invisible, as far as they were concerned. No reflection on her—that was just the way it was. Waitresses were just another piece of the furniture, like that chair over there.

She took her order pad out of her apron pocket, her pencil out from behind her ear, and cleared her throat. “Ready with your order?” she asked.

Mr. Duffy didn’t seem to hear her. “It’s not a matter of robbing anybody.” He chuckled slyly. “More like counterfeiting.” When Jed didn’t return his smile, he sobered. “But I don’t have to tell you what this means for this town, Mr. Mayor. Without a supply of money, it’ll dry up and blow away.”

Myra May felt her skin prickle. Counterfeiting? Surely she hadn’t heard that right.

“What I’ve got in mind is dicey, I’ll be the first to admit that,” Mr. Duffy went on. “And we’ll have to get a few key people on our side or folks’ll never go for it. But that’s where you come in, you see? You and Amos Tombull and Verna Tidwell.” He jerked his head toward Charlie Dickens, sitting at the counter. “And that fellow over there. The one with the printing press. I’ve already mentioned it to him and he’s in. He doesn’t seem to like it much, but as the editor of the town newspaper, he knows something’s got to be done and he’s gutsy enough to try it.”

“Fool enough is more like,” Jed muttered.

Verna Tidwell? Myra May didn’t know about Charlie Dickens—in her opinion, he was a rogue and a rascal, and to prove it, you didn’t have to look any further than the way he had two-timed sweet little Fannie Champaign. And Amos Tombull, the chief county commissioner, was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg and as sneaky as a bull snake. But not Verna Tidwell. Her friend Verna was a straight arrow. She would never get involved in anything illegal.

“Yeah, maybe,” Mr. Duffy said. “Maybe we’re all fools.” His smile was crooked. “But you’ve got a better idea, I guess. So let’s hear it.”

Jed shook his head, admitting defeat.