The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“Who’d he sell the bank to?” Charlie put in.

Mr. Duffy looked again at Verna. “Two years ago, Mr. Johnson bought out the other stockholders and became the sole owner of the Savings and Trust.” He turned to Charlie. “He sold it to the Delta Charter Bank of New Orleans, for which I work. I was sent here to manage the transition and—”

“Ah,” Jed said in an accusing tone. “So that’s how you wound up as the VP, instead of Sam Stanton, like everybody figured.”

Ah-ha, Verna thought. She was beginning to understand.

“That’s more or less what happened,” Mr. Duffy replied, shifting uncomfortably. “I anticipated that the changeover would go smoothly, but it was interrupted by the bank holiday in early March. And then when the auditors came in—”

“I thought so,” Charlie Dickens interrupted, grinding his cigarette out under his heel. “Then they’re not state bank examiners.” As he reached into his shirt pocket for another Camel, he looked even more tired and dispirited than usual. He’d been looking that way since Fannie Champaign left town, Verna thought. He must know that she was back, though. She wondered if he had talked to her.

“No, they’re not state examiners. They’re auditors sent by Delta Charter pursuant to the conclusion of our purchase,” Mr. Duffy replied. “When they began work—”

“How come you let on that they were state examiners?” Charlie asked, lighting a book match with his thumbnail and putting it to his cigarette. “You trying to pull the wool over everybody’s eyes?”

“It’ll all come out if you just let the man tell his story, Charlie,” Mr. Tombull said in a schoolmasterly tone.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tombull,” Jed Snow put in, “but I’d like to hear the answer to that question.” He was frowning. “Nobody told the town council that our Darling bank was being taken over by some foreigners. If we’d’ve known, we wouldn’t have—”

“New Orleans is hardly a foreign country,” Mr. Duffy interrupted.

“Sez you,” Charlie muttered. His Camel in the corner of his mouth, he went to the desk and picked up the bottle. He eyed it for a moment, then put it down with an expression half of longing, half of distaste. Catching the look, Verna thought it would be good if Charlie could quit drinking.

Mr. Moseley took his pipe out of his mouth, rapped it on the heel of his shoe, and began to fill it with tobacco from the pouch he took out of his pocket. Verna waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, she spoke.

“When the auditors from Delta Charter began work . . .” she prompted, bringing them back to the issue at hand.

Mr. Duffy regarded her again, this time with interest. One eyebrow went up, one corner of his mouth quirked.

“Thank you, Mrs. Tidwell. Yes. Well, when they got started on the books, they found quite a number of delinquent loans—far more than Delta Charter had anticipated. To put it simply, the bank may not have enough assets to cover its obligations. As a result all accounts are necessarily frozen and will remain so until we have it straightened out, which the auditors have told me may take quite some time. I am not suggesting that there’s been any criminal activity.” He cleared his throat and added, slowly and deliberately, “Although it is entirely possible that this bank will be unable to reopen.”