The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“If he’s guilty of anything, it’s making unwise loans—not to his friends or family, he’s clean there. Or at least he’s straightened all that out. But he’s made loans to ordinary people—working stiffs, farmers, stockmen, merchants—who weren’t creditworthy, which is why the bank is in trouble with its buyer.” Bent puffed out a cloud of blue smoke. “George may not be the best bank manager on record, but it’s because he had a heart, not because he’s a crook or a thief. That’s the story I hope you’ll write. A human interest story about a guy who’s made a few mistakes. Who hasn’t? But he’s no more a crook than you or I.”


“I should’ve figured you’d say that.” Charlie drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, in the interest of Darling peace and harmony, I’m willing to write the story. But I’m up against a deadline, and I’ve got a big print job to do tomorrow. If you want it in Friday’s Dispatch, I need to interview Johnson this afternoon. And Duffy, too.”

“Not Duffy,” Bent said firmly, shaking his head. “He’s not a part of this story.”

“But he’s the new president of the bank. Why isn’t he part of the story?”

Bent’s face was stubborn. “Trust me, Charlie. He isn’t.”

Charlie had a feeling that there was more here than Bent was letting on. But it wasn’t his nut to crack and if Bent had decided not to tell him, he wasn’t going to find out. So he only shrugged and said, “Have it your way. When can I talk to Johnson?”

“Are you free this afternoon?”

“The sooner the better.” Charlie paused. “Is this a solo gig, or are you planning to be there, too?”

“Might be good if I tagged along,” Bent said casually. “Make sure that you don’t ask any questions that’ll get George into trouble.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past noon. How about if I meet you at the Johnson house, say, in an hour or so?”

“I’ll be there,” Charlie said, and then decided it was worth one more try. “This guy Duffy. If he’s not part of the story, is it because he’s not going to be around much longer? Here in Darling, that is. If you ask me, this town would be better off without him. He’s—”

Bent stood up. “Charlie, did anybody ever tell you that you don’t know when to stop?”

“Sure,” Charlie said. “People say that all the time about me. I’m a newsman, remember? I go where the story goes. And if you ask me, Duffy is the story. I’m going to find out why.”

Bent grinned. “Not from me, you’re not. Not from George, either. Oh, by the way, Liz wanted me to give you this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out two folded sheets of paper. “Her garden club column for Friday’s paper.” He laid it on Charlie’s desk.

“Thanks,” Charlie said. He scanned the pages, decided they didn’t need any serious editing, and slid them into Ophelia’s basket on the corner of his desk. “Liz does good work.”

“She does.” Bent puffed on his pipe, looking thoughtful. “I guess you know that Grady Alexander is getting married on Saturday.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Mrs. Mann brought in a wedding announcement. Obviously, big doings in the Mann family. Thought I would lose it at the bottom of page seven, under the market reports.” Charlie paused. “Liz doing okay, is she?” She had been going with Grady Alexander for as long as he’d known her, and everybody expected them to get married one of these days. His wedding would have come as a huge shock.

“She’s deeply distressed, of course, but she’s holding up pretty well.” Bent’s jaw tightened. “I just can’t figure it out, Charlie. Alexander always struck me as an okay guy, but now I’m convinced he has rocks in his head. Liz is . . . well, she doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She’s special.”

Charlie looked at him, the glimmer of an idea forming. “You’re not—”

He stopped. No, surely not. Bent had been divorced for a couple of years now, and Charlie had heard that he was seeing a woman up in Montgomery, a very pretty socialite, rich as goose grease and also divorced. Rumor had it that they might be getting close to an engagement.