The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“And in a way,” Lizzy broke in, “now that I know there might be a problem, I feel sort of obligated to tell Mildred.” She was being truthful. “I mean, it really doesn’t seem right to let her go into this situation blind, so to speak. After all, it’s her house.” And her husband, she thought, but didn’t say.

Charlie considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right, Liz. Go ahead and talk to Mildred Kilgore, although I’d appreciate it if you kept me out of it as much as possible. I’ll have a little talk with Lily when she flies in. If she flies in,” he amended. “If they can’t get that airplane in the air, the show’s likely to be canceled. And you can forget everything you heard just now. In fact, I wish you would.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Lizzy exclaimed. “That it’s canceled, I mean. Everybody would be so disappointed.”

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know, Liz,” he said ominously. “I have the feeling it might be better if it were.”

The door opened and Lizzy and Charlie looked up. It was Ophelia, carrying two pieces of pie and two cups of coffee.

“Gee, Liz,” she said, as she came around the corner. “If I’d known you were still here, I would have brought pie and coffee for you, too.”

“On my way upstairs,” Lizzy said, and got up. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Yeah,” Charlie replied. “Good luck.” To Ophelia, he said, “What kind of pie did you bring me? Chocolate, I hope.”

“Raisin was all they had,” Ophelia replied apologetically.

“Dang,” Charlie muttered. “I miss Euphoria already.”





FIVE




Lizzy Spills the Beans



Lizzy climbed the outside stairs to the Moseley law office and let herself in. Mr. Moseley had gone to Montgomery on business and wasn’t expected back until the following week, so the office was empty and all hers, which suited Lizzy just fine, because she wanted time to think.

From one angle, her talk with Charlie Dickens had been a real eye-opener. She’d had no idea about Charlie’s relationships with women in the past, and this glimpse into his life revealed a web of intriguing mysteries. It was, she thought, like opening a friend’s photograph album somewhere in the middle and trying to connect the random snapshots on the page to the real person sitting in front of you.

From another angle, the talk had been troubling, and she sat down at her desk to mull over what she ought to do. She really should speak to Mildred Kilgore—but should she be direct or beat around the bush? Should she telephone, or would it be better to have a face-to-face talk? And what, if anything, should she say to poor Fannie Champaign to prepare her for what might be a great shock, if Lily Dare reignited Charlie Dickens’ old torch? It wasn’t in Lizzy’s nature to meddle in other people’s business, and some of Mr. Moseley’s cases had shown her the unfortunate outcomes to which meddling could lead. So these were serious questions.

Lizzy took a deep breath and looked around the office. The dusty old rooms had their own special character, with their creaky wooden floors and wood-paneled walls hung with certificates and diplomas and the gilt-framed oil portraits of the three senior Mr. Moseleys—Mr. Benton Moseley’s great grandfather, his grandfather, and his father, all now deceased. The junior Mr. Moseley refused to sit for his portrait. “All traditions have to come to an end sometime,” he said. “And I am putting a stake through the heart of this one right now. Anybody wants to know what I look like, they can by God take a gander at my face, not at my portrait.”

But still, Lizzy loved the paintings, as much as she loved the sepia prints of maps of Cypress County and the old framed documents and the floor-to-ceiling shelves of law books and the fact that the office door was always open during working hours. When she first came to work here, it had seemed to her that the books and the documents and the dignified wood-paneled walls and—yes, even the open door—symbolized justice itself: stable and established and reliable and trustworthy and readily available to anybody who needed it. And if she needed another reminder of justice, there was the Cypress County courthouse right across the street, a beautiful redbrick building, foursquare and sturdy and solid, with white trim and a white-painted dome with a clock and a bell that rang out the hours with such regularity that you could set your mantel clock by it and so loud and clear that everybody in town could hear it, even when the doors and windows were shut.