The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Why, he’s taking me to the party,” Lizzy replied lightly. “You didn’t say a word about it. So when Mr. Moseley asked, I said I’d be glad to go with—”

Grady stood up so fast that he knocked the chair over. “You are going to the Kilgores’ party with Benton Moseley?” he roared. When Lizzy said yes, she was, he said, well, that beat all he’d ever heard. He stomped out of the office, slamming the door so hard that Mr. Moseley’s great-grandfather tilted to one side on the wall.

All Lizzy could do was stare at the closed door. Grady had occasionally displayed spurts of jealousy, but never anything like this volcanic eruption. Seeing his reaction, she began to feel guilty. She hadn’t really wanted to make him jealous—had she?

“Well, if you ask me, Mr. Grady Alexander got just what he deserved,” Mildred remarked tartly. “The two of you aren’t engaged, at least not so far as I’ve heard. He should never have assumed.” She frowned. “But what about Mr. Moseley? He asked you—why aren’t you coming with him?”

“Because,” Lizzy said. Last week, when Mr. Moseley got back from helping to put Governor Roosevelt at the top of the Democratic ticket, he had told her that he had to break their date. He’d been called to Montgomery on a case that was being heard in state court there and would have to stay the whole weekend. “I’ll call Roger and tell him I won’t be there.

“I am so very sorry, Liz,” he said penitently. “I was looking forward to it. I’ll think of a way to make it up to you. Maybe we could go to—”

“Oh, don’t, please,” Lizzy had replied. “It’s all right, Mr. Moseley. I don’t mind one bit. I know there are things you have to do.”

And while she couldn’t help feeling disappointed, it really was all right. Going out with Mr. Moseley might have been a memorable experience, but it wasn’t the best idea in the world.

“Not the best idea in the world is right,” Mildred said flatly. “What would you do if Mr. Moseley wanted to kiss you? One thing leads to another, you know.” Her voice took on an oddly bitter edge. “It could be dangerous, Liz. There’s no telling where it would end. In a scandal, probably.”

Lizzy stared at her in some surprise, thinking that in all the years she had known Mildred Kilgore, she had never heard her friend use such a darkly judgmental tone. Mildred made it sound as if going to a party with Mr. Moseley meant that they would end up in bed together—and Lizzy knew that was definitely not going to happen. A little harmless flirting was one thing, especially if it made Grady appreciate her a little more. Sex was quite another. She was saving herself for marriage—or trying to, anyway, although that was sometimes a challenge, especially because Grady wasn’t very cooperative. She opened her mouth to correct this wrong impression, but Mildred was going on.

“I’m sorry you have to come to the party alone, Liz. If I could think of somebody to fix you up with, I would. But we’re a little short of single men these days.” She paused, raising one eyebrow. “Or maybe you should let Grady know that you’re available again.”

“I don’t think so,” Lizzy said, remembering the way Grady’s mouth had twisted like a knotted rope and how hard he had slammed the door. That had been several days ago and she hadn’t heard a word from him since. He was sulking.

“Anyhow,” she added, “a date might get in the way.”

“In the way of what?” Mildred asked.

Lizzy put down her glass. It was time to spell out the reason for her visit. “Charlie Dickens had a call from Miss Dare this afternoon.”

“Oh, that woman.” There was no mistaking it this time. Mildred sounded as if she found the two words as distasteful as spoiled sauerkraut. “What did she want?”

Now Lizzy really was puzzled. Something was going on here—something involving Miss Dare. But what it was, she had no idea. So she only said, “It looks like we might have a bit of a problem, Mildred.”

Then, for the next few minutes, she gave Mildred a thoroughly edited version of what Charlie had told her, omitting any mention of a personal relationship between the editor of the Dispatch and the Texas Star—or between the Texas Star and anybody else. And especially not Roger Kilgore.

Mildred was staring at her, eyes narrowed, an unreadable expression on her face. “Lily Dare’s airplane was sabotaged?” she said. “Does that mean that somebody tried to kill her?”

The question stopped Lizzy. She had thought of the sabotage merely as a way of causing trouble for the flying circus, a nuisance kind of thing, nothing else. She hadn’t thought of it as an attempt on Lily Dare’s life. But now that Mildred raised the question—