The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“I suppose you could be right,” Lizzy admitted. “But Charlie Dickens isn’t the sort of man who would be taken in by somebody’s melodrama.”


Not to mention, she thought to herself, that he seems to know Lily Dare pretty well. If anybody would suspect her motives, Charlie the Skeptic would be the one. She frowned. On the other hand, maybe not. The two of them had obviously been close at one point. Maybe that made it more likely he would be taken in. Oh, why did people have to be so complicated!

Mildred put her lemonade glass on the table and lowered her voice. “Now that we’re talking about this, I have something to ask you, Liz, as a friend. But I need you to keep it confidential. Very confidential.”

“Of course,” Lizzy said.

Mildred looked over her shoulder as if she thought that one of the servants might be listening. She spoke in a half-whisper that Lizzy had to strain to hear. “Did Mr. Dickens happen to mention . . . my husband? In connection with Miss Dare, that is.”

“Mention Roger?” Suspicions confirmed, Lizzy spoke hesitantly. “Well, he said that Roger could take the credit for bringing her here—something like that.” It was true. Everything else was her own conjecture. “Why?”

“Oh, no special reason,” Mildred replied hurriedly. Then she bit her lip and looked away, and Lizzy saw from her face how desperately unhappy and troubled she was. “Actually, there is a reason, Liz. I wouldn’t have said anything, but . . . Well, the truth is that I received a terribly disturbing letter, full of the most awful kind of accusations. Not that I believe a single word of it, of course, but—”

Her glance went to the book beside her on the chaise longue, and Lizzy understood. She had been reading that letter when Lizzy arrived. No wonder she was nervous and on edge. Poor Mildred. Something like that could be poisonous.

“I am so sorry, Mildred,” Lizzy said, very honestly. “The accusations—they’re about Roger and Miss Dare?”

“How did you know?” Mildred’s brown eyes flooded with tears but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes. The letter claims that they have been seen together. Not here in Darling, of course. But elsewhere. In different places.”

“Who wrote the letter?” Lizzy asked.

“It wasn’t signed.” Mildred wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “The envelope was postmarked in Atlanta, but there was no return address. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t believe anything that somebody put in an anonymous letter, but . . .”

“But what?” Lizzy prompted gently.

“But whoever wrote it knew that Roger was in Orlando on a business trip a couple of months ago, and in Baton Rouge the month before that. He—or she, the handwriting looked like a woman’s—said that Lily Dare was in both cities, too. At the same time.” She bit off the words as if they tasted bitter. “At the same hotel.”

“Oh, dear,” Lizzy said. Instinctively, she reached out and took Mildred’s hand. The fingers felt cold and fragile, and Lizzy could feel them trembling.

Mildred took a deep breath. “So even after I got the first letter a couple of weeks ago, I just laughed it off. I tried to deny it, you see. I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t believe that Roger would do such an underhanded thing.”

“The first letter?” So there had been two. “What did it say?”

“I can’t remember exactly.” Mildred lowered her head. “I . . . I burned it. I thought it was all a pack of lies.”

Lizzy couldn’t help thinking that it hadn’t been a good idea to burn the letter, but it wouldn’t do any good to say so. “You changed your mind, though?” she asked tentatively. “You think it’s true?”

“I know it’s true,” Mildred said bleakly. “This time, the person who wrote it sent a photograph.” She picked up the book, opened it, and took out the letter that Lizzy had seen her slip between the pages. A photograph spilled out, and she handed it to Lizzy. “Here. You can see for yourself how beautiful she is. And sexy.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, explosively. “God, how I hate that woman. And to think that she’ll be sleeping under my roof this weekend!”

The photograph showed a man and a woman seated together at a table in what looked like an outdoor café. It was clear that they were more than just friends: they were holding hands and their heads were close together. All Lizzy could see was their profiles, but she recognized Roger Kilgore’s dark hair and strong, regular features. She recognized the woman, too, from the publicity photos that had appeared in the Darling Dispatch. She was stylish, slender, and generously endowed. She was sexy. She was Lily Dare.

Lizzy handed it back. “I am so sorry,” she said again. “This must be terribly difficult for you. Have you . . . have you spoken to Roger about it?”

“No,” Mildred said miserably. “I can’t. I’m afraid if I do, it might bring everything crashing down. I love him, Lizzy. I love him desperately, and I don’t want to lose him. When you came, I was sitting here hoping that I could think of a way to make him see how she’s using him.”