The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

Verna pushed Lizzy a little aside so she could get closer to the door. But by now, the women in the other room had forgotten all about keeping their voices down.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Miss Dare’s voice was ominously flat. “I have never asked Roger for one cent.”

“You’re lying!” Mildred cried. “You’re a liar. You’re a damned liar!”

“Oh, my,” Lizzy breathed, eyes wide.

“That’s crazy,” Miss Dare said rudely. “You should see yourself, Mrs. Kilgore. You look like a crazy woman.” Her laugh was a taunt. “You are a crazy woman!”

“I have every right to be crazy! You are making me crazy, trying to steal my husband, blackmailing him—”

“Blackmailing? Blackmailing?” Miss Dare shrilled. “What are you talking about? I am not blackmailing him! I have no idea what—”

“Liar!” Mildred cried furiously. “You are a liar! I’ve seen the check register myself! Three checks, nine hundred dollars. He paid you nine hundred dollars!”

“You tell her, Mildred,” Lizzy said under her breath.

“But maybe she isn’t the blackmailer, Liz,” Verna whispered in her ear. “All Mildred knows is that Roger was mailing those checks to someone, but she doesn’t know for sure who. Why, Roger himself might not even know.”

Listening to Verna, Lizzy missed whatever Miss Dare replied. Mildred was even angrier now, but she had lowered her voice, so that Lizzy could hear only broken snatches once more. “. . .You’ll be sorry . . . I’ll make you pay for this . . . I’ll drag your name in the . . .”

Miss Dare’s response was much more audible. Her voice was flint-like. “You can try, of course, but I must warn you that better women than you have—”

“Better women!” Mildred shrieked. “I’ll show you who’s better!”

There was the sound of a sharp slap. And then a second. “We ought to break this up,” Verna said, “before somebody gets hurt.” She shot the bolt back and tried to open the door. But it wouldn’t move—it was bolted on the other side.

“You struck me!” Miss Dare said, low and ominous. “All right—you want to fight, sister? I’ll snatch you bald!” There was the sound of scuffling and a muffled cry, then another, and more scuffling.

“My eye!” Mildred cried. “Oh, my eye!”

“We have to do something,” Lizzy said urgently, and started for the door of their room. But by the time she reached it, Miss Dare had shoved Mildred into the hall with a rough “Get out!” Her door slammed, and Mildred retreated with hasty, stumbling steps in the direction of the master bedroom. Across the hall, Lizzy saw Angel Flame’s door silently close. She had been listening, too.

Lizzy shut the door and leaned her back against it. “Mercy,” she said weakly. “That was just like in the movies!”

“I wonder who won,” Verna said ironically. “Or more to the point, who will be wearing a black eye for tomorrow’s party. And how she will explain it when people ask.”

“Maybe they both will,” Lizzy said. “Wear a black eye, I mean. And then they won’t have to explain it—it’ll be obvious. But I shouldn’t joke about it. It’s not funny. I wonder how they’re going to face each other at breakfast tomorrow.” Facing somebody you’ve punched might be almost as hard as facing somebody you’ve kissed, she thought. She glanced at the clock on the bureau and corrected herself. “Not tomorrow, today. It’s after midnight.”

“So it is,” Verna said with a yawn. “Your watch, Liz. My turn to get some sleep.”

“Good,” Lizzy said, and sat down in the rocking chair. “I hope nothing more happens.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Verna said, pulling off her shoes and flopping down on the bed. “That was interesting, don’t you think? And revealing. I never suspected that Mildred could be so passionate about anything.”

“If you say so,” Lizzy replied. “But personally, I prefer a little less passion, thank you.” The trouble with passion was that it could get you into trouble, and Lizzy, a cautious person, liked to avoid trouble whenever she could. “And I definitely didn’t want to know all those things about Mildred—or Miss Dare, either,” she added. Passionate people could be dangerous, or at the very least, disturbing.

“Not me,” Verna said emphatically. “The more I know about people, the better I like it. And a little passion never hurt anybody, Liz.”

Verna was about to get what she wanted—and then some.





THIRTEEN




“Gone? Gone Where?”