The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

Lizzy flinched. “Verna and I both wish we hadn’t put all of us into that situation,” she said contritely. “If I had thought the whole thing through, I might have realized that it wasn’t the best idea in the world. I feel terribly awkward about it, Mildred. I apologized to Miss Dare, and I’m apologizing to you. I am sorry.”


“Oh, I don’t know,” Mildred said thoughtfully, and put down the pot. She smiled. “To tell the truth, Liz, I actually felt better knowing that you were on the other side of that door, in case . . .” She shrugged one shoulder. “Well, just in case. And I’m glad I told you about the letters and the money. Talking about it made me see things a little more clearly. I didn’t have a chance to discuss anything with Roger this morning—he got up and went to work very early, while I was still asleep. But we said enough last night to make me hope that we’ll get things straightened out—once Miss Dare is gone.” She frowned. “Of course, my opinion of her is still the same. She is a tramp.”

“I think you and Roger will get things straightened out,” Lizzy said warmly, “and I’m glad. Just the same, Verna and I feel it would be better if we went home after the party tonight.” She helped herself to the scrambled eggs and bacon. “Oh, and Verna asked me to thank you for your hospitality,” she added, taking a biscuit. “She thought she’d better skip breakfast and go on to the courthouse.”

“You all are welcome any time,” Mildred said. “We rattle around in this big house.” She glanced at the clock on the sideboard. The hands stood at eight o’clock. “I wonder where Angel and Miss Dare are. Last night, Mr. Dickens said he’d be here at eight fifteen to pick them up and take them out to the airfield, so they asked for breakfast early. I’ll ask Ollie Rose to go upstairs and knock.”

But just as Mildred was reaching for the small gold bell beside her plate, Lizzy heard the sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs.

“Mrs. Kilgore!” Angel Flame, dressed in khaki trousers and a navy blue blouse, burst into the dining room. Her hair was sticking out in every direction and the sandy freckles were popping out all over her face. “Mrs. Kilgore, oh, come quick! Quick! Lily is—” She gulped. “Miss Dare is gone!”

“Gone?” Lizzy echoed. “Gone where?”

“I have no idea,” Angel replied breathlessly. “I went to wake her up just now and her room is empty. And there’s been some sort of . . . of trouble. In her room.”

“Trouble?” Mildred asked sharply. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “What kind of trouble?”

“Come and see,” Angel said, and turned to run back up the stairs.

A moment later, they were standing at the door of Lily Dare’s bedroom. “You see?” Angel said excitedly. “It looks like there’s been a struggle of some sort!”

She was right. The lamp from the nightstand lay on its side, the light bulb shattered and the lampshade broken. The ashtray had spilled and cigar ashes were scattered across the floor. Bedding was twisted and pulled from the bed. A straight chair lay on its side. A vase of flowers had been knocked over and the water spilled. The window shade was askew. Lily Dare was nowhere to be seen.

“The window!” Lizzy exclaimed, and rushed toward the open window, which was pushed up as high as it would go. The screen was missing, and a torn scrap of sheer peach fabric was snagged on a corner of the sill. She put her head out and looked down. There was a bare wooden trellis on the wall beneath the window. On the ground beneath the window, about ten feet below, lay the window screen—and one peach-colored satin mule.

“Her slipper,” Lizzy said to Mildred. “It’s down there, on the ground.” She pointed to the scrap of fabric. “And that’s her nightgown.”

“You mean, she’s out there somewhere in her negligee and just one slipper?” Mildred asked incredulously.

“She would never go out dressed like that!” Angel Flame cried, clapping her hands to her mouth. “She’s been kidnapped. Somebody forced her out that window!”

“Kidnapped!” Mildred wailed. “Oh, no! This can’t be happening. Not in my house!” She swiveled to face Lizzy. “This mess, the breakage—surely there would have been some noise. What did you hear?”

“Not a thing,” Lizzy said disconsolately. “Not after—”

She stopped. She had been about to say that she hadn’t heard any signs of an altercation after Roger left Miss Dare’s room, but she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Angel Flame. Angel had been at her door, listening, and Lizzy didn’t know what she had overheard.

“Not after—” Angel prompted, watching her. “Not after what? What do you mean?”

But Lizzy was saved by the bell—the doorbell, pealing sharply downstairs.

“Thank heavens,” Mildred said, hurrying to the door. “It must be Mr. Dickens. He’ll know what to do.”