The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“I think you should call the cops,” Angel said loudly, to Mildred’s back. “Call ’em right now! Don’t wait another minute.” She looked around the room, shuddering. “Something bad has happened to Lily,” she muttered. “Something really, really bad. I can feel it in my bones!”


Lizzy sighed, thinking of Sheriff Roy Burns, who would go clumping through the house like Mr. Norris’ clumsy old horse. The sheriff could handle Old Zeke when he got drunk and disorderly, and he could manage the rowdies out at the Dance Barn out on Briarwood Road. But he had neither finesse nor imagination, and she was sure he would have no more idea of what to do than they did.

And what was worse, if the sheriff came, he would likely start asking questions, and she would end up having to tell about the confrontations of the night before. And that could cause all kinds of unwarranted embarrassment and trouble for Mildred and Roger.

Then Lizzy pulled in her breath, reminding herself of a question that Mr. Moseley would most certainly ask. Was it really unwarranted? What if one or the other of the Kilgores—or both—had a hand in Miss Dare’s disappearance?

But that wasn’t likely.

Was it?





FOURTEEN




“And She Only Paid for One!”



Verna usually walked to work, from the small frame house at the corner of Larkspur and Robert E. Lee, where she lived with her black Scottie, Clyde. But Clyde had spent the night with Verna’s neighbor. And since she was already in the car, she just drove on into the middle of town and parked her LaSalle against the nearly empty curb in front of the courthouse, where old Mr. Tucker was just raising the flags, the U.S. flag on one pole, the flag of the Confederate States of America on the other. Out of respect for the fallen, he always raised the Confederate flag first and stepped back to salute it.

Getting out of the car, Verna glanced up at the clock on the tower. It was only seven thirty. She hated to admit it, but Liz had been right—she had skipped breakfast at the Kilgores’ because she wanted to avoid the unpleasantness. She felt like a heel, leaving Liz to cope with Mildred and Roger and Miss Dare, but she promised herself that she’d make it up to her.

Meanwhile, she needed some breakfast. Donna Sue, the clerk in Judge McHenry’s office, had raved about the sausage and grits casserole that she’d gotten at the diner the morning before, which (according to Donna Sue) tasted exactly like her mama’s casserole and maybe even a bit better. This was saying a lot, Verna knew, since Donna Sue had always claimed that nobody in the world could hold a candle to her mama’s cooking.

Grits and sausage casserole sounded good to Verna, along with a cup of Myra May’s strong, black coffee, Violet’s cheerful morning greeting, and the chortles of little Cupcake. She crossed the street, feeling the warm summer sunshine on her shoulders and smiling with anticipation. The night had been awkward (to say the least!), and she was sorry that she had volunteered to snoop into something that was really none of her business. That’s what came of indulging her regrettable habit of poking around under rocks. A satisfying breakfast with her good friends at the Darling Diner would go a long way to restoring her balance—and her self-confidence.

But when Verna opened the door and went in, the diner was such a scene of noisy chaos that she simply stopped and stared. The stools at the counter were almost all taken, the tables were full of chatting patrons, and Myra May, Violet, and Earlynne Biddle’s boy, Bennie, were running back and forth with plates of food and pots of coffee, all three wearing anxious and harried expressions. Obviously, word about the new cook had gotten around. Myra May was going to have to hire additional help.

Verna took the nearest available seat at the counter, sliding in next to Mr. Greer, the owner of the Palace Theater. Over a full plate of eggs and ham, he was telling Mr. Musgrove about the large and enthusiastic crowd they’d had at the showing of Hell’s Angels the night before. The film had featured several aerial dogfights, with one of the planes flown by Miss Lily Dare, the Texas Star—who would be flying at the air show that weekend.

“And the Texas Star herself came to the movie,” he announced, speaking over the morning farm market report (corn was up, beans and pork bellies were down) on the white Philco radio behind the counter. He spoke loud enough to be heard three stools down by Archie Mann, from Mann’s Mercantile.

Archie Mann leaned forward to reply to Mr. Greer past Lester Lima (the owner of Lima’s Drugstore) and Jake Pritchard (who owned the Standard Oil filling station out on the Monroeville Highway).

“That pilot lady’s a real looker, too, by damn,” he said with a sly chuckle. “Ol’ Charlie Dickens, he’s landed hisself a stunner this time. That Miss Dare, she can fly my plane any day of the week,” he added, and broke into a raucous guffaw that was echoed along the counter by all the men who were listening—and all of them were.