The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“But that doesn’t answer the central question,” Lizzy replied. “Where did she go in the middle of the night? And why?”


“I have no idea,” Charlie replied. “You said that both of the arguments last night were pretty awful. Some harsh words were said, punches thrown. Maybe she just couldn’t face Mildred or Roger this morning. Couldn’t look them in the eye—especially if theirs were as black as hers.” He shook his head. “So she skipped. Classic Lily Dare behavior.”

“Maybe, but . . . Hang on a minute, Charlie.” Lizzy frowned, concentrating, trying to remember. “Miss Dare said something last night, as I was leaving the room. I asked her if she had any idea who might have written the letters to Mildred or sent those telegrams asking for money. She said she was ninety-nine percent sure that she knew who did it. Then she said she intended to ‘settle some hash’ over it. She sounded pretty angry, too.”

Charlie nodded approvingly. “Sounds like Lily. She’s got some sort of plan.”

“Maybe,” Lizzy replied. “But that doesn’t explain the faked struggle.”

“Right.” Charlie pushed his lips in and out. “If you ask me, she’s playing for attention. Lily likes to be the star of the show. Something as dramatic as this—” He shrugged. “It would suit her. She’s always playing for attention, you know, with that airplane and those aerial stunts. A promoter. A self-promoter. She can probably read the headlines in her mind: Texas Star Kidnapped on Eve of Air Show!”

“You’ve convinced me,” Lizzy said. “But you have to convince Angel Flame. She’s ready to phone the sheriff’s office. Now that we’ve come to this conclusion, it doesn’t seem like a very good idea—to me, anyway. I don’t want to answer questions about Roger Kilgore and Miss Dare. There are some things that are better kept private.”

“Well, maybe,” Charlie said. “But blackmail is a crime, you know, and so is extortion. And it may have escalated into something else—like that sabotage.”

Lizzy crinkled her nose. “You’re thinking that the same person—”

“I am. But I agree that we don’t want the sheriff asking questions.” Charlie started for the door. “Come on. We’d better get downstairs and make sure that nobody makes that phone call.”

But they were too late. As they came down the stairs, Deputy Buddy Norris was knocking at the front door in response to a telephone call from Angel Flame, which she’d made over Mildred’s strenuous objections.

“It’s Miss Dare!” Angel informed him excitedly. “She’s been kidnapped!”

“The Texas Star, kidnapped?” Buddy was incredulous. “Here in little ol’ Darlin’?”

“Yes, oh, yes!” Angel grabbed Buddy’s arm. The freckles were standing out all over her pale face. “Please, Buddy! You’ve got to find Lily—before something terrible happens to her!”





SIXTEEN




“Hearts Full of Passion . . .”



Verna looked over Pauline DuBerry’s shoulder. The motor court cottage was dim, since the cotton curtain was drawn across the only window. But enough daylight filtered into the small, low-ceilinged room to see that the walls were painted a dirty gray and the floor was covered with green linoleum. The furnishings were spartan: a pine chest of drawers with a wall mirror over it, a wooden straight chair, and two narrow single beds with a lamp table and a lamp between them. Both beds were unmade, and a dark-haired, good-looking woman was sitting on one of them, wearing a peach-colored, lace-trimmed nightgown with a raggedly torn hem. Her hair was mussed from sleep and her left eye was purpled and puffy. She was smoking a small cigar.

“I said, ‘I’m not decent,’” the woman said in a testy voice. “I’m not dressed for company.”

“And I’m askin’, who the dickens are you?” Pauline DuBerry repeated sternly, hands on hips. “Miz Riggs paid for one. If there’s goin’ to be two of you sleepin’ in this cottage, she’s goin’ to have to pay for two. Means more laundry, you know. Bed sheets and towels gotta be washed.”

“Don’t nag, I’ll pay,” the woman said, reaching for her leather handbag. “And Raylene didn’t invite me, so don’t be mad at her. I knocked on her door in the middle of the night, looking for a place to stay, and she was sweet enough to let me in. How much do I owe you?” She put her cigar in the ashtray and took out her wallet. “And while we’re at it, could I book a cottage for myself? I’d like it for tonight and Saturday night.”

“Oh, well,” Pauline said, mollified. “If you’re bookin’ for you, we’ll just forget last night. A dollar fifty. Seventy-five cents a night for two nights.”