The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Here’s two dollars,” the woman said, and handed over the bills. “Keep the change.”


“Why, thank you.” Pauline smiled as she tucked the money into her apron pocket. “Stop by the office and get a key. I’ll put you in Number Five. The one with the red door.” She opened the door, then turned back. “If you want something for that shiner, I can brew up some sage tea and make you a compress. That’s what my mama did for us kids when we was little. Works, too.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and put her handbag on the floor beside her. “Maybe later. I have some things to do this morning.”

“Later will be too late,” Pauline cautioned. “Black eyes—you gotta get to ’em quick, or they’ll be around for a while.”

“I’ll risk it,” the woman said.

Pauline shrugged and left but Verna stayed behind, now very puzzled. “Miss Lily Dare?” she asked tentatively. The cigar, the black eye, the sheer peach negligee—it had to be her, although as far as she knew, Miss Dare was either still asleep in Mildred Kilgore’s guest bedroom or sitting at Mildred’s breakfast table. So what was she doing here?

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman said coolly. She picked up her cigar, saw that it had gone out, and laid it back in the ashtray. “Yeah, I’m Lily Dare. How’d you know? And just who the devil are you?”

“Er, ah . . .” Verna was almost never at a loss for words, but she was now. She didn’t want to confess that she had been playing amateur detective the night before and had intentionally eavesdropped on the unpleasant conversations in Miss Dare’s room. She doubted that Agatha Christie had ever let Miss Marple get cornered in such a sticky wicket.

“I . . . I was at the movie last night and somebody pointed you out,” she lied. “Hell’s Angels. That was a really good flick—loved that air combat. I heard you were staying at the Kilgores’, so I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“I was staying at the Kilgores’,” Miss Dare said. “In fact, I was invited to spend the weekend. But I changed my mind. I’m staying here.” She gave Verna a pointed look. “Just what did you say your name was?”

Verna stared at the woman, thinking that she had to have left the Kilgores’ after Liz talked to her—and how did she get all the way out to the Marigold Motor Court in the middle of the night? It must be at least a mile. Had she walked? In that see-through negligee she was wearing?

“Your name?” Miss Dare asked again.

“Oh, sorry,” Verna replied hastily. “I’m Verna Tidwell. Actually, I came here looking for Raylene Riggs. She didn’t show up at work this morning, and Miss Mosswell, her boss at the diner, is worried about her.”

Miss Dare got up and went to the mirror over the dresser, touching her eye tenderly. “Raylene is on her way to work. We were up kind of late talking and we both overslept. But she got a lift into town. She should be at work by now.” She leaned toward the mirror, peering at her reflection. “Does this eye look very bad to you?”

“Not too bad,” Verna said diplomatically. She paused. “How did it happen?”

“I walked into a door,” Miss Dare said in a bored voice.

Oh, right, Verna thought sarcastically. More like Mildred’s fist.

Miss Dare opened her handbag and took out a little jar, deftly applying something to her face. She regarded herself in the mirror, added a few touchups, then turned around. “There. Does that look better?”

“Oh, much,” Verna said, although the black eye was still quite noticeable. She was dying to ask Miss Dare how in the world she got here, to the motor court, and why. But she couldn’t think of a way to do it.

“Good.” Miss Dare took a comb out of her bag and began to work on her hair. “I’ve got a party to go to tonight, and I don’t want to look like I’ve been trading punches with the local heavyweight. Say, Verna, I need to get out to the airstrip this morning. Does this burg have a taxi?”

“Not really,” Verna said, suppressing a smile. “That is, it does . . . I mean, we do. But Mr. Clinton mostly goes between Darling and Monroeville, and the airstrip is out of his way.” She added, deferentially, “I could drive you out to the airstrip, Miss Dare. I have my car here.”

“Oh, would you, dear?” Miss Dare asked warmly. “Please call me Lily.” She picked up a small canvas bag. “I’ll get dressed—it’ll just take a jiffy—and then go pick up my key at the office. I’m glad I came,” she added confidentially, as she headed for the bathroom. “This place may not be fancy, but it’s clean and private. And I can lock the door and keep folks from barging in on me.”

I can lock the door. Verna flinched, remembering her own role in the invasion of Lily Dare’s privacy. Did she leave because she knew that people could overhear every word that was said in her room? Or was there some other reason? If so, could she get Lily to tell her what it was?