The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

At last she said, “Look. I sent you that note the day I told my husband that I wasn’t going to bid on another contract. I didn’t tell him why, just that I didn’t want to do it anymore.”


Her husband, Charlie thought. Well, that let Verna Tidwell out, and Liz Lacy and Bessie, none of whom were married. Earlynne Biddle? Could Mata Hari be Earlynne? Maybe—her husband ran the Coca-Cola bottling plant outside of town, and Charlie knew that Earlynne worked part-time in the office there. The bottling plant very likely had a contract to supply soft drinks to the camp.

She was going on. “I could afford to stop bidding because my husband has a good job and I’m working, too. But most people can’t afford to get out. They need the money to buy shoes for the kids or put food on the table. They’re forced to become criminals just to stay afloat. And it doesn’t have to be that way! If it’s honestly run, the contract system will work for everybody. For the camp, for the suppliers, for Darling.” She dropped her voice. “When I wrote that note, I was hoping that all I had to do was give you a little push and get you started on the story, and you’d do the rest. You’d see that the system got fixed and I wouldn’t have to be involved.” She was silent for a moment, as if putting a period to that sentence. “That’s what I thought. Until this morning.”

“This morning?” Charlie asked. “What happened this morning?” And then he remembered. An icy finger began to tickle his spine, from his nape down to his tailbone. “You mean, when you heard about—”

“Yes,” Mata Hari said, in a very low voice. “That’s why I had to talk to you today.”

A blinding flash of blue-white light illuminated the classroom for an instant and was gone just as quickly. The lightning was followed a heartbeat later by a bone-rattling clap of thunder.

He sucked in his breath. “You’re telling me that this bribery business out at the camp is connected to Rona Jean Hancock’s murder?” In his mind, he was putting two and two together—what Fannie had told him about Rona Jean’s willingness to trade her baby for money, what the sheriff had told him about the deal she’d made with Violet and Myra May—and it was beginning to add up. Maybe.

He licked his lips. “You’re saying that Rona Jean found out what was going on? That she blackmailed the guy who was running the kickback system?” He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in the middle of his gullet. “That she was killed to shut her up?”

As he said this, he thought how ridiculous it sounded, like a page out of an Ellery Queen mystery. But it wasn’t ridiculous at all. It was utterly reasonable, given the way Rona Jean operated. She knew how to manipulate people, how to turn their desires—Fannie’s longing for a child, Violet’s wish for a sister or brother for her daughter—into weapons she could use. She knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to go after it. And that kind of audacity could be dangerous. It could even be deadly.

“Yes,” Mata Hari said. “I think she was killed to keep her quiet.” Her voice was very low. “She knew what was going on. As for the other thing, the blackmail, I don’t know that for sure. I think so, but—”

“But how did she find out?” Charlie interrupted urgently. “She wouldn’t have been a supplier. How did she know—”

Another sudden gust of wind slammed the old building. This time, Charlie knew he could feel it shudder, and he wondered how solid the old piers were underneath the building. Or more to the point, how solid the frame construction was on top of the piers. Another gust or two like that one and the whole thing could—