The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“Ladies,” Beulah intervened hurriedly, “I really don’t think this is any of our business.” She knew that—morning, noon, and night, every day including weekends—gossip was Darling’s number one favorite entertainment. It even topped Will Rogers’ Sunday night radio show. But she didn’t believe they ought to be gossiping about Bettina (who wasn’t there to stand up for herself) and Rona Jean (who was dead and gone). And she hated to encourage Leona Ruth, who would go straight home and get on the party line, where she’d start spreading her story to all her friends and fellow gossips. She turned up the radio a little louder, hoping to discourage the conversation.

It didn’t work. Leona Ruth just raised her voice. “So I can see who’s been helping Rona Jean with the dishes, and what they were doing when they finished,” she said triumphantly. As an afterthought, she added loudly, “She did pull down the shade in her bedroom, but that all by itself ought to tell you something.”

Nobody seemed to know what to say. Finally, Earlynne remarked, in a carefully casual tone, “Well, aren’t you going to tell us who?”

“Really, ladies,” Beulah said. “We shouldn’t—”

“I think maybe I should just leave it to your imagination,” Leona Ruth said, smiling demurely.

“I think you ought to tell the sheriff what you just told us.” With a disgusted look, Aunt Hetty retreated under her hair dryer.

Leona Ruth cast her eyes upward. “I have the idea,” she said in an offhand tone, “that the sheriff already knows. His part of it, anyway.”

Bessie stared at her, aghast. “You’re not saying that it was the sheriff who . . .”

Leona Ruth looked straight at Bessie. “And not just the sheriff, either.” She smiled. “Actually, Rona Jean had several male friends, more than you might expect for a girl who wasn’t what you might call just real pretty.”

“Actually,” Earlynne said, “you might want to be just a little bit careful what you say when it comes to naming names.”

“Careful?” Leona Ruth asked archly. “Whyever in the world should I be careful, Earlynne?”

Bessie gave Leona a malicious look. “Because we’re not talking tiddlywinks here, Leona Ruth. We are talking murder. There’s been one already. If you don’t watch your mouth, you just might be next.”

For once, Leona Ruth couldn’t think of a thing to say.





FOUR


Sheriff Norris Learns a Few Facts



It was nine twenty and the morning air was already heating up when Buddy Norris got out of his Ford in front of the small frame house where Bettina Higgens lived. When he was a deputy, he had ridden his Indian Ace motorcycle on the job. Now that he was sheriff, though, he was driving the department’s Model T, which had the advantage of being able to transport prisoners, if he had one—which he didn’t, at least, not very often. Just in case, he had installed a strip of hog wire across the back of the front seat, which should take care of anybody who wanted to join him up front. While he was at it, he had added a special boot to hold his shotgun and a box for his handcuffs and extra ammunition. Now he had a patrol car. He couldn’t help feeling proud of it, just a little.

Not that he would need handcuffs and the like this morning, since he didn’t expect Bettina Higgens to give him any trouble. Buddy knew her the same way he knew most everybody in Darling, which was to say hello to on the street. Well, actually, he was a little better acquainted with her than that, since she had answered the door, twice, when he’d come to pick up Rona Jean. And she had come out on the back porch when they were sitting on the swing, and Rona Jean was getting a little . . . well, passionate.