The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Buddy ducked his head, feeling like all kinds of a fool. He knew the facts of life well enough—he just wasn’t used to talking about them out loud. He’d skipped the locker room conversations in high school, and since then, the subject hadn’t really come up. In a low voice, he said, “If you’re asking, did I have sex with her, the answer is no, I didn’t.”


Mr. Moseley regarded him. After a moment, he said, in a kindly tone, “Why not, if you don’t mind my asking? Did the lady turn you down?”

Buddy shook his head, embarrassed. “I was the one who said no, actually.” He’d thought later that maybe he should have taken Rona Jean up on her generous offer, since she had been so clearly ready and willing—eager, even. Most of the guys he knew would have jumped at the chance, and yes, Buddy had been sorely, sorely tempted. But there had been something in Rona Jean’s eagerness that had made him think it was not a good idea.

He cleared his throat. “We were . . . we were going at it pretty hot and heavy, and all of a sudden I got the idea that what Rona Jean was really looking for was somebody to marry her, like right away, and I happened to be the nearest one. If we had sex, I could find myself in front of a preacher real fast. Like Grady Alexander.” Grady, who had been all but engaged to Liz Lacy, had to marry Sandra Mann, and now they had a little boy, born six months after the wedding. Grady was the county ag agent and had a steady job, but Buddy had heard they were just barely scraping by.

The corners of Mr. Moseley’s mouth tightened at the mention of Grady Alexander, and Buddy remembered, belatedly, that Liz Lacy worked for him. But he only said, “And you’re not interested in marriage?”

Buddy cocked his head, considering. “Well, yeah, sure. Marriage and kids. But it’s not going to happen until I can afford a nice little house and some acres, so when the kids come, they’ve got a good place to grow up.” He paused, coloring. “The other thing was—well, I had no idea that we were going to . . . that she would let me . . . so I wasn’t, you know, prepared.”

He was actually fully prepared, with a package of four Neverrip Preventions that he’d bought from under the counter at Lima’s Drugs, but they were under his socks in his top bureau drawer, in his room on the other side of town.

“I told Rona Jean it wasn’t a good idea, but she said it would be okay to take a chance, since it was the wrong time of the month. But between that and the marriage thing, I was pretty well cooled off.” He colored, remembering. “If you know what I mean.”

“I do know. Providential, most likely.” The corner of Mr. Moseley’s mouth quirked. “Commendable, certainly.”

Buddy sighed heavily. “I didn’t feel that way at the time. And I guess I didn’t do a very good job of explaining to Rona Jean. She got it into her head that I didn’t like her, that maybe she wasn’t pretty enough or something. She was kinda pissed at me.”

Kinda pissed didn’t quite do justice to the height and depth and breadth of Rona Jean’s anger or the way she had expressed it to him afterward, but it wasn’t important. Mr. Moseley didn’t need to know about that, especially since the letter she had written him afterward was all full of lies. There wasn’t a grain of truth in it.

“Happens,” Mr. Moseley said thoughtfully. “Some women take it personally. When they do, there’s not much a fellow can say about it. There are no witnesses. And juries tend to believe the woman. Funny how that works.” He puffed on his pipe and the blue smoke rose over his head. “When was this?”

Buddy shifted uncomfortably. “A week or so after the dance at the CCC camp. Which makes it maybe two months ago, I reckon. It was before I was elected sheriff, anyway.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“Not to talk to,” Buddy said. He was glad that Mr. Moseley hadn’t asked whether he’d heard from her. If so, he would have had to tell him about the letter. But no, he could say truthfully that he hadn’t seen her. Not until this morning. Not until he’d seen her dead, with that stocking tight around her neck and her blouse unbuttoned and her legs splayed like she was a common—