The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Liz’s best friend Verna, on the other hand, operated out of an entirely different frame of mind. Pragmatic, realistic, and unsentimental, Verna served as the Cypress County probate clerk and newly elected county treasurer—the first woman in the entire state of Alabama to be elected to that important job. From her office on the second floor of the courthouse, she witnessed most of the grimier doings that went on across the county. Just last month, for instance, she had found out that the contractor who had low-bid the new bridge out on the Jericho Road was billing the county for twice as many steel trusses as the specifications called for. She hadn’t let him get away with it, either. She reported it to the county commissioners, who made him return the trusses, reduced his billing accordingly, and levied a sizable fine. Verna’s habit of cracking down on wrongdoers didn’t earn her a lot of friends, but she never apologized for it.

“Yes, an autopsy.” Verna sat back down at the table and took a Pall Mall cigarette out of the handbag hanging on the back of her chair. “To find out if she was sexually assaulted. She was strangled with her stocking and her body was found in a . . . suggestive position. In the front seat of Myra May’s car. I heard that from Myra May herself,” she added, “when I stopped at the diner for a cup of coffee.”

“Oh dear.” Lizzy closed her eyes, not wanting to think about it. “Oh, poor Rona Jean.”

“Maybe it was just sex,” Ophelia remarked hopefully. “Without the assault, I mean. I wonder if Doc Roberts can tell the difference.” She made a rueful face. “Either way, of course, Charlie can’t print it in the paper. He says that if the Dispatch had a motto, it would be ‘Only the news that’s fit to be read—by your mother.’” She took a cookie for herself.

Liz shook her head. “Poor Charlie. He’s a serious newspaperman. I know he hates to leave stuff out.”

“Doesn’t have to be in the Dispatch,” Verna reminded them, lighting her cigarette. “You know Darling. News—especially if it’s got anything to do with sex—gets around so fast it’ll make your head swim. An hour after Doc Roberts is finished, the autopsy result will be all over town.”

“Make that half an hour,” Ophelia said.

Verna pulled down her mouth. “Unfortunately, getting the news fast doesn’t guarantee that it’ll be accurate. Somebody will get it wrong, and the next person will get it even more wrong, and so on. The news you hear may not be the real news.”

“Well, Doc Roberts can set people straight,” Lizzy said. “And Buddy Norris. I’m sure he’ll get all the facts in his investigation.”

“Maybe not Buddy Norris.” Verna sipped her lemonade. “I stopped at the post office before I came over here, and I heard that there might be a problem with Buddy Norris working on this case.”

Ophelia gave her a puzzled look. “But Buddy Norris is the sheriff. Why wouldn’t he investigate? And if he doesn’t, who else could?”

“That’s a good question, Opie,” Verna said thoughtfully. “I suppose Deputy Springer might, but—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Verna,” Ophelia scoffed. “Wayne Springer is new on the job and besides, nobody knows him. He comes from Birmingham. People won’t even want to talk to him.” She paused. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong with Buddy Norris? He’s the sheriff now—why shouldn’t he do his job?”

“Because he was involved with the victim.” Verna got up to find an ashtray.

“Involved?” Lizzy frowned. “How do you mean?”

Verna put the ashtray on the table and sat back down. “I overheard Leona Ruth Adcock telling Mrs. Magee that she looked through Rona Jean’s kitchen window and saw the two of them hugging and kissing. Buddy and Rona Jean, I mean.”

“Through the window?” Lizzy rolled her eyes. But she wasn’t surprised. Leona Ruth had a reputation for looking where she shouldn’t be looking and then telling all her friends what she had seen.

Ophelia shook her head disgustedly. “Nobody ever believes more than half of anything Leona Ruth says. Anyway, even if it’s true, there’s no law against a kiss or two.”

“No, but there could be a problem if the kissee gets killed and the kisser is supposed to find out who dunnit,” Verna pointed out. “Some people might suspect a cover-up—or a frame-up.”

Taking a second cookie, Lizzy suppressed a smile. Verna was a mystery fan, and her vocabulary sometimes gave her away.

“Anyway,” Verna went on, “it doesn’t matter whether Leona was telling the truth or not. Mrs. Magee seemed to believe her. She’ll probably tell everybody in her Sunday school class tomorrow, and they’ll think they got the word from God.”