The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“You’re right about that,” Lizzy said. “He doesn’t do that many special editions. The last one was back in December, wasn’t it?”


Verna nodded. “When the country went wet.” The Twenty-first Amendment had finally ended Prohibition, only months after Roosevelt and the Democrats rode into office on a wet ticket. Michigan had been the first state to repeal in April 1933, and Utah was the thirty-sixth in December, making it official. Alabama had ratified in August, although the legislature had played safe and gone for a local option. Cypress County was still dry, of course (the Temperance movement was strong), but that was only on paper. Everybody knew that Bodeen Pyle was making shine down at Briar’s Swamp, in the southern part of the county. And now that Mickey LeDoux had finished serving his sentence at the Wetumpka State Penitentiary (where he had been sent after Agent Kinnard broke up his still and busted him for bootlegging), he would likely be in business again shortly.

Verna went back to what they had been discussing before Charlie came along. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you, Liz. Sabrina is a very good book—and I’m not just saying that to please you.”

“Of course, you’re not at all prejudiced,” Lizzy said wryly. “But it would be silly to get my hopes up. According to Miss Fleming, the publishing business is terrible right now. People don’t spend money on books when they don’t have enough to buy food or pay rent. Even established writers are having a hard time. They’re finding work wherever they can—ghostwriting, movie scripts, advice to the lovelorn.”

“I don’t know about that,” Verna said. “I just finished reading Murder Must Advertise.” Verna loved to read mysteries more than anything else, and while the Darling library didn’t have much of a book budget, Miss Rogers, the librarian, bought as many as she could. “It’s Dorothy Sayers’ eighth book.”

“But I’m not Dorothy Sayers,” Lizzy pointed out. “Sabrina is my first book. Miss Fleming says I’m lucky to have a paying job. And now that this book is done, she told me to immediately start writing another. That way, even if Sabrina doesn’t make it, I’ll have something else to send out.”

“Sounds like good advice,” Verna remarked as they crossed Dauphin Street and came onto the town square, with the imposing brick courthouse in the center. On the far side, Mr. Greer was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Palace Theater, getting ready for the afternoon matinee. Above his head, the marquee advertised a double feature: King Kong, with Fay Wray, and Dora’s Dunking Doughnuts, featuring Shirley Temple, the curly-haired little girl that everybody had fallen in love with.

Since it was Saturday, trading day, the square was crowded with people. Farmers and their families had driven their mules and wagons or ancient Model T Fords into town to trade eggs and butter—and live chickens and fresh-picked sweet corn and watermelons—for coffee and sugar and salt and washing powder at Hancock’s Grocery. Others had come to buy tools or equipment at Musgrove’s Hardware or Mann’s Mercantile. Young women, dressed in their best pastel voiles and floral print chiffons and white summer shoes, had come to be seen and admired, while the young men leaning nonchalantly against the storefronts had come to see and admire—and occasionally, to dare a low wolf whistle that the young women in question demurely pretended not to hear.