The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

So yesterday, he had asked Ophelia if she would agree to do some “research” for him as an investigative journalist. He had told her that he didn’t have the vaguest idea who Mata Hari was, and that while her claims sounded legitimate, he couldn’t be sure. That’s what Ophelia’s investigation was designed to prove. She had been reluctant at first, but he had reminded her how important Camp Briarwood was to Darling and suggested that if there was something crooked going on out there, it could endanger the success of the camp and might even result in its closing. (He didn’t really think so, but it was a possibility, wasn’t it?) She had finally said yes. Charlie glanced up at the clock. In fact, if all was going according to plan, she might be getting started right about now.

And here in the Dispatch office, it was time to get started on the story of Rona Jean’s murder. Charlie rolled a sheet of paper into his typewriter, lifted his elbows, flexed his fingers, and leaned forward. The juices were flowing now, and he was ready to write.

He’d been working steadily for ten or fifteen minutes when the telephone on his desk jangled. Charlie raised his voice. “Hey, Baby, pick up that call. I’m busy.” He’d had a second phone installed in the composing area, to save steps.

“Oh, yessir,” Baby said importantly. He loved answering the phone. Charlie heard him say, “Dispatch office, Purley Mann speakin’. Speak your piece.”

Charlie made a mental note to talk to Baby about his telephone manners, then stopped listening and went back to his typing. But after a moment, he heard a scuffling sound.

“Not now, Baby,” he said. “I’m working on a story for the special edition. Get a number and I’ll call him back this afternoon.”

Baby ducked his head and shifted his feet. “Uh, Mr. Dickens, it’s a lady. She says it’s important. Says it cain’t wait.”

Charlie kept his eyes on his work and his fingers going, rat-tat-tat. “Tell her to call back in ten minutes, then. I need to finish this first.”

Baby disappeared, but a moment later he was back again. “Says she cain’t call back, ’cause of where she’s callin’ from. Says she’s gotta talk to you this minute or not at all, and if you don’t, you’ll be plenty sorry.”

“Damn,” Charlie growled. “Who the hell is it?”

“Nobody I ever heard of.” Baby cleared his throat apologetically. “Says her name is Miz Mattie Harry.”

Charlie stopped typing and reached for the phone.





NINE


Sheriff Norris Learns More Facts of Life



Edna Fay’s revelation had thrown Buddy for a loop. Four months? Catching his breath, he thought for a moment, then pulled Roy’s desk calendar toward him and flipped back to April. He and Rona Jean had their last date on Saturday, April 28—the night that she had invited him over for supper. If Doc Roberts was right, at that point she would have been just about two months along. Maybe she suspected she was pregnant and already knew that she didn’t want to marry the father. She’d rather marry him. He shivered, feeling he had escaped by the skin of his teeth.

Or maybe she didn’t just suspect. Maybe she knew for sure. He opened the top drawer, took out the brown envelope, and slid the diary onto the desk. He opened to April and thumbed through the month until he came to April 23. On that day, she had written DR and a Monroeville phone number. April 23, five days before their last date.

With the diary open on the desk before him, he picked up the phone and gave the Monroeville number to the operator. When it began to ring, he said mildly, “Henrietta, honey, this is sheriff’s business. I’d appreciate it if you’d click off right about now.” He smiled when she did.

“Doctor DuBois’ office,” a pleasant-voiced woman said into his ear. “This is Linda June speaking. If you’re calling about seeing the doctor, just to let you know, we’re full up today, but if it can wait till tomorrow, we can fit you in then.”

Buddy pulled in his breath. He’d guessed right. DR wasn’t somebody’s initials, it was the abbreviation for “doctor.” “Ma’am, this is Sheriff Norris, over in Darling. We’ve had ourselves a murder here. I’d like to speak to the doctor about it.”

“Oh dear,” Linda June said. “Oh, my goodness gracious, that is just too bad. Well, if you’ll hold on, Sheriff, I’ll see if I can get him to the phone.”