The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“No, sir, Sheriff,” Lassen said emphatically. “Haven’t talked to her since she called me on the phone, and I don’t know why she’d be writing me letters. Sayin’ she was sorry she wasn’t going to have that baby after all? Wouldn’t of been no point.” He looked up, his eyes glittering with tears. “Let me tell you, when you get that guy, you better put him somewhere else than in that tin pot jail of yours, ’cause if he’s where I can get at him, I’ll kill him.” His voice was like a file rasping against bare metal. “I swear to God I’ll kill him.”


Buddy knew he wasn’t being professional, but he did it anyway. He put his hand on Lassen’s shoulder and said, “For what it’s worth, Lamar, I understand how you feel. Go get yourself a bottle and get drunk. And when you’ve slept it off, forget about killing anybody. It’s not worth it. Believe me, it’s not worth it.” He wanted to say she’s not worth it, but he knew if he did, Lassen would throw a punch.

When he got back to his car, he took out his notebook and scratched Lassen’s name off his list.


*

Buddy’s route across town took him down Robert E. Lee, past the courthouse. As he drove, he spotted Verna Tidwell, carrying two brown paper shopping bags, walking toward her house. He slowed and hailed her.

“It’s too hot to be walking, Verna, and that’s a big load. You want a ride? I’m going right past your place. Or I’ll be glad to take you wherever you want to go.”

“I’m heading home,” Verna said gratefully, getting in. “Thanks for the offer.” She put one bag on the floor between her knees and held the other on her lap. “You going to your dad’s?”

When Buddy was a young teen, he and his father had moved into the house next door to Verna, and the old man still lived there, so Verna was a longtime family friend. She kept an eye on Buddy’s dad, who was now in his eighties, and sometimes even shopped for him.

“Tonight, maybe,” Buddy said. “Right now, I have to see a guy.”

Verna regarded him curiously. “About Rona Jean’s murder?”

“Well . . .” Buddy shifted into first gear and they started off. He was frowning, not sure how much he ought to say.

“That’s okay,” Verna said comfortingly. “It’s different, now that you’re sheriff and not just the boy next door.” She chuckled, then turned serious. “But there’s something you ought to know about Rona Jean, if you don’t already.”

“Oh yeah?” Buddy was remembering that Sheriff Burns had never liked it when Verna stuck her nose into one of his cases. That damn Tidwell woman again, he’d groan. A pain in the patootie. But he would add that he couldn’t very well tell her to butt out when she might know something he ought to know and didn’t, which she always seemed to do. Roy had even been forced to thank her once or twice. “Like what?” Buddy added cautiously.

“Well, Ophelia Snow and Liz Lacy and I were talking about her murder, and Liz said she saw Rona Jean with a CCC guy at the movie house in Monroeville a few weeks back. It was one of the nights they showed The Power and the Glory.” She chuckled. “Liz said the two of them were getting into some pretty powerful passion of their own.”

“Huh,” Buddy said. Mentally, he added Liz to his list of people to talk to, although if his calculations (and Rona Jean’s diary) were correct, the CCC guy wasn’t the father of Rona Jean’s baby. “Any idea who the guy was?”

“Liz said she thought he was an officer, but that’s about all she could say.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Buddy said. “Thanks for the tip.”

Casually, Verna said, “I suppose you’ve already talked to Rona Jean’s roommate. Bettina Higgens.”

“Yep. Did that first thing.” He gave Verna a crooked grin, wondering if Verna and her friends—didn’t all three of them belong to that garden club, the Dahlias?—did nothing all day but sit around and trade gossip. Too bad they couldn’t put all that time and energy and imagination to work solving real crimes.

“And that you’re making a list of the men Rona Jean was seeing.”

“Uh-huh.”