The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Buddy understood why Rona Jean had found Beau attractive, even though at eighteen, he was four years or so younger than she had been. He was dressed in a blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and smart-looking leather boots, and the chain he twirled around his finger was most likely gold, Buddy had to allow. Beau worked his brother Bodeen’s still out by Briar’s Swamp. After Mickey LeDoux was arrested and sent to prison, Bodeen’s moonshine was all there was in Cypress County, so if you wanted tiger spit these days, it was the Pyles’ tiger spit you got. The Pyle brothers made no secret of the fact that they had plenty of money to spend, witness Beau’s late-model Ford coupe parked in front of the house, fenderless and stripped down for the speed he needed to outrun the Revenuers.

Limping, the hound dog climbed the porch steps, dropped down heavily in front of the screen door, and began to lick his sore paw. Buddy fished a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and leaned against the other porch post. “So you’ve heard about Rona Jean.”

“Yeah. Bodeen was over at the diner for breakfast and heard tell of it.”

Buddy regarded him mildly. “News to you, was it?”

“Well, sure.” He looked offended. “O’ course it was news to me. What’d you think—that I did it?”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Buddy admitted. “When did she tell you she was pregnant?”

The question was an obvious surprise. Beau stared at him, dark eyes glittering. “How’d you—” He bit it off, reining himself in. “She never,” he said sullenly.

Buddy chuckled. “What? You were hopin’ it was some kinda secret?” He flicked the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You think you’re the only one?”

The boy’s head came up and his voice hardened in an ugly line. “Well, yeah, there was you.”

Buddy shrugged it off. “Maybe. But she didn’t tell me she was havin’ my baby. When did she tell you that?”

Beau turned his head away, muscles tightening in his neck, lips pressed hard together.

“Don’t jack me around, Beau,” Buddy said, letting the impatience show in his voice. “We’re talking murder here. And the girl kept a diary—with your name in it.”

“I had nothin’ to do with no murder,” Beau flared angrily. He pulled on his cigarette.

Buddy made his voice soft. “Seems to me you’re a pretty good candidate. Man gets a woman pregnant, doesn’t want to be bothered with the baby or with her. Gets tired of being hounded for money, gets mad and puts an end to—”

“It wasn’t like that,” Beau growled, his face working. “That’s not how it was.”

“How was it?”

“She told me she was pregnant but—”

“When?”

“When?” He scowled, thinking. “End of April, maybe,” he hazarded. “It was a while back. Wanted me to give her money to get rid of it. I told her she could get lost. She wasn’t goin’ to get a nickel out of me. How was I to know it was mine? Like you say, there was others.” His voice was hard-edged, almost savage. If he’d used it on Rona Jean, Buddy thought, he’d likely scared the starch out of her. And maybe he’d used more than his voice. Maybe he’d used the back of his hand.

“What happened after that?” Buddy asked.

Beau flicked the cigarette, sending it arcing into the dirt of the yard. “A week or so later, I saw her out at the Roller Palace and she told me it was all a mistake. She wasn’t, after all. Or so she said.” He grunted. “Women. You never can tell whether they’re tellin’ you straight or tryin’ to pull a fast one.”

“Yeah.” Buddy wondered if Rona Jean had decided that trying to get money out of Beau was too dangerous. “Did you go out with her after that?” There was no mention of it in the diary, but maybe Rona Jean hadn’t kept an accurate record.

“You kiddin’?” Beau laughed shortly. “I ain’t goin’ out with no woman who thinks she can shake me down.”

But something about the way he said it made Buddy think that it might just as easily have happened the other way: that Rona Jean, maybe frightened for her safety, had decided she didn’t want to see Beau again. How would a kid with a tinderbox temper take a rejection like that? Would he have blown his stack? Lost control and throttled her?