The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“They were, so far as we know,” Violet said. “But Rona Jean wasn’t . . .” She shrugged. “Well, she wasn’t always very careful with the truth. It wasn’t that she lied, exactly,” she added hastily. “It was . . . well, she mixed up what she wanted to happen with what was actually happening, if that makes any sense. She sometimes convinced herself, and then she wasn’t lying—to her way of thinking, anyway.”


Buddy nodded, understanding. He had met other people who operated that way. But that still didn’t explain where the money came from. He put down his fork and opened his notebook. “She wrote in her diary that if she went through with it—the pregnancy, I guess—that Violet would give her the money to pay her bills, before and after.” He glanced back up at Violet. “Is that right?”

“Not quite.” Violet shook her head. “I mean, we talked about doing it that way, but—”

“But we decided against it,” Myra May interrupted. “We paid Dr. DuBois, the doctor she saw over in Monroeville. And we were planning to pay the hospital for her expenses. But we didn’t want to give her the money, because we weren’t sure . . .”

“Because Myra May wasn’t sure,” Violet said pointedly, “that she would actually use it to pay the bills.”

“You agreed,” Myra May said, frowning.

“I let you talk me into it,” Violet retorted. “But I still think we should have trusted her.”

Myra May rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re such a sweet and softhearted person, Violet. If we had given Rona Jean the money, she would have left town and we’d never have seen her again.”

“That’s what you say,” Violet replied. “I don’t agree.”

“I found a hundred and forty dollars in her room,” Buddy said, breaking into the argument. “Do you have any idea where it came from?”

“A hundred and forty dollars!” Violet blinked, startled. “Gosh. That’s a lot of money! Where did it come from?”

Myra May frowned at Violet. “You didn’t—”

“I did not,” Violet replied hotly. “Where in the world would I get a hundred and forty dollars without you knowing about it? Out of the cash register downstairs?” She crossed her arms. “I don’t think so.”

Myra May’s frown deepened. “Well, then, where did she get it?”

“From another . . . boyfriend?” Buddy flipped a page in his notebook. “I copied down a couple of names from her diary. Do they mean anything to you? Jack Baker and Ray—no last name.”

“She mentioned Jack Baker,” Violet said. “She met him at the Roller Palace. She said she thought he was cute. And funny.”

“Is he from the CCC camp?” Buddy asked.

“I don’t think so,” Violet said. “From somewhere close by, though. Thomasville, maybe? He might work at the sawmill.”

“What about . . .” He looked down at his notes. “What about Ray?”

“Ray was at the camp,” Myra May said. “I caught her talking to him one afternoon when she was on the switchboard. I had to remind her that the operators aren’t supposed to be using the phone to do personal business when they’re working.” She frowned. “It didn’t sound like they were making a date, though. It sounded more like a . . . well, an argument. At least on her end. I couldn’t hear him.”

Buddy circled Ray and wrote argument. “Any idea of his last name?”

Both women shook their heads.

He went back to his notebook. “How about B.P.?” He thought that might be Bodeen Pyle, but they were looking blank.

“I’m still trying to figure out how Rona Jean got that much money.” Myra May pulled a saucer toward her and used it for an ashtray. “She was working for us, of course, and we pay our Exchange operators a decent wage—more than they get most places here in Darling. But there’s no way she could have saved that much out of her salary. Somebody must have given it to her. But who? And why?”