The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

But according to the addresses, these people, eighteen of them, lived in Cypress County. Who were they? Why weren’t they on her list? Had she somehow missed that many names? If she had, when Sergeant Webb got around to noticing what a mess she had made of the task, he’d be furious. She had better do something about it, like maybe retype her list and add his names. And the sooner she did that, the better—before he found out. She would take both lists home with her, and bring them both back on Monday morning. The risk would be no greater for one than for two, she told herself. Or as her grandmother used to say, You might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

But she had collected what she came for and it was time to get out. She replaced the file, closed and locked the drawer, and replaced the key, then went back into her own office, shutting the sergeant’s door behind her. At her desk, she slipped the two lists into her large handbag. And just in the nick of time. She heard a heavy step in the hall and the rattle of a key in the lock, and the door opened. Ophelia turned, sucking in her breath and feeling her stomach lurch. But the figure was a familiar one.

“Raymond!” she gasped. “Gosh, I’m glad it’s you! You scared the living bejeebers out of me!”

Corporal Andrews laughed. “Who did you think it was? King Kong come to carry you away?”

A man of thirty-five, maybe forty, he was out of uniform and dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt the same pale blue as his eyes, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Ophelia thought again how good-looking he was. He turned on the light.

“I must say, you’re a bit of a surprise, too, Ophelia. What are you doing here in the dark? Getting in some overtime?”

Ophelia picked up the thin sheaf of papers from her desk. “A little job I didn’t quite finish yesterday,” she said glibly, waving the papers. “My daughter and I were shopping in Monroeville this afternoon, and I wanted to show her the camp. While we were here, I thought of the job and just popped in to pick it up.” She grinned—disarmingly, she hoped—and made a show of putting the papers into her handbag. “I’ve been in Sergeant Webb’s doghouse so often the past week or two, I figured I’d try to burnish my image by having this stuff on his desk when he comes in on Monday morning. Maybe even get a little raise.”

To her great relief, Corporal Andrews didn’t question her excuse. He chuckled wryly. “I don’t know about a raise, but if you find the key to that man’s heart, I hope you’ll let me know what it is. I’m in his doghouse as much as you are, maybe more. You can type and I can’t, you know. My image could sure use a little burnishing.”

Ophelia laughed a little. “Well, don’t say I haven’t tried to teach you.”

It was true. The sergeant could type, and often prepared his own reports. He had told the corporal to learn to type. It hadn’t quite been an order, but almost, and both Corporal Andrews and Ophelia had made a good-faith effort. But the corporal seemed to be all thumbs. He just couldn’t get the hang of the typewriter. The best he could do was hunt-and-peck, and even that was full of errors, which didn’t please the sergeant, either. They had both finally given it up as a bad job.

“You gave it your all,” the corporal said, “and I’m grateful. I guess I was just never meant to type.” He gave her a curious look. “That pretty girl I saw out there in the car—you’re not going to tell me you’re her mother?”

Ophelia nodded proudly. “That’s my Sarah.”

Andrews shook his head. “I am amazed,” he said with an admiring look. “Honest to Pete, Ophelia. You can’t possibly be old enough to have a teenaged daughter!”

“You’re sweet.” Ophelia laughed lightly. “Actually, I’m glad to hear that she followed my orders and stayed in the car with her Nancy Drew mystery. She made noises about wanting to walk over and watch the baseball game, which I strictly forbade.”

“Smart mama,” Andrews said approvingly. “A pretty girl like that—those boys would lose their heads.” He went to his desk. “Well, I won’t keep you. Hope you and Sarah have a great afternoon.”

“You, too, Raymond,” Ophelia said. As she went back down the hall, she couldn’t help remembering what he had said—You can’t possibly be old enough to have a teenaged daughter!—and feeling a small, warm glow deep down inside. She loved her husband very much, even if he was a bit old-fashioned. But she had to admit that it was nice to be admired, especially by such a good-looking man as Corporal Andrews. Even if he was involved with Lucy Murphy.





FIFTEEN