All Lizzy could do was stare at the closed door. Grady had occasionally displayed spurts of jealousy, but never anything like this volcanic eruption. Seeing his reaction, she began to feel guilty. She hadn’t really wanted to make him jealous—had she?
“Well, if you ask me, Mr. Grady Alexander got just what he deserved,” Mildred remarked tartly. “The two of you aren’t engaged, at least not so far as I’ve heard. He should never have assumed.” She frowned. “But what about Mr. Moseley? He asked you—why aren’t you coming with him?”
“Because,” Lizzy said. Last week, when Mr. Moseley got back from helping to put Governor Roosevelt at the top of the Democratic ticket, he had told her that he had to break their date. He’d been called to Montgomery on a case that was being heard in state court there and would have to stay the whole weekend. “I’ll call Roger and tell him I won’t be there.
“I am so very sorry, Liz,” he said penitently. “I was looking forward to it. I’ll think of a way to make it up to you. Maybe we could go to—”
“Oh, don’t, please,” Lizzy had replied. “It’s all right, Mr. Moseley. I don’t mind one bit. I know there are things you have to do.”
And while she couldn’t help feeling disappointed, it really was all right. Going out with Mr. Moseley might have been a memorable experience, but it wasn’t the best idea in the world.
“Not the best idea in the world is right,” Mildred said flatly. “What would you do if Mr. Moseley wanted to kiss you? One thing leads to another, you know.” Her voice took on an oddly bitter edge. “It could be dangerous, Liz. There’s no telling where it would end. In a scandal, probably.”
Lizzy stared at her in some surprise, thinking that in all the years she had known Mildred Kilgore, she had never heard her friend use such a darkly judgmental tone. Mildred made it sound as if going to a party with Mr. Moseley meant that they would end up in bed together—and Lizzy knew that was definitely not going to happen. A little harmless flirting was one thing, especially if it made Grady appreciate her a little more. Sex was quite another. She was saving herself for marriage—or trying to, anyway, although that was sometimes a challenge, especially because Grady wasn’t very cooperative. She opened her mouth to correct this wrong impression, but Mildred was going on.
“I’m sorry you have to come to the party alone, Liz. If I could think of somebody to fix you up with, I would. But we’re a little short of single men these days.” She paused, raising one eyebrow. “Or maybe you should let Grady know that you’re available again.”
“I don’t think so,” Lizzy said, remembering the way Grady’s mouth had twisted like a knotted rope and how hard he had slammed the door. That had been several days ago and she hadn’t heard a word from him since. He was sulking.
“Anyhow,” she added, “a date might get in the way.”
“In the way of what?” Mildred asked.
Lizzy put down her glass. It was time to spell out the reason for her visit. “Charlie Dickens had a call from Miss Dare this afternoon.”
“Oh, that woman.” There was no mistaking it this time. Mildred sounded as if she found the two words as distasteful as spoiled sauerkraut. “What did she want?”
Now Lizzy really was puzzled. Something was going on here—something involving Miss Dare. But what it was, she had no idea. So she only said, “It looks like we might have a bit of a problem, Mildred.”
Then, for the next few minutes, she gave Mildred a thoroughly edited version of what Charlie had told her, omitting any mention of a personal relationship between the editor of the Dispatch and the Texas Star—or between the Texas Star and anybody else. And especially not Roger Kilgore.
Mildred was staring at her, eyes narrowed, an unreadable expression on her face. “Lily Dare’s airplane was sabotaged?” she said. “Does that mean that somebody tried to kill her?”
The question stopped Lizzy. She had thought of the sabotage merely as a way of causing trouble for the flying circus, a nuisance kind of thing, nothing else. She hadn’t thought of it as an attempt on Lily Dare’s life. But now that Mildred raised the question—
She shivered. “Gosh, Mildred, I just don’t know. I guess if somebody was tampering with her plane, she could have been killed. And Charlie says he thinks she’s scared. He believes that she might be in danger—while she’s here, I mean. That’s why he asked me to help.”
“In danger.” Mildred’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I have to say I’m not surprised. If that woman is in the habit of behaving the way she did at the Lions Club convention in San Antonio, she probably has quite a few enemies following her around. I—”
She stopped, pressing her lips together, as if she had said more than she meant to say.
San Antonio, Lizzy thought. That was where Roger had first met Miss Dare, wasn’t it? All of a sudden, everything clicked into place. Mildred (who wasn’t the prettiest peach on the tree) was jealous of Lily Dare (who was). And while Lizzy didn’t like to think about it, Mildred’s worries might well be justified. She remembered Grady’s report of the gossip at Bob’s Barbershop. And Charlie Dickens’ remark that a little thing like a wedding ring wouldn’t stop the Texas Star from fooling around if she wanted to. Miss Dare might have been tempted with Roger Kilgore in the same way that (according to Charlie) she had been tempted with Douglas Fairbanks.
Lizzy felt as if she had just stepped into a tangle of poisonous snakes, but of course this was all conjecture, and (as Mr. Moseley liked to say) an ounce of facts always outweighed a ton of speculation. She took a deep breath and hurried on.
“Charlie says he’s going to hang around the airfield over the weekend. He’s worried that there might be another attempt at sabotage. But he knew that you’ve invited Miss Dare to be your guest, so he thought—”
She paused, uncomfortably aware that she had gotten to the tricky part. “He suggested that I might try to keep an eye on things here—at your house, I mean. In case somebody tried something.”
“Tried something?” Mildred asked, frowning.
“Tried to . . . oh, I don’t know. Cause trouble, I suppose.” Lizzy took a breath. “I told him I was planning to be here just for the party. But as I was riding over just now, it occurred to me that maybe there might be another possibility. Of course, it’s just an idea, and maybe you won’t like it, but—”
“What did you have in mind?” Mildred asked, cutting Lizzy short.
Feeling awkward, Lizzy cleared her throat. “Well, I thought maybe I could sleep over on Friday and Saturday nights. If you have room, that is,” she added hastily. “I don’t want to impose or upset any of your plans. And I certainly don’t want to invite myself as a houseguest if I’m not—”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mildred interrupted brusquely. “Of course you wouldn’t be imposing, Liz. Actually, I think it’s a good idea. I certainly wouldn’t want any trouble while she’s here.”
She paused, tapping her manicured fingernail on the arm of her chaise longue. “Yes, I’m sure we can manage. I’m putting Miss Dare”—she said the two words with a distinct distaste—“in the yellow room at the top of the stairs. I was planning to put Miss Flame in the pink room, adjacent to Miss Dare’s, with a connecting door. But you could sleep in the pink room and Miss Flame could have the blue room across the hall. I understand that Mr. Hart will be staying at the airfield.”
“That would be perfect,” Lizzy said, relieved. “I’ll let Charlie know. Thank you.” She was a little surprised that Mildred was so willing to let her stay—it was, after all, an unusual request. But perhaps her friend had her own personal reasons for being so accommodating. If she was really jealous of Roger and didn’t want him to spend time alone with Miss Dare over the weekend, she might welcome the idea that Lizzy was sleeping in the next room.
“Please don’t thank me,” Mildred said in a dry, ironic tone. “I certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to Miss
Dare while she was under my roof. She’s such a celebrity.” She leaned forward, speaking more seriously. “That sabotage business—you don’t really think there’s any real threat, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Lizzy confessed. “I don’t know any of the details, although Charlie did say that Miss Dare was afraid.” She smiled slightly. “He made it sound rather melodramatic.”
“Miss Dare is a melodramatic woman,” Mildred replied.
“You’ve met her, then?” Lizzy asked curiously.
“No,” Mildred said darkly, “but I—” She seemed on the verge of saying more, then stopped and waved her hand. “That’s . . . that’s just my impression. And it’s entirely possible that she’s making up that business about the sabotage, you know. It could be her way of getting attention. And guaranteeing publicity, of course. She seems to be quite adept at that.”
“I suppose you could be right,” Lizzy admitted. “But Charlie Dickens isn’t the sort of man who would be taken in by somebody’s melodrama.”
Not to mention, she thought to herself, that he seems to know Lily Dare pretty well. If anybody would suspect her motives, Charlie the Skeptic would be the one. She frowned. On the other hand, maybe not. The two of them had obviously been close at one point. Maybe that made it more likely he would be taken in. Oh, why did people have to be so complicated!
Mildred put her lemonade glass on the table and lowered her voice. “Now that we’re talking about this, I have something to ask you, Liz, as a friend. But I need you to keep it confidential. Very confidential.”
“Of course,” Lizzy said.
Mildred looked over her shoulder as if she thought that one of the servants might be listening. She spoke in a half-whisper that Lizzy had to strain to hear. “Did Mr. Dickens happen to mention . . . my husband? In connection with Miss Dare, that is.”
“Mention Roger?” Suspicions confirmed, Lizzy spoke hesitantly. “Well, he said that Roger could take the credit for bringing her here—something like that.” It was true. Everything else was her own conjecture. “Why?”
“Oh, no special reason,” Mildred replied hurriedly. Then she bit her lip and looked away, and Lizzy saw from her face how desperately unhappy and troubled she was. “Actually, there is a reason, Liz. I wouldn’t have said anything, but . . . Well, the truth is that I received a terribly disturbing letter, full of the most awful kind of accusations. Not that I believe a single word of it, of course, but—”
Her glance went to the book beside her on the chaise longue, and Lizzy understood. She had been reading that letter when Lizzy arrived. No wonder she was nervous and on edge. Poor Mildred. Something like that could be poisonous.
“I am so sorry, Mildred,” Lizzy said, very honestly. “The accusations—they’re about Roger and Miss Dare?”
“How did you know?” Mildred’s brown eyes flooded with tears but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes. The letter claims that they have been seen together. Not here in Darling, of course. But elsewhere. In different places.”
“Who wrote the letter?” Lizzy asked.
“It wasn’t signed.” Mildred wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “The envelope was postmarked in Atlanta, but there was no return address. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t believe anything that somebody put in an anonymous letter, but . . .”
“But what?” Lizzy prompted gently.
“But whoever wrote it knew that Roger was in Orlando on a business trip a couple of months ago, and in Baton Rouge the month before that. He—or she, the handwriting looked like a woman’s—said that Lily Dare was in both cities, too. At the same time.” She bit off the words as if they tasted bitter. “At the same hotel.”
“Oh, dear,” Lizzy said. Instinctively, she reached out and took Mildred’s hand. The fingers felt cold and fragile, and Lizzy could feel them trembling.
Mildred took a deep breath. “So even after I got the first letter a couple of weeks ago, I just laughed it off. I tried to deny it, you see. I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t believe that Roger would do such an underhanded thing.”
“The first letter?” So there had been two. “What did it say?”
“I can’t remember exactly.” Mildred lowered her head. “I . . . I burned it. I thought it was all a pack of lies.”
Lizzy couldn’t help thinking that it hadn’t been a good idea to burn the letter, but it wouldn’t do any good to say so. “You changed your mind, though?” she asked tentatively. “You think it’s true?”
“I know it’s true,” Mildred said bleakly. “This time, the person who wrote it sent a photograph.” She picked up the book, opened it, and took out the letter that Lizzy had seen her slip between the pages. A photograph spilled out, and she handed it to Lizzy. “Here. You can see for yourself how beautiful she is. And sexy.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, explosively. “God, how I hate that woman. And to think that she’ll be sleeping under my roof this weekend!”
The photograph showed a man and a woman seated together at a table in what looked like an outdoor café. It was clear that they were more than just friends: they were holding hands and their heads were close together. All Lizzy could see was their profiles, but she recognized Roger Kilgore’s dark hair and strong, regular features. She recognized the woman, too, from the publicity photos that had appeared in the Darling Dispatch. She was stylish, slender, and generously endowed. She was sexy. She was Lily Dare.
Lizzy handed it back. “I am so sorry,” she said again. “This must be terribly difficult for you. Have you . . . have you spoken to Roger about it?”
“No,” Mildred said miserably. “I can’t. I’m afraid if I do, it might bring everything crashing down. I love him, Lizzy. I love him desperately, and I don’t want to lose him. When you came, I was sitting here hoping that I could think of a way to make him see how she’s using him.”
“Using him?” Lizzy asked.
“Well, of course! That’s what the letter says, anyway. Here. Read it for yourself.” She thrust the letter into Lizzy’s reluctant hands.
The letter was written in a distinctive back-slanting hand, in purple ink on a dusty-pink paper. It was not dated.
Dear Mrs. Kilgore,
I’m sorry to write you again, but I think you should know that your husband is still seeing Miss Dare. This picture was taken in New Orleans and it proves what I’m saying. It would be one thing if she loved him from the heart, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t love any of the men who think she does and who give her money to support her expensive habits. They’re just saps and suckers that she uses, then throws away when she’s done, like a piece of trash. Like Pete Rickerts, who crashed his airplane because he was so crazy in love with her. She is a terrible person who goes around destroying marriages, tricking men into giving her money, and making a mess out of innocent people’s lives. She must be stopped. If you love your husband, you’ll do whatever it takes to protect him from her. And do it before she wrecks his life—and yours and your little girl’s.
With all best wishes,
Your Friend
Lizzy went back and reread the sentence about Pete Rickerts, remembering that he was the pilot who had died on Miss Dare’s ranch. Had he been one of Miss Dare’s lovers? Had he crashed his plane on purpose?
She felt the skin prickling between her shoulder blades. “She must be stopped.” Stopped how? Who’s going to stop her?
She folded the letter and handed it back. “What . . . what do you think it means, Mildred?”
Mildred didn’t answer Lizzy’s question. She put the letter back in her book, her mouth hardening. After a moment, she said, “Obviously, the woman has no soul. She has made a mess out of many lives. The lives of many innocent children, like my little Melody.”
By this time, Lizzy could hardly think of anything to say. Her conjectures had been redeemed by the facts, as Mr. Moseley would say, but she felt no sati
sfaction. She managed, “But maybe it’s not as bad as you think, Mildred. Maybe—”
But Mildred wasn’t listening. “I’m sure Roger believes that he is very special to her. But he is obviously just the next man in a long line of . . . of suckers.” Mildred’s words were like acid. “He must be in love with her—or think he is—or he wouldn’t be behaving the way he is. I can’t tell him that she’s using him to get whatever she wants—love, admiration, money—”
“Money?” Lizzy asked sharply. “You mean, there’s money involved?”
“Is there ever,” Mildred said, with a bitter little laugh. “The first letter claimed that Roger was writing checks to her out of his business accounts, using the name Lily A. Star.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “Lily Dare, the Texas Star. If she was trying to hide what she was doing, she didn’t try very hard. Even a dummy could get that one.”
Lizzy frowned, wondering how the letter writer knew about the checks. It had to be someone close enough to Miss Dare to know where her money was coming from. But maybe—
“That’s an easy claim to make,” Lizzy said, and asked the question she knew Mr. Moseley would ask in this circumstance. “Is there any evidence? Do you know whether it’s true?”
Mildred pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. “Yes,” she said, lowering her head. “I waited until he was out of the office one day and went through the ledger. In the last six months, he wrote three checks to Lily A. Star, for a total of nine hundred dollars. I have the canceled checks.”
Lizzy flinched. Nine hundred dollars was a lot of money, especially these days. And Mildred had known this for a while. No wonder she had been looking wan and worried.
Mildred’s voice was choked but the words came out in an explosive rush, as if they had been bottled up for too long and the speaker felt a terrible pressure, a push to get them out in the open air, once and for all.
“The dealership is in a terrible situation these days, Liz. Nobody’s got the money to buy anything, and months go past when not a single cent comes in—not even the money that’s owed on time payments, thousands and thousands of dollars. Roger has had to lay off poor Freddie Mann in the repair department and Duffy Peters from sales, and both of them with wives and children at home. I helped Roger get that dealership started with the money I inherited from Daddy, and I’ve been using it to support this house and the hired help. But if things keep up as they are, there’ll soon be nothing left of Daddy’s money, and what we’ll do when it’s gone, I have no idea. Just no idea!”
The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star Page 9
