The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

by Susan Wittig Albert

  While Charlie and Miss Dare sat down at the table in front of the window, Lizzy went to the counter. “I hear that you and Violet have found a new cook already,” she said to Myra May. “What’s she serving today?”

  Myra May wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She looked frazzled. “I don’t know what we’ve got left back there, Liz, but I’m sure we can come up with something. Seems like everybody in town turned out to give Raylene—that’s our new cook—a trial run. Every table was full and all the counter stools, too.” She grinned. “For a while there, it was almost more than we could handle. It was wonderful.”

  “How’d your new cook do?” Lizzy asked, thinking of Donna Sue’s praise for the grits and sausage casserole she’d had for breakfast.

  “She’s a big hit. I think we’re all going to love her.” Myra May leaned forward. In a low whisper, she said, “Who’s that sexy dish with Charlie Dickens?”

  “Miss Lily Dare, the Texas Star,” Lizzy replied. “The fastest woman in the world.”

  “Some broad,” Myra May said, straightening up. “That fast, huh?”

  “You’d be amazed.” Lizzy grinned. “Bring a menu and come over to the table. Charlie will introduce her.”

  “I’m afraid we’re all out of everything on the menu. How about grilled cheese sandwiches with fried green tomatoes?” At the disappointed look on Lizzy’s face, she grinned. “Just kidding. I think Raylene has already started supper. Let me check and see what she has on the stove.”

  Lizzy went back to the table. A moment later, Myra May followed with three glasses of water on a tray. Charlie introduced her to Miss Dare. “Sorry we’re late,” he said. “I guess we missed out on the fried chicken, huh?”

  Myra May nodded briskly. “As I was telling Liz, the noon crowd pretty much picked us clean. We’re out of fried chicken and the meat loaf is gone, too. All we have is what Raylene is working on for tonight’s supper.” She grinned hospitably. “Or grilled cheese sandwiches with fried green tomatoes. If you want, I can whip those up in a jiffy.”

  Miss Dare shrugged one shoulder, looking displeased. “I don’t like fried green tomatoes. Or grilled cheese. I guess I’ll have whatever you’ve got for supper. I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll have whatever Miss Dare is getting,” Charlie said.

  “Me, too,” added Lizzy, who felt that she was hungry enough to eat almost anything, except grilled cheese.

  “Thanks for understanding,” Myra May said apologetically. “I saved back some lemon meringue pie. You can have that, no charge.” She turned away from the table and raised her voice. “Violet, we’ll have three pulled pork on buns out here, quick as you can.”

  “Pulled pork?” Charlie asked, both eyebrows going up. “You don’t mean—”

  “Yeah,” Myra May said. “Seems to be a specialty of our new cook. She stirred up some of that good white barbeque sauce, too—lots of pepper. You folks want that, I reckon.”

  Miss Dare let out her breath. Lizzy shook her head in disbelief.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Charlie said.

  The food was delicious, and they lingered over it. When they finally finished, Myra May brought the coffeepot and poured another cup of coffee for everyone. “I hope you enjoyed your food,” she said.

  “It was wonderful,” Lizzy said with a heartfelt sigh.

  “Just terrific,” Charlie said, leaning back in his chair with an expansive expression. “I predict that Euphoria will never be missed.”

  Miss Dare smiled up at Myra May. “You have a treasure of a cook,” she said. “I hope you appreciate her.”

  “You have no idea,” Myra May said fervently. “Would you like to meet her? She’s been so busy that she hasn’t had a chance to get out of the kitchen since she came in this morning. But I’m sure she’d like to hear what you think of her food.”

  A moment later, the diner’s new cook was standing beside their table and Myra May was introducing her. Raylene Riggs—that was her name—wore a gray print cotton dress and a large white apron. Quite attractive without being pretty, she had a decided mouth, dark brows, and graying auburn hair, cut short. Her eyes were fixed, with some surprise, on Miss Dare.

  “Lily! Lily Dare!” she exclaimed. “My goodness, this is a surprise!”

  “Raylene!” Miss Dare cried. “Why, I never in the world would have guessed I’d meet you here! What a coincidence! So it’s your pulled pork. It was so good—I should have guessed.”

  “You two know each other, it seems,” Charlie said.

  Miss Dare nodded, smiling. “Raylene—but I don’t think you were Riggs, then, were you? You went by the name—”

  “By my married name,” Raylene broke in quickly. “I’m using a . . . a different name now. Are you and Mr. Hart doing a show here?”

  “You haven’t seen the fliers and advertising?” Lizzy asked. “The Dare Devils will be performing at the Watermelon Festival this weekend. The whole town has been looking forward to it for months.”

  “Raylene has been staying over in Monroeville,” Myra May explained. “This is her first day on the job.”

  “And how do you two know one another, Lily?” Charlie asked curiously. “Texas? The West Coast?”

  “Florida.” Miss Dare smiled. “We met in Tampa, where Raylene was the chef at one of the local hotels. In fact, she’s the one who introduced me to pulled pork. When was that, Raylene? Two years ago? Three?”

  “About that,” Raylene said. To Charlie, she added, “My . . . husband was taking flying lessons from Mr. Hart, and I spent a lot of time at the airfield, watching. Miss Dare and I struck up an acquaintance. She used to tell me about her flying adventures—she’s led quite a life, it turns out. Once, we went to see a movie where she’d done some stunt flying, and she told me how the scenes were filmed. Why, she even took me up in her airplane.”

  Miss Dare laughed. “I was trying to entice you into taking flying lessons, too. You seemed like such a natural. And you knew a lot about airplanes, too. Even Mr. Hart said so.”

  “I knew about airplanes because of my husband,” Raylene replied. “Me, I’m a natural cook. The only wings I know anything about are chicken wings.”

  “Well, we’re glad you’re cooking here,” Lizzy said diplomatically. “And I’m sure that Myra May and Violet are thrilled.”

  “Oh, you bet,” Myra May said, with emphasis. Under her breath, she added, “Eat your heart out, Euphoria.” Lizzy laughed, glad to see that Myra May was feeling good again.

  But Charlie was wearing a puzzled look. “What I want to know,” he put in, “is how Miz Riggs knew that Miss Dare was asking about pulled pork before she knew it was on the menu here at the diner.”

  “She did?” Raylene’s dark eyebrows went up and her mouth quirked with amusement. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now, isn’t that just the funniest coincidence? It’s grand when it works out that way, isn’t it?”

  Lizzy blinked, remembering what Donna Sue had said about dreaming of her mother’s grits and sausage casserole and finding it at the diner for breakfast. She could imagine a coincidence like that once. But twice? Still, what else could it be?

  Charlie got up. “Excuse me, ladies. I saw the latest Mobile Register on the newspaper rack out front. I’m going to get a copy.” He stepped away from the table.

  Miss Dare leaned forward, frowning as if she had just thought of something. “Raylene, I’ll be here in Darling for a couple of days. I’d sure like it if we could get together. You know, catch up on what’s been going on. Could we maybe do that?”

  “That would be swell,” Raylene said. “I’m here at the diner during the day. I haven’t located a house yet, but Violet found me a little cottage at the Marigold Motor Court, out on the Monroeville Highway. I’m in Number Four. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and the price is right.”

  Miss Dare nodded. “S
ure. I saw that place when Charlie drove me into town this morning. I could give you a call and see if you’re there before I come out.”

  “There’s no phone,” Raylene replied. “But I’ll likely be there when I’m not here.” She smiled. “I’d better get back in that kitchen, or there won’t be any supper.” She turned and went back to the kitchen just as Charlie came back with the Register under his arm.

  Lizzy, Charlie, and Miss Dare were leaving the diner when they heard the roar of a motorcycle and Deputy Buddy Norris brought his Indian Ace to a stop at the curb. Behind him on the motorcycle was an athletic-looking girl, tanned and freckled, her brown hair cut in a boyish bob. She wore tight denim pants and a red short-sleeved shirt with the words Lily Dare’s Dare Devils in white printed on the back.

  “Oh, there you are, Lily!” she cried, jumping off the motorcycle. “Say, when I get a little more money, I’m going to buy one of these motorcycles for myself. It’s almost as much fun as flying!” She gave Buddy a comradely poke in the arm. “It was nice of Deputy Norris to give me a ride from the airfield. He really knows how to fly a motorcycle.”

  “Hello, Mabel,” Miss Dare said coolly. “So you and Rex got in okay? No problems with the plane?”

  “Mabel?” Buddy Norris glanced at the girl, obviously confused.

  “Why, didn’t she tell you her real name?” Miss Dare asked sweetly. “It’s Mabel. Mabel Hopkins.”

  Lizzy wondered if Mabel herself had chosen her exotic new name, and what it revealed about her personality. She also remembered what Miss Dare had said about Angel being an exhibitionist. Stood to reason—you’d have to want to show off if you were going to do what Angel did for a living.

  “Miss Dare?” Buddy asked in an awed tone. “Miss Dare?” He snatched off his goggles and helmet, pulled himself up to his full height, and introduced himself. His eyes, Lizzy noticed, were fixed on Miss Dare’s clinging red blouse. “I sure am glad to see you, Miss Dare,” he blurted. “On behalf of the Sheriff’s Department, let me welcome you to Darling. We are just plumb delighted to have you here. Plumb delighted.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Norris.” Miss Dare gave him an enticing smile. “It’s very sweet of you to say so.”

  Angel narrowed her eyes. “Come on, Deputy Norris. I’m hungry.”

  But Buddy acted like he didn’t hear her. “Oh, but it’s true,” he said, clutching his helmet in his hands. “Why, the fastest woman in the world, faster than Amelia Earhart, and she’s right here in Darling!”

  Lizzy had to smile. If there was anything on this earth that Buddy loved more than speed, she didn’t know what it was. He drove his motorcycle, as Grady put it admiringly, like a bat out of hell. No wonder he was dazzled by the Texas Star.

  “Tell you what, Deputy Norris.” Miss Dare reached into her pocket and pulled out a little white card. She wrote something on it and handed it to Buddy. “That’s a ticket for an airplane ride. Just give it to the ticket-taker and you’ll be the next guy to go up.” Her smile was dazzling. “The ride’s on me.”

  “Holy cow,” Buddy breathed. He looked up and his eyes met hers. “Golly, thanks! I mean . . . well, just holy cow!”

  Angel Flame poked Buddy again. This time, it wasn’t a comradely poke. “Deputy, I am going to get some lunch. I swear, I am hungry enough to eat a pig.” She opened the diner door to go in.

  “Oh, sure thing,” Buddy said, although he looked as if he was having a hard time tearing himself away from the divine Miss Dare. Reluctantly, still looking back over his shoulder, he turned to follow the girl.

  “Oh, Mabel,” Miss Dare called. “You be sure to tell them you want the grilled cheese sandwich and fried tomatoes.” She gave a teasing laugh. “Don’t let them talk you into ordering anything else. You hear?”

  That laugh, Lizzy thought with some surprise, held a malicious barb. Watching Lily Dare’s flirtatious little drama, she could understand what Angel Flame might have against the Texas Star, who had just upstaged her with Buddy Norris.

  But what did the Star have against the Flame?

  TWELVE

  The Trouble with Passion

  When they left the diner, Charlie drove Miss Dare and Lizzy to the Kilgores’ house. He made arrangements to take Miss Dare to supper and then to the special showing of Hell’s Angels and went back to the newspaper office. Miss Dare announced that since she was going out for the evening, she would take a bath and a long nap and would appreciate not being disturbed. She disappeared into her room—the yellow room at the top of the stairs. Lizzy and Mildred sat down in the kitchen over a cup of tea.

  Looking at Mildred, Lizzy thought that she had not slept for several nights. Her eyes were like dark holes in white paper. “Are you all right?” Lizzy asked, concerned.

  Mildred looked away. “She’s even more beautiful than her pictures, Liz,” she said bitterly, “and much more sexy. If I had known about her and Roger, I wouldn’t have planned the party. And I would never have invited her to stay under my roof!”

  Lizzy opened her mouth to say something, but Mildred was going on. She clenched her hand into a fist. “I could scarcely keep myself from telling her off, right there in front of Mr. Dickens! I don’t know how in the world I can stand it, having to be polite to her until she leaves. Just looking at her makes me want to throw up.”

  “You can do it, Mildred,” Lizzy said comfortingly. She reached across the table and patted her friend’s hand. “I know you can. Anyway, if you told her off, what would you say?”

  Mildred leaned forward. “What would I say?” Her face was suddenly twisted and ugly and her voice was full of disgust and revulsion. “I would scare her little lacy panties right off her, that’s what I would do. I would make her read that anonymous letter out loud, word by word. I would show her that photograph and those checks. I would threaten to drag her name through the mud if she didn’t stop foolin’ around with my husband. And if she gave me so much as one word of sassy backtalk, I would slap her, hard. Or maybe I’d take a fireplace poker to her.” Mildred’s eyes blazed with an almost volcanic anger. “That pretty face wouldn’t be so pretty when I got through with her.”

  Shocked, Lizzy sucked in her breath. “I . . . I really don’t think you would do that,” she said inadequately. Of all the women she knew, Mildred was the most self-contained, always behaving with the calm, unruffled decorum of a Southern lady who never acknowledged such a thing as a hard feeling. “Butter wouldn’t melt in Mildred’s mouth,” Aunt Hetty Little had once said. It had always been true—until now.

  Mildred held herself rigid for a moment, then slumped back in her chair, sighing like a deflating balloon, all the energy going out of her. After a moment she spoke in a low, shaky voice.

  “You’re right, Liz. Of course I wouldn’t. My mother taught me never to cause a ruckus, never. She would be horrified if she knew what I just said. I take it all back, every word.” She leaned forward again and put her cold hand over Lizzy’s. “Please,” she said urgently. “Forget what I said. Just forget it.”

  Lizzy was stunned into silence. Mildred might want to take back her words, but she had said them with a ferocity that made them difficult to forget. And saying a thing and doing it were not all that far apart. If Mildred felt that her marriage and her home and the family business were all in jeopardy, wouldn’t she actually do what she had just said? Lizzy shivered. She didn’t like to feel that her friend would resort to violence, but she had to admit the possibility.

  The silence dragged out until at last Lizzy disengaged her hand. She heard herself say, “Well, it probably wouldn’t do any good to threaten Miss Dare, Mildred. Judging from what I heard her tell Charlie Dickens earlier today, I don’t think you can frighten her into doing something—or into not doing something. She is scare-proof.”

  And that, Lizzy told herself, is what made Miss Dare such a dangerous person. She did exactly what she chose, without regard f
or anyone else—or for the consequences. It was no wonder that Mildred was angry, after what she had learned. How many other people were just as angry as Mildred, or even angrier? And even more eager to translate their anger into action? Miss Dare was playing with fire.

  Mildred picked up her teacup with a sigh. “I’m sure you’re right, Liz. It wouldn’t do one single ounce of good.” She paused, pushing her mouth into a smile and trying to speak in something resembling her normal voice. “Well, then. Do you know what the plans are for the evening? I’m wondering about supper.”

  Lizzy tried to match her tone. “Charlie Dickens is taking Miss Dare to supper and to the special showing of Hell’s Angels at the Palace. That seems to be the plan, anyway. While everybody’s out for the evening, I need to go to my house and pack a suitcase. Verna and I will come back here later and stay the night. But this afternoon, while Miss Dare is sleeping, I have to make some phone calls about the festival. May I use your phone to do that?”

  “Verna?” Mildred asked.

  “I hope that’s okay,” Lizzy said tentatively. “If it isn’t, I can cancel. I just thought that two of us might be better than—”

  “Of course.” Mildred got up. “I’m glad that Mr. Dickens thought of suggesting that you do this, and that Verna will be here, too. That woman has already caused enough trouble. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her while she is a guest in my house.” She took their tea cups to the sink and rinsed them. “I have some work to do in the garden. Help yourself to the telephone.”

  Lizzy spent the next hour on the telephone, checking up on the arrangements for the weekend festival and making sure that everything was going according to plan. The carnival was due to arrive that evening to start setting up at the fairgrounds. Verna reported that the tents hadn’t gone all the way to Indianapolis after all. They had been spotted at Montgomery, put on the next southbound freight, and arrived safely at the depot. The Masons had already picked them up—so that was one problem solved. And Aunt Hetty reported that the watermelon roundup was going even better than expected. “We’re not going to run out this year,” she said triumphantly. “Now, if all the Dahlias will just show up to do the picking for the farmers market booth, we’ll be in great shape.”