The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Pine Mill Creek lay at the bottom of a wooded, steep-sided ravine, some thirty feet deep. The muddy waters had run high during the April rains, and the worst of the floods, laden with downed trees and other debris, had taken out the wooden pilings that supported the rickety wooden bridge. There wasn’t enough money to replace it with a modern structure, and the county commissioners hadn’t yet figured out what to do. In the meantime, the local residents were driving ten miles out of their way to cross the creek farther from town, and the county had put a couple of yellow-painted sawhorses across the road, with a sign that said BRIDGE OUT.

  Now one sawhorse had been shoved aside and the other was splintered, where the Pontiac had smashed through the barricade. Sheriff Burns met them, a big wad of tobacco tucked in one cheek. His Model A was parked across the road, and Buddy Norris, his arm in a sling, was at the bottom of the ravine, with a young man dressed in overalls. The two of them were conducting a search around the wrecked car, which lay, wheels up, twenty feet down, at the edge of the running water. It had somersaulted at least once before it landed, and pieces of automobile wreckage—a bumper, a fender, a wheel, a headlamp—were scattered across the hillside. Carrying Liz’s Kodak, Charlie started down the bank.

  The sheriff looked at Lizzy and his eyebrows went up.

  “Miss Lacy thinks she might know the dead woman, Roy,” Grady said in an even tone. “Okay if she goes down and takes a look?”

  The sheriff grunted and spit a string of tobacco juice. It splatted into the dirt. “Not a pleasant sight, Miz Lacy. That gal down there is tore up purty bad. Squashed flat when the car landed on her.”

  “I want to do it,” Liz insisted.

  The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Think you can handle it?”

  Now that she was here, Lizzy wasn’t so sure. But she nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “All right, then.” He looked at her shoes. “Not goin’ to be an easy climb down an’ back, neither.”

  Lizzy pulled herself up. “I can do it.”

  The sheriff twisted his mouth skeptically, but his desire to get the victim identified won out. “Well, then, let’s get on with it”

  It wasn’t an easy climb. It had rained the previous afternoon, and the clay hillside was wet and slick. Lizzy’s feet and legs were muddy by the time she reached the car, and she was out of breath and a little dizzy. Even dizzier when she saw what was lying under the car.

  The dead woman wore a lipstick-red silky rayon dress. Her peroxided head was turned away from them, dried blood crusting her pretty blond hair. One braceleted arm was flung out, red-enameled nails clawing at the ground as if to seize the last glimmering instant of life as it slipped away from her. The bracelet was made of geometric silver-plated links, with rhinestones.

  “Well?” the sheriff demanded. “Know who it is?”

  “Bunny Scott,” Lizzy said numbly. Her lips were cold and she began to shiver. “Eva Louise Scott. She works at Lester Lima’s drugstore, in cosmetics. We eat lunch together most days.” Grady’s arm went around her, and she leaned gratefully against him.

  Charlie went around the Pontiac to snap a photograph. The sheriff took out a notebook and a pencil and wrote down Bunny’s full name, spelling it aloud. “E-v-a L-o-u-i-s-e Scott. Not married?”

  “No. Not married.”

  “Any near kin around here?”

  “Her mother’s dead. Mrs. Bledsoe is her cousin, I believe. Bunny lives—lived—at Mrs. Brewster’s boardinghouse.” The sheriff licked the tip of his pencil and wrote this down.

  “Is that her car, Lizzy?” Grady asked softly.

  “She doesn’t have a car,” Lizzy said. “I didn’t even know she could drive.”

  “Oh, she c’d drive, all right,” the sheriff said, with what sounded like satisfaction. He spit tobacco juice. “That there car is stolen. Reported stolen late Satiddy night”

  “Stolen!” Lizzy exclaimed, and pulled away from the shelter of Grady’s encircling arm. “But Bunny wouldn’t—I know she wouldn’t, Sheriff. She’s young and a little flighty but she’s a good girl. She wouldn’t steal a car!”

  “Well, she did,” the sheriff said. “The fella she took it from telephoned it in. Said he saw her take it” He shifted his chew from one side to the other. “Well, not her by name nor nothin’. Somebody fittin’ her description.” He flipped a couple of pages in his notebook and read, squinting. “Short blond hair, red dress. In her twenties, staggerin’ a little, like maybe she was drunk. She was with some man. No description on him.”

  “But Bunny didn’t drink,” Lizzy objected. “She might’ve been a little wild, but—”

  The sheriff cleared his throat loudly. “Like I say, she was drunk. You just bend down and take a look under that car, and you’ll see a bottle of moonshine whiskey, broke, lyin’ right up next to her. Buddy found another, just up the hill.” He raised his voice. “Buddy, show Miz Lacy that empty bottle you found.”

  Buddy Norris held up the bottle.

  The sheriff went on. “Figger her’n the man took the car, maybe just meanin’ to go on a little joy ride, out to the Waterin’ Hole, maybe, then put it back. But they was liquored up enough so that they just kep’ on drivin’. Drove right through that there barrier.”

  “Where’s the man?” Grady asked.

  “Figger he jumped outta the car a-fore it went over,” the sheriff said. “Still on the loose.”

  “I still don’t believe it,” Lizzy insisted. “Not Bunny.”

  The sheriff closed his notebook and pocketed it. “’ Scuse me, Miz Lacy, but we’re lookin’ at the ev-i-dence right here in front of us. ‘Course, I reckon you could say the fella who had the car was careless, leavin’ the key in the ignition the way he did. But this is Darlin’, after all. Folks don’t steal cars in Darlin’. Much less a girl.”

  “Well, I guess this’un did,” Buddy Norris said, coming around the car.

  “She didn’t!” Lizzy protested. “Sheriff—”

  The sheriff turned his back on her. “Buddy, is that the doc’s car I’m hearin’ up there on the road? You climb up the hill and see if he needs any he’p gettin’ down here. Meantime, Grady and Charlie, whyn’t you boys give me a hand in gettin’ this car off the body so Doc Roberts can have a look-see. With that broke arm of his, Buddy is worthless as tits on a boar hog.”

  It was no good protesting. Lizzy turned away from the men and scrambled up the hill, unaided, trying not to think of the mangled body under the car. She didn’t look back. A little later, Grady joined her in the Ford, accompanied by the young man in overalls, who climbed into the rumble seat. They dropped him off at the Jackson place, then drove back into town together, still not speaking. Lizzy sat, hunched and miserable, against the passenger door.

  They were just coming to town when she said, “I need to go to Verna Tidwell’s house, Grady. The corner of Larkspur and Robert E. Lee.”

  He gave her a concerned look. “That’s pretty far from your place, isn’t it? Four blocks, almost five. You’ll have to walk home. I’ll wait for you.”

  “No, thanks. But maybe you could wait until I see whether Verna’s at home.”

  “This has been hard on you, Liz. I don’t think you ought to—”

  “Just do what I say,” she said wearily.

  Still objecting, Grady pulled up in front of Verna’s and waited while Lizzy ran up the porch steps and knocked at the door. When Verna opened it, she turned and waved at him. He sat there for a moment, then waved back, reluctantly, put the car in gear, and drove on.

  “Well, come on in, Lizzy,” Verna said. Her black Scottie was eagerly sniffing Lizzy’s shoes. “Clyde, you stop that,” she reprimanded. She looked down at Lizzy’s feet and up again, with a sly grin. “My goodness gracious, Liz. You look like you’ve been scrambling around in the mud. You and Grady out sparkin’ in the woods?”

  “Nothing like that,” Lizzy said. “Pour me some tea, Verna, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  TEN

  The
Dahlias Play Hearts

  Monday evening was the City Council meeting and Ophelia’s card night. The Dahlias’ weekly card game traveled from house to house, but tonight, it was here. Ophelia sent the kids to Momma Ruth’s for supper and the evening, to get them out from underfoot. Jed came home from the feed store late and wolfed down a ham-and-pimento-cheese sandwich, two deviled eggs, and a bowl of tapioca and peaches. Then he changed into a fresh white Sunday shirt to go and “act like I’m Darling’s mayor,” as he put it. He always downplayed the importance of the job, but Ophelia knew that he loved it, just as he loved Darling. He might not love everybody in it, but he loved the town.

  Ophelia was helping him with his tie when Jed put his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

  “I want you to know that there wasn’t ever anything at all between me and Lucy Murphy,” he said firmly. “Whatever you’ve been hearing’.”

  So he had heard it, too, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Actually, I had a little visit from Mrs. Adcock this morning. She just had to tell me ... Well, you know. Such a blabbermouth. Of course, I know better,” she added, in a comforting tone and adjusted his tie. “You wouldn’t do a thing like that”

  Jed looked down, away from her. “No, I wouldn’t,” he muttered. “I just felt like—Well, hell, Opie. Ralph ain’t doin’ right by that little girl, leavin’ her out there with those two half-grown boys and a busted-up old car and a bunged-up horse. He oughta know better.”

  “He ought,” she agreed. “And he probably does. But he’s got to make a living, like everybody else. He probably figures he’s lucky to have a job, so he doesn’t say ‘can’t’ to his boss as often as he maybe ought to.” She paused. “And maybe—”

  “I know, I know. I shouldn’t’ve taken it on myself to look after her. Wa’n’t a bit smart, given the way people in this damn town like to talk.” He bent over and kissed her on the nose. “You did right, sugah-pie, goin’ out there and gettin’ Lucy and bringin’ her into town. That fixed their wagons.”

  Ophelia nestled against him. “Thank you,” she whispered, putting her arms around his neck.

  He kissed her quickly. “Anyway,” he said, disengaging and stepping back, “folks’ll have something else to talk about tomorrow.”

  “Not us, I hope. What is it now?”

  “You wait and see,” Jed said. His face darkened. “It’s not goin’ to be good, Opie, but I’ve taken care of us. You and me and the kids—whatever happens at the bank,” he added, “we got nothin’ to worry about”

  “Taken care of what?” Ophelia asked, now alarmed. “What don’t we have to worry about?”

  “Can’t rightly say just yet” Indulgently, he patted her on the cheek. “But I don’t want you frettin’ your pretty head about it,” he said, and was gone.

  Ophelia was still pondering Jed’s mysterious words as she set up the card table and got out the cards and paper and pencils for scoring. The Dahlias’ Monday evening card party was open to all the club members, but not everyone came. Miss Rogers and Aunt Hetty Little didn’t play cards, and Bessie Bloodworth had Bible study at the Manor on Mondays. Alice Ann Walker often played with them, but she had left a message with Florabelle, saying that she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. So it would just be Verna, Myra May, and Lizzy—four, counting herself. Which was fine for hearts. They could play with as many as seven, but it was a little awkward.

  She made tea, cut the still-warm peach cobbler, and laid out her prettiest lace-trimmed napkins (the ones her mother had embroidered with pansies). She was moving the chairs when she heard the knocker. As she opened the door to Myra May, Verna and Lizzy were coming up the walk.

  “Good timing,” Ophelia said cheerfully, trying not to look at the dirty hem of Lizzy’s skirt. It looked like she’d been rolling in the mud. “Only have to answer the door once.”

  A few minutes later, they were settled around the card table, glasses of iced tea at their elbows. But they weren’t playing cards. They were staring openmouthed at Lizzy, who had just told them that Bunny Scott had died in an automobile wreck. She had stolen a nearly new green Pontiac and crashed it through a barrier and into the Pine Mill Creek ravine.

  “Dead!” Myra May exclaimed. “So she was one of that pair of thieves?”

  Ophelia gasped. “That pretty little blond thing that works in the drugstore stole a car? Why, she’s no more than a child!”

  “The sheriff says she stole it,” Lizzy said grimly. “But to tell the truth, girls, I can’t believe it, either. Verna and I have lunch with her every day ... had lunch with her. Bunny was always kind of silly and flighty, but she didn’t have any meanness in her. She’d never steal a car.”

  “A green roadster?” Ophelia asked, frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a green roadster in this town. Who did it belong to?”

  “The dentist in Monroeville,” Myra May said. “Fred Harper phoned the sheriff around midnight Saturday night to report it stolen—his brother’s car, he said. I was on the switchboard,” she added, in answer to the raised eyebrows. “I heard him. Said he couldn’t see the man very well, but he gave a pretty good description of the woman. She had short blond hair and was wearing a red dress. In her twenties. Staggering, maybe, like she was drunk.”

  “Bunny was wearing a red dress,” Lizzy said quietly.

  “Who’s Fred Harper?” Verna wanted to know.

  “The chief cashier at the Savings and Trust,” Myra May said.

  Verna rolled her eyes. “Oh, that one.”

  “You’ve met him?” Ophelia asked Verna.

  “Only through the teller’s window. He’s thin, kind of bony, actually. Pale hair, steel-rimmed glasses, no eyebrows. Sort of ... finicky.” Verna looked at Myra May. “It wasn’t his car?” She answered her own question. “I don’t suppose it was. Somehow, he doesn’t strike me as the roadster type. More like a bicycle sort of person.” She raised her eyebrows. “I could see him on one of those old-fashioned high-wheelers, like my old granddaddy used to ride.”

  Myra May nodded. “He told the sheriff that he’d borrowed it from his brother, which I guess made it worse, far as he was concerned. He was half hysterical. Kept saying he didn’t know how he was going to explain it. To his brother, I guess he meant”

  “If he saw somebody stealing his brother’s car,” Ophelia said reasonably, “why didn’t he just go out there and stop them? Why was he wasting time on the telephone, for pity’s sake?” She shook her head. “If Jed saw somebody stealing our Ford, he’d pick up his gun and stomp out there and haul them out of the car before you could say Jack Robinson. Then he’d tie them up with the clothesline and then he’d call the sheriff.” She smiled a little, as if she was proud of Jed’s ability to act in this strong, manly way.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Myra May replied, frowning. “I seriously doubt that Mr. Harper has a gun. He’s renting the old Lewis house, next door to my cousin Mabel, so I see him sometimes, puttering around in the backyard. Doesn’t strike me as the gun-totin’ type. And if he had one, he probably wouldn’t know how to shoot it. Or the robbers would’ve grabbed it and shot him and then stolen the car. Things like that happen, you know.”

  She was right. Darling itself was law-abiding and so safe that people had never felt it necessary to lock their doors—until the hobos had made them nervous. But just down the road at the Watering Hole, people got shot up all the time. Moonshine whiskey and guns didn’t mix.

  “Maybe it was the escaped convict,” Ophelia suggested. “From the prison farm. They say he’s not much more than a boy, but I guess he’s old enough to steal a car.”

  Verna shook her head. “I still can’t believe that Bunny would do that. And she certainly wouldn’t be hanging around with an escaped convict” She chuckled sadly. “She had other fish to fry.”

  Myra May pursed her lips. “Lizzy said she was driving the car when it went into the creek. Sounds like pretty clear evidence, if you ask me.”

  Nobody sai
d anything for a minute; then Lizzy spoke. “Fred Harper,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve met him—at the bank. He hasn’t been here in Darling more than a few months. He came from a bank somewhere else. Can’t remember where. But there’s more, ladies.” She turned to Verna. “Verna and I missed Bunny at lunch today, so Verna went to the drugstore and found out from Mr. Lima that she hadn’t come in to work. Tell them the rest of it, Verna.”

  Verna filled them in on the general outline of her visit to Mrs. Brewster’s boardinghouse and her informative talk with Amanda Blake.

  “You actually went to Bunny Scott’s room?” Ophelia asked admiringly. “You went through her things?” She sounded as if she thought Verna had done something brave.

  “I didn’t intend to, but I’m glad I did. Seeing her room—well, it’s sad, that’s all. Just a little hole in the wall. And Mrs. Brewster is a witch. You can’t blame Bunny for wanting to escape.” She glanced inquiringly around the table. “Anybody know Maxwell Woodburn?”

  The others shook their heads. “Why?” Ophelia asked. “Who’s he?”

  “Somebody Bunny was apparently thinking of marrying. She’d been practicing ‘Mrs. Maxwell Woodburn’ on a scrap of paper. Amanda Blake thinks he might be her pen pal, in Montgomery. And what’s more—” She told them about the deposit book.

  “Two hundred and seventy dollars!” Myra May exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Where in the world did that girl get that kinda money? Why, she couldn’t be making as much as I do, and I sure as shootin’ can’t salt away ten dollars a week! Hardly a dollar, truth be told.”

  “It’s nice that she was saving it, though,” Ophelia remarked. “If everybody would save, we’d be better off. And if she was thinking of marrying this Woodburn fellow, why, of course she’d save, bless her heart”

  Myra May rolled her eyes. “Well, sure, sweetie. But where did she get all that moola? Was she lifting it out of the drugstore till?”