The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “Oh?” Verna asked eagerly. “Who was the fella, Mr. Greer? Who was she with?”

  “Dunno.” Mr. Greer shrugged. “Didn’t see who he was, or if I did, it didn’t register. Them boys all look purty much the same when you see ’em from the projection booth. Anyway, she’s with a diff’rent one ever’ time she comes. Sees ever’ movie more’n onct, too. Bet she saw Applause three, four times. Real tearjerker.”

  “Do you remember anybody she saw it with?” Lizzy asked.

  He furrowed his forehead, thinking. “Well, I think it was Willy Warren one night. Hank Crawford’s oldest boy, Pete, another night. Other’n that, I don’t rightly remember. You might ask Mrs. Greer—she sells candy to purt’ near ever’body who comes in. Or Gladys.” Gladys was the Greers’ daughter, who was still in high school. “Yeah, that’s right. You come back tomorrow night when we’re open and ask Gladys. She sees folks under the marquee lights when she sells ’em their tickets. Got a real good mem’ry, too.”

  “We’ll do that,” Verna said.

  Mr. Greer grinned thinly. “O’ course, people don’t allus come in with the ones they sit with. You’d be mighty surprised to know how many folks come in by theirselves and just happen to end up cuddlin’ with somebody in the back row. A tryst is what it’s called, y’ know.” He enjoyed the word so much that he said it again, his grin broadening. “A secret tryst. At least, they like to think it’s secret.”

  “And what time did the picture end on Saturday night?” Lizzy asked.

  “Well, lessee.” He rubbed his chin. “It was a double bill, Applause and Tarzan, Reckon it was all over by nine thirty.” He frowned. “How come y‘all wantin’ to know?”

  Verna didn’t answer his question. She only said, “Thanks very much.”

  “Sure thing.” Mr. Greer switched the Hoover back on and Verna led the way up the aisle, disappointed.

  “I know both Willy Warren and Pete Crawford,” she said, when they were outside the theater. “If you ask me, neither of them has the gumption to steal a car, much less shoot a girl. Especially Bunny. They’d a whole lot rather take off her clothes than shoot her.” At that, she paused, struck by a thought. Turning to Lizzy, she asked, “When Grady told you about the way Bunny was shot, did he say anything about an assault?”

  “Assault?” Lizzy asked, frowning.

  Really, Verna thought. Sometimes Lizzy was so innocent. “You know. A sexual assault. A—”

  “Oh, you mean rape,” Lizzy said. “No, he didn’t, so I guess there was nothing like that.” She tilted her head. “Although maybe the doctor didn’t do that kind of autopsy? Or maybe he couldn’t tell? And even if the doctor had mentioned that, Grady might not have said anything to me. It’s ... well, you know.”

  “I know,” Verna said, and sighed. Men didn’t discuss things like that with women. At least, not Southern men.

  “If she was raped, Charlie Dickens wouldn’t print that in the newspaper,” Lizzy said. “But I agree, Verna. I don’t think either Willy or Pete could have anything to do with Bunny’s death. Those kids are as lazy as all get-out. Anyway, no matter who she was with at the picture show, the movie was over by nine thirty. The car wasn’t reported stolen until midnight. If she felt like dumping her date, she had plenty of time to get rid of him and go off with somebody else—somebody she couldn’t be seen with in public.”

  “Exactly,” Verna said. Somebody like Benton Moseley, she thought. Or Lester Lima. “Lizzy, let’s go over to the drugstore and talk to Mr. Lima.”

  “Talk to him about what?” Lizzy asked. “He sure as shootin’ wasn’t with Bunny at the movie. And if he knows anything about how she died, he’s not dumb enough to tell us about it.”

  “I don’t mean question him,” Verna replied. “I just mean ... Well, we could just sort of casually ask if he noticed anybody talking to Bunny while she was at work. You know—probe a little. See how he reacts.”

  Lizzy looked at her watch. “Okay, but let’s hurry. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  Lima’s Drugstore was across from the picture show, on the southwest corner of the courthouse square, at Rosemont and Dauphin. But when Verna and Lizzy got there, they discovered a piece of paper taped to the door, clumsily hand-lettered in red crayon: CALLED OUT OF TOWN. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  Lizzy blinked. “Closed?”

  “Well, for pete’s sake,” Verna said, astonished. “What do you suppose?”

  “Beats me,” Lizzy replied, shaking her head. “I don’t remember that Mr. Lima has ever closed the store, only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. He always said that he hated to take vacations because some of his patients might need their medicine.”

  Verna narrowed her eyes. “This certainly seems suspicious to me, Lizzy. Do you think it has anything to do with Bunny? With what Mildred Kilgore saw behind that curtain?” She paused. “If Mr. Lima was getting after her hot and heavy at the shop, what do you think was going on after hours?”

  But of course there was no answer to this question. The two of them crossed Dauphin and began walking across the courthouse lawn. After a moment, Lizzy broke the silence.

  “I’ve been thinking, Verna.” She stopped and cocked her head, giving Verna a sidewise glance. “This may seem like a silly question, but do you ... well, do you ever miss it?”

  “Miss what?” Verna asked, preoccupied with the puzzle of Mr. Lima. What could have made him close up the drugstore and leave town so unexpectedly? Had Mrs. Lima found out that he and Bunny had been having—

  “You know. Sex.” Lizzy colored and looked away. “Walter has been dead now for ... how long? Ten years?”

  “Ten years last month,” Verna said. She was surprised at Lizzy’s question but tried to answer it honestly. “Yes, I do miss it, I guess. Walter and I didn’t always get along, but when it came to that, he was ...” She smiled, remembering the pleasure. “He was just great. It may be awful for me to say it, but after he was gone, sex was what I missed most. Certainly wasn’t his camellias.” She paused. “Why are you asking?”

  Lizzy’s color deepened. “Oh, just wondering.”

  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Grady Alexander, would it?”

  “Sort of.” Lizzy sighed. “I have to decide what to do about him, Verna. I’m not sure I can put it off much longer.” She laughed a little. “If I don’t decide, the decision may get made for me.”

  Verna frowned, thinking about the possibility that Bunny had been assaulted. “Oh, come on, Lizzy. I’m sure Grady wouldn’t—”

  “No, he wouldn’t. He’s a gentleman.” Lizzy’s smile was crooked. “But I might. I’m sorely tempted.”

  Verna chuckled. “Would that be such a bad thing? I mean, Grady is sexy as all get-out. Not bad-looking, either. And he’s got a real job. Pays real money.”

  Lizzy screwed up her mouth. “You’re so practical, Verna.”

  “Hell, yes, I’m practical,” Verna said shortly. “That’s what it takes to get along in this world. Try falling for a hobo and see how long that lasts, kiddo.”

  “I know, I know.” Lizzy sighed. “Just the same ... I mean, I’m not a prude, and neither is Grady. But I know him. If we have sex, he’ll start pushing me to marry him. He’s old-fashioned that way. But I’ve got my own house, and a yard and a garden, and it’s all just the way I want it. I enjoy my job, and I like earning my own money.” She paused. “Grady’s old-fashioned about money, too. He’d probably insist on being the breadwinner and want me to stay home and be a house-wife. Maybe it sounds selfish, but ...”

  “It’s not selfish at all,” Verna said warmly. “Living alone gets a little lonely sometimes, but being your own boss can make up for a lot. If you’re lonely, Lizzy, get a dog. Clyde never gets drunk, always shows up for dinner on time, and doesn’t run around with other women.” She paused, smiling a little. “What about Mr. Moseley? You used to carry a flaming torch for him, didn’t you?”

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. “That was years ago, Verna. Years and yea
rs. It’s all over now, absolutely and utterly. My heart is safe. I couldn’t care less about Benton Moseley.”

  Verna gave her a skeptical glance. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Don’t be silly, Verna,” Lizzy scoffed. “Mr. Moseley is married.”

  “It looks like that didn’t stop Bunny,” Verna said, half under her breath, as the courthouse clock began to chime. “Oops. I have to get back to work. The boss is supposed to come in this afternoon.”

  “Me, too,” Lizzy replied. “You can quit worrying your head about me and Mr. Moseley, Verna. But thanks for the advice about Grady. I do appreciate it.”

  “It’s worth what you paid for it,” Verna said carelessly. She looked back over her shoulder at the drugstore. “Listen, Liz—how about if we get together after work and walk over to the Limas’ house?”

  “Why? If Mr. Lima is out of town, Mrs. Lima probably went with him. If she didn’t, she likely won’t talk to us. If they’re both gone, it’ll be a waste of time.”

  “Maybe,” Verna said. “But you never know. We might learn something. You don’t have to come along, of course. I just thought—”

  “No, that’s okay,” Lizzy said. “Give me a call or stop by the office when you’re finished for the day, and I’ll go with you.” She grinned. “You know, Clyde is really cute. Does he have a brother?”

  FIFTEEN

  Mr. Moseley Makes an Unexpected Proposition

  When Lizzy got back to the office, Mr. Moseley’s office door was propped open. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on an open desk drawer, eating a sandwich. There was a brown bottle on the desk beside him, and a glass. Whiskey. Lizzy knew that he kept a bottle and a couple of glasses in his office, to be able to have a drink with friends when they dropped in. She had never seen him drink alone.

  “Liz,” he called. “Could you come in here for a few minutes, please?”

  Hurriedly, Lizzy picked up her steno pad and pencil. She went into his office and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. She couldn’t help thinking of that invoice from Ettlinger’s, but she wasn’t going to bring that up. It would likely provoke a worse storm than this morning. But there was something else she needed to ask.

  “Have you heard anything about Alice Ann Walker, Mr. Moseley? I heard that she’s being questioned about embezzlement at the bank, but I really don’t think—”

  He shook his head. “I can’t talk about that. It’s bank business.” He paused, tilting his head. “This gal a friend of yours?”

  “Yes. A good friend. A Dahlia. And I just know she wouldn’t—”

  “It’s nice that you’re willing to go to bat for your friends, Liz. Sorry. That’s all I can say.”

  She sighed. “Okay, then.” She poised her pencil over her steno pad. “I’m ready for dictation.”

  “I didn’t call you in here for that, Liz.” He swung his feet to the floor and gave her an apologetic half-smile, studying her over the tops of his gold-rimmed reading glasses. “It’s about what happened this morning. I am truly sorry for being rude. It was unforgivable. I apologize. And I owe you an explanation, as well as an apology.”

  Lizzy was so startled that she dropped her pencil. “Oh, no,” she protested, bending over to get it off the floor. “Really, Mr. Moseley. Please don’t feel you have to—”

  “Be quiet,” he said mildly, “and let me talk.” He picked up his whiskey glass, drained it, set it back on the desk. “To start with, I need to tell you that my wife and I are ... Well, we’ve been having our problems lately. I won’t go into the details, but it’s possible that we may divorce. Or rather, I should say that it’s likely. Adabelle is in Birmingham, staying with her parents.” His lips quirked. “It seems that she is consulting a lawyer—her uncle. Her father is encouraging this, of course. He wasn’t happy when I left the legislature. He rather liked being able to brag about it. And I was a handy pipeline to the state capitol for projects he had in mind.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Lizzy exclaimed. She meant it, too. She may have once cared for Mr. Moseley in a romantic way, but as she had told Verna, that was in the past. All she wanted was for him to be happy. And nobody could be happy when there was a divorce on the horizon. She knew that for a fact, because the people who consulted Mr. Moseley about getting a divorce all seemed miserably unhappy. Another reason not to get married, she thought. It might not work out and then—

  “Don’t be sorry, Liz,” Mr. Moseley said. “Whatever happens is fine with me, although of course I’ll miss the children. The girls will be heartbroken.”

  “Of course,” Lizzy murmured. She wondered whether this was true. Mr. Moseley didn’t bring the children to the office very often, but when he did, the girls didn’t seem especially interested in their father. They exhibited what Lizzy thought of as a flippant, almost disrespectful attitude toward him. It bothered her. She might be old-fashioned, but she felt that children ought to look up to their fathers—although it had crossed her mind that perhaps he wasn’t as attentive a father as he might be. He was often in the office during the evenings and on weekends.

  He leaned forward on his elbows, pulling off his glasses and brushing his hair out of his eyes. “The fact is, Adabelle and I haven’t had a real marriage in ... well, quite some time.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t suppose you want to hear that, but it’s true. I only tell you because of ... well, because of the girl. The girl who died.” He pushed the papers around on his desk until he found what he was looking for. He held up the Ettlinger’s invoice. “The girl I bought this bracelet for. I had it engraved with her initials.”

  Lizzy fastened her eyes on her steno pad. She could feel the flush creeping up her cheeks. Mr. Moseley was right. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t—

  “I lied to you, Liz,” he said steadily. “I did know that girl, as I’m sure you have already guessed. Eva Louise Scott. Bunny.” He sighed. “I met her in the drugstore and thought she was very pleasant. Pretty, too. A little flashy, but—” He sighed. “She laughed a lot, and I liked that.”

  Lizzy started to say something, but he held up his hand, stopping her.

  “One night after Adabelle had gone back to Birmingham, I was driving home late from the office. I happened to see Bunny walking back to her boardinghouse. She had been to the picture show. It was dark and beginning to rain, and she didn’t have a raincoat or an umbrella, so I stopped and gave her a lift. We started talking and—Well, I suppose you could say that I lost my head.”

  Lizzy pulled in her breath, trying to steady herself. Why was he telling her this? Why—?

  “It was a mistake, of course, and I knew it.” He picked up the bottle and poured a generous slug of whiskey into his glass. “Couldn’t help myself, I guess.”

  “Please,” Lizzy managed. His words were sounding slurred. “Please don’t—”

  “They say confession is good for the soul, Liz. So let me confess.” He turned to look out the window, sighing, putting his fingers together under his chin as if he were saying a prayer. His voice was low and heavy with sadness—and whiskey. “You know, I can’t really believe she’s dead—much less that anybody could actually shoot her. She was such a sweet, delicate little thing, and she’d had such a damned hard time in her life.”

  He was silent a moment, then swung his chair around so he could look at Lizzy. “Did you know that her daddy was a drunk? And that her momma ran away from home when she was nine years old and left her with four young children to take care of—including a pair of twins? The family lived out in the country, and Bunny had to walk miles to get to school every day. But she did it, and kept her brothers and sisters fed and clothed, too. That took courage. Real courage.”

  Lizzy was staring at him. Bunny’s mother ran away from home, leaving her with four children?

  “But that’s not true!” she protested. “Bunny was an only child, and her mother was a widow. They didn’t live in the country—not at all. She and her mot
her lived in Monroeville, where—”

  Mr. Moseley acted as if he didn’t hear her. “I know that’s no excuse,” he said. “For what I did, I mean. The world isn’t fair, and lots of young women have a hard time.”

  “Really, Mr. Moseley, she didn’t—”

  He waved her objection away. “I just felt sorry for her, that’s all.” He picked up his glass and drank the whiskey in one gulp, then set the glass down hard on the desk. “She seemed to have a genuine appreciation of finer things, pretty things. I wanted to show her a good time, give her some pleasure. When we went to Mobile a couple of weeks ago, we walked past Ettlinger’s. She saw the bracelet in the window and liked it, so I bought it and had it engraved for her.”

  Lizzy’s heart had stopped at the words We went to Mobile. Mr. Moseley had taken Bunny to Mobile? You didn’t drive all that way just for one day. They must have stayed overnight, in a hotel. But even if they didn’t stay in the same room, he was married, and that made it wrong! And not only wrong, but dangerous. Lizzy wasn’t very sophisticated about affairs of the heart, and she hadn’t had much experience of her own. But she knew that a girl who would deliberately lie to a man about her family situation in the way that Bunny Scott had lied to Mr. Moseley—well, a girl like that couldn’t be trusted not to make trouble, that was all. If she had lied, what else might she have done?

  Her heart started again with a painful thud and she straightened her shoulders. “She must have liked it,” she said almost desperately, trying to think of something to say. The words felt thick on her tongue. “The bracelet, I mean. I saw her wearing it the other day. And she was wearing it when she ... when she died. I saw it. On her ... her arm.”

  “When she died?” Mr. Moseley closed his eyes, then opened them again. He looked haunted. “Then I’m sunk, Liz. Completely sunk, damn it. That bracelet has Ettlinger’s stamp on it. They’ll trace it. The police will find out I bought it for her.”