The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Over their meal, Liz related to Bessie the rest of the details Verna had gotten from Mrs. O’Malley, including the fact that the man sitting over there at the counter, enjoying Euphoria’s fried chicken, was a member of the Capone gang named Diamond. Frankie Diamond. Verna had set it up so he was supposed to use the phone in the phone booth to make a call to Mr. Capone, but she wasn’t going to put the call through. When he came out of the booth, she wanted them to shadow him.

  Bessie listened to all of this with increasing astonishment. A member of the Capone gang, here in Darling? Miss Jamison’s friend, her face slashed? Miss Hamer’s niece, a killer? And she and Liz were supposed to do what?

  “Shadow him?” She sneaked a look at the man out of the corner of her eye. There was a bulge in the back of his coat. Was it a gun?

  “Follow him,” Liz explained. “Keep an eye on him. Find out where he goes. It’s something Verna got from reading those true-crime magazines of hers. But we have to keep out of sight. He’s not supposed to see us.”

  “Oh,” Bessie said, understanding. She picked up her biscuit and slathered it with butter. “Well, as for keeping out of sight, you know as well as I do that we’re just a pair of small-town women. You’re too pretty and wholesome-looking to be any kind of a threat to him, and I’m almost old enough to be his mother. We might as well be invisible. He will never in this natural world suspect that we’re ‘shadowing’ him.”

  And this seemed to be the case. As Bessie and Liz watched from their vantage point in front of the hardware store window, Mr. Diamond came out of the phone booth. His thick-featured face was a mottled red, his eyes were narrowed to slits, and his expression was surly. Bessie suppressed a giggle. He looked exactly like a man who had been cooped up for twenty minutes in a hot, stuffy telephone booth, only to learn that his critically important long-distance call could not be connected because all the circuits were busy.

  Mr. Diamond jammed his snap-brim hat down on his bald head and strode angrily past Lizzy and Bessie. Without wasting so much as a look in their direction, he stalked across Robert E. Lee, dodging a pair of mangy dogs and a cart pulled by a mule. He was heading in the direction of Mann’s Mercantile. Taking their time, the two women strolled casually behind him, chatting as they went.

  In front of Mann’s, Diamond paused, took out a cigarette, and lit it with a match. He was about to go into the store when a woman, coming out, bumped him. It was Leona Ruth Adcock, carrying a shopping bag full of purchases. She stopped, looked at Mr. Diamond in some surprise, smiled, and opened her mouth.

  “Uh-oh,” Liz said, under her breath. “Didn’t you tell me that Leona Ruth has got it into her head that this man is a government agent?”

  “I sure did,” Bessie said grimly. “She might be going to tell him how to find Miss Jamison. We ought to try to stop her.” She stepped forward. But she was too late.

  “Oh, Mr. Gold!” Leona Ruth exclaimed in a tittery voice. “How nice to see you again.” Her black hat was tipped forward over her freshly done curls, a red rose bobbing in a nest of red ribbons over one ear. “It’s such a coincidence, runnin’ into one another like this.”

  “You got me mixed up with somebody else,” Mr. Diamond growled impatiently, clearly in no mood to chat with a woman wearing a red rose over her ear. He made as if to dodge around Leona Ruth and into the mercantile, but she sidestepped adroitly, planting herself right in front of him.

  “Why, don’t you recall?” She pouted, as if she were put out at him for not remembering. “You stopped at my house just yesterday afternoon, askin’ about a platinum blonde. I was just on my way over to the hotel to leave you a message.”

  Mr. Diamond pulled his eyebrows together in a dark scowl, not even attempting to be polite. “I been stoppin’ at a lot of houses in this stinkin’ little burg, sister,” he snarled around his cigarette. “You got something juicy for me, spill it fast, before I lose what’s left of my temper. I been hangin’ out in a phone booth for twenty minutes and I ain’t in no mood to stand here and listen to some dumb dame bash her gums.”

  Bessie saw that Leona Ruth was clearly taken aback by this out-and-out rudeness, but she pulled herself together and persevered.

  “The lady you were inquirin’ about yesterday. I just might be able to tell you something about her.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, darting a coy look at him. “That is, if you’ll tell me why you’re lookin’ for her. It’s a trade, y’see. You give me something, I give you something back.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “Tit for tat.”

  “Tit for-” Mr. Diamond laughed harshly. He pulled on his cigarette, frowning, and began processing what Leona Ruth had said. “That blonde-you’re tellin’ me that you know where she is?”

  “I’m tellin’ you that I might know,” Leona Ruth said demurely. “And I might be willin’ to tell you what I know. But you have to tell me something first.” She paused for emphasis. “What’s she wanted for?”

  “Wanted for?” Mr. Diamond repeated. If he understood, Bessie thought, he was pretending not to. Or maybe he wasn’t quite as smart as he wanted people to think. Maybe he was the kind of man who relied on brawn instead of brains. She looked again, and saw the bulge under the back of his coat. She shivered. It had to be a gun.

  Leona Ruth, however, couldn’t see the bulge. She wasn’t fazed by the man’s response, either. She arched her eyebrows, tilted her chin, and giggled like a gaga schoolgirl with a crush.

  “Well, o’ course, Mr. Gold, I understand that you cain’t tell me everything, since you’re carryin’ out this investigation incognito and undercover, which is just naturally right. But I ain’t askin’ for much, really.” She held up her gloved thumb and forefinger, measuring a small amount. “Just one teensy-weensy little hint about-”

  “Undercover?” Mr. Diamond’s eyes narrowed. He threw his cigarette on the dirt and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. “Lady, are you tryin’ to pull a fast one? You tryin’ to muscle in on-”

  “Perfect!” Leona Ruth trilled happily and clapped her hands. “Why, you sound exactly like one of those Chicago gangsters-Bugs Moran and Al Capone and all those other thugs! Y’see, Mr. Gold, we’re not as rural down here in South Alabama as you might think. There has been a radio in my house since right after the Great War, when the late Mr. Adcock insisted on buyin’ one so we could be informed about what was goin’ on. ‘Miz Adcock,’ he said, ‘we need to know what’s happenin’ out there in the world, so we are buyin’ a radio,’ which was exactly what he did, an RCA batt’ry-powered receiver in a mahogany case, and it has worked perfectly ever since.” She pulled herself up importantly, looking down her nose. “And in addition to the radio, we have a first-class weekly newspaper-it comes out on Fridays-and Mr. Greer at the Palace Theater shows a newsreel before every movie feature. We may live in a small town, but we keep up with the times.”

  Mr. Diamond was staring at her, shaking his head as if he did not quite believe what he was hearing. Bessie understood his confusion. Leona Ruth often had that effect on people.

  “Lady,” he growled, now almost plaintively, “will you pu-leez just get to the point? Where is that blonde?”

  “Not so fast, Mr. Gold.” Leona Ruth became brisk. “The point is that I know who you are, and I am eager to do my patriotic duty as a citizen to help you capture the criminal you are lookin’ for. All I ask in return is a tidbit of inside information. I am sure that Mr. Hoover wouldn’t mind in the slightest if one of his government agents gave just a teeny tiny hint to a valuable informant.” She smiled meaningfully and repeated the phrase, with emphasis. “A valuable informant.”

  “Mr… Hoover?”

  “Mr. J. Edgar Hoover, of course.” Leona Ruth tittered. “You didn’t think I was talkin’ about the president of the United States, did you? Just a tidbit of information,” she cajoled. “What’s she done? What’s she wanted for?”

  There was a moment’s silence while Mr. Diamond, knitting his brows, worked through all of this. B
essie had just come to the conclusion that the man really was a thickheaded dimwit when he smiled, snatched off his hat, and took Leona Ruth’s gloved hand in one pudgy paw.

  “Okay. Okay. Now I gotcha. Yes, ma’am. Sure thing. Now I unnerstand.” He dropped Leona Ruth’s hand. “You wanna deal. Well, I don’t think Mr. J. Edgar Hoover back in Washington, D.C., would be too mad at me if I told you that the broad in question-the blonde-is wanted by the police in Cicero, Illinois. She shot Salvatorio Raggio.”

  “Shot!” Leona Ruth’s eyes widened and she fell back a step, her nostrils quivering. “You mean, she’s a… a murderess? I was at the Beauty Bower, gettin’ shampooed and set in the comp’ny of a murderess?”

  Mr. Diamond said through his teeth, “You got it, ma’am. What’s more, she shot Sal Raggio with a Remington 51 that was give to her by one of Al Capone’s gang members.”

  Leona Ruth’s hand went to her mouth. “Al Capone!” she squeaked. “Did you say Al… Capone, Mr. Gold?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s who I said. The gentleman who give her the gun-Diamond, his name is, Frankie Diamond-was convicted twice, once for runnin’ numbers and once for sellin’ illegal booze, for which he was sent up two years. It was an unfair trial and a rotten conviction, but that’s the kinda criminal associates this broad has got. I hafta tell you, lady, she ain’t got no decency. She don’t play fair with nobody, neither her friends or the local flat-feet.”

  Liz elbowed Bessie in the ribs. “He gave Miss LaMotte the gun himself!” she whispered excitedly, and Bessie nodded. “They must have been involved,” she whispered back. “Romantically, I mean.”

  Leona Ruth put her tongue between her teeth, shaking her head, big-eyed.

  “You don’t believe me on this,” Mr. Diamond went on, “you just go to the phone and call up Captain Ricardo at the Cicero police department and ask him who he’s lookin’ for in the murder of Mr. Salvatorio Raggio. He’ll put you wise-if you can get through to him, that is. I didn’t have no luck callin’ Cicero just now myself.” His voice hardened. “Okay, lady? Now it’s your turn. Cough it up. Where is this broad? Where can I find her?”

  “W-where?” Leona Ruth stuttered. Her face was white, and Bessie could see that she was genuinely frightened. Whatever she may have imagined Miss Jamison’s offense to be-tax evasion? petty theft? littering?-murder obviously wasn’t on the list.

  “All right, sister, let’s cut the comedy.” Diamond leaned forward so that his face was only inches from Leona Ruth’s. In a threatening voice, he growled, “I ain’t got time to fool around. This here is a dangerous woman we’re talkin’ about. She carries that gun of hers around in her pocketbook, ready to shoot anybody who looks at her crosswise. You said you know where to find her. So tell me, or so help me I’ll-” He lifted his hand.

  Leona Ruth looked cornered. “She’s stayin’ with her aunt,” she began in a halting voice. “The old lady lives on Camellia Street, right across from the-”

  Bessie couldn’t let Leona Ruth spill the beans on Miss Jamison. Knowing it was now or never, she abruptly charged forward, brushed past Mr. Diamond, and seized Leona Ruth by the arm, knocking her hat askew.

  “Why, Leona Ruth Adcock!” she cried. “I have been looking all over this town for you, and here you are, standing on Robert E. Lee, right here in front of Mann’s! Your sister sent me to tell you that you’re wanted at home, this very minute! It’s an emergency.”

  “My… my sister?” Leona Ruth faltered. “But I don’t have a-”

  “Oh, swell, Miss Bloodworth! You’ve found her!” Liz rushed around Diamond and took Leona Ruth’s other arm. “Your sister says it’s a case of life and death, Mrs. Adcock. We hate to interrupt your conversation with this gentleman, but you’ve got to come with us. Right now! There’s not a second to lose.” And both Bessie and Liz began to pull Mrs. Adcock away.

  Diamond was suddenly jarred into action. “Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly. He reached out and grabbed Bessie’s arm. “What’s with yous dames? I’m talkin’ to this lady. She’s about to give me some very valuable information.” To Leona Ruth, he said, “Across Camellia Street from what?”

  Leona Ruth replied, “Across from the Magnolia-”

  “Help!” Bessie cried, trying to wrench her arm free from Diamond’s grip. She let go of Leona Ruth and whapped the man with her handbag. “Get your hands off me!” she screeched. “Help, police!”

  Hanging on to Leona Ruth, Liz stepped forward. “Let her go!” she yelled at Mr. Diamond. “You let Miss Bloodworth go, you big thug!” She turned back to Leona Ruth and began to pull. “Hurry, Mrs. Adcock! It’s an emergency. There’s not a minute to lose!”

  “Wait! You can’t go!” Diamond protested loudly. Still holding Bessie’s arm, he grabbed for Leona Ruth’s sleeve, pulling her jacket half off and tilting her hat across one eye. Leona Ruth screamed and dropped her shopping bag, and an assortment of nuts, candies, and raisins spilled out and rolled across the ground. “Across Camellia from the Magnolia what?” he demanded.

  “Help!” Bessie shrieked frantically, and hit the man with her handbag again. “Get your hands off me! Help!”

  Leona Ruth was staring at Diamond as if she were mesmerized. She began, “Across from the Magnolia Man-” But she didn’t get to finish. Liz clapped her hand over her mouth.

  At that moment, the glass door to the store slammed wide open and Mr. Mann, the proprietor, strode out, wearing a white shirt with red sleeve garters, a black bow tie, his usual red suspenders, and a white apron. He was a burly man with powerful shoulders, at least two heads taller than Diamond.

  “What’s goin’ on out here?” he demanded. “Ladies, is this fella botherin’ you?” He peered through his gold-rimmed bifocals at Bessie. “Why, Miz Bloodworth, for heaven’s sake! And Miz Adcock!” He turned to Diamond. “Get your big fat hands off these ladies,” he barked, pushing him backward, forcing him to release his hold on both Bessie and Mrs. Adcock. “You oughtta be ashamed of yourself!”

  “Oh, Mr. Mann, I am so glad to see you!” Bessie cried, straightening the sleeve of her dress and righting her hat. “Mrs. Adcock has an emergency and has to go home, right this minute, but this gentleman is attempting to detain her. Could you talk some sense into him for us?”

  “Oh, you bet, Miz Bloodworth,” Mr. Mann replied. He was scowling furiously, his face as red as a turkey’s wattle. “I don’t know who the Sam Hill you are or what you think you’re doin’, stranger,” he bellowed, “but I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself. It ain’t polite to molest a Southern lady.”

  “Keep yer shirt on,” Mr. Diamond said, taking a step backward and raising his hands as if to defend himself. “I ain’t molestin’ nobody. I am only tryin’ to get the information I was promised by this lady right here.”

  “Well, I advise you to give up tryin’,” Mr. Mann snapped. He thrust a thick forefinger into Diamond’s nose. “Whoever the hell you are, I want you off my proppity, right now. You hear?”

  “But it ain’t what you think, Mr. Mann!” Leona Ruth was struggling to free herself from Bessie and Liz. “His name is Mr. Gold. He’s a gov’ment agent! He’s here in Darling to arrest-”

  “A gov’ment agent?” Mr. Mann shouted, and his face got so red that it looked as if he were about to explode. “A gov’ment agent, huh? Well, I don’t give a good gol-durn who he’s here to arrest, Miz Adcock. And I don’t know why in tarnation you’re actin’ like it’s your duty to defend him.”

  “Of course I’m defendin’ him,” Leona Ruth shrilled. “He’s doin’ important business for Mr. Hoover. He-”

  “And I am tellin’ you for your very own personal good that he’s got no bidness layin’ his dirty hands on Miz Bloodworth, or on Miz Lacy, or on you. And I am surprised right down to my toe bones that you are tryin’ to make excuses for him. Gov’ment agent-ptui!” And he spit contemptuously on one of Diamond’s shiny shoes.

  Bessie knew exactly why Mr. Mann was so furious. Deep in the wooded hills to the west o
f Darling, between the town and the Alabama River, Mr. Mann’s second cousin, Mickey LeDoux, ran the biggest moonshine operation in all of South Alabama. Mickey supplied an excellent corn liquor not only to the residents of Darling, but to Monroeville, Frisco, and all the little villages roundabout. What’s more, everybody in town-including Sheriff Roy Burns-knew for a certain fact that Mr. Mann had a secret shelf behind the horse harness and saddles in the back room at the Mercantile, where he would be glad to sell you a bottle or two of Mickey’s best. Hearing the words government agent, Mr. Mann had quite naturally assumed that Mr. Diamond was a revenue agent-a revenooer, as the locals called them-and that he was planning to arrest Mickey Mann and anybody who was associated with him.

  Afterward, Bessie wondered what might have happened next, but as things turned out, whatever it was didn’t get a chance to happen. Whether it was blind luck or Divine Providence or maybe even the work of the devil, at that very moment, Deputy Buddy Norris came roaring up Robert E. Lee on his red Indian Ace motorcycle, a cloud of dust spinning along behind him like a miniature tornado. He was wearing his khaki deputy’s uniform and jacket, his leather motorcycle helmet and goggles, and his gun. Bessie didn’t know whether he was on duty or not, because Buddy loved his work so much and was so diligent about it that he wore his uniform constantly. Some folks guessed that he even slept in it, with his gun under his pillow.

  Seeing Buddy coming, Mr. Mann stepped into the dusty street, windmilling both arms. “Hey, Buddy, stop!” he yelled. “We got us a problem here.”

  Buddy Norris skidded to a stop, kicked down his motorcycle stand, and lifted his leg gracefully over the machine. He was a tall, lean, well-built young man with a shock of brown hair across his forehead and a straggly growth of beard on his chin. He was known to be somewhat reckless and accident prone, but he was a good deputy and a better law enforcement officer, in most people’s estimations, than Sheriff Roy Burns. Bessie agreed, for she knew Buddy Norris well. He had mowed her grass twice a month every summer from the time he was ten until the sheriff had picked him to take Deputy Duane Hadley’s place. A decent young man, willing to help, if sometimes a rapscallion.