Lucy was about to speak when Mr. Johnson held up his hand and continued.
“In your mother’s case, she was offered the opportunity to remain in the house and pay a rent-a modest rent. She declined.”
Lizzy felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. “She… declined?”
“Yes. She said that she preferred to live in a house where she didn’t have to pay any rent at all.” Mr. Johnson was looking at her with what seemed to be a genuine sympathy. “She also said that your house has recently been modernized and she likes it better.” He sighed. “There was something about an electric refrigerator, if I remember correctly. She prefers it to her icebox. Her musty icebox.”
Lizzy was staring at him, struck speechless. By now, there was no mistaking the compassion in his voice.
“I am deeply sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Lacy. The bank is not in the least anxious to find itself in possession of all these empty houses. We have tried to work out arrangements with the defaulting owners, and in some cases, we’ve been successful. Not, I’m afraid, in your mother’s case. The mortgage payments, principal and interest, were twenty-five dollars and ninety-seven cents a month, on a balance of-” He shuffled through his papers and came up with one. “A balance of nineteen hundred dollars, at four percent interest, on a note to be repaid in seven years. She has been delinquent since the beginning of this year. In January.”
Lizzy pressed her lips together. The bank had tried to make an arrangement? But her mother had said- She took a deep breath.
“Is… Is it too late?”
Mr. Johnson put down the paper, frowning. “If you mean to ask whether the bank is still willing to come to an agreement with your mother, the answer is yes, of course. However, she maintained that she had no source of income and that the payment of any sum at all-not even the fifteen dollars a month I proposed to her-was an impossibility. I pointed out that I was aware that she does indeed have a source of income, an annuity that is deposited every month in her account here at the bank. That, at least, was not compromised by her stock market losses.”
The annuity? Her mother had given her the distinct impression that the annuity was gone, and claimed that the bank had refused to negotiate. She had lied on both scores!
Lizzy pulled her attention back to Mr. Johnson. “It is also in my power,” he was saying, “to debit your mother’s annuity for the amount of her mortgage payments. I have declined to do this, since it appears to be her only source of income.” He sighed. “Therefore, since the payments are in serious arrears, foreclosure is the only-”
“Don’t foreclose,” Lizzy heard herself saying. “Sell the house to me. I’ll assume the existing loan.”
The words came out of her mouth without her even thinking of them, and she almost bit them back. Buy her mother’s house? Twenty-six dollars a month? Could she pay that much?
Well, she supposed she could. She earned eighteen dollars a week at Moseley and Moseley and was managing to save five dollars a week for the car she hoped to buy. That was twenty dollars a month, right there. She lived frugally, her own house was paid for, and her mother’s house was certainly worth more than the nineteen hundred dollars she had borrowed against it, or would be, when property values picked up again.
Yes, she could manage it. But should she? What would her mother say when she found out that Lizzy had bought her house?
“Are you sure you are able to do this?” Mr. Johnson asked gently. “I know that you have had steady employment with Mr. Moseley, but I don’t want you to take on a financial burden that you can’t manage.”
“I’m sure,” Lizzy said. She took a deep breath and made herself unclench her fists.
“Very well, then.” Mr. Johnson put his pencil down and spoke with alacrity. “Under the circumstances, I think the bank will be willing to extend the mortgage period to ten years and reduce the payment to-say, twenty dollars a month, principle and interest. We can also waive the delinquent payments and closing costs, as a gesture of goodwill. Will that be satisfactory?”
Twenty dollars. Lizzy let her breath out. “Yes. Very satisfactory. Thank you.”
“Excellent. I’ll have Mrs. Tate draw up the papers for you. If you would like to have Mr. Moseley look them over before you sign, that would certainly be agreeable.” Mr. Johnson paused, regarding her thoughtfully. “I don’t mind telling you, Miss Lacy, that in my estimation, this is an elegant solution to your mother’s dilemma. She is allowed to remain in her home, while you are making an investment that will appreciate in value.”
He didn’t add, “And the bank will get at least some money out of this mess,” although he might well have. Lizzy had just saved him quite a bit of trouble, not to mention money-and the dead weight of another empty house.
Lizzy nodded numbly. It wasn’t elegance she was after. It was her privacy. Her sanity. If she had to live with her mother again-She didn’t finish the thought. She couldn’t.
Papers in hand, Mr. Johnson stood. “Perhaps it’s not my place to say so,” he added diffidently. “But I did think that, with a little encouragement, your mother might be able to market her skills and earn enough to help with the monthly payment. I am not making a recommendation, mind you. Just an observation.”
Lizzy looked at him, not quite understanding. “Her… skills?”
“Why, yes.” He smiled. “That is an extremely attractive yellow hat you’re wearing. It’s one of your mother’s creations, isn’t it? And I happen to know that Mrs. Johnson-who has an eye for the latest fashions in hats-regularly admires the hats your mother wears to church. She has often said that she wished she could ask Mrs. Lacy to make one for her. I would have mentioned this to your mother, but I was afraid that it would seem-” He cleared his throat gruffly. “A little patronizing. Or worse. She might think I was telling her that she should go out and get a job in order make her mortgage payments.”
Lizzy regarded him, thinking how different he was from what she had expected, and from what the townspeople said about him. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “I’m glad to have the suggestion.”
As she left the bank a little later, Lizzy was turning Mr. Johnson’s observation around in her mind. She had planned to go straight to the diner to talk with Verna. Instead, she turned right on Rosemont and walked up the steps to the neighboring frame building, which had a decorated sign over the door: CHAMPAIGN’S DARLING CHAPEAUX. Lizzy had two reasons for making this call. One of them was to invite Fannie Champaign to become a member of the Darling Dahlias, something she had promised Verna and Ophelia she would do.
The other had to do with her mother.
Ten minutes later, Lizzy came out again with a new spring in her step and a new hope in her heart. Fannie Champaign, the only milliner in Darling, had taken a careful look-inside and out and from all angles-at the yellow straw hat she was wearing and said that she would be glad to accept Mrs. Lacy’s millinery creations on consignment.
“To be frank, Miss Lacy,” Miss Champaign said, “I don’t sell many hats here in Darling-the ladies don’t have much money and several of them enjoy making their own hats. But my sister has a shop in Miami, and my cousin has another in Atlanta. I often place my work there. I’m sure they would be glad to consider your mother’s work, as well.”
“I’m grateful,” Lizzy said simply. Between the annuity and the millinery work, her mother might make enough to support herself-if she would.
It was a big if. Lizzy didn’t think her mother had ever earned a penny in her life.
SIXTEEN
“The Game Is Afoot!”
When Lizzy got to the diner, the noon rush was over, the place was almost empty, and a happy celebration was going on. Al Jolson was singing “Back in Your Own Backyard,” Myra May was dancing behind the counter, Verna was looking elated, and Euphoria, brandishing a big spoon, was beaming from ear to ear.
“Violet’s coming home on Thursday!” Myra May shrieked when Lizzy walked through the door. “We just got a cal
l from Memphis.” She spun around in a circle, hugging herself, nearly sending the coffeepot flying. “ ‘Oh, you can go to the East, Go to the West,’ ” she sang along with Al Jolson. “‘But someday you’ll come, weary at heart, back where you started from! Back in your own backyard.’”
“That’s grand, Myra May,” Lizzy said happily. “What’s Violet done about the baby?”
“She didn’t say,” Myra May replied, and turned down the radio a bit. “You know Violet-she is so soft-hearted, I’m sure she’s found a good home for the poor little thing. Maybe the baby’s father has some family that’s willing to take her in.” She picked up a cloth and began to wipe the counter. “I am just so happy that she’s coming home!”
“We are, too,” Verna said emphatically. “But until she actually gets here, several of the Dahlias are happy to make themselves available to help out behind the counter, so you can be free to manage the switchboard.” She pulled a list out of the pocket of her dress and handed it to Myra May. “Mildred Kilgore organized the Dahlias. Here are the names. They said to call them and let them know when you’d like them to come in.”
Myra May scanned the list, then looked up, her eyes misting. “Verna, I don’t know how to thank you. What swell help!”
Verna shrugged. “Don’t thank me. Thank Mildred-and the Dahlias. They’re the ones with all the spare time on their hands.” She turned to Lizzy. “Say, Liz, how about if we sit down over there in the corner with a cup of coffee. I want to hear everything you couldn’t tell me over that party line. And we have to come up with some kind of plan.” She glanced at Myra May. “You want to join us? Since a lot of what happened went through your switchboard, seems to me you ought to be in on it.”
“I have to work the board,” Myra May said. “But there are still a few pieces of sweet potato cake left. Let me treat you-all.”
“That’ll be wonderful,” Lizzy said gratefully, taking off her hat. “I am ready for a break.” She ran her hands through her hair. “And to think that Mr. Moseley thought he was giving me the afternoon off.”
The switchboard buzzed. “Cut the girls some cake and pour ’em some coffee, Euphoria,” Myra May said over her shoulder. “Duty calls.”
“Don’t forget about the card game tonight, Myra May,” Verna said. “At Bessie’s. Seven thirty.”
“Doesn’t look like I’ll be able to be there,” Myra May said, and sighed. “I’ll be on the switchboard.”
“Oh, boo,” Lizzy said.
“Next week,” Myra May promised. “When Violet is back.” The switchboard buzzed again and she disappeared.
Lizzy and Verna took their coffee and cake-luscious and crumbly, with nuts and a brown-sugar frosting-to the table in the corner. Behind the counter, the radio was playing Ruth Etting, singing “More Than You Know,” and Lizzy hummed along. “Whether you’re right, whether you’re wrong, man of my heart, I’ll string along-”
She stopped. She liked Ruth Etting, but the song was silly. She wouldn’t string along with a man when she knew he was wrong, even if he was the man of her heart.
Verna sat down. “I hope your talk with Mr. Johnson went okay,” she said sympathetically. “Were you able to come to an understanding?”
“I guess so.” Lizzy rolled her eyes. “I’ve just bought my mother’s house.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” Verna exclaimed. “You don’t mean-”
“Yes, I do mean,” Lizzy replied, picking up her fork. “Maybe it’s a huge mistake, but maybe not. Maybe it’ll be okay. I may even have found a new job for her, making hats for Fannie Champaign’s shop.” She leaned forward. “But that can wait, Verna. I really need to tell you what happened with Frankie Diamond.”
Lizzy had just finished the story when the bell over the front door tinkled and the hero of her story came in, walking with his usual Lindy swagger, pulling off his motorcycle cap and goggles. Without it, Buddy looked as if he were barely out of his teens. He glanced around and spotted Lizzy and Verna.
“Afternoon, Miz Tidwell. Hey, I been lookin’ for you, Miz Lacy. Wanted to tell you that your man left town on the train. He wasn’t too anxious to go, but I gave ’im the old bum’s rush. He’s long gone by now, so you can breathe easy.” He gave Lizzy a curious look. “Say, I would sure like to get the straight scoop on that fella, if you know it. He didn’t look like no rev’nue agent I ever seen. I tried to get ’im to talk but he clammed up on me. Shut up tight as an oyster. Wouldn’t say a single word.”
Verna leaned over and whispered to Lizzy, “I think it’d be a good idea to let Buddy in on what’s been going on, don’t you? If Diamond comes back, we might need some firepower. What’s more, Buddy is the law-at least, he’s wearing a badge. I’d certainly trust him a lot further than Sheriff Burns.”
Lizzy, who had been wondering what in the world would happen if Frankie Diamond jumped off that slow-moving train and doubled back to Darling, agreed with Verna. Aloud, she said, “Yes, we’ve got the straight scoop, Deputy Norris. Sit down and have some sweet potato cake and coffee, and we’ll tell you who he is.”
“But you’re going to be surprised,” Verna put in. “It’s not what you think.”
“Cake sounds swell,” Buddy said, pulling out a chair. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll have a bottle of Nehi, instead of coffee.”
Verna suppressed a shudder. “Euphoria,” she called. “How about a bottle of Nehi for Deputy Norris here? And a piece of that sweet potato cake.”
“Sho’ thing, Miz Verna,” Euphoria returned. “Whut color soda pop he wantin’?”
“Reach me an orange if you got it, Euphoria,” Buddy said over his shoulder. “Cherry’ll do, if you cain’t.”
“Orange comin’ up,” Euphoria replied.
Fifteen minutes later, Lizzy and Verna had told the whole story, beginning with the arrival of Miss Jamison and Miss Lake: “The Naughty and Nice Sisters,” Verna said, watching Buddy’s eyebrows go up. She reported what she had learned about the slashing and the shooting in Cicero, from her conversation with Mrs. O’Malley. Lizzy filled in the rest, including a description of the mix-up in front of Mann’s, where Leona Ruth Adcock had claimed that Mr. Diamond was one of Mr. Hoover’s special agents and Mr. Mann had got the notion that he was a revenue agent.
Buddy pushed his empty plate away. “You-all are sure you ain’t just feedin’ me a bunch of baloney?” He looked from Verna to Lizzy, his freckled face pale, his Adam’s apple jumping. “You-all are tellin’ me that there is a dame right here in this town who bumped off a hood who was cuttin’ on her friend?” He scowled. “You-all are sayin’ that the fella I put on the train is one of Al Capone’s goons, and he was here in Darlin’ to polish off the bird who rubbed out his buddy?”
Lizzy blinked, but Verna (who understood every word) smiled. “Exactly,” she said. “That’s it in a nutshell, Deputy Norris.”
“Jeepers,” Buddy whispered. “And I gave ’im back his gun.”
“That is really too bad,” Verna said, “because you know as well as we do that there is nothing to keep that goon from hopping off that train and hoofing it back to Darling. He’s probably on his way right now.”
“What’s more,” Lizzy put in, “I’m afraid that he knows where Miss Jamison and her friend are staying. Before I could get a hand over Mrs. Adcock’s mouth, she managed to tell him that they’re on Camellia Street, across from the Magnolia Manor. She didn’t get the whole word out but he could probably figure out what she was trying to say. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if he didn’t try something.” She dropped her voice. “Tonight. He’s going to do it tonight.”
“Uh-oh,” Buddy said, very low. “You reckon?”
“Of course,” Verna replied grimly. “That man can’t afford to hang around this town any longer than it’s absolutely necessary-especially after Mr. Mann threatened to tar and feather him.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Buddy’s arm. “These women are guests in Darling, Deputy Norris, and they are in desperate need o
f protection. They need the strong arm of the law.” She squeezed. “They need you.”
Buddy tried not to look pleased. “You’re sayin’ a true thing there.” He leaned back in his chair, reached into his shirt pocket, and took out a packet of Camels. “We cain’t have no gangsters from Chicago comin’ down here and tryin’ to kill womenfolk, no matter what they done.” He pulled out a cigarette, struck a match on the sole of his boot, and lit it, the way he had seen Hoot Gibson do in one of his silent Westerns.
Verna straightened. “I am so glad you see the situation that way,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d even be willing to help us.” She hesitated. “Although I’m not sure that Sheriff Burns would approve. You know how he is.”
“I sure do. An old stick-in-the-mud is what he is.” Buddy pulled on his cigarette and squinted against the smoke, trying to look as if he were ten years older. “So what do you-all have in mind?”
“Here’s what we’ve been thinking,” Verna said, and began to outline a strategy. Lizzy contributed a suggestion or two, Buddy added another, and it wasn’t long before the details of their plot were mostly worked out. There was a lot they didn’t know, so they couldn’t be too specific, but at least they had a plan.
Lizzy could tell that the more Buddy heard, the more he liked the idea of being the “strong arm of the law,” especially because he was being called upon to protect a pair of damsels who were obviously in distress. He swigged the last of his Nehi and put his motorcycle cap back on. He pushed his goggles to the top of his head and stood, hooking his thumbs in his belt and cocking his head at an angle, like Tom Mix.
The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies Page 21
