The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (20 page)

Charlie Dickens leaned toward Jed Snow. “Bank examiner,” he said in a low voice.

“Bad news,” Jed Snow returned, under his breath.

Hiram Riley and the bank examiner had their heads together, talking in low, serious voices, so that nobody at the counter could hear what was being said, even though they strained their ears. But when Myra May took them their hot plates of ham and eggs and grits and gravy, she heard enough to startle her so that she almost dropped a plate. She hurried back with an extra bowl of grits, and after that, another plate of biscuits, just so she could hear the rest. It was dynamite.

Impatiently, Myra May bided her time for another hour, until Euphoria came in to start cooking for the dinner bunch and Violet came downstairs to handle the counter. Then she took off her apron and hurried straight over to the courthouse. Luckily, the probate office was empty, except for Verna. She was sorting a stack of documents into alphabetical order, a pencil stuck behind her ear.

“What’s going on?” Verna asked, riffling through the papers.

“Have you heard about Alice Ann?” Myra May asked urgently.

“Alice Ann?” Verna looked up. “Heard what? She was supposed to play hearts with us last night, but she didn’t show up. Is she sick?”

“No. She’s being questioned.”

“Questioned?” Verna put her papers down and stared. “Alice Ann? Who’s questioning her? About what? Why?”

“Mr. Johnson at the bank,” Myra said tersely. “And the bank examiner. About embezzling money. They haven’t brought the sheriff into it, but that’s the next step.”

“Embezzling? Alice Ann?” Verna was shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous! What in the Sam Hill are those men thinking?” She narrowed her eyes. “How’d you hear about this, Myra May? On the switchboard?”

“In the diner. Hiram Riley, the accountant, was discussing it with the bank examiner while they were having breakfast this morning.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s a good thing that it never occurs to men that the women putting their food on the table might be interested in what they’re saying. They just go on talking as if we’re invisible.”

Verna pushed out a long breath. “But I don’t understand how anybody could think that Alice Ann Walker was involved in anything like that. She’s just a cashier, and not even the head cashier at that!”

“I don’t know the full story, of course,” Myra May said, “but from what I picked up this morning, Mr. Johnson thinks that Alice Ann has been stealing money from people’s accounts. ‘Jiggling the books,’ he calls it. A little bit here and a little bit there, but it’s added up. Almost ten thousand dollars. Maybe more. All in the past five or six months.”

Verna gasped. “Ten thousand—Why, I don’t believe it, Myra May! If she did it, what’s she done with the money? The Walkers certainly aren’t spending it.”

“Seems very strange to me, too,” Myra May said. “Apparently she hasn’t been charged yet, maybe because they don’t have enough evidence.”

Verna narrowed her eyes. “Evidence?”

“Well, Hiram Riley was saying that the bank’s records show that the money is gone—it’s been jiggled out of various accounts, but they haven’t figured out what she’s done with it. They’ve looked at the Walkers’ bank account, which is no more than you’d expect, apparently, and at the accounts of her relatives—her cousins, her sisters, her parents. They went to her house, which didn’t strike them as being anything fancy, and questioned her husband. Alice Ann says she can’t tell them what she did with it because she didn’t do
anything
with it, and Arnold denies knowing anything about it, as well. But Mr. Johnson says she probably hid the cash someplace and has just been waiting for a chance to run off with it.”

“Run? Alice Ann?” Verna hooted incredulously. “Where would she go? She’s lived in Darling her entire life. What’s more, her whole family is here, and Arnold’s family, too. Of course, she would never leave Arnold, never in the world. And maybe it’s cruel to say so, but Arnold couldn’t run off with her—he’s crippled. It’s kind of hard to run if one of you is in a wheelchair.”

“You’re right. But the money is definitely gone, according to the examiner. What’s worse, the bank was already in trouble because it doesn’t have enough capital. This theft—and the withdrawals in the last day or so—might push it over the edge. At least, that’s what they were talking about this morning.” Myra May’s voice, always so strong, trembled. “That would be terrible, Verna. Every business in town needs that bank. We can’t survive without it!”

“You’re certainly right about that.” Verna shook her head. “But this business with Alice Ann—why, it’s just crazy. As nutty as Bunny Scott stealing a car and driving it into the creek.”

“Speaking of Bunny,” Myra May said, “I heard this morning that Doc Roberts has her in his office, doing an autopsy, I guess.”

“Why an autopsy? She was killed in the car wreck.”

Myra May shrugged. “I guess it’s standard operating procedure. Anyway, after that, they’ll take her to the funeral home. There’s some question about the funeral and where she ought to be buried. They’re trying to find out who’s next of kin.”

“Mrs. Bledsoe,” Verna said. “I think the rest of Bunny’s family is either dead or gone.”

Myra May nodded. “Well, I need to get back to work, Verna. I just thought you ought to know about Alice Ann. And you’re right. It really does seem crazy.” She turned to go.

“Thanks, Myra May,” Verna said. She was still shaking her head over the news when Ophelia opened the door and came in.

“I’ve got something to tell you, Verna,” Ophelia said breathlessly. “You’re not going to believe this, but—”

“If you’ve come about Alice Ann,” Verna broke in, “I already know. Myra May just told me. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“This isn’t about Alice Ann,” Ophelia said with barely suppressed excitement. “It’s about Bunny Scott and Lester Lima. Something Mildred Kilgore just told me. You’ll never guess, Verna, not in a million years!”

Verna sighed impatiently. She hated it when people said that. “No, I’ll never guess, Ophelia. You’ll just have to tell me.”

Which was what Ophelia did.

While Myra May was finishing up with the diner’s breakfast crowd and Ophelia was working with Bessie and Mildred in the Dahlias’ garden, Lizzy was standing outside the bank with three or four other people, waiting for it to open—waiting nervously, for the usual opening time of ten a.m. came and went, and the doors remained shut.

While she waited, Lizzy was going back over all the recent excitement in Darling. The escaped convict, Bunny’s death in that stolen auto, and now some sort of trouble at the bank. She swallowed hard, remembering what Myra May had told the Dahlias the night before, when they were playing hearts.

Bank examiner. After reading about so many bank failures all around the country in the past few years, Lizzy shivered at the words. What if the bank examiner had come to Darling yesterday, studied the bank’s account books, counted the bank’s money, and ordered it to be closed? Overnight, her fifty dollars (which she hadn’t thought was very much money, compared to what she had already spent on the house), had ballooned into what seemed like a huge amount. It was all she had, besides her paycheck. If she lost it, she’d be sunk.

But far, far worse, everybody in town would lose their money. The businesses, the people, everybody. They’d
all
be sunk!

The group grew larger, and people began to whisper anxiously. But when the doors of the Savings and Trust opened at last (and only eight minutes late), it seemed that the worry was for nothing. There was the usual bouquet of Mrs. Johnson’s flowers on the table just inside the door. Mr. Johnson himself greeted Lizzy pleasantly, asking after her mother’s health as if everything was perfectly normal, as perhaps it was.

But Lizzy knew what she needed to do. She returned Mr. Johnson’s smile, straightened her shoulders, and headed for Alice Ann Walker’s window. When she saw it was closed, she turned to the chief cashier’s window, presenting her deposit book and saying, in a clear voice, “I’d like to withdraw my savings, please.”

“How much?” asked the chief cashier, Mr. Fred Harper. Verna’s description had been accurate. He was thin and pale, with pale hair and pale, thin eyebrows behind steel-rimmed glasses. His fingers were long and thin, with well-manicured nails. If he was worried about the bank, he didn’t let on.

“All of it, please.” Lizzy wanted to ask him to tell her exactly what it was that he had seen on Saturday night when he reported a woman and a man stealing his brother’s car. But now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to get her money, in case the bank—She made herself stop.

Mr. Harper looked into a drawer, then stepped away from the window and came back with a packet of bills. While she watched, he counted out the money—fifty dollars in fives—put it into an envelope, and passed it to her through the window.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied crisply. He looked over her shoulder at the line of silent, nervous people behind her. “Next,” he called.

 

 

Her withdrawal secure in the office safe, Lizzy worked through the usual Tuesday morning tasks, typing, sorting, filing, and paying the bills that had arrived in the mail the day before. Mr. Moseley phoned at ten thirty to tell her that he would be late. Mrs. Moseley phoned (from Birmingham), demanding to talk with her husband and all but accusing Lizzy of lying when she said he wasn’t in the office. There were several other calls—one from Mr. George E. Pickett Johnson, another from Mr. Riley, the accountant, and a third from a Mr. Matthew Bogard, who didn’t identify himself. Then another call from Mrs. Moseley. And then, just after eleven, a call from Grady.

“I need to talk to you.” He sounded urgent. “Are you busy? Is it okay if I come to the office?”

“Well ...” Lizzy said hesitantly, looking at the half-finished page in her typewriter. “I guess I can take a little break. But I’m supposed to meet Verna at noon.” The two of them were going to the Palace Theater to ask Don Greer if he remembered seeing Bunny with anyone on Saturday night. “When do you think—”

“In about three minutes,” he said. “I’m next door, at the diner.”

It took him less than three minutes.

Lizzy nodded toward the percolator on the hot plate. “There’s coffee. Shall I pour you a cup?”

He shook his head. “Just had some.” He took off his fedora and dropped into the chair beside her typewriter table, stretching out his long legs. “I was at the diner when Doc Roberts came in a few minutes ago. He had just turned in his autopsy report on the girl’s death.” He looked straight at her, his eyes dark. “It wasn’t the car wreck that killed her, Lizzy.”

“Bunny?” For a moment, she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. “It wasn’t the wreck? Then what?” She looked at his face, tense and strained. “What, Grady?”

“She was shot.” Grady was his usual blunt self. “Back of the head, behind the left ear.”

“Oh, no!” Lizzy exclaimed.

“It’s a fact, Liz,” Grady replied. “Doc Roberts said it was hard to spot. Her skull got pretty well mashed when the car rolled over on her.”

Lizzy shut her eyes, but she could see the image anyway. Bunny under the car, her blond hair crusted dark with blood. “Then ... Then how does the doctor know?” She opened her eyes. “That she was shot, I mean.”

“Because he retrieved the bullet. It was still inside her skull. A twenty-two caliber. Not a very big gun, but big enough to do the job.”

Lizzy stared at him in wide-eyed dismay, still trying to put it all together. “But I don’t ... The left side? You mean, somebody shot at her through the car window? While she was driving? Is that why she crashed through that barricade and into the ravine?”

“Uh-uh.” Grady shook his head. “Not through the window. The driver-side door flew off in the tumble and the window stayed intact. It was rolled up, and there was no sign of a bullet hole in the glass. Anyway, Doc Roberts says it was point-blank range. Whoever did it was close enough to put the gun right up to her head.”

“But I don’t see—” She tried to puzzle it out. “Point-blank range. But that means ... That means she was sitting in the car, Grady. On the passenger side. And somebody else was driving. The same man—”

“The same man that Fred Harper reported seeing when the car was stolen,” Grady said. “So now the sheriff is looking for a car thief
and
a murderer.” He laughed shortly. “And he’s still looking for that escaped prisoner as well. Got his plate full, I’d say.”

The convict! “Maybe that’s who did this, Grady.” Lizzy leaned forward excitedly. “Maybe the convict kidnapped Bunny at gunpoint and forced her into the car and drove away with her.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll bet that’s it! He grabbed her and made her go with him, as a hostage. She struggled, or tried to jump out of the car, and he shot her. Then he put her in the driver’s seat and pushed the car through that barrier and into the ravine, in order to hide what he’d done.”