The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady (16 page)

“I didn't say it made him holy, Mama,” Lizzy protested.

But in a way, her mother was right. Having worked for Mr. Moseley for quite a few years, Lizzy had a respectful attitude toward the law and anybody who enforced it. It seemed to her that the law put up a barrier between the civilized and the savage—a necessary barrier that separated the good from the bad. Mr. Moseley was always telling her that it wasn't as simple as that, that good people often did bad—that is, unlawful or immoral—things, and vice versa. And she knew from her own experience that it didn't take much black mixed in with the white to make a fuzzy-looking gray.

But as far as she was concerned, anybody who enforced the law stood for justice and order, and justice not just for some but for everybody, which right now, meant justice for Rona
Jean Hancock, who had been murdered. And Buddy Norris had been elected to stand up for Rona Jean, find out who had killed her, and assemble the evidence that would allow Mr. Moseley (who was county attorney this year) to get a conviction. Buddy was only a man, yes, and young and inexperienced at that. But she knew him well enough to know that it was ridiculous to think that he'd killed Rona Jean. He had an important job to do, and out of a sense of fairness, Lizzy didn't think people should be saying things that made his job even harder.

Her mother turned her glass in her fingers. “Well, of course, the sheriff wasn't the only one who was fooling around with Rona Jean. Adele Hart says she was sitting out on her front porch one night this week and saw a man waiting around the back of the diner for Rona Jean to go off her shift at eleven.”

Lizzy thought about that. Adele Hart and her husband, Artis, owned Hart's Peerless Laundry, at the corner of Franklin and Robert E. Lee, across from Musgrove's Hardware. The Harts lived in the house next door to the laundry, which was convenient because they both had to get up well before dawn to get their help started on the day's washing, as well as manage the three grandchildren who had recently come to live with them. Lizzy and Adele worked together on the Darling Christmas pageant every year, and Lizzy sometimes stopped in for a cup of tea when Adele wasn't too busy. She knew that the Harts could see the vegetable garden behind the diner—and the garage where Rona Jean's body was found.

“Did Adele say who it was?” Lizzy asked.

Mrs. Lacy shook her head. “Just that she thought he was from the camp.”

From the camp
, Lizzy thought. And the man she had seen with Rona Jean at the movies was a CCC man, maybe even an officer. Was he the same person?

Her mother was getting her teeth into the subject of the camp. “Those men out there—I swear, they're makin' trouble all over. Have you heard about Lucy Murphy?”

Lucy was a Dahlia who lived on a small farm on the Jericho Road and worked at the camp. Her husband, Ralph, had a railroad job. He was gone all week and didn't usually make it home until late Saturday.

“Lucy?” Lizzy felt a flare of concern. “She's all right, isn't she?” Lizzy had always thought of Darling as a safe little town, but after what happened to Rona Jean, she was thinking that women who spent a lot of time alone—women like herself and Lucy—ought to be extra watchful. It was an unsettling thought.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘all right.'” Her mother pressed her lips together disapprovingly. “Ouida's widowed sister, Erma Rae—the one that lives out on the Jericho Road—saw her riding on the back of one of those Army motorcycles.” She lowered her voice. “Just at dark, it was. Last Wednesday night, when Ralph was gone on the railroad. And Erma Rae said she's heard that motorcycle before, comin' and goin' late at night, only she didn't know who it was until she saw her. Lucy Murphy, I mean.”

“Oh, Mama,” Lizzy sighed. “There you go again. I wish you wouldn't—”

“I am just sayin' that—no matter how many good things everybody says that camp is doing for Darling—it's not all one hundred percent positive. Those boys are flirty. I've heard 'em whistling at girls on the square, and who knows what else they're getting up to. Why, the very idea of a Yankee taking a married lady for a motorcycle ride after dark. It's sinful, is what it is.”

Lizzy wondered whether the greater sin lay in being a Yankee or giving a motorcycle ride to a married lady. “Lucy
manages the kitchen at Camp Briarwood,” she said evenly. “Maybe she had to work late and somebody gave her a lift home.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Mrs. Lacy said, pulling her eyebrows together. “You're too trusting, Elizabeth. Too naïve. If you ask me, it was one of those CCC boys that got Rona Jean Hancock pregnant, although she herself wasn't any better than she should be. It could have been one of them that killed her, too, especially considering who it was that Adele Hart says she saw out there behind the diner.”

“I wonder if the sheriff knows about that,” Lizzy said thoughtfully.

“Not unless he's been at the laundry in the last hour or so. Adele told me when I took in my damask tablecloth to be washed and ironed.” She made a face. “For things like that tablecloth, I surely miss my Sally-Lou. Catsup and mustard stains never did faze her.”

Sally-Lou had been Mrs. Lacy's maid ever since Lizzy was a girl, but when the money was gone and Mrs. Lacy had to go to work, she'd had to let Sally-Lou go. Now, for the first time in her adult life, Mrs. Lacy had to do her own housework, which Lizzy thought might turn out to be a good thing. It gave her something to do in the evenings, at least—something other than walk across the street and pester Lizzy.

There was a silence. Mrs. Lacy seemed to be waiting for something. At last, she put her cup down. “Well, do you want to hear my news or not?”

“What?” Lizzy had been thinking that maybe she'd call the sheriff's office and tell him what she saw at the movie show and also suggest that he drop in and have a talk with Adele Hart. “Oh, I'm sorry, Mama. You
did
say that you had something important to tell me. Yes, of course I want to hear your news. What is it?”

Mrs. Lacy smiled smugly. “Mr. Dunlap has asked me to marry him. And I've said yes.”

Lizzy gasped, feeling as if she'd been socked in the stomach and the air had just been knocked out of her. “
Marry
Mr. Dunlap?” she repeated stupidly. “Mr. Dunlap at the Five and Dime?”

“Well, yes.” Mrs. Lacy narrowed her eyes. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

Lizzy wanted to leap up and cry,
No, nothing wrong! The Almighty has just answered my prayers, that's all. Now you'll be Mr. Dunlap's problem!

But she couldn't, so she said, as calmly as she could, “Of course not, Mama, if that's what you want to do. It's just . . . it's just a little sudden, that's all. I need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Not sudden at all,” Mrs. Lacy said smartly. “Of course, we were church friends before I went to work for him at the Five and Dime. I've always enjoyed hearing him sing in the choir—he has such a lovely tenor voice. After I began working at the store, we got friendlier and friendlier and . . . well, things just developed, that's all.”

“And you kept it a secret,” Lizzy marveled. That by itself was a huge surprise, since her mother had never before demonstrated any ability to keep a secret. The minute she heard anything interesting, she ran right over to tell Ouida Bennett. And
this
was certainly interesting.

“Mr. Dunlap thought it would be better to wait until we were sure,” Mrs. Lacy said shyly. “He's telling his children this weekend.” She smiled, and Lizzy thought it was one of the first genuine smiles she had seen on her mother's face in a very long time. “He really is a very dear man, Elizabeth, once you get to know him.”

“I'm sure he is,” Lizzy said. “I'm looking forward to getting
better acquainted.” This was the honest truth, for the Mr. Dunlap she knew was a meek, mousy little man—a widower with two grown children—who would scarcely say boo to a goose. She couldn't imagine how he had gotten up the nerve to kiss her mother, much less propose to her. But maybe things had happened the other way around: the proposal first, the kiss second. Or maybe her mother had cornered him, kissed him, and proposed. Lizzy had no difficulty imagining
that
.

“To tell the truth,” her mother said, “Mr. Dunlap is a
tiger.
” She smiled. “If you know what I mean.”

Lizzy blinked. “Not exactly.” She added hurriedly (to forestall an explanation), “Have you set a date for the wedding? And have you decided where you will live?” Mr. Dunlap, she knew, lived in a house behind the Five and Dime—a small house, no bigger than her own. She didn't think there was room for her mother there.

“We're having a church wedding next month. You'll be my bridesmaid, won't you?” Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Lacy went on, “And we've decided to live in my house.” She made a face. “His house is a shoebox. Mine is larger, and
so
much nicer.”

Actually, it was Lizzy's house now, but she was so happy about this new development that she didn't remind her mother of their arrangement. “I would love to be your bridesmaid,” she said, with a heartfelt enthusiasm. “We'll have to put our heads together about dresses. And flowers. And the reception. It'll be
fun
, Mama!”

Mrs. Lacy's eyes were misty. “Do you think it would be too gauche of me to wear white, with a veil? Your father and I eloped, and I so wanted a white wedding. But at my age, and having been married before and with a full-grown daughter . . .”

Lizzy got up, went around the table, and hugged her
mother. “You can absolutely wear white if you want to, Mama. If anybody complains, I'll—” She stopped, trying to think of something appropriate. “I'll have Mr. Moseley send them an official cease-and-desist letter,” she finished triumphantly, and they both laughed.

“Well,” her mother said, and pushed her chair back, “enough of that. Mr. Dunlap is coming over for supper this evening—why don't you join us?”

Lizzy frowned. She really wanted to meet Mr. Dunlap informally and let him know how
glad
she was that he was marrying her mother, but it wasn't going to be this evening.

“I'd love to,” she lied, “but I promised Verna I'd have supper with her. Thanks, anyway.” After what her mother had said about the CCC camp, she wasn't going to tell her that Captain Campbell was expected for supper, too. And that she was supposed to be sweet to him so he would do more good things for Darling.

Mrs. Lacy frowned and shook her head. “It's all very well to have girlfriends, Elizabeth, but I do wish you would make an effort to find a nice young man.” She went to the door and stood with her hand on the knob, looking down her nose. “Ever since Grady Alexander had to get married . . .”

Mrs. Lacy let her voice trail away sadly. Lizzy knew that she had never been quite forgiven for allowing Grady Alexander to marry Sandra Mann—not that she could have done anything about it, of course. Well, that wasn't exactly true, Lizzy reminded herself ruefully. If she had let Grady do what he wanted to do, he might not have done what he wanted to do with Sandra Mann—and gotten her pregnant. On balance, Lizzy was glad that she had held the line where sex was concerned, but she often wondered how Sandra felt. If she had it to do over, would she? Of course, Sandra had a
baby
and
a husband, so she might think she'd gotten the best part of the bargain.

“And now they live just down the block,” Mrs. Lacy said in an accusing tone, reinforcing her implication that Grady's defection was entirely Lizzy's fault. “I suppose you know that they're expecting again?”

Lizzy pulled in her breath. “Actually, I didn't,” she said evenly, “but I'm glad to hear it.” The first baby had been a little boy, Grady Junior. “I hope the next one will be a girl. That would be nice for Sandra.”

“She's not well, you know,” Mrs. Lacy said with a meaningful glance. “Her aunt Twyla says she's very sick.”

“That's too bad. I hope her health improves.”

“Oh, of course. For the sake of her
two
little children.” Mrs. Lacy heaved a dramatic sigh. “And to think that you could have—”

“No, Mama,” Lizzy said firmly. “I couldn't. And I didn't. And I'm glad.” She pushed the door open for her mother. “Oh, and congratulations again. I just can't tell you how
delighted
I am for you and Mr. Dunlap. I know you'll be very happy together.”

She shut the door firmly and stood with her back to it for a moment, thinking back over their conversation, past the fascinating news that Mr. Dunlap was about to take her mother off her hands—forever, she hoped—and back to what her mother had said about Adele Hart. Then she went into the entry hallway and picked up the candlestick phone that sat on the little table under the mirror. She rang the operator and heard a young woman saying, “Number, please.”

“Lenore, is that you? Will you ring the sheriff's office for me, please?”

“It's me, Henrietta,” the operator said. “I can ring the
office, but the sheriff isn't there. He's upstairs here at the diner, talking to Violet and Myra May.”

“Well, ring the office anyway,” Lizzy said. “Maybe the deputy is there.”

A moment later, Lizzy was talking to Wayne Springer, telling him that she had seen Rona Jean Hancock at the Monroeville movie theater with a man who might have been a CCC officer. “They were a little . . . well, passionate,” she said in an explanatory tone. She added that her mother had told her that Adele Hart had seen somebody—a man in a CCC uniform—waiting for Rona Jean outside the diner. “I thought this was something the sheriff should maybe look into. Will you tell him, please?”

“Thank you, ma'am,” the deputy said. “I'll do that.” He paused. “That's H-a-r-t?”