The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

SIXTEEN

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 call 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 of 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.

“Okey dokey, ladies,” he said, drawling it out. “Look for me along about dark. Where’ll you be?”

“At the Magnolia Manor, right across the street,” Verna told him.

“It’s Monday night,” Lizzy added, “and the Dahlias always get together on Mondays to play cards. You just rap on the door.”

“I’ll do it,” Buddy said. “Three raps, so’s you’ll know it’s me.” He looked down at Lizzy, his eyes light. His voice became shy. “Say, I hope you won’t mind if I happen to mention that you look awful purty in that yellow dress, Miz Lacy.”

Lizzy could feel herself blushing. When he had gone, Verna chuckled. “Got yourself another admirer, Liz? A mite young for you, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Lizzy said, and couldn’t help a giggle. “But he’s cute, don’t you think?”

“Not as good-looking as Grady Alexander,” Verna said firmly. “And not as mature as Mr. Moseley.”

“I wish you’d stop with that Mr. Moseley business,” Lizzy said sharply. “I have absolutely no interest in that man.”

“Oh, right.” Verna gave a skeptical chuckle. She glanced up at the clock over the counter. “I’d better get on back to the probate office and see what kind of a mess Coretta’s managed to make of things. Where are you headed?”

“Back to the office. I’m almost finished with the ‘Garden Gate’ column. I just have to add a couple of items and retype it. Mr. Dickens doesn’t need it until late tomorrow, but Mr. Moseley will be back by then and things are likely to be busy. It’s nice to have the rest of the afternoon to spend on it.”

“Where did Mr. Moseley go today?” Verna asked, as they carried their plates and cups and Buddy’s empty Nehi bottle back to the counter.

“Montgomery. He had some sort of hush-hush meeting with the Alabama attorney general. Something about a tax case. He sounded excited about it.”

“Taxes.” Verna wrinkled her nose. “Lawyers get excited about the durndest things.” She gave Lizzy a conspiratorial grin. “Come, Liz, the game is afoot.”

“Afoot?” Lizzy asked, puzzled. She looked down at her shoes. “What game? What are you talking about?”

Verna sighed. “It’s just something a detective said once, in a book. Well, I’ll see you tonight, at Bessie’s. Maybe Buddy will do something brave.”

“See you tonight,” Lizzy said, and picked up her handbag with a sigh. She would finish her garden column, turn it in, and then go home and tell her mother about the house. She wasn’t looking forward to it.