But he did, while Lizzy stood silent beside him, knowing she should say something but not knowing what she ought to say.
Mr. Moseley seemed taken aback by the news, but he recovered nicely. “Congratulations, Liz,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll do a swell job. Uncle Sam is lucky to have you working for him, even if it’s only part time. When do you start?”
“After the project gets its funding,” Lizzy said, feeling relieved. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Moseley to be disappointed in her. But his comment about her new job being “only part time”—was it meant as a subtle reminder that she was still working for him?
And then he had something else to tell her. “You’ll be interested to know, Liz, that Agent Kinnard raided the illegal still at the state prison farm today. And this evening, the sheriff arrested Warden Burford for his part in the murder of Jimmie Bragg. He’ll be arraigned on Monday. There’ll be other charges coming, so there’ll be more work for us on that case.”
“That’s great,” Lizzy said. “I’m glad the murder charge is settled.”
“Murder?” Ryan asked in surprise. “In this little town?” He glanced around. “But it looks so peaceful.”
“And I just got off the phone with Jake Gillis,” Mr. Moseley went on. “You remember, Liz—the detective you contacted out in Los Angeles? He gave me some interesting information that should help us put an end to Neil Hudson’s threat. I’ll tell you all about it on Monday.”
“Oh, that’s good to hear!” Lizzy exclaimed happily. “Myra May and Violet will be so relieved. Thank you!” She could always count on Mr. Moseley to make sure that things worked out.
“But we’re not out of the woods yet,” Mr. Moseley cautioned. “Cupcake is taken care of for the weekend? She’s out of danger?”
“Yes, she is,” Lizzy said. “Tonight, she’s staying with—”
He held up his hand. “Deniability. Remember?” He gave her a quick smile, then shook hands with Ryan. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Nichols,” he said. To Lizzy, he added, “Have a pleasant evening, Liz.” He got into his car.
“Wow.” Ryan was staring at her. “I had no idea.”
“No idea about what?” Lizzy asked.
“That your work in a law office could be so exciting. Murder? And what’s this about a detective in Los Angeles?”
“Darling isn’t as peaceful as it might seem,” Lizzy said. “We may not have much big-city drama, but we have our share of crime.”
“Nice-looking fellow, your boss.” Ryan’s glance followed Mr. Moseley’s Chevy as he backed out of the parking space and drove away. “Married?”
That was an odd question. “Divorced,” Lizzy replied. They began to walk. “He’s dating a socialite in Montgomery.”
“Ah. Well, that’s all right, then.” Lizzy was about to ask him what he meant by that, but he went on. “You’ve worked for him how long?”
“Oh, years and years,” Lizzy replied lightly. “It was my first job.” For some reason, she didn’t want to discuss Mr. Moseley with Ryan. She was glad when he went on to something less personal.
He chuckled. “Cupcake is ‘out of danger’—and Moseley needs ‘deniability’? Sounds intriguing.”
“It is, a little,” Lizzy said. She couldn’t see a problem with telling Ryan about Cupcake, her father, and the threat to the little girl.
When she finished telling the story, Ryan was silent for a moment. “I’m sure there must be lots of competition out there in Hollywood,” he said finally, “and a movie career is a pretty long shot. But if the little girl has talent, other doors might open for her.” He paused thoughtfully. “Of course, it would be better if her mother—Violet, I mean—were involved. Maybe that could be arranged?”
Other doors? Lizzy wondered what possibilities Ryan might be thinking of. But she only said, “Darling would hate to lose our Cupcake, to Hollywood or anywhere else. The same goes for Violet—if she should take Cupcake to Hollywood, I mean. I know that would break Myra May’s heart.”
“But is she really your Cupcake?” he asked. “And is it Darling’s decision?”
The questions caught Lizzy by surprise. There were two different answers, weren’t there? She thrust her hands deeper into her coat pockets and said, “It’s not Darling’s decision, no. But she really is our Cupcake—in our hearts.” She thought of the laughing face, the strawberry blond curls. “If we lost her, we’d all feel the loss, terribly.”
“I understand that part of it,” Ryan said. “But it’s a wide world, and there’s so much to see and do and explore.” He drew her arm into his. “Darling is a nice place, I grant you that. But it’s not the center of the universe.”
The night was cold and very quiet—so quiet that Lizzy could hear the crisp crackle of twigs contracting in the cold air, and the faint baying of hounds in the distant hills to the west, toward the river. The air smelled of pine branches and wood smoke. The moon bathed the street with silver-blue light and the stars hung like bits of chipped glass against the blackness of the sky.
Looking up at the moon, Lizzy knew that Ryan was right: Darling wasn’t the center of the universe. But it was the center of her world. It was home. It was where she chose to be. Wasn’t it?
And there was another worrisome thought in Lizzy’s mind as they turned the corner onto her block. When she and Grady were dating, she had usually invited him to come in for coffee after an evening out. Sometimes they had necked on her sofa until she realized that she had to send him home before things got out of hand. If she invited Ryan in, would he think she expected something . . . well, as intimate as that? She wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end, but it might not be as easy to send him away as it had been to send Grady. And she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. What should she do?
She was still wondering as they climbed the porch steps and reached her front door. Still undecided, she turned the knob and hesitantly pushed it open.
He put a hand on her arm. “You didn’t lock your door when we left for dinner?”
“No,” she said, surprised by the question. “Darling people don’t usually lock their doors.” She thought of what Mr. Moseley had said and added, “What crime we have usually comes from the outside.” It was true, now that she thought about it. There were exceptions, but Darling was an enclave, a little town occupying a place uniquely its own, a safe place.
“From the outside, huh?” Ryan chuckled drily. “Well, maybe that explains the way your boss looked at me tonight. As if he expected me to throw you over my shoulder and make off with you, like a pirate.”
Lizzy’s eyes widened. “He did no such thing!”
“Of course he did.” Ryan grinned. “You didn’t notice?”
“Of course I didn’t.” She pulled herself up straight. “You’re making it up.”
He pulled his brows together in a mock scowl. “Would I lie about a thing like that?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“No.” His eyebrow arched. “What do you want to bet that he decides he needs you full time again?”
“He doesn’t have the money,” she said. “I should know. I keep his accounts.”
“That, too? Jeez. He’s a lucky guy. And dumb, or he wouldn’t be letting you go.”
Lizzy could only shake her head. She had always just done what needed doing. It was her job.
There was a moment’s silence, then Ryan said, “Up north, we Yankees have a tradition. After their first date, the guy kisses the girl goodnight on her front porch.” He put a hand on her shoulder. She could feel the weight of it, and the warmth, through her coat. “Do you do it that way here in the South?”
Lizzy felt a quick relief, for he had answered her question. But now, something else was troubling her.
“Yes, but this is . . . well, it’s complicated,” Lizzy said. “Isn’t it?” She was remembering how hard it had been to work with Mr. Moseley in earlier years, when she had thought she was in love with him. “If we’re going to be
working together, maybe it’s not a good idea to . . . you know.”
He dropped his hand. “I don’t want you to think that I’m in the habit of making a pass at every woman I work with,” he said somberly. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. My coming to Darling this weekend had nothing to do with the job. I wanted to see you, Elizabeth. Finding out that you’re available and interested in working for the project—well, that was a bonus, and I’m glad. But that wasn’t why I sent you the poinsettia. It wasn’t what I came for.” He paused, his voice intense. “I came to Darling for this. For you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Lizzy said, very low. It was true. She could hear words in her mind, but they were stuck in her throat—or in her heart. She wasn’t sure which.
“Then don’t say anything,” Ryan said, and bent toward her. He was moving slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away, if that’s what she wanted to do.
She closed her eyes. Don’t think, she told herself. For once, don’t try to plan or organize or manage how you’re feeling. Just . . . whatever. Whatever comes. And then his mouth was on hers, gentle and hesitant at first, then, like the man, assertive, confident, demanding.
Her heart was hammering and she heard herself make a sound. But not a word. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. His hand was in her hair, his body hard against hers. She wanted to respond, but it wasn’t exactly a first-date kiss.
After a long moment, he let her go and stepped back. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was more than I bargained for. I didn’t mean—I hope you don’t think—”
And then, as he reached for her again, she saw a light. At her mother’s house across the street, the porch light had been turned on. A few seconds later, it went off, then came on again. Laughter bubbled in Lizzy’s throat.
“What’s so funny?” Ryan asked, sounding a little offended. “Did I—”
“No, no, it’s not you,” Lizzy said, stepping back, still laughing. “It’s my mother.”
“Your mother?” he asked incredulously.
He turned just as the front door of the house across the street opened and a woman stood in the doorway, wearing a pink nightgown with a blue wrapper over it. She waved a white handkerchief vigorously, then stepped back inside and closed the door with an audible slam. The porch light blinked on and off again.
“Yes, my mother,” Lizzy said, and sighed. Whatever the moment had promised, it was gone. But perhaps that was for the best.
“Southern tradition, huh?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I guess that means I’d better be going. I’m headed back to Washington next week. But I’ll phone you. Okay?”
“Yes,” Lizzy said, and added weakly, “Thank you for the evening. I enjoyed it. Goodnight.”
“Good night.” He tipped his hat and went down the steps to his car, parked at the curb. Lizzy went in, shut the door, and leaned against it, closing her eyes.
“Just . . . whatever,” she whispered to herself. “Whatever comes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“JIGSAW!”
Sunday, December 23
The puzzle tournament was held on the gym floor at the Darling Academy. Miss Rogers was bustling around, seeing that everything was set up properly and that every team had a sheet of rules (all sixteen of them). The seven competing teams were getting settled at card tables on the gym floor, with the spectators—families, friends, and supporters of the puzzlers—sitting in the bleachers. Almost all of the Dahlias were there, to cheer for their team. Ophelia had brought her two children. Beulah Trivette was there with her beauty associate, Bettina. Earlynne and Mildred had come, with Alice Walker and Lucy Murphy. Beulah was holding up a sign that said “Go, Dahlias Puzzle Divas!”
The Divas themselves—Lizzy, Verna, Bessie, and Aunt Hetty—were seated at their table, trying to contain their nervousness while they waited for Miss Rogers to deliver their puzzle.
“What an exhausting week!” Bessie exclaimed. “So much has been going on!”
“Oh, you bet,” Lizzy said. “You’ve heard that Sheriff Norris has arrested Warden Burford on charges of murder and conspiracy for the killing of Mr. Whitworth—as well as the prison guard who pulled the trigger?” Heads nodded eagerly around the table. “If you don’t know all the details,” she added, “Charlie Dickens is writing the story. You can read all about it in Friday’s Dispatch.”
“Speaking of the Dickens,” Bessie put in, “Have you heard the news about Fannie and Charlie?”
“What news?” Verna asked. “Not bad, I hope.”
“Not exactly.” Bessie lowered her voice. “You may not know this, but Fannie has a nine-year-old son—Jason, his name is.”
Lizzy’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t know that!” she exclaimed. “A son? Where is he?”
“And why isn’t he here in Darling, with his mother?” Verna asked. “Is he with his father?” She narrowed her eyes. “Who is his father?”
“Poor Fannie,” Aunt Hetty said sadly. “How awful to be separated from your little boy!”
“Jason is at Warm Springs, in Georgia,” Bessie said. “You know, where President Roosevelt has his Little White House. The boy had polio, and his legs are paralyzed. Fannie told me about him not long after she came to Darling.” She paused and added, “Unfortunately, she didn’t tell Charlie.”
“Oh, dear,” Lizzy said. “Why ever not?”
“Because the boy’s father was a bigamist.” Bessie’s voice quivered on the word. “Fannie sent him packing when she found out he was married to somebody else.”
“A bigamist!” Verna exclaimed, wide-eyed. “What a jerk! Now, that would really knock the props out from under you, wouldn’t it?”
“Poor, poor Fannie,” Lizzy mourned. “She must have been terribly hurt.”
“Yes, and then she learned that she was pregnant,” Bessie said. “She was afraid that if Charlie knew her story, he wouldn’t love her.”
“But bigamy wasn’t her fault,” Aunt Hetty protested. “And Charlie Dickens is a grown-up man with experience of the world. Bigamy? Surely he wouldn’t hold it against her.”
“I agree,” Bessie said. “But please try to see it from Fannie’s point of view, Hetty. Since she discovered the bigamy, she’s found it very hard to trust people—especially men. So she put off telling him. And the longer she waited, the harder it got. But last night, she called to tell me that Charlie had somehow managed to track her payments to Warm Springs for Jason’s care. She told him the whole story, which was a great relief to her. He wants to get to know Jason. They left this morning for Georgia, to spend Christmas with the little boy.”
“How wonderful!” Lizzy said eagerly. “Are they bringing him home with them?”
“Fannie plans to talk to the doctors about that,” Bessie said. “If they do, though, they’ll have to find another place to live. That apartment is handy for the two of them—over Fannie’s hat shop and cattycornered from the Dispatch office. But Jason is on crutches. He couldn’t manage the stairs.”
“The house across the street from me is for sale,” Verna said. “It’s just one story. And I’d love to have them as neighbors.” She put a hand on Aunt Hetty’s arm. “Changing the subject—The Flour Shop’s grand opening seemed to be a huge success. I heard that they sold all but two of the loaves we donated. How did their first baking lesson go?”
“I was pleasantly surprised,” Aunt Hetty admitted. “All Earlynne needed were a few tips and some encouragement. She’ll do just fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mildred—well, she doesn’t have the hang of it yet.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “She needs more practice, which doesn’t suit her style.”
“But she’s celebrating, she told me,” Lizzy said. “Her Christmas window won the Merchants’ Association Holiday Window Contest—much to my mother’s dismay.” In fact, Lizzy’s mother had thrown a hissy fit when her window didn’t win. She had even threatened to boycott the bakery, claiming that Mildred had used unfair tactics. When Lizzy had aske
d her exactly what tactics were unfair, though, all she got was a loud harrumph—and another warning against allowing strange men into her house.
“Mildred has discovered that she has an artist’s hand when it comes to decorating cookies,” Bessie remarked. “She says she’s going to start decorating Earlynne’s cakes, which ought to have a lot of appeal.” To Lizzy she said, “Our dear little child is still playing ‘Hide the Cupcake’?”
“For the next few days, anyway,” Lizzy said, smiling around the table. “Thanks to all of you for helping. Mr. Moseley has been in contact with a private detective in Los Angeles. He says the detective has some information that may put an end to Neil Hudson’s threat, at least for the time being. I’ll know more about it tomorrow.”
“I spoke to Violet after church this morning,” Verna said. “She’s thinking of taking Cupcake out to Hollywood herself.” Her tone was disapproving.
“Taking Cupcake to Hollywood herself?” Aunt Hetty repeated incredulously. “But where in the world would Violet get the money? And how would Myra May manage without them? If this happened, she would be devastated!”
“I absolutely agree, Hetty.” Bessie was emphatic. “I don’t think Violet should do this. I’ll tell her so, the next time I see her.”
Lizzy frowned. “But Cupcake is talented. Perhaps she should have a chance to show what she can do.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s what Ryan—Mr. Nichols—says. Darling isn’t the center of the universe.”
“Not the center of the universe?” Aunt Hetty chuckled. “But it is!”
“Mr. Nichols,” Verna repeated, with a sly glance at Lizzy. “He’s your new boss, isn’t he?”
“Your new boss?” Bessie asked in surprise. “You’re leaving Mr. Moseley? Oh, my goodness!”
Aunt Hetty’s eyes widened. “You’re not leaving Darling, are you?” She put her hand over her heart. “I’m getting too old for this, girls. Too many things are happening. And nothing—” She paused and looked expectantly around the table. She was joined by a chorus. “Nothing ever happens in Darling!”
The Darling Dahlias and the Poinsettia Puzzle Page 24