The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” Verna replied. “He said he’s asked the former Miss Cotton of Monroeville. DeeDee Davis. Fourth runner-up in the 1930 Miss Alabama contest. And voted Miss Congeniality, too.”

  The news burst on Lizzy like a bombshell. “Oh, no, not her!” she moaned. “Not DeeDee Davis!”

  She buried her face in the pillow. Everybody knew that blond, curvaceous DeeDee Davis was the most beautiful girl in three counties. She was nice, too. And young—no more than twenty-five, if that. She worked as a secretary in the Monroe County Ag office. As agriculture agent for both counties, Grady no doubt saw her whenever he went over to the Monroeville office.

  “Jealous?” Verna inquired gently.

  “Absolutely not,” Lizzy snapped, dropping the pillow. “What makes you think I’m jealous?”

  “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Grady’s mother might think they were going to get married. Her mother might think so, too. But they were both wrong. Lizzy knew for a fact that she and Grady were not committed to one another, so there was no reason to be jealous. No reason at all.

  “That’s good,” Verna said. “That way, you won’t be the least bit upset when you see them together tomorrow night.”

  “Oooh,” Lizzy groaned, and rolled over to face the wall. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  “Two hours,” Verna said. “I’ll wake you.”

  The day had been a long one and Lizzy was bone-weary. Despite fretting over Verna’s bombshell (and no, she was definitely not jealous), she was soon asleep. How long she slept, she didn’t know. She was dreaming that she was driving a bumper car in a carnival ride, dressed in her gray silk party dress and wearing her silver earrings and bracelet. Mr. Moseley and Grady, driving separate cars, were bumping her car, very hard, each one shouting that he had come to take her to the party because she had promised to go with him. To make matters worse, she knew she had promised one of them but she couldn’t for the life of her remember which one, and she felt terribly guilty for forgetting such an important commitment—almost as important, it seemed in her dream, as a promise to marry.

  And the minute she thought of that, Lizzy remembered that she definitely had promised to marry one of them. Which one? Was it Grady or Mr. Moseley? Or maybe she had promised to marry both of them! Oh, dear! She must love one of them, mustn’t she, or she would never have promised to marry him. Or maybe she loved them both?

  But that was impossible—wasn’t it? And anyway, she couldn’t marry either one of them because she was wearing her gray dress (married in black you’ll wish yourself back; married in gray you’ll die far away) and she loved living in her little doll’s house all alone, with only Daffy for company. Which of course was entirely and unforgivably selfish, just as her mother said, but there was nothing she could do about that.

  And then, to make matters worse, DeeDee Davis, decked out in her Miss Cotton gown and crown, suddenly appeared in Grady’s car. Grady pulled over to the side and the two of them began necking passionately. To escape the sight, Lizzy drove her car out a door and down a dark, winding alley into an empty field. She was sitting there, wondering what she should do next, when she felt someone gently shaking her shoulder. It was Mr. Moseley. “Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, Liz, it’s time to go to the party. Wake up!”

  Startled out of the confusion of her dream, Lizzy opened her eyes into the shadows of Mildred’s pink guestroom. Verna was leaning over her, still shaking her shoulder, not so gently now.

  “Wake up,” she repeated urgently. “Wake up, Liz!”

  “What time is it?” Lizzy asked blurrily. Since she’d fallen asleep, the moon had risen and was casting silver tree shadows across the floor so that the room was in half-twilight.

  “Eleven fifty-five,” Verna said in a whisper. “Wake up, Liz. Mildred is in Miss Dare’s room.”

  Lizzy struggled to sit up. “Mildred? What’s she doing there?”

  “Shh!” Verna put a finger to her lips. “They’re talking—in whispers, since they obviously don’t want to be overheard. But you can hear—sort of—if you put your ear to the door.”

  Lizzy got up and went to the door. Crouching with her ear against it, she could hear two women’s voices, so low that only fragments of sentences were audible, and just barely. But she recognized Mildred’s voice—a Mildred who was even angrier than she had been that afternoon. And who definitely didn’t want Lizzy and Verna to overhear. Or did she? She might feel safer, knowing that somebody was listening.

  “. . . telling you to leave my husband alone!” she said fiercely.

  “. . . don’t know . . . talking about, my dear,” Miss Dare said. “I’m not—”

  “You see this photograph?” Mildred demanded. “And . . . two letters, detailing. . . . I am no fool. I know . . . going on, and I’m telling you . . . leave him alone!”

  Miss Dare’s laugh was like breaking glass. The floor creaked, as though she were moving around the room, and when she spoke, her voice was a little louder.

  “I hate anonymous letters,” she said in a caustic tone. “They are so cowardly. But you’ve found us out, so I might as well admit it. I’m not the one you should be talking to, though. It was Roger’s idea in the first place, you know. He came after me. You should talk to him.”

  The floor creaked again. Mildred’s voice was a little louder now, too. “I don’t believe that for a second,” she hissed. “You’re the one who tempted him. You’re a seductress. And I’m telling you, you have to stop. I won’t have you wrecking my marriage and destroying my husband’s business!”

  “Destroying—”

  “I know about those checks he wrote you. I don’t know what you were threatening to do if you didn’t get it, but you’re a blackmailer. You—”

  “What checks?” Miss Dare broke in. “I don’t know anything about any checks.”

  “Did you hear that?” Verna whispered, elbowing Lizzy. “Blackmail. Like I said!”

  “We may look rich,” Mildred said, “but we’re not made of money. We can’t afford—”

  Verna pushed Lizzy a little aside so she could get closer to the door. But by now, the women in the other room had forgotten all about keeping their voices down.

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Miss Dare’s voice was ominously flat. “I have never asked Roger for one cent.”

  “You’re lying!” Mildred cried. “You’re a liar. You’re a damned liar!”

  “Oh, my,” Lizzy breathed, eyes wide.

  “That’s crazy,” Miss Dare said rudely. “You should see yourself, Mrs. Kilgore. You look like a crazy woman.” Her laugh was a taunt. “You are a crazy woman!”

  “I have every right to be crazy! You are making me crazy, trying to steal my husband, blackmailing him—”

  “Blackmailing? Blackmailing?” Miss Dare shrilled. “What are you talking about? I am not blackmailing him! I have no idea what—”

  “Liar!” Mildred cried furiously. “You are a liar! I’ve seen the check register myself! Three checks, nine hundred dollars. He paid you nine hundred dollars!”

  “You tell her, Mildred,” Lizzy said under her breath.

  “But maybe she isn’t the blackmailer, Liz,” Verna whispered in her ear. “All Mildred knows is that Roger was mailing those checks to someone, but she doesn’t know for sure who. Why, Roger himself might not even know.”

  Listening to Verna, Lizzy missed whatever Miss Dare replied. Mildred was even angrier now, but she had lowered her voice, so that Lizzy could hear only broken snatches once more. “. . .You’ll be sorry . . . I’ll make you pay for this . . . I’ll drag your name in the . . .”

  Miss Dare’s response was much more audible. Her voice was flint-like. “You can try, of course, but I must warn you that better women than you have—”

  “Better women!” Mildr
ed shrieked. “I’ll show you who’s better!”

  There was the sound of a sharp slap. And then a second. “We ought to break this up,” Verna said, “before somebody gets hurt.” She shot the bolt back and tried to open the door. But it wouldn’t move—it was bolted on the other side.

  “You struck me!” Miss Dare said, low and ominous. “All right—you want to fight, sister? I’ll snatch you bald!” There was the sound of scuffling and a muffled cry, then another, and more scuffling.

  “My eye!” Mildred cried. “Oh, my eye!”

  “We have to do something,” Lizzy said urgently, and started for the door of their room. But by the time she reached it, Miss Dare had shoved Mildred into the hall with a rough “Get out!” Her door slammed, and Mildred retreated with hasty, stumbling steps in the direction of the master bedroom. Across the hall, Lizzy saw Angel Flame’s door silently close. She had been listening, too.

  Lizzy shut the door and leaned her back against it. “Mercy,” she said weakly. “That was just like in the movies!”

  “I wonder who won,” Verna said ironically. “Or more to the point, who will be wearing a black eye for tomorrow’s party. And how she will explain it when people ask.”

  “Maybe they both will,” Lizzy said. “Wear a black eye, I mean. And then they won’t have to explain it—it’ll be obvious. But I shouldn’t joke about it. It’s not funny. I wonder how they’re going to face each other at breakfast tomorrow.” Facing somebody you’ve punched might be almost as hard as facing somebody you’ve kissed, she thought. She glanced at the clock on the bureau and corrected herself. “Not tomorrow, today. It’s after midnight.”

  “So it is,” Verna said with a yawn. “Your watch, Liz. My turn to get some sleep.”

  “Good,” Lizzy said, and sat down in the rocking chair. “I hope nothing more happens.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Verna said, pulling off her shoes and flopping down on the bed. “That was interesting, don’t you think? And revealing. I never suspected that Mildred could be so passionate about anything.”

  “If you say so,” Lizzy replied. “But personally, I prefer a little less passion, thank you.” The trouble with passion was that it could get you into trouble, and Lizzy, a cautious person, liked to avoid trouble whenever she could. “And I definitely didn’t want to know all those things about Mildred—or Miss Dare, either,” she added. Passionate people could be dangerous, or at the very least, disturbing.

  “Not me,” Verna said emphatically. “The more I know about people, the better I like it. And a little passion never hurt anybody, Liz.”

  Verna was about to get what she wanted—and then some.

  THIRTEEN

  “Gone? Gone Where?”

  Lizzy was keyed up and on edge, so she didn’t find it hard to stay awake, and she found herself puzzling over what they had heard. Verna was right when she said that the argument was revealing. Mildred had always seemed so placidly smug, so comfortable and contented in the midst of all her possessions. Her argument with Miss Dare had definitely disclosed a side of Mildred that Lizzy had never suspected—and which was definitely unsettling. She had never imagined mild-mannered, sweet-as-cream Mildred getting up the energy to strike a blow.

  Lizzy shivered, thinking of the questions that had been raised by the argument they had just overheard and not liking any of them. How far would Mildred go to protect her home, her husband, the business, their way of life? And what about Miss Dare? How far would she go to get what she wanted? If she wanted Roger Kilgore, what would she do to get—and keep—him?

  But there were no easy answers, so Lizzy gave up. She raised the window shade and passed the time watching the moon rise higher in the sky, tracing the outlines of the trees as they slipped across the silvered floor and into the shadowy corners of the room. Outside, the mysterious darkness was scented with honeysuckle and roses. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, out and about on a nocturnal excursion. Nearer at hand, the summer cicadas and katydids sang in the trees. Nearer still, Verna snored gently and shifted in her sleep. There were no sounds from Miss Dare’s room.

  But the drone of the insects was hypnotic and staying alert got harder and harder. Lizzy felt herself drowsing, then jerking awake as her shoulders slumped and her chin dropped onto her chest. After alternately dozing and waking for a time, she finally pushed herself out of the chair and tiptoed across the hall to the bathroom. As she did, she saw a light at the far end of the hall and the rise and fall of voices. Roger must be home, and he and Mildred were talking.

  Lizzy felt apprehensive. Would Mildred tell her husband about her argument with Miss Dare? Would she tell him the truth? How much would she tell him?

  In the bathroom, she got a glass of water and brought it back to the room. She sat, sipping the water slowly, looking up at the starlit, moonstruck sky and trying not to think about anything—especially not about Grady and DeeDee Davis, the most beautiful girl in three counties. After a while, she was distracted from her efforts not to think about Grady and DeeDee by the surreptitious sound of a door opening, then closing again.

  Was it the door to Miss Dare’s room, or the bathroom door, or the door to Angel Flame’s room, across the hall?

  She got up and went to the hallway door and opened it cautiously, but the hall was much darker than their bedroom and she couldn’t see any movement. So she went back and knelt beside the door to Miss Dare’s room. She didn’t even have to press her ear against it, for she could now clearly hear the sound of voices. Miss Dare’s voice—and a man’s.

  Roger Kilgore! And from the sound of it, he had been drinking pretty heavily at that poker game. Miss Dare was trying to shush him, without success.

  “I want to know why you told Mildred,” Roger was saying in a gruff, slurred voice. “What’cha do it for?”

  “I didn’t tell her!” Miss Dare protested. “I didn’t!”

  Lizzy turned away to the bed to wake Verna, but she was a light sleeper. She had heard the voices and was instantly awake.

  “Grand Central Station over there,” she whispered, joining Lizzy at the door. “Roger, isn’t it? Sounds like he’s fully loaded.”

  Lizzy nodded, trying to imagine the scene. “I wonder what she’s wearing.” Something soft and clingy, probably. And sheer.

  “Or not, as the case may be,” Verna added dryly. “Maybe she sleeps in the raw.”

  “Well, wasn’t me who told her,” Roger growled. “So it must’ve been you.”

  “He’s been talking to Mildred,” Lizzy whispered. “I saw the light on in their bedroom and heard their voices. He knows that she knows about the affair, although maybe she didn’t tell him quite everything. Or he was too drunk to get the whole story.”

  “Probably too drunk,” Verna said. There was a sharp sound, like a chair falling over. “Uh-oh. Here we go, fight fans. Round two.”

  But Roger must just have stumbled.

  “You clumsy dolt.” Miss Dare laughed lightly—the same brittle laugh they had heard before. There was no amusement in it. “Come over here and sit down beside me.” The bed creaked. “Why are you so sore at me, sweetie?” she crooned. “Did you leave your brains at the poker table? Telling your wife about us is the last thing I’d do.”

  “Then how did she—” Roger was obviously confused. “I can’t figure out how she—”

  “Somebody sent her an anonymous letter. Didn’t she tell you that?” Miss Dare’s voice tightened, becoming fiercely sarcastic. “She was eager enough to tell me.”

  “An anon . . . nonymous—” He stumbled over the word and gave it up. “Who wrote it?”

  Lizzy could picture Miss Dare rolling her eyes. “How the hell should I know who wrote it? The damn thing wasn’t signed. She said there were two of them, but she got rid of the first one. She also had a photograph of you and me together—a compromising photograph, I should add. It was taken when
we were eating at that café in the French Quarter. She was delighted to shove my nose in it. She didn’t show it to you?”

  “She’s bawling her head off,” Roger said thickly. “Got a washcloth over her face. Won’t talk to me. Keeps saying I have to talk to you, that you know all about it.”

  “Well, maybe we’d better talk in the morning when you’re sober,” Miss Dare said. “And when your wife has stopped crying. There’s some business the three of us have to settle.”

  “The three of us?” Roger asked warily. “I don’t think so. Whatever it is, let’s leave Mildred out of it. But first—” His voice dropped. “Com’ere, sweetheart. We’ve got other fish to fry.” The bed creaked. Clark Gable was making his move. “Gimme a kiss, babe.”

  There was a silence, a long silence.

  Lizzy pressed her ear to the door. It wasn’t hard to imagine what was happening on the other side. She had seen Miss Dare in action twice before: kissing Roger and kissing Charlie. Only this time, the woman was wearing . . . what? A filmy negligee? Lizzy closed her eyes, but the image stayed with her. Miss Dare in a clingy nightgown that concealed none of her personal assets, Roger Kilgore kissing her, his hands all over her body, his mouth on hers. For some odd reason, Lizzy thought of Grady and her own mouth went dry. And then she thought of Grady and DeeDee Davis and—

  “Cut it out, Roger,” Miss Dare said firmly. “I’m not in the mood.” The bed creaked again, as if she had pushed him away and gotten up. “If you want to settle our business now, you can start by telling me about the blackmail. Nine hundred dollars was what she said.”

  “Can it, Lily,” Roger snapped. “You want more? Forget it. You’ve got every nickel you’re going to get from me. There’s nothing left. Nothing.” He didn’t sound drunk now. He sounded angry.

  There was a silence. Then, “What are you talking about, Roger?” Miss Dare asked, sounding genuinely baffled. “I don’t understand. What is all this crap about money?”