The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “You damn well know what it is,” Roger said roughly. “It’s about those telegrams you sent me. You said you were desperate for cash and I was the only one you could turn to, and I believed you. You said you loved me and I was fool enough to—”

  “By golly,” Verna whispered. “He did do it for love! What an idiot.”

  Roger was going on. “Mildred says it was blackmail, but I don’t agree. I didn’t think you were threatening me. I just thought you needed money.”

  “But I didn’t!” Miss Dare said hotly. “I mean, I always need money. But I didn’t ask you for any. And I didn’t say I loved you and wanted—” She stopped. “I mean, I do love you, sweetie, heart and soul, honest Injun, cross my heart and hope to die. But I never sent you any telegrams asking for money. And I never got a cent from you. Not one red cent!”

  “But if she didn’t ask for it,” Lizzy whispered, puzzled, “who did?”

  “Yes,” Verna said. “That’s the question, isn’t it? And if it wasn’t blackmail, it was extortion. Somebody was using her name—fraudulently.” Then, true to her habit of looking under every rock, she added, “But maybe she’s lying. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  Roger seemed to think so, too. “You’re lying, Lily. And I’ve got your signature on those checks to prove it.”

  “I don’t know who the hell signed those checks,” Miss Dare said grimly, “but it sure wasn’t me. I didn’t know the first thing about them until your precious little wifey started waving that letter under my nose and screaming like a banshee.”

  “You could at least be respectful,” Roger replied in an ominous tone. “Mildred hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “Oh, she hasn’t, has she?” Miss Dare hooted. “Be respectful—after that little witch popped me in the eye? See this? If you think it looks bad now, just you wait until tomorrow. I’m going to have a pretty purple shiner. And when people ask me where I got it, I’ll tell them that your battle-ax—”

  “Don’t you call Mildred names,” Roger said, low and hard. “She’s twice the woman you are. You took my money and—”

  “But I didn’t take your money!” Miss Dare cried petulantly. “You big sap! You don’t have the sense God gave a billy goat! You’ve been played for a sucker. Somebody rolled you for a wad of dough and you think you can blame me for it. Well, I’ll show you. I’ll—”

  “Shut up,” Roger snarled. “You just shut your mouth!” The bed creaked again as if he had gotten up. Lizzy heard a scuffling noise, then heavy breathing and more scuffling.

  “Ouch!” Miss Dare gave an injured whimper. “Stop twisting my arm, you big bully. If you don’t lay off, I’m going to—”

  There was the loud sound of a fist striking flesh.

  Verna straightened up. “He’s beating on her! Liz, we have to—” She started for the door, Liz at her heels. But once again, they were too late.

  “Damn!” Roger exclaimed, flabbergasted. “You slugged me, Lily! Right in the eye!”

  “You bet I slugged you!” Miss Dare cried. “And I’ll do it again. Get out of my room or I’ll start screaming. That’ll bring your sweet little wifey running.”

  Roger apparently took her at her word, for the door opened and shut and heavy footsteps stomped down the hall.

  After a moment, the silence in the other room was broken by a frenzied sobbing.

  “Do you think we’d better go and see if she’s okay?” Lizzy asked worriedly. “I promised Charlie that we’d make sure—”

  “Maybe just one of us,” Verna said. “You go, Liz. I haven’t even been introduced to her. In fact, I’ve never even laid eyes on the woman.”

  At Miss Dare’s room, Lizzy didn’t bother to knock; she just pushed the door open and went in. In the shadowy darkness, she could see that the lady, wearing a glamorous lace-trimmed peach nightgown, had thrown herself across the bed, face down. She was weeping noisily.

  Lizzy leaned over the woman and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s Liz,” she said. “Liz Lacy. We had lunch together—remember? I’m in the room next door and I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you? Is there anything I can do?”

  Miss Dare gulped back a sob and struggled to sit up. “Oh, yeah. Liz. You’re my babysitter, aren’t you? My protector.” Her dark hair was disheveled, her face was splotched and puffy, and there was a purple-green bruise under her left eye. “Well, there’s nothing you can do unless you know a sure cure for a shiner.” She looked down at her right arm, where three finger marks were an ugly red against the pale skin. “And a twisted arm,” she added bitterly. “I’m just lucky that stupid lug didn’t break it. He certainly tried hard enough. I thought he was going to pull it right out of the socket.”

  Lizzy persisted. “You’re sure you’re okay? You wouldn’t like a glass of water?” She looked at Miss Dare’s eye. “Or a cold washcloth for that eye or—”

  “Whiskey,” Miss Dare said optimistically. She touched her eye with a tender finger. “If you haven’t got that, brandy will do. Or rum.”

  “Sorry,” Lizzy replied. “I don’t have any booze. And I don’t know where Roger keeps it.”

  “Well, then, you’re not much good, are you, honey?” Sniffling, Miss Dare got up and went to the dresser, where she opened her brown leather handbag, took out a small brown cigar, and came back to the bed and sat down, crossing her bare legs.

  “But maybe you know something about those checks Roger and his missus keep talking about,” she went on, swinging one foot, shod in a peach-colored satin mule with a fluffy peach pompom. She added darkly, “I’d sure like to find out whose big pockets that nine hundred smackeroos went into—especially since somebody got that cash by using my name.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “I heard, yes,” she admitted. “But I don’t know any more than you do, I’m afraid.” Then, timidly, she ventured a question. “Do you have any idea who might have sent those telegrams? Or written the letters?”

  Miss Dare reached for a matchbook on the nightstand. “Actually, I have a pretty good idea who did it,” she said, in a low, angry voice. “In fact, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure. And I’ve had just about all I can take from—”

  She struck a match and held it to the cigar, but her hand was shaking so hard that the match went out. She tried again, with another match.

  “I intend to settle some hash over this,” she added savagely, blowing out a stream of smoke.

  Settle some hash. Who did Miss Dare suspect? Was it Rex Hart? If she thought he sent the telegrams, did she suspect him of writing the anonymous letters and sending the photograph? And sabotaging her airplane, too? But Lizzy didn’t feel that she could ask those important questions. Lamely, she said, “Well, if you need me in the night, just yell. I’m right next door. I can be here in a few seconds—faster, if you’ll unbolt the door between our rooms.”

  “I am not unbolting any doors, baby doll.” Miss Dare looked straight at her, her eyes hard. “Go back to bed and go to sleep. And don’t bother me again, no matter what you think you hear in this room. You got that?”

  “But I promised Charlie—” Lizzy began.

  “I don’t care what the hell you promised Charlie,” Miss Dare said icily. “And you can tell him I said so. I resent being looked after. And I don’t like knowing that there’s a spy in the room next door, eavesdropping on my private conversations. Get out. Now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lizzy said, feeling like a little girl who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Miss Dare was making a very valid point. She backed toward the door. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

  Miss Dare didn’t reply. Lizzy left her, sitting on the bed, smoking and swinging that peach satin mule. As she went into the hall, she saw Angel Flame’s door close and wondered uncomfortably how much she had heard.

  Back in their bedroom, Verna was waitin
g. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea, huh?” she said quietly. “How is she?”

  “She’s in pretty bad shape,” Lizzy replied. “Black eye, bruised arm. She was so shaky that she could barely light that cigar of hers.”

  “Cigar?” Verna frowned.

  “Cigar,” Lizzy said. “And I think she’s right, Verna. Regardless of why we were doing it, we shouldn’t be eavesdropping on her private conversations. I’m turning in now. And I don’t care what happens next door—even if somebody gets shot—I am not getting out of this bed.” She pulled her green cotton nightgown out of the dresser drawer. “And I am sleeping in my nightgown,” she said pointedly, beginning to undress.

  Verna considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Our hearts were in the right place, but I guess you’re right.” Her grin was lopsided. “Just out of curiosity, though, tell me what she wears to sleep in.”

  “A see-through peach negligee trimmed with lace,” Lizzy said. “And peach-colored satin mules on her feet. Like a Hollywood starlet. She may be broke, but she sleeps in style.” She turned back the pink coverlet and crawled into bed. “Whatever happens can happen without me. Good night.”

  As she fell asleep, she wondered if Miss Marple ever regretted snooping into the private affairs of anyone in St. Mary Mead—and whether she’d gotten into serious trouble when she was doing it. Maybe she should write to Miss Agatha Christie and ask.

  Lizzy was wakened from a sound sleep by the insistent hammering of a woodpecker in the sycamore tree outside the window. The sun was brightening the room and the inviting smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the early morning air. As she opened her eyes, she saw that Verna was already up and dressed.

  “It’s seven o’clock on a Friday,” Verna announced briskly, “and I’m a working girl. I have to get to the courthouse, so I’ll just skip breakfast here. I can pick up something quick at the diner.”

  Lizzy sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “You’re skipping breakfast here because you don’t want to face the awkwardness,” she said accusingly, thinking of what was ahead. “Mildred, Roger, and Miss Dare across the breakfast table. Oh, and Angel Flame, too.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much fun,” Verna agreed soberly. “Maybe we shouldn’t have listened in last night, but that doesn’t change the fact that there are three pretty unhappy people in this house this morning.”

  “Make that four.” Lizzy swung her feet onto the floor. “I’m going to tell Charlie that Miss Dare doesn’t need a Miss Marple—or a nanny, either. She can take care of herself. Which means I won’t be sleeping over here after the party tonight.” The party, she thought forlornly, to which Grady was bringing the beautiful DeeDee Davis. But at least she hadn’t dreamed about her again.

  Verna nodded slowly. “I won’t either, then. Shall I let Mildred know, or will you?”

  “I will,” Lizzy said. “I’m sure it will be okay if we leave our clothes, though. We can dress here for the party.”

  “Good idea,” Verna said, picking up her handbag. “Thank Mildred for the hospitality, will you? I’ll see you later today.” At the door, she paused. “Oh, and I’ll leave your bicycle out front. You’ll want it today, I’m sure.”

  Lizzy combed her hair, dressed in slacks and her red print blouse, and added a touch of red lipstick. Then she went downstairs to the breakfast room, where a table was spread with a snowy white damask cloth and centered with a crystal bowl of pink roses. It was set for five.

  But Mildred, wearing a lilac-colored sundress, was the only person there. Her eye was puffed and purpled, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as Miss Dare’s had been last night.

  “Oh, dear,” Lizzy said quietly. “Oh, Mildred, your poor eye. I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Mildred replied staunchly. “I gave as good as I got—and maybe some better, too. You overheard the whole thing, I suppose.”

  Ollie Rose, wearing her starched black uniform and white cap, brought in a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits and set it down on the table.

  “Thank you, Ollie Rose,” Mildred said. She picked up the silver coffeepot. “Coffee, Liz?”

  “Thank you.” Lizzy held out her cup as Mildred poured. “Yes, I overheard,” she confessed somewhat guiltily.

  “And you overheard Roger’s conversation with her?” Mildred giggled. “I don’t think it went quite the way he expected. You should see his eye.”

  Lizzy flinched. “Verna and I both wish we hadn’t put all of us into that situation,” she said contritely. “If I had thought the whole thing through, I might have realized that it wasn’t the best idea in the world. I feel terribly awkward about it, Mildred. I apologized to Miss Dare, and I’m apologizing to you. I am sorry.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mildred said thoughtfully, and put down the pot. She smiled. “To tell the truth, Liz, I actually felt better knowing that you were on the other side of that door, in case . . .” She shrugged one shoulder. “Well, just in case. And I’m glad I told you about the letters and the money. Talking about it made me see things a little more clearly. I didn’t have a chance to discuss anything with Roger this morning—he got up and went to work very early, while I was still asleep. But we said enough last night to make me hope that we’ll get things straightened out—once Miss Dare is gone.” She frowned. “Of course, my opinion of her is still the same. She is a tramp.”

  “I think you and Roger will get things straightened out,” Lizzy said warmly, “and I’m glad. Just the same, Verna and I feel it would be better if we went home after the party tonight.” She helped herself to the scrambled eggs and bacon. “Oh, and Verna asked me to thank you for your hospitality,” she added, taking a biscuit. “She thought she’d better skip breakfast and go on to the courthouse.”

  “You all are welcome any time,” Mildred said. “We rattle around in this big house.” She glanced at the clock on the sideboard. The hands stood at eight o’clock. “I wonder where Angel and Miss Dare are. Last night, Mr. Dickens said he’d be here at eight fifteen to pick them up and take them out to the airfield, so they asked for breakfast early. I’ll ask Ollie Rose to go upstairs and knock.”

  But just as Mildred was reaching for the small gold bell beside her plate, Lizzy heard the sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs.

  “Mrs. Kilgore!” Angel Flame, dressed in khaki trousers and a navy blue blouse, burst into the dining room. Her hair was sticking out in every direction and the sandy freckles were popping out all over her face. “Mrs. Kilgore, oh, come quick! Quick! Lily is—” She gulped. “Miss Dare is gone!”

  “Gone?” Lizzy echoed. “Gone where?”

  “I have no idea,” Angel replied breathlessly. “I went to wake her up just now and her room is empty. And there’s been some sort of . . . of trouble. In her room.”

  “Trouble?” Mildred asked sharply. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Come and see,” Angel said, and turned to run back up the stairs.

  A moment later, they were standing at the door of Lily Dare’s bedroom. “You see?” Angel said excitedly. “It looks like there’s been a struggle of some sort!”

  She was right. The lamp from the nightstand lay on its side, the light bulb shattered and the lampshade broken. The ashtray had spilled and cigar ashes were scattered across the floor. Bedding was twisted and pulled from the bed. A straight chair lay on its side. A vase of flowers had been knocked over and the water spilled. The window shade was askew. Lily Dare was nowhere to be seen.

  “The window!” Lizzy exclaimed, and rushed toward the open window, which was pushed up as high as it would go. The screen was missing, and a torn scrap of sheer peach fabric was snagged on a corner of the sill. She put her head out and looked down. There was a bare wooden trellis on the wall beneath the window. On the ground beneath the window, about ten feet below, lay the window screen—and on
e peach-colored satin mule.

  “Her slipper,” Lizzy said to Mildred. “It’s down there, on the ground.” She pointed to the scrap of fabric. “And that’s her nightgown.”

  “You mean, she’s out there somewhere in her negligee and just one slipper?” Mildred asked incredulously.

  “She would never go out dressed like that!” Angel Flame cried, clapping her hands to her mouth. “She’s been kidnapped. Somebody forced her out that window!”

  “Kidnapped!” Mildred wailed. “Oh, no! This can’t be happening. Not in my house!” She swiveled to face Lizzy. “This mess, the breakage—surely there would have been some noise. What did you hear?”

  “Not a thing,” Lizzy said disconsolately. “Not after—”

  She stopped. She had been about to say that she hadn’t heard any signs of an altercation after Roger left Miss Dare’s room, but she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Angel Flame. Angel had been at her door, listening, and Lizzy didn’t know what she had overheard.

  “Not after—” Angel prompted, watching her. “Not after what? What do you mean?”

  But Lizzy was saved by the bell—the doorbell, pealing sharply downstairs.

  “Thank heavens,” Mildred said, hurrying to the door. “It must be Mr. Dickens. He’ll know what to do.”

  “I think you should call the cops,” Angel said loudly, to Mildred’s back. “Call ’em right now! Don’t wait another minute.” She looked around the room, shuddering. “Something bad has happened to Lily,” she muttered. “Something really, really bad. I can feel it in my bones!”

  Lizzy sighed, thinking of Sheriff Roy Burns, who would go clumping through the house like Mr. Norris’ clumsy old horse. The sheriff could handle Old Zeke when he got drunk and disorderly, and he could manage the rowdies out at the Dance Barn out on Briarwood Road. But he had neither finesse nor imagination, and she was sure he would have no more idea of what to do than they did.

  And what was worse, if the sheriff came, he would likely start asking questions, and she would end up having to tell about the confrontations of the night before. And that could cause all kinds of unwarranted embarrassment and trouble for Mildred and Roger.