The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star (22 page)

Verna looked over Pauline DuBerry’s shoulder. The motor court cottage was dim, since the cotton curtain was drawn across the only window. But enough daylight filtered into the small, low-ceilinged room to see that the walls were painted a dirty gray and the floor was covered with green linoleum. The furnishings were spartan: a pine chest of drawers with a wall mirror over it, a wooden straight chair, and two narrow single beds with a lamp table and a lamp between them. Both beds were unmade, and a dark-haired, good-looking woman was sitting on one of them, wearing a peach-colored, lace-trimmed nightgown with a raggedly torn hem. Her hair was mussed from sleep and her left eye was purpled and puffy. She was smoking a small cigar.

“I said, ‘I’m not decent,’” the woman said in a testy voice. “I’m not dressed for company.”

“And I’m askin’, who the dickens are you?” Pauline DuBerry repeated sternly, hands on hips. “Miz Riggs paid for one. If there’s goin’ to be two of you sleepin’ in this cottage, she’s goin’ to have to pay for two. Means more laundry, you know. Bed sheets and towels gotta be washed.”

“Don’t nag, I’ll pay,” the woman said, reaching for her leather handbag. “And Raylene didn’t invite me, so don’t be mad at her. I knocked on her door in the middle of the night, looking for a place to stay, and she was sweet enough to let me in. How much do I owe you?” She put her cigar in the ashtray and took out her wallet. “And while we’re at it, could I book a cottage for myself? I’d like it for tonight and Saturday night.”

“Oh, well,” Pauline said, mollified. “If you’re bookin’ for you, we’ll just forget last night. A dollar fifty. Seventy-five cents a night for two nights.”

“Here’s two dollars,” the woman said, and handed over the bills. “Keep the change.”

“Why, thank you.” Pauline smiled as she tucked the money into her apron pocket. “Stop by the office and get a key. I’ll put you in Number Five. The one with the red door.” She opened the door, then turned back. “If you want something for that shiner, I can brew up some sage tea and make you a compress. That’s what my mama did for us kids when we was little. Works, too.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and put her handbag on the floor beside her. “Maybe later. I have some things to do this morning.”

“Later will be too late,” Pauline cautioned. “Black eyes—you gotta get to ’em quick, or they’ll be around for a while.”

“I’ll risk it,” the woman said.

Pauline shrugged and left but Verna stayed behind, now very puzzled. “Miss Lily Dare?” she asked tentatively. The cigar, the black eye, the sheer peach negligee—it had to be her, although as far as she knew, Miss Dare was either still asleep in Mildred Kilgore’s guest bedroom or sitting at Mildred’s breakfast table. So what was she doing
here
?

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman said coolly. She picked up her cigar, saw that it had gone out, and laid it back in the ashtray. “Yeah, I’m Lily Dare. How’d you know? And just who the devil are
you
?”

“Er, ah . . .” Verna was almost never at a loss for words, but she was now. She didn’t want to confess that she had been playing amateur detective the night before and had intentionally eavesdropped on the unpleasant conversations in Miss Dare’s room. She doubted that Agatha Christie had ever let Miss Marple get cornered in such a sticky wicket.

“I . . . I was at the movie last night and somebody pointed you out,” she lied. “
Hell’s Angels.
That was a
really
good flick—loved that air combat. I heard you were staying at the Kilgores’, so I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“I
was
staying at the Kilgores’,” Miss Dare said. “In fact, I was invited to spend the weekend. But I changed my mind. I’m staying here.” She gave Verna a pointed look. “Just what did you say your name was?”

Verna stared at the woman, thinking that she had to have left the Kilgores’
after
Liz talked to her—and how did she get all the way out to the Marigold Motor Court in the middle of the night? It must be at least a mile. Had she
walked?
In that see-through negligee she was wearing?

“Your
name
?” Miss Dare asked again.

“Oh, sorry,” Verna replied hastily. “I’m Verna Tidwell. Actually, I came here looking for Raylene Riggs. She didn’t show up at work this morning, and Miss Mosswell, her boss at the diner, is worried about her.”

Miss Dare got up and went to the mirror over the dresser, touching her eye tenderly. “Raylene is on her way to work. We were up kind of late talking and we both overslept. But she got a lift into town. She should be at work by now.” She leaned toward the mirror, peering at her reflection. “Does this eye look very bad to you?”

“Not too bad,” Verna said diplomatically. She paused. “How did it happen?”

“I walked into a door,” Miss Dare said in a bored voice.

Oh, right,
Verna thought sarcastically. More like Mildred’s fist.

Miss Dare opened her handbag and took out a little jar, deftly applying something to her face. She regarded herself in the mirror, added a few touchups, then turned around. “There. Does that look better?”

“Oh, much,” Verna said, although the black eye was still quite noticeable. She was dying to ask Miss Dare how in the world she got here, to the motor court, and
why.
But she couldn’t think of a way to do it.

“Good.” Miss Dare took a comb out of her bag and began to work on her hair. “I’ve got a party to go to tonight, and I don’t want to look like I’ve been trading punches with the local heavyweight. Say, Verna, I need to get out to the airstrip this morning. Does this burg have a taxi?”

“Not really,” Verna said, suppressing a smile. “That is, it does . . . I mean, we do. But Mr. Clinton mostly goes between Darling and Monroeville, and the airstrip is out of his way.” She added, deferentially, “I could drive you out to the airstrip, Miss Dare. I have my car here.”

“Oh, would you, dear?” Miss Dare asked warmly. “Please call me Lily.” She picked up a small canvas bag. “I’ll get dressed—it’ll just take a jiffy—and then go pick up my key at the office. I’m glad I came,” she added confidentially, as she headed for the bathroom. “This place may not be fancy, but it’s clean and private. And I can lock the door and keep folks from barging in on me.”

I can lock the door.
Verna flinched, remembering her own role in the invasion of Lily Dare’s privacy. Did she leave because she knew that people could overhear every word that was said in her room? Or was there some other reason? If so, could she get Lily to tell her what it was?

Maybe, maybe not. But Verna vowed to give it her best shot.

It was over an hour later when Verna pulled her LaSalle into a parking place in front of the courthouse, next to Judge McHenry’s old gray Buick. The judge’s bluetick coonhound, Buck, was sitting erect behind the steering wheel. He barked cheerfully at Verna when he recognized her—Buck was a frequent visitor to the courthouse and remembered Verna, who always scratched his ears.

She knew she ought to run up to the office and check on Melba Jean and Ruthie. But she had something else on her mind, so she went straight across the street to the diner, where she found Myra May wrapping silverware in paper napkins for the noon rush. It looked as if peace and sanity had finally been restored. The morning crowd was gone, the tables were empty, and Rudy Vallee was crooning (on the Philco) “As Time Goes By,” one of Verna’s favorite songs. “Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate . . .” Somehow, it seemed apropos to what she had just heard from Lily Dare.

“Did Raylene make it to work okay?” Verna asked. “She had already left by the time I got out to the Marigold. Her roommate told me she got a lift into town.”

“Yes, she got here,” Myra May said, “and we were plenty relieved. She’s back there in the kitchen right now, working on the food for the noon crowd. After lunch, we’re going out to the Kilgores’ and get started on the party stuff.” She picked up the coffeepot. “Coffee? You got out of here earlier without a full cup. We owe you.”

“Just what I need,” Verna said gratefully, sliding onto a counter stool.

Myra May filled a mug and pushed it across the counter. “Raylene’s got a roommate?” she asked with a curious, sidelong look. “She didn’t mention it to me.”

“It was a one-night thing,” Verna said, and then, when both of Myra May’s eyebrows went up, added, “A woman she’s known for several years. An old friend.”

Myra May’s eyebrows went back down. “Ah,” she said.

Verna added sugar to her coffee and stirred. “Myra May, would it be okay if I had a talk with Raylene? Something . . . well, puzzling has come up. Disturbing, actually. I think she may be able to shed some light.”

“She’s pretty busy right now,” Myra May said doubtfully. “Could you maybe do it after the party?”

“That could be too late,” Verna said. “Or maybe not. The thing is, I just don’t know. Maybe it can wait, or maybe not. It all depends on—”

The diner door popped open and Liz rushed in. “Verna!” she cried excitedly. “I went up to your office and Melba Jean told me you were out this morning. And then I saw your car and I thought you might be here. I’m
so
glad I found you!” She gulped a breath. “You will never guess what’s happened!”

“Oh, I think I can,” Verna said. “Lily Dare disappeared from her room sometime after you left her last night. You don’t know where she is and everybody’s looking all over for her. You want me to help.”

Liz stared at her, uncomprehending. “Yes, but how did you know? How
could
you know, Verna? You left the Kilgores’ before Mildred and Angel Flame and I discovered that she was gone!”

“I’m psychic,” Verna said with a smug chuckle. She sipped her coffee.

“Ha!” Myra May hooted. “Verna, you are the most un-psychic person I know.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and turned serious. “Raylene Riggs, on the other hand, is
really
psychic. She knows what people want to eat, she knows things that are going to happen, she even knows—”

“Excuse me, Myra May,” Liz said impatiently. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but this is important.” She sat down on a counter stool beside Verna. “Verna, you are
not
psychic, and if you were, you would never in the world admit to it. Now you tell me. How did you know Miss Dare has disappeared?”

Verna picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. “Because I found her,” she said calmly.

“You
found
her?” Liz leaned forward, her eyes widening. “Is she okay? Where
is
she? How did she get there? Why did she—”

Verna held up her hand, damming the flow of Liz’s words. “Yes, she’s okay. Right now, she’s out at the airstrip. I drove her out there just a little while ago. As to why, that’s a long story.” She put her cup down. “Oh, by the way, Liz. I stopped at the fairgrounds on my way back to town. You’ll be glad to know that the carnival got in last night. They’re setting up this morning. The rides look as if they’re in pretty good repair and the sideshows actually look decent for a change. The Masons are putting up the tents for the exhibits. I think we’re in pretty good shape for the festival weekend.” She paused. “As for the air show, well, that’s something else. We need to talk about that.”

“But I want to talk about Miss Dare!” Liz exclaimed. “I want to know why she—”

Myra May picked up the coffeepot again. “Liz, you sound like you could use a cup of coffee, on the house. How about it?”

“Yes, thanks. But I want—” Liz broke off. “
Where
, Verna?” she asked urgently. “Where did you find her?”

But before Verna could answer her question, there was another interruption.

“Hi,” a voice said, and a woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She was Myra May’s height, and her auburn hair, gray-streaked, was cut short and curled around her ears. She was wearing a white cook’s apron over a red print dress.

“Somebody’s wanting to talk to me?” she asked in her soft Southern voice. To Myra May, she added, “I just finished putting three pecan pies and two pans of meat loaf in the oven. The potatoes and eggs are cooked for potato salad, so all we have to do is chop the celery, onions, and pickles and put it together.” She hung up the towel. “I’m ready to take a little break.”

“There,” Myra May said with satisfaction, and poured Liz’s coffee. “You see? Violet and I have decided that Raylene is positively psychic. Nobody told her that you two were out here, wanting to talk to her. She just
knew.
Same way she knew that Donna Sue was dreaming of her mother’s grits and sausage casserole and that J.D. wanted some sweet potato meringue pie. It’s a gift she has.”

“Well, now that she’s here and ready to take a break,” Verna said, “is it okay if we talk to her?”

Myra May rolled her eyes. “Who am I to say no?” She muttered an answer to her own question. “Just the boss, that’s all.” She picked up a mug and poured coffee for Raylene. “Sure. Go ahead and take a break. And take those leftover doughnuts with you. But maybe you’d better go over to that back table, in case somebody comes in.” She turned away. “You want me, I’m in the kitchen.”

Raylene put three doughnuts on a plate and led them, coffee mugs in hand, to the back table. They took seats under the Ferguson Tractor Company calendar from the feed store. As they sat down, Verna introduced herself to Raylene.