The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree Page 18

  Lizzy stared at him, trying to focus. Why was he so upset? So what if they found out he had bought Bunny that bracelet? It might be embarrassing, but that was all. It was only because he was drinking and feeling sorry for Bunny and even sorrier for himself. It was the whiskey talking. Buying the bracelet wasn’t smart, but a person could surely buy a present for another person without being accused of—

  “They’ll trace the bracelet,” he said again, as if he were talking to himself. “They’ll talk to Ettlinger’s. The salesclerk will remember that we were together. In Mobile.” He took a deep breath. “They’ll search her room at the boardinghouse. They’ll find my letter.”

  She felt raw. “You ... You wrote to her?”

  “I knew it was foolish. But I had to tell her—I had to explain why we couldn’t ... why I couldn’t give her what she wanted. A place of her own, where we could ...” He passed his hand across his eyes. “So stupid,” he muttered thickly. “How could I have been so all-fired stupid? After all the times I’ve told my clients never to write incriminating letters—” He reached for the bottle, then pushed it away. “I guess I’m just lucky she didn’t try to blackmail me.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Make me pay for my sins,” Mr. Moseley said in a sour tone. “But the really bad thing is that I don’t have an alibi for Saturday night”

  She stared at him. “An ... alibi?”

  “I was home. Alone. Adabelle and the kids were in Birmingham.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “The woman who cooks and keeps house for us was gone for the weekend. I didn’t see anybody, didn’t talk to anybody. I got good and drunk. Nobody can vouch for me.”

  She didn’t understand. “But what ... what does that matter?”

  “Can’t you see, Lizzy? It matters because I can’t prove I had nothing to do with Miss Scott’s death. If the police find out I was involved with her, I’ll be at the top of their suspect list”

  He dropped his face into his hands. Lizzy could think of nothing to say.

  A moment later, he lifted his head, leaned forward, and looked at her. His eyes were red, bloodshot. His voice was thick. “Liz, my dear Lizzy, I really hate to ask you this, but could you bring yourself to—That is, would you be able to—” He stopped.

  She couldn’t bear it. “To ... do what?”

  “To lie.” He took a deep breath. “To say we were together. You and I. On Saturday night. Just the two of us. At my house—or at yours, doesn’t matter.”

  “Together?” Her heart was thudding against her ribs. Together? In the same way he and Bunny had been together? In the way she herself had once dreamed of being with him?

  He regarded her for a moment, then gave a long, shuddery sigh. “Ah, hell. Forget it, Liz. I can’t ask you to do that. It’s embarrassing to you. People would assume that—Well, they’d assume, that’s all. And they’d keep on assuming, for a damned long time.”

  Another sigh, longer. “And if worse came to worst, you might have to swear to it in court, and that would mean perjury.”

  Numbly, Lizzy shook her head. “I couldn’t anyway, Mr. Moseley. I was ... I was with Grady on Saturday night. We went to the picture show, and then we—” She swallowed. “It was probably midnight by the time I got home.”

  “Ah. The ubiquitous Grady.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Liz. I shouldn’t have asked you. Please forget I said anything.” He picked up his glasses and put them on again. “I suppose we’d better get back to work. We’ve got a filing due today.”

  She nodded. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I wonder ... Could I ... Do you mind me asking a question?”

  He was moving papers around on his desk. “What?” He didn’t look up. “What’s your question?”

  “Did you—” She clenched her fingers around her pencil. It was an impertinent question. A question she didn’t have any right to ask. And either way, she didn’t want to hear the answer. But she had to know. “Did you buy Miss Scott a pair of earrings, too? Pearl earrings, from Ettlinger’s?”

  “Buy her what?” He found the paper he had been looking for and glanced up. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Earrings? No. Why are you asking?”

  “No reason,” she said hastily, and stood up.

  He frowned. “You must have had a reason, Liz. What is it? Did somebody else buy her—”

  She shook her head. “Please. If there’s anything else I can do—”

  “There isn’t,” he said, and picked up his pen. “Yes, there is. You can pour me a cup of coffee, black, no sugar. Then make another pot. Make it strong. Oh, and cancel the afternoon’s appointments. I don’t want to see anybody. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave her a look. “Except you, of course.”

  SIXTEEN

  Verna and Lizzy Have a Narrow Escape

  Verna’s afternoon was uneventful. She closed the probate office at the usual time and went across the street and up the stairs to the office of Moseley and Moseley to pick up Lizzy. Mr. Moseley was in but his door was closed. Lizzy put her finger to her lips, and they left silently.

  “He’s not feeling well,” Lizzy said, as they reached the street. “It’s been a ... a difficult afternoon.” She didn’t offer to explain, and Verna didn’t like to ask. In fact, Lizzy didn’t seem to want to talk at all, even make small talk, so they turned onto Robert E. Lee in silence, walked two blocks east on Dauphin, past Beulah’s Beauty Bower, to Peachtree Street. The Limas lived in the middle of the block in an attractive, two-story frame house with a pretty porch and a yard filled with blooming azaleas and gardenias, carefully kept, no doubt by a gardener.

  The door was opened by a plump maid in a neat black dress and white apron, with a white beribboned cap pinned to her hair. Verna thought the costume was pretentious. People who could afford it employed colored women to cook and clean, but only a few required them to put on little white caps in the afternoon and pretend that they didn’t have anything to do all day but answer the front door.

  “I’m Mrs. Tidwell and this is Miss Lacy,” Verna said, gesturing at Lizzy. “We’ve come to talk to Mrs. Lima about becoming a member of our garden club.” That was the reason she and Lizzy had made up for their visit.

  “Miz Lima ain’t here,” the maid said. “Her and the mister has gone out of town.”

  “Why, my goodness,” Verna said, pretending to be surprised. “We didn’t know they were planning a trip. Not a family emergency, I hope?”

  The maid shook her head and the ribbons on her cap bobbed. “No, ma‘am. Miz Lima had jes’ got back from her sister’s over in Repton, where she been for the past three, four days. But this mawnin’, right after breakfast, she was took sudden-like with the urge to go agin. The mister, he said he thought it was a right smart idee—they could have themselves a nice vacation, just the two of ‘em. So they drove on down to Mobile. Said they might be goin’ to Pensacola after that.”

  “Did they say when they’d be back?” Lizzy asked.

  “No, ma’am. Jes’ said they’d phone.”

  And that was that.

  “Well,” Verna said, when they were out on the street again, under the overhanging canopy of oak trees. “I call that interesting, don’t you? Kinda sudden, seems to me.”

  Lizzy frowned. “And peculiar. Verna, I’m sure it has something to do with Bunny’s death. I’m thinking about what Ophelia told you. If Mrs. Lima found out about Mr. Lima and Bunny, and then she heard that Bunny was dead, she’d want to get Mr. Lima out of town.” She took a deep breath. “Especially if he didn’t have an alibi for Saturday night.”

  “An alibi?”

  “You know. If Mrs. Lima was in Montgomery and Mr. Lima was here by himself, nobody could vouch for him. For what he was doing at the time Bunny was killed, I mean.”

  Verna was surprised. So far as she knew, Lizzy didn’t read detective novels. What had made her wonder about Mr. Lima’s
alibi for the night Bunny was killed? She was even more surprised when Lizzy turned to her and said, with an unexpected eagerness, “I’ve got an idea, Verna. Let’s go over to Mrs. Brewster’s and see if we can get into Bunny’s room.”

  “Why?” And why was Lizzy suddenly getting into the investigating mood?

  “Because—” Lizzy looked away. “Because I’m curious. If I could see where Bunny lived, maybe I’d feel I know her a little better. You went there, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but that was before anybody knew she was dead. I don’t think—”

  Verna stopped. She had no idea why Lizzy wanted to check out the room. But if they did, maybe she could return the earrings she was carrying around in her purse. The earrings that somebody might think she had stolen.

  “I don’t think that would be a problem,” she said, changing what she had intended to say. “But by this time, Mrs. Brewster has probably heard that Bunny is dead. She’ll never let us into that room. And besides, the sheriff has likely sealed it off. The police do that when they’re looking for evidence.” She knew this from reading True Detective,

  “Maybe,” Lizzy said, and picked up the pace. “Or maybe not. As you said at lunchtime, we won’t know unless we try, will we?”

  As it turned out, Mrs. Brewster never even knew they were there. As they came around the corner of Plum Street, they saw the lady walking purposefully in the direction of the courthouse square. She was carrying an empty basket. Going to Hancock’s for groceries, maybe? Whatever her mission, it was important enough to make her move swiftly. And it gave Verna and Lizzy their chance.

  They went up the stairs to the front door. Verna rapped, very softly—just so they could say that they had knocked. When there was no answer, she pushed gently on the door. It opened, as she thought it would. Nobody locked their front doors in Darling—and Mrs. Brewster’s girls would have to be able to enter and leave.

  So they entered. The main hall was dark and quiet, since most of the residents were still at work. Verna put her hand on Lizzy’s arm and motioned to the steep, narrow staircase. They crept up to the second-floor hallway and down the empty hall to the last door on the right.

  Still unlocked, luckily. They went in, quietly, and shut the door behind them.

  “Oh, dear,” Lizzy whispered, looking around the tiny room. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Verna said sadly. “Poor kid.”

  It didn’t look as if the police had been here. If they had, they hadn’t neatened anything up, for the room was as littered as before. Bunny’s clothes were still scattered across the floor, the bed was still unmade, the air still reeked of My Sin. Verna stood for a moment, then went to the dressing table and pretended to look over the cosmetics. Furtively, she opened her purse, took out the small box containing the pearl earrings, and slid it into the drawer, breathing a secret sigh of relief.

  Success! She could stop feeling guilty. Now nobody would ever know that she had taken those valuable pearls. She raised her eyes and glanced in the mirror, to see if Lizzy had noticed.

  She needn’t have worried. To Verna’s surprise, Lizzy was pulling open the dresser drawers, one after the other, pushing things aside and looking among Bunny’s clothing as if she were searching for something specific. In the third drawer down, she seemed to have found it. She took out a white envelope, held it in her hand for a moment, then, without turning around, quietly tucked it into the front of her dress.

  Verna cleared her throat. “Find something interesting?”

  “Oh!” Lizzy jumped, startled. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t think you’d—” She turned, shamefaced, and pulled out the envelope. “It ... It’s a letter, Verna. From Mr. Moseley to Bunny. I should have told you. It’s the reason I wanted to come here this afternoon. To see if I could find it.”

  “A letter?” Verna rolled her eyes. “For pete’s sake, Lizzy, the man’s a lawyer. Doesn’t he know any better than that?” Incautious letters sometimes led to blackmail. And blackmail led to murder. At least, that was the plot of a recent mystery she had read.

  “I don’t think he was thinking,” Lizzy said. Her face was pale. “I think maybe his brain shut down. He said he had to tell her that he wanted to break it off.”

  “What does the letter say?”

  “I don’t know,” Lizzy replied in a quavering voice, and handed it over. “You read it, Verna. Read it out loud.”

  Verna opened it. The letter was handwritten and dated two weeks before. It was short and to the point. She read in a low voice.

  “ ‘Dear Bunny, I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want, or what you deserve. You need to find someone else. We can’t see each other again.’ It’s signed with his initials,” she added. “B.M.”

  She handed it back to Lizzy. “Sounds pretty definite to me. If I got a letter like that, I’d be upset. Maybe frantic, depending on whether I really liked the guy.” But maybe it wasn’t a case of Bunny really liking—or even loving—Bent Moseley. Maybe she’d seen him as a meal ticket, and when he dumped her, she had threatened to tell his wife about their relationship. If she threatened him, how would he react? Would he be scared? Would he be scared enough to kill her? To Lizzy, she said, “What are you going to do with that letter?”

  Lizzy straightened her shoulders. “I’m going to give it back to him.” She put the letter into her purse.

  Verna frowned. “You’re absolutely, positively certain that he didn’t have anything to do with Bunny’s death?”

  “I am positive.” Lizzy’s voice was firm. “I know Mr. Moseley, Verna. He would never do something like that. The trouble is that he doesn’t have an alibi for Saturday night. His wife was in Birmingham with the girls and he was home alone.”

  So that explained her unexpected remark about Mr. Lima’s alibi, Verna thought. She opened her mouth to tell Lizzy to put the letter back. If she took it, she’d be obstructing justice or something awful like that.

  But she didn’t. After all, she herself had taken those earrings—who was she to tell Lizzy what to do?

  Instead, she turned back to the drawer. “Here are the earrings I told you about,” she said. She took the box out of the drawer, and opened it.

  “Oh!” Lizzy exclaimed, in an awed tone. “Oh, my goodness. They’re beautiful!”

  “Do you think Mr. Moseley gave them to her?”

  “I asked him point-blank,” Lizzy replied. “He says he didn’t.”

  “That must have been some conversation,” Verna said with a dry chuckle. “Wish I’d been a fly on the wall.” She pulled the deposit book out of the drawer. “Just look at how much she was socking away every week, Lizzy. Where in the world was she getting it?”

  Lizzy leafed through the book. “Do you suppose she was ... was blackmailing someone?”

  Verna eyed her. “What made you think of that?”

  “Mr. Moseley said he was lucky she hadn’t tried to blackmail him.”

  “Hmm,” Verna said. She wondered, briefly, if Mr. Moseley had said that to Lizzy in order to allay any suspicions she might have had.

  “I think he was telling the truth,” Lizzy said, turning the pages in the deposit book. “He seemed to want to tell me everything. Too much, really. I didn’t want to hear it, especially the business about him and his wife getting a divorce.”

  “My goodness,” Verna said softly, wondering if this would change Lizzy’s relationship to him—or to Grady Alexander.

  “What about Mr. Lima?” Lizzy asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Maybe Bunny was blackmailing him.” She turned another page.

  “It’s a possibility,” Verna replied. In fact, the more she thought about the abrupt departure of the Limas “on vacation,” the more suspicious it looked.

  Lizzy glanced down at the paper Bunny had been writing on. “Maxwell Woodburn,” she mused, frowning. “I’m sure he doesn’t live in Darling. I wonder who he is.”

  “Amanda Blake thought he might be Bunny’s pen pa
l in Montgomery,” Verna replied. “Maybe he’s the source of that extra ten dollars a week. Maybe Bunny was blackmailing him.”

  “I doubt you’d blackmail somebody you thought you might marry,” Lizzy said. “I wouldn’t, anyway.”

  “Maybe she was using blackmail to get him to marry her,” Verna suggested.

  “Well, if he was her pen pal,” Lizzy said reasonably, “there ought to be more letters around here somewhere.”

  Agreeing, Verna pulled out the drawer of the dressing table and began to rummage through it. As she did, she uncovered the photograph. “See?” she said, holding it up.

  “It’s Bunny!” Lizzy exclaimed.

  Verna chuckled wryly. “Bunny in her teddy. And that’s the teddy, over there on the floor. Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, in a way. You wouldn’t catch me sitting on the hood of a car in my teddy, letting some guy photograph me.” Still holding the deposit book, Lizzy took the photo and began to study it. “You know, Verna, there’s something about—”

  “Shhh!” Verna put a hand on Lizzy’s arm. “Somebody’s coming!” From the direction of the stairs, they heard the clack-clack of pumps on bare wood, and the sound of Mrs. Brewster’s voice.

  Lizzy gasped. “What do we do?”

  “Quick!” Verna whispered. “We have to hide! Come on!”

  Grabbing Lizzy, she pulled her behind the curtain that was strung diagonally across one corner. There was barely room for them. Holding their breaths, they crowded against the wall, behind Bunny’s dresses. Verna hoped to heaven that the curtain wasn’t moving and that their shoes couldn’t be seen below its hem.

  “—the only room I have available at the moment,” Mrs. Brewster was saying, as the door opened. The footsteps came into the room, but not very far. “The unfortunate girl’s belongings are still here, as you can see. But I can have the room cleaned and thoroughly aired for your daughter, whenever you need it.”