The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star Page 6

  He gave her a level, questioning look. Lizzy thought she should say something but she couldn’t think what to say, other than, Is that why she calls herself a Dare Devil? But she couldn’t make herself say it.

  “Well.” He tapped his fingers on the scarred top of his desk. “You can bet your sweet life that Rickerts’ pals weren’t too happy about the way she was showing off.” He stopped and gave that some thought, then said, as if to himself, “Could be that something like that was behind what happened in Pensacola. The sabotage, I mean. Somebody trying to get even.”

  By now, Lizzy was both intrigued and troubled. She wasn’t a risk-taker herself. She was by nature a cautious person, and anyway, you didn’t get many opportunities to practice taking chances in Darling, where nothing much ever happened. Still, she admired gutsy women, and Henrietta Foote wouldn’t have become Lily Dare if she wasn’t willing to take chances. But Charlie’s story about Rickerts’ death made it sound as if the Texas Star didn’t have much concern for the safety of others.

  “You were there, I guess,” she hazarded. “At the parties, I mean.”

  “I was. We were . . . friends, you might say.” Charlie gave a dry chuckle. “While it lasted. Her friendships never last very long.”

  Hearing his tone, Lizzy’s curiosity mounted. What kind of friends had they been? she wondered. Charlie wasn’t a handsome prince, by any stretch of the imagination. But he had a certain cynical charm, a wide experience, and a sharp intellect, which made him attractive to some women—to Fannie Champaign, at least.

  Fannie, the newest member of the Dahlias, owned Champaign’s Darling Chapeaux, on the other side of the square, and employed Lizzy’s mother to help her make hats. (The job, Lizzy felt, was a miracle, since it kept her mother busy and out of Lizzy’s hair.) Several months ago, Fannie and Charlie had become an item, at least in the minds of the Darling ladies. They were frequently seen at picnics and church suppers together and at the movies on Saturday nights. And the last time Lizzy got a shampoo and set at Beulah Trivette’s Beauty Bower, she had heard from Bessie Bloodworth (who was getting her hair permed in Beulah’s electric perm machine) that Fannie was expecting a marriage proposal. That bit of gossip had disturbed Lizzy, because Charlie Dickens did not seem to her to be the marrying kind. She sincerely hoped that Fannie wasn’t about to get her heart broken.

  But she could understand why certain women found Charlie appealing, and she guessed that an adventuresome woman like Lily Dare might be more to his taste than quiet, sweet-natured Fannie Champaign. Had Charlie and the Texas Star been . . . lovers, once upon a time?

  It wasn’t a question that Lizzy could ask, of course. Instead, she ventured, “You said Miss Dare had a ranch. Past tense. She doesn’t live there anymore?”

  “Henrietta—Lily, that is—is a big spender.” Charlie’s tone was matter-of-fact. “She married oil money, and when her husband died—he was nearly thirty years older and drowned in his bathtub—she got it all, every cent. There were people who thought that the drowning was a bit too convenient, and her stepsons were furious at being cut out of their father’s will. Still, the lawyers told them there was nothing they could do about it. Lily was rolling in dough, at least for a while. But the Crash hit her like a ton of bricks. She lost the ranch to the bank. And her record-breaking airplane—her Travel Air Speedwing, which cost her a cool thirteen grand—was repossessed. She started the circus to make some money. I doubt that it’s been a big financial success.”

  Lizzy was struck into silence by the weight of the story. At last she managed a question, then another. “Her airplane was repossessed? Then what—I mean, she’s flying something, isn’t she?”

  “She’s flying a Jenny.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

  “A Jenny? What’s that?”

  “A Curtiss JN-4. It’s the plane most barnstormers fly. It’s a bi-wing and stable at low airspeeds, which makes it ideal for stunt flying and aerobatics. But believe you me, it’s nothing like the Travel Air. That’s the plane she flew when she set the woman’s speed record back in 1930. It had a Wright J-6-7 engine and racing wings. The fastest plane ever designed, at that time. And nobody could figure out what made it go fast. Was it the engine? The wings, the cowling—what? The specs were so secret that the press dubbed it the ‘Mystery Ship.’” He stubbed out his cigarette, hard. “Lily Dare flew that plane faster than anybody, faster than Amelia Earhart, even, at 197.6 miles per hour.”

  “Amazing,” Lizzy murmured. “Almost 200 miles an hour! It’s hard to imagine anybody going that fast.” What was just as amazing, she thought, was Charlie Dickens’ enthusiasm. Normally, the man was as cool as a cucumber. Obviously, Lily Dare, whatever her faults and failings, had a place in his heart. Was Miss Dare’s visit likely to rekindle Charlie’s former feelings for her? What effect would this have on his relationship with Fannie?

  Charlie’s grin was crooked. “Of course, that record has already been broken, numerous times. Lily loves to fly fast, but closed-course racing—where the speed can be clocked and the records set—is too predictable and repetitive for her. She refuses to fly in circles, even if it means giving up her main claim to fame.”

  “I see,” Lizzy replied thoughtfully. She could understand that, and the knowledge made her like Lily a little more. She herself wouldn’t enjoy setting speed records if it meant flying in a circle, hour after hour, like a yo-yo at the end of a string. Where was the fun and adventure in that? But if she listened between the lines, Charlie seemed to be saying something else.

  “What you’re telling me,” she said slowly, “is that Miss Dare isn’t the big star that people in Darling think she is. She’s not the fastest woman on earth.”

  “Well, she may not hold the current speed record, but she’s still a star. She flew for Howard Hughes as a stunt pilot in Hell’s Angels, and followed that up with Howard Hawks’ The Dawn Patrol.” He fished in his pocket for another Lucky, lit it, and blew out the match. “Of course, she was flying as a stand-in. The fans think the leading man was in that cockpit.” He chuckled wryly. “The anonymous Miss Lily Dare. Unsung star of the silver screen.”

  “Gosh,” Lizzy breathed. She preferred romantic comedies, especially now that most of them were talkies. But Grady was a big fan of adventure movies and they saw every one that came to town. “The Dawn Patrol? Wasn’t that the one with Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.? Miss Dare was in it?”

  “That’s right,” Charlie said. He pursed his lips. “From what I heard, Lily and the dashing Douglas played quite a few scenes together—off the set, that is. After hours.”

  Lizzie imagined she heard jealousy in his voice. “But I thought Douglas Fairbanks was married to Joan Crawford,” she ventured. Was Lily Dare the kind of woman who fooled around with another woman’s husband? Then she thought of what Grady had told her about the barbershop gossip about Roger Kilgore and Lily Dare. Could it possibly be true?

  “Don’t be so naïve, Liz,” Charlie said with an ironic laugh. “A little thing like a wedding ring never stops Lily Dare.” His voice hardened. “When something’s off-limits, it just adds to her fun.”

  Now, Lizzie knew for certain that Charlie was jealous. So there had been something between him and Miss Dare! Was he still carrying a torch for her? How did she feel about him? What did this mean for Fannie? But she couldn’t ask those questions.

  Charlie broke the silence. “When she can get work,” he went on after a moment, “she still flies stunts for the movies. But times are tough. Up until the last couple of years, the studios were paying good money for stunt pilots. Fifty dollars for a single spin. A hundred for flying upside down. Once, Lily agreed to crash an airplane into a tree—she got twelve hundred dollars for it.” He blew out a stream of blue smoke. “But she never does that stuff for the money. She does it for the thrills. The riskier the better, as far as Lily Dare is concerned. She burns the candle at both ends, as they say.”


  Lizzy was still trying to figure out why Charlie was telling her all this. “I guess I don’t quite understand,” she said. “If stunt flying is what Miss Dare loves to do, does it matter that she sometimes—?” She hesitated, trying to find a way to say it, then settled for the word Charlie himself had used. “That she’s a schemer?”

  “Sure, it matters,” Charlie said, leaning back in his chair. “Take this sabotage business, for instance. Lily didn’t tell me what was behind it. In fact, she was deliberately secretive. But I got the impression that Rex Hart is somehow involved.”

  “Rex Hart? But he’s her partner, isn’t he?”

  Charlie nodded. “They got together fairly recently, I understand. But that’s just an impression, so don’t quote me. Anyway, there have been several threats—or sabotage attempts, or something.”

  “What kind of threats?”

  “She didn’t say.” Charlie’s voice dropped. “Of course, Lily would never admit to being afraid of anything or anybody. The Texas Star likes to pretend that danger is her middle name. But I know her well enough to know that she’s scared.” His voice dropped even lower. “I can’t tell you what she’s afraid of, but she’s scared.”

  Lizzy paused, considering. “Of course, there’s danger and there’s danger,” she said thoughtfully. “Miss Dare is probably a lot more comfortable with the danger she’s trained herself to handle. Danger in the air is something she knows how to deal with. Danger on the ground is something else altogether.”

  “That’s it exactly, Liz,” Charlie said. “You’ve put your finger on it. And whether she thinks she’s the one who’s in danger or whether it’s somebody else, I don’t know.” He leaned forward. “But I do know this, Liz. We have to be on the lookout for trouble while she’s here. And I think you can help.”

  “Me? But I don’t—”

  Charlie interrupted her. “Look. I intend to hang around the airstrip as much as I can and keep an eye on her plane, make sure there’s no repetition of that sabotage. I understand that Lily and that aerialist—Angel Flame, she calls herself—are staying with the Kilgores while they’re here in Darling. And you and Mildred Kilgore are friends.” He gave her a raised-eyebrow look. “True?”

  Lizzy nodded slowly. Yes, they were friends, although she and Mildred didn’t see much of each other outside the Dahlias’ meetings these days. The Kilgores lived practically next door to the golf course. They belonged to what Lizzy thought of as Darling’s “high society.”

  Charlie was going on. “So I thought maybe you could keep an eye on things at the Kilgore place. While Miss Dare is staying there, I mean.”

  Keep an eye on things? “I don’t know how I can do that, Charlie.” Lizzy paused, wondering if she should tell him about the awkward corner she had backed herself into—about her date for the party—and then decided against it. “I’m a guest at the party Friday night. The only reason I’m there is to present the plant—the Texas Star—that the Dahlias are giving to Miss Dare. Most of the time, I’m not invited to country club parties.”

  Charlie was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. “I see. Well, there’s probably nothing you can do, then.” He looked embarrassed. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “I guess I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. Sorry I bothered you with this, Liz.”

  Lizzy reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad you told me. Maybe I can think of some way to help.” She hesitated. “Would it be okay if I shared some of what you’ve told me with Mildred? I wouldn’t say anything about your knowing Miss Dare, of course. But I can at least alert her to the possibility of trouble. And if I talk to her, maybe I can figure out how to be of more help.”

  Charlie pulled his brows together. “Well, I don’t know—”

  “And in a way,” Lizzy broke in, “now that I know there might be a problem, I feel sort of obligated to tell Mildred.” She was being truthful. “I mean, it really doesn’t seem right to let her go into this situation blind, so to speak. After all, it’s her house.” And her husband, she thought, but didn’t say.

  Charlie considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right, Liz. Go ahead and talk to Mildred Kilgore, although I’d appreciate it if you kept me out of it as much as possible. I’ll have a little talk with Lily when she flies in. If she flies in,” he amended. “If they can’t get that airplane in the air, the show’s likely to be canceled. And you can forget everything you heard just now. In fact, I wish you would.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” Lizzy exclaimed. “That it’s canceled, I mean. Everybody would be so disappointed.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know, Liz,” he said ominously. “I have the feeling it might be better if it were.”

  The door opened and Lizzy and Charlie looked up. It was Ophelia, carrying two pieces of pie and two cups of coffee.

  “Gee, Liz,” she said, as she came around the corner. “If I’d known you were still here, I would have brought pie and coffee for you, too.”

  “On my way upstairs,” Lizzy said, and got up. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie replied. “Good luck.” To Ophelia, he said, “What kind of pie did you bring me? Chocolate, I hope.”

  “Raisin was all they had,” Ophelia replied apologetically.

  “Dang,” Charlie muttered. “I miss Euphoria already.”

  FIVE

  Lizzy Spills the Beans

  Lizzy climbed the outside stairs to the Moseley law office and let herself in. Mr. Moseley had gone to Montgomery on business and wasn’t expected back until the following week, so the office was empty and all hers, which suited Lizzy just fine, because she wanted time to think.

  From one angle, her talk with Charlie Dickens had been a real eye-opener. She’d had no idea about Charlie’s relationships with women in the past, and this glimpse into his life revealed a web of intriguing mysteries. It was, she thought, like opening a friend’s photograph album somewhere in the middle and trying to connect the random snapshots on the page to the real person sitting in front of you.

  From another angle, the talk had been troubling, and she sat down at her desk to mull over what she ought to do. She really should speak to Mildred Kilgore—but should she be direct or beat around the bush? Should she telephone, or would it be better to have a face-to-face talk? And what, if anything, should she say to poor Fannie Champaign to prepare her for what might be a great shock, if Lily Dare reignited Charlie Dickens’ old torch? It wasn’t in Lizzy’s nature to meddle in other people’s business, and some of Mr. Moseley’s cases had shown her the unfortunate outcomes to which meddling could lead. So these were serious questions.

  Lizzy took a deep breath and looked around the office. The dusty old rooms had their own special character, with their creaky wooden floors and wood-paneled walls hung with certificates and diplomas and the gilt-framed oil portraits of the three senior Mr. Moseleys—Mr. Benton Moseley’s great grandfather, his grandfather, and his father, all now deceased. The junior Mr. Moseley refused to sit for his portrait. “All traditions have to come to an end sometime,” he said. “And I am putting a stake through the heart of this one right now. Anybody wants to know what I look like, they can by God take a gander at my face, not at my portrait.”

  But still, Lizzy loved the paintings, as much as she loved the sepia prints of maps of Cypress County and the old framed documents and the floor-to-ceiling shelves of law books and the fact that the office door was always open during working hours. When she first came to work here, it had seemed to her that the books and the documents and the dignified wood-paneled walls and—yes, even the open door—symbolized justice itself: stable and established and reliable and trustworthy and readily available to anybody who needed it. And if she needed another reminder of justice, there was the Cypress County
courthouse right across the street, a beautiful redbrick building, foursquare and sturdy and solid, with white trim and a white-painted dome with a clock and a bell that rang out the hours with such regularity that you could set your mantel clock by it and so loud and clear that everybody in town could hear it, even when the doors and windows were shut.

  In the past few years, though, Lizzy had begun to feel that her ideal of justice and the law might be a bit naïve and unsophisticated, for the more she saw of the law, the more elusive justice seemed. There were too many cases where the rich got all the “justice” they wanted and the poor got none at all, even though Mr. Moseley did the very best he could to get a fair hearing under the law for every one of his clients, rich and poor. And then there were the colored folks over in Maysville, who were most in danger of getting the short end of the stick, as Mr. Moseley put it when he was frustrated with a case. What kind of justice did they get?

  In fact, justice was beginning to seem to Lizzy a lot like that shiny brass balance scale that sat on the shelf behind Mr. Moseley’s big walnut desk. It had two small metal pans that were supposed to balance against one another, both of them equal. But there was something wrong with the scale’s mechanism, so that no matter how carefully it was adjusted, one side always hung lower than the other. Lizzy didn’t like to think of it, but that was the way justice seemed to operate these days. It tipped in the direction of the people who had money and influence and power, and the rest . . . well, they came up short.

  But Lizzy wasn’t thinking about justice today. She was thinking about what Charlie Dickens had told her about Lily Dare, the sabotaged airplane, and the possibility that the air show might be canceled. Of course, the Watermelon Festival would go on, with or without Miss Dare and her Dare Devils. There would be plenty of fun for everybody, especially for the young folks, who would enjoy the carnival rides and cotton candy and free watermelons.