“That old snake oil medicine.” Lizzy rolled her eyes. “My mother takes it. But how did you happen to be at the drugstore, Verna? The last time I saw you, you were headed for home.”
“Well, I-That is, I-” Verna stopped, embarrassed. “To tell the truth, I followed her.”
“Followed who?” Myra May asked, appearing at the table with a loaded tray. She had taken off her white bibbed apron and was wearing her usual beige linen trousers and a red button-front rayon short-sleeved blouse, with a loose paisley scarf. She began setting plates on the table. “No, no, hold on a minute. Whatever you’re telling, wait until I get back with the iced tea. I don’t want to miss any of it.”
Which meant that Verna had to start all over again when Myra May came back with the pitcher, and Lizzy had to explain who Nona Jean Jamison was before she became Lorelei LaMotte. The story was a little confusing, but finally Myra May had it clear.
“So this woman is incognito,” she said, buttering a piece of hot corn bread. “I guess that means she doesn’t want anybody in town to know that she was in vaudeville.”
“But why?” Verna asked, waving her fork. “I mean, for heaven’s sake, Myra May. She’s famous! Why wouldn’t she want anybody to know?”
“Maybe she’s trying to get away from the newspaper reporters and all that attention,” Myra May replied. “Maybe she just wants some peace and quiet. People do, you know. And it probably isn’t all that easy to earn a living as a performer these days. Since Prohibition, I mean. And since the Crash. People don’t have as much money as they used to.”
“Peace and quiet?” Verna laughed shortly. “If that’s what she wants, she’s going to have to hang that red dress in her closet and wash that makeup off her face. Putting a bag over her head wouldn’t hurt, either. Bailey Beauchamp was about to jump right out of that fancy Cadillac of his and gobble her up right there in the middle of the street, like she was a piece of candy.”
Myra May chuckled. “Don’t let Mrs. Hobart hear about that. She’s the jealous type, you know. If Bailey Beauchamp hasn’t put his misbehavin’ behind him, she’ll show him how.”
Lizzy sighed. If it was true that all Miss Jamison wanted was peace and quiet, her newspaper article idea probably wasn’t going to work. If Miss Hamer’s niece wouldn’t admit to Verna that she was a Broadway star, it wasn’t likely that she would submit to an interview for a feature story in the Dispatch. But maybe Verna hadn’t approached her right. Or maybe she had simply caught Miss Jamison at an awkward moment, when she was upset about not getting her prescription refilled. Lizzy frowned, wondering what that was all about. Veronal was a very strong sleeping medicine, from what she had read. It must be for Miss Hamer. Was the old lady having trouble sleeping? Was she very ill?
“Actually,” Verna said, pursing her lips, “now that I think about it, I wonder why Miss Hamer’s niece is here. Doesn’t it seem odd to you? I mean, has she ever in her whole adult life visited her aunt? If she had, surely somebody would have noticed, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s true,” Lizzy replied. Strangers in Darling were an irresistible source of gossip. And Miss Jamison was the sort of person that people would talk about. “Maybe she’s here because she’s down on her luck. Myra May is right. Money is tight everywhere-it can’t be the best time in the world to be in show business.” That would be another angle for her story, she mused. Small-town girl dances into the Big Apple limelight, then slips and falls back into shadowy obscurity. A spectacular rise; a tragic fall.
“And if she’s never been here,” Verna was going on, “why not? I mean, doesn’t it seem a little strange that she’s never once bothered to visit her aunt-and all of a sudden she’s living here?” She frowned, pushing her mashed potatoes around with her fork. “Come to that, how do we know who this woman actually is? She’s already lying about not being Lorelei LaMotte. Maybe she’s lying about being Miss Hamer’s niece, too.”
Lizzy dug into her catfish, which was crispy brown on the outside, flaky and delicious inside. “For heaven’s sake, Verna. Can’t you ever just take people at face value?”
“Nope.” Verna tossed her head. “Doesn’t pay, Liz. Lots of people cheat. Others lie. And some will do anything to gain an advantage. I see it all the time in the probate office, you know.”
Lizzy sighed. Verna was by nature a suspicious person. But she had become even more wary over the years she had managed the records in the Cypress County probate clerk’s office, where she was responsible for recording election results, people’s wills and estates, property transactions, and the like. Verna always said that if she stubbed her toe on a rock, she was compelled to look under it, to see what was hiding there.
“And something usually is,” she would add. “Something we probably wouldn’t go looking for, if we could avoid it.”
Lizzy had to admit that Verna had a point. Some people cheated; others lied. She had recently read a news item about a family in Florida who had welcomed their long-lost son, kidnapped years before. Unfortunately, the man turned out to be an imposter angling for an inheritance. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to look a little more closely at Miss Lorelei LaMotte.
“Maybe we ought to have a talk with Bessie Bloodworth,” she suggested. “Bessie has known Miss Hamer longer than the rest of us. If anybody knows anything about why Miss Jamison is here in Darling, it would be Bessie.”
“Actually, now that you mention Bessie, I do remember something,” Myra May said. “I’d forgotten about it until right this minute. But somebody-a woman-in Chicago telephoned Bessie a couple of weeks ago, asking about Miss Hamer. Since it was long distance, I stayed on the line long enough to make sure that the call went through okay. The woman said she was calling Bessie because her aunt doesn’t have a telephone, and she needed to find out a few things.”
“Find out what things?” Verna asked curiously. “What else did she want to know?”
“I have no idea. I got off the line.” Myra May pointed at Verna with her fork. “And even if I hadn’t, I couldn’t tell you what I heard. I shouldn’t have told you as much as I did.”
“All you’ve said is that a woman was calling from Chicago, Myra May.” Verna sounded cross. “Anyway, we’re not asking for the combination to the bank vault. We’re just trying to understand why a woman calling herself Miss Hamer’s niece-”
“Forget it, Verna,” Myra May said firmly, and applied her fork to her mashed potatoes. “You’ve worked on the switchboard yourself. You understand that the operators aren’t supposed to listen to people’s conversations. And if they do catch a bit of it, they’re definitely not supposed to talk about what they hear.”
Lizzy knew that this was true. Verna had worked part-time on the switchboard a few years back, when Mrs. Hooper was sick and needed the help.
“Violet can keep her mouth shut,” Myra May was going on. “But Olive and Lenore are still just kids. If I told tales and they found out, they’d think it was all right for them to do it and then I’d have to fire ’em. I love you with all my heart, Verna dear, but don’t ask me to tell you anything I might’ve heard on the switchboard. Okay?”
Verna rolled her eyes. “Myra May, you are a hard woman. I am sure glad I don’t have to work for you.”
Lizzy chuckled. The four switchboard operators had to be among the best-informed and most up-to-date people in Darling. All the news in town went through the Exchange-the price of cotton, how many kids had the measles, whose wife had left him, whose sister had miscarried. But Myra May made sure that her operators played by the rules. What comes into the Exchange, stays in the Exchange.