“Uh-oh,” Buddy said, very low. “You reckon?”
“Of course,” Verna replied grimly. “That man can’t afford to hang around this town any longer than it’s absolutely necessary-especially after Mr. Mann threatened to tar and feather him.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Buddy’s arm. “These women are guests in Darling, Deputy Norris, and they are in desperate need of protection. They need the strong arm of the law.” She squeezed. “They need you.”
Buddy tried not to look pleased. “You’re sayin’ a true thing there.” He leaned back in his chair, reached into his shirt pocket, and took out a packet of Camels. “We cain’t have no gangsters from Chicago comin’ down here and tryin’ to kill womenfolk, no matter what they done.” He pulled out a cigarette, struck a match on the sole of his boot, and lit it, the way he had seen Hoot Gibson do in one of his silent Westerns.
Verna straightened. “I am so glad you see the situation that way,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d even be willing to help us.” She hesitated. “Although I’m not sure that Sheriff Burns would approve. You know how he is.”
“I sure do. An old stick-in-the-mud is what he is.” Buddy pulled on his cigarette and squinted against the smoke, trying to look as if he were ten years older. “So what do you-all have in mind?”
“Here’s what we’ve been thinking,” Verna said, and began to outline a strategy. Lizzy contributed a suggestion or two, Buddy added another, and it wasn’t long before the details of their plot were mostly worked out. There was a lot they didn’t know, so they couldn’t be too specific, but at least they had a plan.
Lizzy could tell that the more Buddy heard, the more he liked the idea of being the “strong arm of the law,” especially because he was being called upon to protect a pair of damsels who were obviously in distress. He swigged the last of his Nehi and put his motorcycle cap back on. He pushed his goggles to the top of his head and stood, hooking his thumbs in his belt and cocking his head at an angle, like Tom Mix.
“Okey dokey, ladies,” he said, drawling it out. “Look for me along about dark. Where’ll you be?”
“At the Magnolia Manor, right across the street,” Verna told him.
“It’s Monday night,” Lizzy added, “and the Dahlias always get together on Mondays to play cards. You just rap on the door.”
“I’ll do it,” Buddy said. “Three raps, so’s you’ll know it’s me.” He looked down at Lizzy, his eyes light. His voice became shy. “Say, I hope you won’t mind if I happen to mention that you look awful purty in that yellow dress, Miz Lacy.”
Lizzy could feel herself blushing. When he had gone, Verna chuckled. “Got yourself another admirer, Liz? A mite young for you, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Lizzy said, and couldn’t help a giggle. “But he’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Not as good-looking as Grady Alexander,” Verna said firmly. “And not as mature as Mr. Moseley.”
“I wish you’d stop with that Mr. Moseley business,” Lizzy said sharply. “I have absolutely no interest in that man.”
“Oh, right.” Verna gave a skeptical chuckle. She glanced up at the clock over the counter. “I’d better get on back to the probate office and see what kind of a mess Coretta’s managed to make of things. Where are you headed?”
“Back to the office. I’m almost finished with the ‘Garden Gate’ column. I just have to add a couple of items and retype it. Mr. Dickens doesn’t need it until late tomorrow, but Mr. Moseley will be back by then and things are likely to be busy. It’s nice to have the rest of the afternoon to spend on it.”
“Where did Mr. Moseley go today?” Verna asked, as they carried their plates and cups and Buddy’s empty Nehi bottle back to the counter.
“Montgomery. He had some sort of hush-hush meeting with the Alabama attorney general. Something about a tax case. He sounded excited about it.”
“Taxes.” Verna wrinkled her nose. “Lawyers get excited about the durndest things.” She gave Lizzy a conspiratorial grin. “Come, Liz, the game is afoot.”
“Afoot?” Lizzy asked, puzzled. She looked down at her shoes. “What game? What are you talking about?”
Verna sighed. “It’s just something a detective said once, in a book. Well, I’ll see you tonight, at Bessie’s. Maybe Buddy will do something brave.”
“See you tonight,” Lizzy said, and picked up her handbag with a sigh. She would finish her garden column, turn it in, and then go home and tell her mother about the house. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
SEVENTEEN
On Sunday, the Darling Dahlias held their planning meeting for the annual talent show that’s coming up on October 24 in the gymnasium at the Darling Academy. The program, under the direction of Mrs. Roger Kilgore, includes the Carsons’ Comedy Caravan, the Tumbling Tambourines, the Akins’ Spanish fandango, the Juggling Jinks, and many other unique and exciting acts. We’re still looking for another act or two, so if you sing, dance, play the accordion, or recite poetry, please give Mrs. Kilgore a call. Admission to the program is only twenty cents, children a nickel. We hope you will come and bring the whole family. (Mrs. Kilgore says to tell you that there has been a costume modification in the Spanish fandango.)
Miss Bessie Bloodworth’s Angel Trumpet (Brugmansia) is blooming now. I saw it this weekend, and it’s beautiful. It smells heavenly, too, especially when the big peach-colored trumpets open in the evening. Miss Bloodworth says to tell you that she’ll be glad to show it to you and give you some cuttings, as well. But you have to remember that this is a poisonous plant, so if you have children, you might want to think twice before you fall in love with it.
Mrs. Kilgore has some lovely summer phlox in her garden just now, along with zinnias and marigolds, cosmos, asters, and roses. She’ll be glad to share some of those blossoms for a beautiful bouquet on your dining room table, but she hopes you’ll come prepared to help dead-head. (She’s got an extra pair of clippers she’ll let you use.) If you don’t know what deadheading is, Mrs. Kilgore explains it this way: “The plant’s main purpose in life is to flower, set seed, and make baby plants. So if you clip off the flowers, you frustrate the plant, and a frustrated plant just sends out more blooms to try to frustrate you.” Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore, for that explanation.
The summer rains came at just the right time and it’s been a bountiful year for Darling’s vegetable gardens, as you can probably see by the stands along the roadsides, where people are making a little extra money by selling part of their bountiful harvest. Between now and frost, you’ll be able to find tomatoes, cucumbers, eggplant, okra, beans, squash (summer and winter), sweet potatoes, pumpkins, southern peas, maybe even some late corn. If you’ve got some extra jars and lids, why not get out that canning kettle and get to work? Come January or February, when you start bringing up those gleaming jars from the fruit cellar, you’ll be glad you did!
Speaking of pumpkins, looks like there’ll be plenty this year and you’re certain to want one or two for your front porch when Halloween rolls around. But if you’d like to keep some over the winter, you’ll want to know how to keep them from spoiling. Pick only the deep orange, solid pumpkins, and leave a three-inch stem. Try not to scratch or poke a hole in the rind. Dip the pumpkins in a bucket of water and chlorine bleach (4 teaspoons per gallon). Cure them at room temperature for a week to harden the rind, then store in a cool place. Rinse before using. Your pumpkins will keep at least through Christmas, by which time you will have turned them all into holiday pies.