The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (Berkley Prime Crime)

underwear!”
    Lizzy was beginning to get an idea of what might have happened. “Could it have been your brother who took the photo?”
    “My brother?” he repeated incredulously. “No! Of course not! Fred knew that Eva Louise and I were seeing each other. He wouldn’t—”
    “Well, then, who else drove the car?”
    “Nobody! Nobody else! Just—” He stopped.
    “Then it must have been your brother who took the photo, don’t you think?”
    The idea was beginning to sink in. He stared at her. “I—I suppose—”
    She took a chance. “Tell me, Mr. Harper. Do you own a gun?”
    “A gun? Well, yes. A twenty-two revolver. But I can’t see to use it now. Anyway, it’s not here. I ... I gave it to—” He broke off.
    “You gave it to your brother?”
    “Yes. Fred said he wanted it for target practice, so I gave him the gun and the ammunition. Why? Why are you asking? Why—”
    “Because Eva Louise wasn’t killed when your car went into the ravine, Mr. Harper. She was shot in the head. The bullet was a twenty-two caliber.”
    “Oh, no!” he cried. “Oh, no!”
    When she left, he was still sobbing.

TWENTY-TWO
    The Dahlias Clear up a Mystery or Two
    Thirty minutes later, Verna, Lizzy, and Myra May gathered in front of Buzz’s Barbeque, an unpainted, tin-roofed wooden building on a dusty street across from the Monroeville railroad depot. Hungry people getting off the train—especially city folks—might turn up their noses at the idea of sitting down to a meal in a place that looked like a good puff of wind might blow it over. But they changed their minds when they caught the enticing fragrance wafting from behind the shack: the pig Buzz was roasting over a hickory fire in a brick barbeque pit.
    “Ah,” Myra May said appreciatively, taking a deep sniff. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful?”
    “Heavenly,” Verna agreed, raising her voice over the loud huff-and-puff of the just-arrived steam locomotive, which was taking on the mail, goods, and passengers for the evening run to Montgomery and points north. The same railroad spur that served Monroeville also served Darling, built to connect with the Pine Mill Creek sawmill outside of Darling. The spur joined up with the main L&N line twenty miles to the east at Repton.
    Just at that moment, a black Ford sedan came around the corner and pulled up in front of the depot, across the street from where they were standing.
    Verna frowned, looking at it. “Hey, take a look, girls. Isn’t that the Snows’ Ford?”
    “It sure is,” Lizzy said, surprised. “And that’s Ophelia behind the wheel. Who’s that with her? That redhead—I don’t recognize her.”
    “That’s Ralph’s wife, Lucy,” Myra May said. She grinned. “I heard that Ophelia went out to her place and brought her into town to get groceries—Ophelia’s way of scotching a few nasty rumors. Ophelia said she was going to ask Lucy to join the Dahlias now that we’ve lowered the dues, so I guess we’ll get acquainted with her.”
    “Who’s that with them?” Verna asked curiously. “I don’t recognize her.”
    Clambering awkwardly out of the Ford’s rear seat was a tall, gangly woman in a faded cotton dress and an old-fashioned green slat bonnet—the kind that allowed a woman to shield her face and neck from the hot sun while she worked in the garden. This one completely hid the woman’s hair and most of her face, so it was impossible to tell whether she was young or old. She turned back to the auto and took out a small cardboard suitcase.
    “I don’t think she’s anybody from Darling,” Lizzy said, studying her. “Maybe one of Lucy’s family. Or a relative of one of the neighbors.” Out in the country, when somebody was driving to Darling or one of the nearby towns, they always asked if the neighbors needed a ride or something from the grocery or the hardware or the feed store. “Let’s see who it is.”
    “Yoo-hoo!” Myra May put up her hand and waved. “Hi, Ophelia! It’s us! The Dahlias!” And she started across the dusty street, with Verna and Lizzy right behind her.
    And then something odd happened. Lucy and the strange woman turned, put their heads down, and hurried toward the depot. Lucy had her arm around the woman’s shoulders. The woman was leaning on Lucy, walking with her ankles turned out, clumsily, as if she wasn’t accustomed to wearing pumps.
    Ophelia greeted them beside the Ford with an oddly nervous smile. “Lucy’s cousin is hurrying to