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

ghost!” Aunt Hetty Little exclaimed. “Why in the world?”
    “And what was he looking for?” Earlynne Biddle wanted to know.
    “He was looking for the Cartwright treasure,” Bessie explained. “Cornelia Cartwright’s mother’s family silver, which Cornelia buried in the garden when she thought that the Yankees were about to overrun the place and steal her blind.”
    “I thought it was a baby she buried,” Mildred Kilgore said.
    “She did bury her baby,” Bessie replied. “But she buried the silver, too.”
    “But why was Beatty digging under the cucumber tree?” Lizzy asked, puzzled. “What made him think he’d find it there?”
    “Because he had inherited a big box of papers from Mrs. Blackstone. Most of it was Blackstone family letters and diaries. But one of the items was a letter that Cornelia Cartwright wrote to Colonel Cartwright, telling him that the family silver was buried under their favorite cucumber tree. The poor woman died before the letter could be sent, and nobody ever saw it—until Beatty discovered it. He was hoping to find the Cartwright treasure.”
    “Maybe that was why Beatty was looking at the plat books!” Verna exclaimed. “He must have been trying to determine the bounds of the property, to locate the tree.”
    “Well, he obviously didn’t find the silver,” Myra May said. “Yesterday, his wife telephoned the grocery with an order. Mrs. Hancock reminded her that they owed four dollars, but Lenora said they could only pay half because it cost so much to doctor Beatty’s leg. If he had found what he was looking for, they’d have sold it to pay the bills.”
    Aunt Hetty Little cleared her throat. “Speaking of paying bills,” she said, “we’d better talk about how we’re going to fix the roof on this house. We have a serious situation here, ladies. This afternoon, I mopped up a big puddle of water on the kitchen floor. That roof can’t wait”
    “We could hold another plant sale,” Ophelia suggested hopefully.
    “We only made two dollars and thirty-five cents at the last one,” Bessie replied. “It was a lot of work, too.”
    “How about a rummage sale?” Mildred Kilgore asked.
    “The Methodist ladies are planning two rummage sales this summer,” Beulah Trivette reported. “They wouldn’t take competition kindly.”
    “We could raise the dues,” Mrs. Johnson proposed.
    A collective sigh ran around the group and several shook their heads. But nobody could come up with any more ideas. Mrs. Johnson looked pleased.
    “I move that we raise the dues,” she said.
    “Let’s table that motion while we give the matter some more thought,” Aunt Hetty Little said, and the motion passed.
    “Well, then,” Lizzy said, “if there’s no other business, the chair will entertain a motion to adjourn, so we can go out front and plant our sign.” Zeke still hadn’t gotten around to it.
    A few moments later, they were all gathered out front. Bessie brought a shovel. Lizzy had her Kodak. Beulah and Verna placed the sign where it was supposed to go, and marked the spots where Bessie could dig the holes. Everybody else stood around and offered suggestions and encouragement as Bessie began to dig.
    “Well, that was easy enough,” Bessie said, when the first hole was completed. She had dug about eighteen inches down. She handed the shovel to Lizzy. “Your turn, Liz.”
    “Sure,” Lizzy said, and gave her Kodak to Verna to hold. She pushed the point of the shovel into the dirt, then cut out a small circle of turf. That done, she began to dig the hole, dumping the dirt off to the side. The job went easily until her shovel struck something. She put her foot on the shovel and pushed harder. It didn’t budge.
    “A rock,” Alice Ann suggested.
    “Doesn’t feel like a rock,” Lizzy said. “It’s a root, I think.”
    “Probably a cucumber tree root,” Bessie said fondly, looking up at the tree overhead.
    “Magnolia acuminata,” Miss Rogers corrected.
    Lizzy got down and began to pull the dirt out with her hands. “Yes, it’s a root. Must be huge.”
    “Oh, dear,” Beulah said distractedly. “Will we have to put the sign somewhere else?”
    “Maybe,” Lizzy said, still digging. “Or maybe—” She looked up. “I don’t think it is a root, after all. It looks like a box. A wooden box.”
    “A box?” the Dahlias exclaimed, in unison.
    And that’s what it was. The hole had to be enlarged, which required quite a bit more digging. Verna took