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

eight-hour shift, so the board was covered twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There wasn’t that much telephone traffic, though, so Myra May and Violet also waited tables and handled the counter at the diner, also not a very demanding job, now that the diner’s business had fallen off.
    “Verna, is that you?” Myra May asked when Verna said, “Hello.” With so many people sharing a line, it always paid to know who was talking.
    “Yes, it’s me, Myra May,” Verna replied. “What’s going on?”
    “Doc Roberts called for Buddy Norris. The doc asked me to ask you to go next door and tell Mr. Norris that Buddy’ll be late gettin’ home tonight, but not to worry. Doc Roberts is patchin’ him up. He’ll drive him home when he’s done.”
    “Patching him up?” Verna asked, surprised. “Why? What happened?”
    “I don’t know the details, but there was some shootin’ out at Ralph Murphy’s place late this afternoon.”
    “Shooting!” Verna exclaimed. She knew perfectly well that Myra May wasn’t going to tell her everything all at once. She always strung the story out as long as she could, so that everybody who wanted to get on the line had time to get there, and she didn’t have to repeat. In Darling, this was a much appreciated courtesy.
    “Right,” Myra May said. “Shootin’. As in guns. Bang bang.”
    “Well, my heavens. Did Buddy get shot? I hope he isn’t too badly hurt.”
    “Nope. It wasn’t Buddy that got shot.”
    “Well, who?”
    “The Negro who busted out of the prison farm. Didn’t kill him, though. At least not so far as Doc Roberts said.”
    “What happened to Buddy, then?”
    “Ran his motorcycle through Ralph’s corncrib and broke his arm.”
    Verna had to stifle a laugh. “The same one that got broke before?”
    “Nope. The other one. Jed Snow drove him back to town and dropped him off at Doc Roberts’ office. Guess Buddy’ll have to get somebody to fetch his motorcycle later. It’s still stuck in the wall of Ralph’s corncrib.”
    Verna, curious asked, “What was Jed Snow doing out there?”
    “Lucy phoned and asked him to come out. I didn’t take that call, it was when Violet was on the board this afternoon, but Violet said that Lucy was half hysterical. Jed is Ralph Murphy’s cousin, you know. On his mother’s side. He’s out there a lot. Him and Ralph go hunting.”
    “Yes, I know, but—” Verna took a breath. “Ralph wasn’t shot, was he?” She and Ralph had been high-school sweet-hearts back before she married Walter and Ralph had married Emma, who died of a cancer in her breast, leaving him with two very young boys. Verna had been glad when he married again, although it would have been better if he’d found somebody older and more firm-handed than Lucy. The boys—Junior and Scooter—needed somebody to whack their behinds and keep them in line.
    “No. Ralph’s working on the railroad and doesn’t get home every weekend. Lucy was out there with the kids by herself and pretty scared. Guess she thought of Jed and felt like she needed a man around while the prisoners were on the loose.”
    “Oh,” Verna said. “Did they catch both the prisoners?” She wasn’t asking because she was anxious, but because she knew that everybody on the line would want to know.
    “They caught the one they shot,” Myra May replied, “but not the other one. Got clean away into Briar’s Swamp, they said. He’ll wish they’da shot him, I reckon. You go in there, you’re gonna get eaten alive by mosquitoes.” She paused. “You’ll tell Buddy’s dad?”
    “I’m on my way over there right now,” Verna said. Myra May hung up, but Verna didn’t, not right away. She just stood there, listening, as Miss Silver might have done.
    One. Two. Three. Four.
    Everybody on the party line had heard the news.

FOUR
    Lizzy
    Monday, May 12,1930

    Mondays were always slow in Mr. Moseley’s law office, which didn’t bother Lizzy Lacy a bit. It gave her time to catch up on what she hadn’t finished the preceding week. If she had a few minutes left over, she worked on her newspaper column, which was always due on Wednesday.
    Today, there wasn’t much work left over from last week, just some bills to pay (Lizzy did the office books and handled Mr. Moseley’s personal accounts) and Lester Sawyer’s will to type up, in triplicate, a job that Lizzy always hated, and especially in this case, because Lester Sawyer had a lot of property and was particular about