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

wife, Ophelia, was there. She said it was Sheriff Burns who called and asked Jed to go out to the Murphy place. She was kinda curious about that, which is why I remember it”
    “Hmm,” Verna said, in a skeptical tone that implied all manner of things.
    Lizzy, who noticed Verna’s skepticism, folded the wax paper in which she had wrapped her egg salad sandwich.
    There was a silence. Bunny took out a tiny bottle of My Sin and began applying it to her wrists and behind her ears. She was wearing an expensive-looking bracelet with geometric silver-plated links and rhinestones that caught the sun and fired it back. “Far be it from me to gossip,” she said carelessly, “but last week, Mrs. Adcock told me that Jed Snow and Lucy Murphy are quite the—”
    “I’m sure there’s nothing to it,” Lizzy interrupted, before Bunny could tell them what Mrs. Adcock had said. Didn’t matter whether there was any truth behind the talk—all by itself, talk could cause plenty of trouble. Working in a law office had taught her that, among other things. She folded the wax paper with her brown-paper lunch sack and put them both into her purse. “Anyway, it’s none of our business.”
    But she couldn’t help feeling sad for Ophelia, who was always so cheerful and never had a bad word to say about anybody. And for Ralph, who had met Lucy at a church social when she came over from Atlanta to visit her aunt Rachel. He’d been so smitten that he’d proposed to her inside a week, and they were married so fast it made everybody’s head swim. Lizzy wondered whether Lucy had known what she was getting into. The Murphy place was a bit ... well, primitive, especially for a girl who was raised in Atlanta, with all those modern things—electricity and flush toilets and trolley cars. And Ralph’s boys were in their teens and sassy, since they hadn’t had a mother for as long as they could remember. She wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy gave it up and went back to Atlanta.
    Verna took an apple out of her bag. “So,” she said, changing the subject. “Anybody go to the picture show this weekend?”
    She nodded across the street, where the marquee of the Palace Theater announced a double bill. Applause (a talkie starring Helen Morgan), paired with Tarzan the Tiger. Tarzan was a silent film, so Don Greer, who owned the theater, hired Mrs. LeVaughn to play the piano. The younger people like the talkies but the older folks said they liked it better when Mrs. LeVaughn played the piano and the actors and actresses didn’t talk, leaving more to the imagination. In an effort to please both audiences, Mr. Greer usually tried to book one talkie and one silent.
    “Haven’t been yet,” Lizzy replied. “Grady and I are going on Friday night.” Grady Alexander, according to Lizzy’s mother, was her “steady beau” and she couldn’t understand what was keeping them from getting engaged. According to Lizzy, Grady was just a very good friend. According to Grady—well, Lizzy knew he’d been hoping for more since they started seeing each other the year before. But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
    “I went,” Bunny said enthusiastically. “And let me tell you, Helen Morgan was just so swell—I cried buckets! My hankie was drippin’, it was so wet.” She wrung out an imaginary hankie. “And I always love Jane. She’s kidnapped in this one, and Tarzan loses his memory when he’s hit on the head. But he finally remembers who he is and rescues her, just in time.” She rolled her eyes and heaved a Helen Morgan sigh. “What I need is a Tarzan to come and rescue me, y’know? Take me out of this dull little burg. Nothing excitin’ ever happens here.”
    “What about the prison farm escape?” Lizzy asked. “That’s pretty exciting.”
    “Pretty scary, too,” Verna said. “Myra May says that the switchboard’s been jammed all morning with people calling and wanting to know if the escapee has been caught”
    Bunny shook her blond head disdainfully. “No, I’m talkin’ real excitement. Whoopee, y’know? Music and lights and dancin’ and people having fun.” Another sigh, longing and wistful. “And men. Real men, I mean. Not like the country yokels around this place. They’re just old flat tires.”
    “Maybe you ought to get on the bus and go down to Mobile,” Verna suggested, in a practical tone.
    “Or New York,” Bunny replied. “I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout that a lot, y‘know. This isn’t the first job