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

felt she was right—Voleen didn’t want to have to face people just now, in case they asked too many questions about the situation at her husband’s bank. Voleen didn’t want to have to pretend that everything was hunky-dory when it wasn’t.
    Myra May had to admit that what she heard about the goings-on at the bank scared her silly, too. One of the Mobile banks had failed the previous November and Myra May’s second cousin—her mother’s sister’s daughter’s son—had lost every cent he had to his name. He’d left town on a freight train with his mother’s last three dollars in his pocket and was somewhere out in Washington State, sleeping in a hobo jungle. Myra herself had money in the Savings and Trust, but she wasn’t going to leave it there for much longer. The minute Beulah finished trimming her hair she was on her way to the bank to take that money out. She’d have to put it under her mattress, but if half of what she had overheard was true, it would be as safe there as in Mr. Johnson’s Savings and Trust. Safer, probably.
    “Of course you’re a professional, Myra May,” Beulah said in a comforting tone. “You’re a professional through and through. Now, you just come on right over here to the chair, and I’ll trim off those itty-splitty ends.”
    “But we are talking about the bank!” Miss Rogers exclaimed, dismayed. She sat down in the other chair and Bettina adjusted the cape around her neck. “That’s where I have all my money! And not just me, either. The Savings and Trust is the only bank in town. We all have our money there—every single one of us! If something’s wrong, we’ve got a right to know about it, haven’t we?” Her voice rose to an unusual pitch—unusual for Miss Rogers, who was ordinarily very self-contained (except when it came to the possibility of losing her money—again).
    “Sorry, Miss Rogers.” And Myra May lifted her chin, took an imaginary key, and turned it in her lips.
    Beulah picked up the scissors and began to trim Myra May’s ends. “You said they haven’t caught the escaped convict yet,” she said, changing the subject. “But has anybody seen any sign of him?”
    “Haven’t heard,” Miss Rogers said shortly.
    “At church yesterday,” Bettina said, “Mrs. Sidell—she lives on the road that goes out t‘ward Springtown—said she lost two chickens and some eggs out of the coop and a sweet potato pie that was coolin’ on the windowsill. Nobody saw who took it, but her husband said he figured it had to be the convict. Must be pretty hungry by now.”
    “Springtown,” Beulah said thoughtfully. “Well, that’s a ways south. Guess he’s not headed in this direction. But somebody’ll spot him, sure. They all have shaved heads, you know. The prison farm does that to keep ‘em from gettin’ lice, poor things.” It was Beulah’s opinion that having your head shaved was worse than going to jail.
    “Wait, Beulah!” Bettina looked up, excited. “You know, I’ll bet it was the convict who took that automobile! He prob‘bly picked up a girlfriend and he was stealin’ a car so the two of ’em could get out of town.”
    “You could be right, Bettina.” Beulah put down the scissors and reached for the hand dryer. “I sure wish they’d catch him. Don’t you, Miss Rogers?”
    “I wish Myra May would tell us what is going on at the bank,” Miss Rogers said crossly. “We’ve got a right—”
    There might’ve been more words exchanged on this subject, but at that moment, the screen door opened and Sylvia Search lumbered in. Sylvia was just over five feet high and nearly that in girth. Next to Leona Adcock, she was the worst gossip in town.
    “I cain’t remember whether I’m down for nine thirty or ten,” she said cheerfully, “so I thought I’d just come on over an’ set ’til you’re ready for me.” She took a notebook out of her purse. “While I wait, I’ll just take a minute to jot down some of those ‘handy tips’ Lizzy Lacy was askin’ for in her garden column on Friday. We’ve been makin’ do at our house for years and years.”
    “Actually, you’re a Tuesday,” Beulah replied, turning on the dryer. “But it don’t matter at all, Sylvia. You want done on Monday, we can do you. Can’t we, Bettina?”
    “We sure can,” Bettina chirped. “Just so happens that Miz Johnson canceled not five minutes ago. You just sit there, Miz Search. We’ll get to you in two shakes. And maybe the rest of us can help