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

with those tips. We’ve been makin’ do, too.”
    And that, Myra May thought with relief, was the end of that conversation. Nobody would say a single thing of any consequence as long as Sylvia Search was in the room—not unless they wanted it broadcast to the rest of Darling.
    But it wasn’t the end of the troublesome subject of the bank.
    An hour later, freshly combed and dried and turning away from Alice Ann Walker’s window at the Savings and Trust with fifty-three dollars tucked carefully into the lining of her pocketbook, Myra May bumped into Miss Rogers. She hung around long enough to see the librarian push her savings book across the counter and hear her say, with her accustomed firmness, “I wish to withdraw the money in my savings account, please, Alice Ann. All of it.”
    And at noon, Beulah and Bettina hung the Closed sign on the Beauty Bower’s door and went together to the bank, where they stood in line with three or four other citizens of Darling, all looking warily uncomfortable.
    And in his bank president’s office, watching through the glass window as one after another of the bank’s customers made a withdrawal, Mr. George E. Pickett Johnson was becoming nervous.

SEVEN
    Ophelia Lends a Helping Hand
    It wasn’t Verna or Lizzy who told Ophelia about her husband carrying on with Lucy Murphy, after all. That responsibility was assumed by Mrs. Leona Ruth Adcock, who lived kitty-corner across Rosemont from the Snows. Mrs. Adcock always took it on herself to make sure that everyone in the neighborhood stayed firmly on the straight and narrow. Or if they strayed, that the appropriate people knew about it. She and Sylvia Search had a reputation for gossip that was excelled by none.
    It was early Monday morning, just about the time that Beulah and Bettina were opening up for business. Ophelia, who liked to get into the garden while it was still cool, was spading a hole beside the corner of her front porch for her new angel’s trumpet, properly called Datura arborea, according to Miss Rogers. Ophelia had swapped Bessie Bloodworth an early-blooming double white peony for it at Saturday’s plant sale. (She didn’t know the peony’s real name because it had come from her mother, who always called it Aunt Polly’s peony because that’s where she had gotten it.) Bessie, who “specialized” in angel’s trumpets, had taken half a dozen cuttings in the fall and carried them over the winter on her south-facing back porch, just for the sale. This one was supposed to be creamy yellow and would probably get about six feet tall. Ophelia wanted it by the porch where she could enjoy its sweet scent when the trumpets unfurled in the evening, but she’d have to remember to tell the kids to leave the seeds alone. They were poisonous, although Bessie said that her grandmother had smoked the leaves to relieve her asthma. Ophelia didn’t think she’d try smoking it, even though Bessie said her grandmother (who had died on her hundredth birthday) thought the smoke helped to take the edge off her troubles.
    Mrs. Adcock—an older lady with a sharp, ferrety nose and a pointed chin with two or three stiff hairs growing out of it—was returning the cup of brown sugar she had borrowed the week before. But that was only the ostensible reason for her visit. Her real reason became clear when Ophelia (who tried to be neighborly even when she didn’t particularly like the neighbor) invited her into the kitchen for coffee. Mrs. Adcock wanted to let Ophelia know that certain folks in town—she didn’t like to name names—were saying that Jed was fooling around with his cousin Ralph’s young wife while Ralph was away, working on the railroad.
    Of course, Mrs. Adcock went on piously, she never liked to interfere in people’s private business. But she did think it was her bounden duty to let Ophelia know what was being said. Not that there was necessarily anything in it, she hastened to add, since even Christians were always going to gossip. No matter what the truth of something was, they’d have it told six ways from Sunday, and there never was any real knowing just what the facts were.
    Still, she was sure that Ophelia would like to hear about this, ’cause goodness only knew, it was terrible when people you thought were your friends were talking about your husband and his cousin’s wife behind your back and you didn’t know a thing about it.
    Having delivered this nasty bit of news, Mrs. Adcock smiled in a