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

out there if you want, Charlie. I left Harvey Jackson’s oldest boy with the wreck. I told his dad I’d bring him home, so I’m going back out there. We can stop at Lizzy’s house on the way and get her camera.”
    “Fine with me,” Charlie said, shoving a small notebook into his coat pocket and grabbing his hat. “Let’s go.”
    “I’m going too,” Lizzy said.
    “Sure thing,” Charlie said, opening the front door. “We’ll leave you at your house after you give me your camera, and then we can—”
    “No,” Lizzy said firmly. “I mean I’m going out to Pine Mill Creek with you. I want to see the wreck.”
    “Absolutely not,” Grady said flatly. He went to the Ford and opened the passenger door with a Southern gentleman’s flourish. “Trust me, Lizzy. This is for your own good. You do not want to see this wreck. Now, get in the car. Charlie can ride in the rumble seat as far as your house.”
    “Maybe Liz oughtta ride in the rumble,” Charlie said. “She’s skinnier than I am. How ‘bout it, Liz? You’re gettin’ out first”
    “But I might know who she is,” Lizzy objected. “I know all of the women in this town. I might be able to identify her.” She lifted her chin and hardened her voice. “And if I don’t go, neither does my camera.”
    “Forget it,” Grady said. “You are not going. It is not a thing for a woman to see.”
    “All right, then.” Lizzy folded her arms. This was so like Grady, always trying to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do, which was one of the reasons she was not going to marry him. “I’m not going, and neither is my camera.”
    Charlie scowled. “Hey, you two. Stop bickerin’ and let’s get goin’.” To Grady, he added, “Woman is too damn stubborn for her own good. If she wants to see a dead body, let her. What the hell—won’t hurt her none.”
    “Exactly,” Lizzy agreed. “It won’t hurt me. And I might be able to help.”
    “Help? I don’t see how you can help.” Grady glared at her.
    “I might be able to identify her.”
    Grady made a skeptical noise.
    “Maybe she can,” Charlie said. He was trying to cram himself into the rumble. “Come on. Let’s get that camera.”
    “You’ll faint,” Grady said.
    “I’ve never fainted in my life,” Lizzy said. “But if I do, you can pick me up.”
    Grady’s voice was hard. “Lizzy Lacy, I swear. You are the stubbornest woman God ever put on this green earth. Get in the damn car.”
    They stopped at Lizzy’s, where she picked up her Kodak and turned it over to Charlie. Back in the car, she sat as far over against the door as she could, but it was a tight fit and she could almost feel the heat of Grady’s thigh and the angry thrust of his muscled arm when he shifted gears. What’s more, she could still feel the heat they had generated in this very same car on Saturday night. Neither of them spoke for the five- or six-mile drive.
    Pine Mill Creek lay at the bottom of a wooded, steep-sided ravine, some thirty feet deep. The muddy waters had run high during the April rains, and the worst of the floods, laden with downed trees and other debris, had taken out the wooden pilings that supported the rickety wooden bridge. There wasn’t enough money to replace it with a modern structure, and the county commissioners hadn’t yet figured out what to do. In the meantime, the local residents were driving ten miles out of their way to cross the creek farther from town, and the county had put a couple of yellow-painted sawhorses across the road, with a sign that said BRIDGE OUT.
    Now one sawhorse had been shoved aside and the other was splintered, where the Pontiac had smashed through the barricade. Sheriff Burns met them, a big wad of tobacco tucked in one cheek. His Model A was parked across the road, and Buddy Norris, his arm in a sling, was at the bottom of the ravine, with a young man dressed in overalls. The two of them were conducting a search around the wrecked car, which lay, wheels up, twenty feet down, at the edge of the running water. It had somersaulted at least once before it landed, and pieces of automobile wreckage—a bumper, a fender, a wheel, a headlamp—were scattered across the hillside. Carrying Liz’s Kodak, Charlie started down the bank.
    The sheriff looked at Lizzy and his eyebrows went up.
    “Miss Lacy thinks she might know the dead woman, Roy,” Grady said in an even tone. “Okay if she goes down and takes a look?”
    The sheriff grunted and spit a