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

string of tobacco juice. It splatted into the dirt. “Not a pleasant sight, Miz Lacy. That gal down there is tore up purty bad. Squashed flat when the car landed on her.”
    “I want to do it,” Liz insisted.
    The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Think you can handle it?”
    Now that she was here, Lizzy wasn’t so sure. But she nodded, not trusting her voice.
    “All right, then.” He looked at her shoes. “Not goin’ to be an easy climb down an’ back, neither.”
    Lizzy pulled herself up. “I can do it.”
    The sheriff twisted his mouth skeptically, but his desire to get the victim identified won out. “Well, then, let’s get on with it”
    It wasn’t an easy climb. It had rained the previous afternoon, and the clay hillside was wet and slick. Lizzy’s feet and legs were muddy by the time she reached the car, and she was out of breath and a little dizzy. Even dizzier when she saw what was lying under the car.
    The dead woman wore a lipstick-red silky rayon dress. Her peroxided head was turned away from them, dried blood crusting her pretty blond hair. One braceleted arm was flung out, red-enameled nails clawing at the ground as if to seize the last glimmering instant of life as it slipped away from her. The bracelet was made of geometric silver-plated links, with rhinestones.
    “Well?” the sheriff demanded. “Know who it is?”
    “Bunny Scott,” Lizzy said numbly. Her lips were cold and she began to shiver. “Eva Louise Scott. She works at Lester Lima’s drugstore, in cosmetics. We eat lunch together most days.” Grady’s arm went around her, and she leaned gratefully against him.
    Charlie went around the Pontiac to snap a photograph. The sheriff took out a notebook and a pencil and wrote down Bunny’s full name, spelling it aloud. “E-v-a L-o-u-i-s-e Scott. Not married?”
    “No. Not married.”
    “Any near kin around here?”
    “Her mother’s dead. Mrs. Bledsoe is her cousin, I believe. Bunny lives—lived—at Mrs. Brewster’s boardinghouse.” The sheriff licked the tip of his pencil and wrote this down.
    “Is that her car, Lizzy?” Grady asked softly.
    “She doesn’t have a car,” Lizzy said. “I didn’t even know she could drive.”
    “Oh, she c’d drive, all right,” the sheriff said, with what sounded like satisfaction. He spit tobacco juice. “That there car is stolen. Reported stolen late Satiddy night”
    “Stolen!” Lizzy exclaimed, and pulled away from the shelter of Grady’s encircling arm. “But Bunny wouldn’t—I know she wouldn’t, Sheriff. She’s young and a little flighty but she’s a good girl. She wouldn’t steal a car!”
    “Well, she did,” the sheriff said. “The fella she took it from telephoned it in. Said he saw her take it” He shifted his chew from one side to the other. “Well, not her by name nor nothin’. Somebody fittin’ her description.” He flipped a couple of pages in his notebook and read, squinting. “Short blond hair, red dress. In her twenties, staggerin’ a little, like maybe she was drunk. She was with some man. No description on him.”
    “But Bunny didn’t drink,” Lizzy objected. “She might’ve been a little wild, but—”
    The sheriff cleared his throat loudly. “Like I say, she was drunk. You just bend down and take a look under that car, and you’ll see a bottle of moonshine whiskey, broke, lyin’ right up next to her. Buddy found another, just up the hill.” He raised his voice. “Buddy, show Miz Lacy that empty bottle you found.”
    Buddy Norris held up the bottle.
    The sheriff went on. “Figger her’n the man took the car, maybe just meanin’ to go on a little joy ride, out to the Waterin’ Hole, maybe, then put it back. But they was liquored up enough so that they just kep’ on drivin’. Drove right through that there barrier.”
    “Where’s the man?” Grady asked.
    “Figger he jumped outta the car a-fore it went over,” the sheriff said. “Still on the loose.”
    “I still don’t believe it,” Lizzy insisted. “Not Bunny.”
    The sheriff closed his notebook and pocketed it. “’ Scuse me, Miz Lacy, but we’re lookin’ at the ev-i-dence right here in front of us. ‘Course, I reckon you could say the fella who had the car was careless, leavin’ the key in the ignition the way he did. But this is Darlin’, after all. Folks don’t steal cars in Darlin’. Much less a girl.”
    “Well, I guess this’un did,” Buddy Norris said, coming around the car.
    “She didn’t!”