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

at the back of the stage hung the silvery movie screen, now covered with a heavy red drape. A few dim lights in candelabra brackets shone along the walls, and in their dusty glow, she saw Don Greer pushing the vacuum over the carpet, down at the front, near Mrs. LeVaughn’s black upright piano. He looked up when he saw them coming down the aisle toward him and switched off the Hoover. It shuddered into silence.
    “Hello, Mr. Greer,” Verna called.
    “Hullo, gals,” he said jocularly. The air was warm and stuffy, and he took out a handkerchief and rubbed it over his forehead and his nearly bald head. “We’re closed on Mondays. Don’cha know that by now?” He refolded the handkerchief. “Blackmail opens tomorrow night. Come back then and bring your friends.” He added, confidentially, “But don’t bring any Baptists.”
    This was a standing joke in town, because Baptists weren’t supposed to go to the picture show, where they could see people drinking and smoking and misbehaving—although of course they went anyway.
    He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket, chuck-ling. “Y’all ain’t Baptists, I reckon.”
    “Not this week,” Verna said, matching his tone. “But we’re not here for the movie. We’re looking for some information. About a friend of ours.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I can help. What friend? What’s her name?”
    “Scott. Eva Louise Scott. The blonde who worked at Lima’s Drugstore.”
    “Oh, her.” Mr. Greer narrowed his eyes. “The girl who stole that Pontiac from that fella at the bank and drove it over the cliff into Pine Mill bottom.” There was sharp disapproval in his tone. “Dunno why Lester ever hired that one. Dead, ain’t she?”
    Verna and Lizzy exchanged glances, and Lizzy spoke up. “Yes, she’s dead, Mr. Greer. And we’re very upset about it. But nobody seems to know what really happened on Saturday night. We’re hoping to get some information that might help to answer some questions.”
    “Well ...” Mr. Greer hesitated. “Yeah, I did see her Saturday night, come to think of it. She was sittin’ close to the back, where she allus sits. That purty yella hair of hers—it shines real bright when the projector’s on.” He grunted. “Had her head on some young fella’s shoulder. Reckon he’s feelin’ kinda low about what happened.”
    “Oh?” Verna asked eagerly. “Who was the fella, Mr. Greer? Who was she with?”
    “Dunno.” Mr. Greer shrugged. “Didn’t see who he was, or if I did, it didn’t register. Them boys all look purty much the same when you see ’em from the projection booth. Anyway, she’s with a diff’rent one ever’ time she comes. Sees ever’ movie more’n onct, too. Bet she saw Applause three, four times. Real tearjerker.”
    “Do you remember anybody she saw it with?” Lizzy asked.
    He furrowed his forehead, thinking. “Well, I think it was Willy Warren one night. Hank Crawford’s oldest boy, Pete, another night. Other’n that, I don’t rightly remember. You might ask Mrs. Greer—she sells candy to purt’ near ever’body who comes in. Or Gladys.” Gladys was the Greers’ daughter, who was still in high school. “Yeah, that’s right. You come back tomorrow night when we’re open and ask Gladys. She sees folks under the marquee lights when she sells ’em their tickets. Got a real good mem’ry, too.”
    “We’ll do that,” Verna said.
    Mr. Greer grinned thinly. “O’ course, people don’t allus come in with the ones they sit with. You’d be mighty surprised to know how many folks come in by theirselves and just happen to end up cuddlin’ with somebody in the back row. A tryst is what it’s called, y’ know.” He enjoyed the word so much that he said it again, his grin broadening. “A secret tryst. At least, they like to think it’s secret.”
    “And what time did the picture end on Saturday night?” Lizzy asked.
    “Well, lessee.” He rubbed his chin. “It was a double bill, Applause and Tarzan, Reckon it was all over by nine thirty.” He frowned. “How come y‘all wantin’ to know?”
    Verna didn’t answer his question. She only said, “Thanks very much.”
    “Sure thing.” Mr. Greer switched the Hoover back on and Verna led the way up the aisle, disappointed.
    “I know both Willy Warren and Pete Crawford,” she said, when they were outside the theater. “If you ask me, neither of them has the gumption to steal a car, much less shoot a girl. Especially Bunny.