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

prayer. His voice was low and heavy with sadness—and whiskey. “You know, I can’t really believe she’s dead—much less that anybody could actually shoot her. She was such a sweet, delicate little thing, and she’d had such a damned hard time in her life.”
    He was silent a moment, then swung his chair around so he could look at Lizzy. “Did you know that her daddy was a drunk? And that her momma ran away from home when she was nine years old and left her with four young children to take care of—including a pair of twins? The family lived out in the country, and Bunny had to walk miles to get to school every day. But she did it, and kept her brothers and sisters fed and clothed, too. That took courage. Real courage.”
    Lizzy was staring at him. Bunny’s mother ran away from home, leaving her with four children?
    “But that’s not true!” she protested. “Bunny was an only child, and her mother was a widow. They didn’t live in the country—not at all. She and her mother lived in Monroeville, where—”
    Mr. Moseley acted as if he didn’t hear her. “I know that’s no excuse,” he said. “For what I did, I mean. The world isn’t fair, and lots of young women have a hard time.”
    “Really, Mr. Moseley, she didn’t—”
    He waved her objection away. “I just felt sorry for her, that’s all.” He picked up his glass and drank the whiskey in one gulp, then set the glass down hard on the desk. “She seemed to have a genuine appreciation of finer things, pretty things. I wanted to show her a good time, give her some pleasure. When we went to Mobile a couple of weeks ago, we walked past Ettlinger’s. She saw the bracelet in the window and liked it, so I bought it and had it engraved for her.”
    Lizzy’s heart had stopped at the words We went to Mobile. Mr. Moseley had taken Bunny to Mobile? You didn’t drive all that way just for one day. They must have stayed overnight, in a hotel. But even if they didn’t stay in the same room, he was married, and that made it wrong! And not only wrong, but dangerous. Lizzy wasn’t very sophisticated about affairs of the heart, and she hadn’t had much experience of her own. But she knew that a girl who would deliberately lie to a man about her family situation in the way that Bunny Scott had lied to Mr. Moseley—well, a girl like that couldn’t be trusted not to make trouble, that was all. If she had lied, what else might she have done?
    Her heart started again with a painful thud and she straightened her shoulders. “She must have liked it,” she said almost desperately, trying to think of something to say. The words felt thick on her tongue. “The bracelet, I mean. I saw her wearing it the other day. And she was wearing it when she ... when she died. I saw it. On her ... her arm.”
    “When she died?” Mr. Moseley closed his eyes, then opened them again. He looked haunted. “Then I’m sunk, Liz. Completely sunk, damn it. That bracelet has Ettlinger’s stamp on it. They’ll trace it. The police will find out I bought it for her.”
    Lizzy stared at him, trying to focus. Why was he so upset? So what if they found out he had bought Bunny that bracelet? It might be embarrassing, but that was all. It was only because he was drinking and feeling sorry for Bunny and even sorrier for himself. It was the whiskey talking. Buying the bracelet wasn’t smart, but a person could surely buy a present for another person without being accused of—
    “They’ll trace the bracelet,” he said again, as if he were talking to himself. “They’ll talk to Ettlinger’s. The salesclerk will remember that we were together. In Mobile.” He took a deep breath. “They’ll search her room at the boardinghouse. They’ll find my letter.”
    She felt raw. “You ... You wrote to her?”
    “I knew it was foolish. But I had to tell her—I had to explain why we couldn’t ... why I couldn’t give her what she wanted. A place of her own, where we could ...” He passed his hand across his eyes. “So stupid,” he muttered thickly. “How could I have been so all-fired stupid? After all the times I’ve told my clients never to write incriminating letters—” He reached for the bottle, then pushed it away. “I guess I’m just lucky she didn’t try to blackmail me.”
    “Blackmail?”
    “Make me pay for my sins,” Mr. Moseley said in a sour tone. “But the really bad thing is that I don’t have an alibi for Saturday night”
    She stared at him.