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

“An ... alibi?”
    “I was home. Alone. Adabelle and the kids were in Birmingham.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “The woman who cooks and keeps house for us was gone for the weekend. I didn’t see anybody, didn’t talk to anybody. I got good and drunk. Nobody can vouch for me.”
    She didn’t understand. “But what ... what does that matter?”
    “Can’t you see, Lizzy? It matters because I can’t prove I had nothing to do with Miss Scott’s death. If the police find out I was involved with her, I’ll be at the top of their suspect list”
    He dropped his face into his hands. Lizzy could think of nothing to say.
    A moment later, he lifted his head, leaned forward, and looked at her. His eyes were red, bloodshot. His voice was thick. “Liz, my dear Lizzy, I really hate to ask you this, but could you bring yourself to—That is, would you be able to—” He stopped.
    She couldn’t bear it. “To ... do what?”
    “To lie.” He took a deep breath. “To say we were together. You and I. On Saturday night. Just the two of us. At my house—or at yours, doesn’t matter.”
    “Together?” Her heart was thudding against her ribs. Together? In the same way he and Bunny had been together? In the way she herself had once dreamed of being with him?
    He regarded her for a moment, then gave a long, shuddery sigh. “Ah, hell. Forget it, Liz. I can’t ask you to do that. It’s embarrassing to you. People would assume that—Well, they’d assume, that’s all. And they’d keep on assuming, for a damned long time.”
    Another sigh, longer. “And if worse came to worst, you might have to swear to it in court, and that would mean perjury.”
    Numbly, Lizzy shook her head. “I couldn’t anyway, Mr. Moseley. I was ... I was with Grady on Saturday night. We went to the picture show, and then we—” She swallowed. “It was probably midnight by the time I got home.”
    “Ah. The ubiquitous Grady.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Liz. I shouldn’t have asked you. Please forget I said anything.” He picked up his glasses and put them on again. “I suppose we’d better get back to work. We’ve got a filing due today.”
    She nodded. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I wonder ... Could I ... Do you mind me asking a question?”
    He was moving papers around on his desk. “What?” He didn’t look up. “What’s your question?”
    “Did you—” She clenched her fingers around her pencil. It was an impertinent question. A question she didn’t have any right to ask. And either way, she didn’t want to hear the answer. But she had to know. “Did you buy Miss Scott a pair of earrings, too? Pearl earrings, from Ettlinger’s?”
    “Buy her what?” He found the paper he had been looking for and glanced up. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Earrings? No. Why are you asking?”
    “No reason,” she said hastily, and stood up.
    He frowned. “You must have had a reason, Liz. What is it? Did somebody else buy her—”
    She shook her head. “Please. If there’s anything else I can do—”
    “There isn’t,” he said, and picked up his pen. “Yes, there is. You can pour me a cup of coffee, black, no sugar. Then make another pot. Make it strong. Oh, and cancel the afternoon’s appointments. I don’t want to see anybody. Understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He gave her a look. “Except you, of course.”

SIXTEEN
    Verna and Lizzy Have a Narrow Escape
    Verna’s afternoon was uneventful. She closed the probate office at the usual time and went across the street and up the stairs to the office of Moseley and Moseley to pick up Lizzy. Mr. Moseley was in but his door was closed. Lizzy put her finger to her lips, and they left silently.
    “He’s not feeling well,” Lizzy said, as they reached the street. “It’s been a ... a difficult afternoon.” She didn’t offer to explain, and Verna didn’t like to ask. In fact, Lizzy didn’t seem to want to talk at all, even make small talk, so they turned onto Robert E. Lee in silence, walked two blocks east on Dauphin, past Beulah’s Beauty Bower, to Peachtree Street. The Limas lived in the middle of the block in an attractive, two-story frame house with a pretty porch and a yard filled with blooming azaleas and gardenias, carefully kept, no doubt by a gardener.
    The door was opened by a plump maid in a neat black dress and white apron, with a white beribboned cap pinned to her hair.