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

the deposit book out of the drawer. “Just look at how much she was socking away every week, Lizzy. Where in the world was she getting it?”
    Lizzy leafed through the book. “Do you suppose she was ... was blackmailing someone?”
    Verna eyed her. “What made you think of that?”
    “Mr. Moseley said he was lucky she hadn’t tried to blackmail him.”
    “Hmm,” Verna said. She wondered, briefly, if Mr. Moseley had said that to Lizzy in order to allay any suspicions she might have had.
    “I think he was telling the truth,” Lizzy said, turning the pages in the deposit book. “He seemed to want to tell me everything. Too much, really. I didn’t want to hear it, especially the business about him and his wife getting a divorce.”
    “My goodness,” Verna said softly, wondering if this would change Lizzy’s relationship to him—or to Grady Alexander.
    “What about Mr. Lima?” Lizzy asked.
    “What about him?”
    “Maybe Bunny was blackmailing him.” She turned another page.
    “It’s a possibility,” Verna replied. In fact, the more she thought about the abrupt departure of the Limas “on vacation,” the more suspicious it looked.
    Lizzy glanced down at the paper Bunny had been writing on. “Maxwell Woodburn,” she mused, frowning. “I’m sure he doesn’t live in Darling. I wonder who he is.”
    “Amanda Blake thought he might be Bunny’s pen pal in Montgomery,” Verna replied. “Maybe he’s the source of that extra ten dollars a week. Maybe Bunny was blackmailing him.”
    “I doubt you’d blackmail somebody you thought you might marry,” Lizzy said. “I wouldn’t, anyway.”
    “Maybe she was using blackmail to get him to marry her,” Verna suggested.
    “Well, if he was her pen pal,” Lizzy said reasonably, “there ought to be more letters around here somewhere.”
    Agreeing, Verna pulled out the drawer of the dressing table and began to rummage through it. As she did, she uncovered the photograph. “See?” she said, holding it up.
    “It’s Bunny!” Lizzy exclaimed.
    Verna chuckled wryly. “Bunny in her teddy. And that’s the teddy, over there on the floor. Shocking, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, in a way. You wouldn’t catch me sitting on the hood of a car in my teddy, letting some guy photograph me.” Still holding the deposit book, Lizzy took the photo and began to study it. “You know, Verna, there’s something about—”
    “Shhh!” Verna put a hand on Lizzy’s arm. “Somebody’s coming!” From the direction of the stairs, they heard the clack-clack of pumps on bare wood, and the sound of Mrs. Brewster’s voice.
    Lizzy gasped. “What do we do?”
    “Quick!” Verna whispered. “We have to hide! Come on!”
    Grabbing Lizzy, she pulled her behind the curtain that was strung diagonally across one corner. There was barely room for them. Holding their breaths, they crowded against the wall, behind Bunny’s dresses. Verna hoped to heaven that the curtain wasn’t moving and that their shoes couldn’t be seen below its hem.
    “—the only room I have available at the moment,” Mrs. Brewster was saying, as the door opened. The footsteps came into the room, but not very far. “The unfortunate girl’s belongings are still here, as you can see. But I can have the room cleaned and thoroughly aired for your daughter, whenever you need it.”
    A woman’s high-pitched voice said, critically, “Is this the largest you have? I’m not sure that my Sue Ellen would be happy in such a small room.” She sniffed. “And what is that odor? Some sort of exotic perfume, I suppose.” Without waiting for an answer, she went on, “You say that the young woman was killed in an automobile wreck?”
    “Yes,” Mrs. Brewster said shortly. “My girls are usually quite trustworthy and follow the rules of the house without question. But this one—” She made a disdainful tsk-tsk. “I am sad to say that she was almost incorrigible.”
    The scent of Bunny’s My Sin was overpowering, and Verna felt her nose tickling.
    “Rules of the house,” the woman repeated thoughtfully. “You are strict with your boarders, then, Mrs. Brewster?”
    Verna took a deep breath and pinched her nose to stop the tickle.
    “Oh, absolutely,” Mrs. Brewster replied. “In fact, you can ask anyone in Darling. They will all tell you that I am extremely strict with my girls. Curfews, meals, visiting hours, the presence of young men in the house—I consider myself in loco parentis, and I watch over