The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush (26 page)

Sadly, that town wasn’t going to be Darling. He would stay for a week or so to see the Darling Dollar program implemented and make sure that people understood how it operated. But his work here was finished. He would have to find a new town and a new employer. Regretfully, he thought of that pretty woman in the red newsboy cap, who had sharp eyes and a quick wit and asked intelligent questions. He’d have to find new friends.

But enough of that. He picked up his pencil and pulled a stack of papers toward him. The sooner he finished up this stuff, the sooner he could be on his way. The prospect didn’t cheer him.

He was still working when the telephone on his desk rang. It was Bent Moseley, who got right down to the point. “You’ve heard that George Johnson died?”

“Yes. Bad news,” Al said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Moseley. He was a good man in a tough situation.”

“Exactly. Well, to make it short, I’ve been discussing your predicament—the bank’s predicament, that is—with George’s widow. Her main purpose in urging her husband to sell the bank was to get the management load off his back. She was convinced it was wrecking his health.”

“Sounds like she was right,” Al said, “although I never would have guessed it to look at him.”

“Agreed. Anyway, I’ve told her the situation, and she agrees that Darling could be in for a very difficult time. Bottom line: now that he’s gone, she’s willing to buy back twenty-five percent of the bank shares at the same price George sold for—
if
you can find a buyer for the other twenty-five percent.”

“That’s good news.” Al made an effort to sound genuinely pleased. “Be sure and thank her for me, will you? Her offer makes it a little easier. But I have to say that I’ve scraped the bottom of my barrel. If there’s somebody out there willing to do this, I haven’t met him yet. If you have any ideas—”

“I’ll keep thinking,” Mr. Moseley said. “Good luck.”

Al hung up and went back to work, but a few minutes later, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mrs. Peters, still red-eyed from weeping, came in and announced tentatively, “Purley Mann is here to see you, Mr. Duffy.”

Al could see how Purley had gotten his nickname. He was as big and burly as his father, but his face was round, his eyes were innocent, his skin was clear and soft, and his hair was fine as a baby’s. He was carrying a brown leather satchel papered with travel decals. He set it on the desk and stepped back, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his denim overalls.

“Pop said I had to bring this back, Mr. Duffy,” he said meekly. “Took me a while to get some of the stuff I give away, and I couldn’t get it all. Miz Toms spent her two dollars for milk and flour and sugar at the grocery, and Mr. Murfee gave Jake Pritchard his dollar for a new tire for his jalopy. Pop says you got the dollar I give Old Zeke. But I brung the rest of it.” He gave Al an apprehensive look. “I hope you’re not mad at me nor nuffin’. The Good Book says we’s supposed to help the needy and give to the poor. That’s whut I was aimin’ to do.”

Al stood, but still they weren’t quite face-to-face. Purley was a foot taller. “I’m not mad at you, son, and I appreciate your good intention. But I’m curious. Where’d you get the satchel?”

Purley brightened. “I was walkin’ down the alley last evenin’, ’bout seven, seven thirty, prayin’ and askin’ the Lord for a sign of his goodness, and—lo and behold!—He give me one. There was this satchel sittin’ in the alley, right outside the door of Mr. Dickens’ newspaper, just like a angel had put it there. And when I opened it and looked, I seen it was plumb full of money.”

He stopped, frowning a little. “Well, not real money, ’xactly. But when I showed it to Mr. Kinnard, he said he’d heard that it was gonna be real, soon as somebody blowed the whistle and said it was real. So I should keep it and spend it or give it away.” He added proudly, “So that’s how I come to be doin’ the Lord’s work.”

Al caught the name and lifted his head. “Have you known Mr. Kinnard for long?”

“Just the last few days,” Purley said. “He’s a real nice fella. He bought me a—” He looked nervously away, lowering his voice. “No, sir. No, Mr. Duffy, I don’t know him at all. No.”

“What did he buy you?” Al softened his voice. “Come on, Baby. I’m not going to bite. What did Mr. Kinnard buy you?”

Half sullen, Purley surrendered. “Bought me a soda, out at Jake’s fillin’ station. That’s all. Jes’ one soda. No law agin that, is there?”

“No law at all,” Al said. “And you showed him what was in the satchel. That was last night?”

“Well, yes, but—” Caught, he struggled. “I mean, no, I never—”

Al leaned forward, palms of his hands flat on the desk. “The Good Book says we shouldn’t lie, Purley, no matter what kind of a fix we’re in. Remember? It’s one of the Ten Commandments.”

Purley scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yessir,” he muttered. “I remember.”

In a conversational tone, Al asked, “So what else did you show Agent Kinnard last night, Purley? Did you show him where he could find Mickey LeDoux’s still?”

Purley’s eyes widened. “No, not me!” he protested. “It wa’n’t me, honest, Mr. Duffy! I couldn’t—I didn’t—”

“I don’t suppose you could’ve known there was going to be any shooting,” Al said thoughtfully. “And maybe Kinnard told you you’d be doing the Lord’s work.” He looked up. “Did he, Purley? Did he say that closing down Mickey’s moonshine operation would save souls?”

Caught again, Purley nodded, and his eyes filled with sudden tears. “He said it was the right thing, and it was the lawful thing. It was sinful for me to make whiskey out there for Mickey, and I was breakin’ the law. I could go to jail for whut I done. The only way to wipe the black mark off my soul was to help him shut it down.”

Al clenched his fists. Kinnard had broken no law when he coerced Baby Mann to betray his friends and family. But what Kinnard had done was wrong, and that wrong had led to a worse one: a young boy’s death. If he ever got a chance, he was going to let this fellow Kinnard know exactly how he felt.

“So that’s why I done it.” Purley squared his shoulders and met Al’s eyes. “I told Mr. Kinnard where to find Mickey’s still.” The tears were spilling over now, running down his cheeks, and his mouth twisted. “But I swear to God I didn’t know there’d be shootin’, or that young Rider would catch a bullet. If I’d a know’d that, I never would never’ve done it, Mr. Duffy. Never, never.”

Purley dissolved into sobs, his shoulders shaking. Al came around the desk then, and put his arms around the boy, holding him as if he were his own son. After a little while, Purley quieted and Al stepped back.

“Whut do I do now?” Purley asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Whut do I
do
?”

“Well,” Al said, “I think if it was me, I’d tell my dad.”

“No, sir.” Purley shook his head quickly. “He’ll beat me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Al said, and added, with a wry grin, “He won’t beat you as long as I’m there. And he’s a fair man. After he’s had a chance to think about it for a little while, he’ll see that you did what you thought in your heart was right and lawful. He’ll stand up for you to folks who might not be so forgiving.”

“Like the LeDoux boys.” Purley sounded resigned. “Thank you,” he said humbly. He put one hand on the satchel. “I’m glad I brung it back.”

“So am I, Purley,” Al said, and went to the hat rack for his hat. “Come on. Let’s go see your dad.”

Verna and Aunt Hetty Make a Visit

When Verna got back to the office, she put in a telephone call to Aunt Hetty Little to ask the question that was on her mind. After a moment’s thought, Aunt Hetty agreed that Verna’s idea had possibilities, and offered a suggestion. Five minutes after that, Aunt Hetty called back to say that she had made the appointment and would be ready to go whenever Verna could get away.

“I hope you know that this is a long shot,” she added.

“At this point,” Verna said with a sigh, “they’re all long shots. But it’s the only thing I can think of. Mr. Duffy says he’s run out of options.”

Telling Sherrie and Melba Jean that she was leaving to do some development work for the county (the very truth!), Verna hurried home to get her car, the sporty 1928 red LaSalle two-seater she had bought, used, the summer before. It was her first car, and she loved driving it, especially on a pretty day—like today—when she could fold the top back.

Aunt Hetty was waiting on her front porch, wearing a white straw sailor hat, a white cotton dress printed with little pink and blue flowers, white gloves, and her summer white shoes.

“You look like you’re going to visit the queen,” Verna said, as Aunt Hetty got into the car.

Aunt Hetty grinned. “Exactly.” At Verna’s mystified look, she added, “You’ll see when we get there.” She looked up. “Mercy, Verna, your car is missing its roof! What do you do when it
rains
?”

“I pull it back up,” Verna said. “It’s canvas. But it’s such a pretty day—I thought we might want to enjoy the sunshine.” She shifted into first gear and pulled away from the curb. “Now, tell me what you know about Miss Tallulah. Does she have enough money to do this kind of thing—assuming that she even wants to?”

For it was Miss Tallulah whom Verna had thought of as a possible savior for the bank. She didn’t often appear in Darling, but she was a longtime Cypress County resident who might feel that she had a stake in the town’s continued survival. And she was thought to have plenty of money, although appearances could be deceiving, especially these days. Aunt Hetty would know, though. She and Miss Tallulah had been friends since they were girls.

“I don’t know how much money we’re talking about,” Aunt Hetty said, “so I don’t know how much is enough. But she’s a very wealthy woman, there’s no doubt about that. And the LaBelles used to play an active role in the town’s affairs. Tallulah’s mother, Sophie, for instance, always used to give parties at the plantation and invite the townspeople to come out and see the gardens, which were truly spectacular. She was a patron of the Academy, too. She donated quite a bit of money to build the girls’ dormitory out there. And Tallulah’s father, when he was alive, gave money to the Monroeville Hospital. They were public-spirited citizens.”

“Is that right?” Verna asked with interest. “I had no idea. You never hear anything about the LaBelles these days.”

“That’s because Tallulah keeps to herself out there. She still travels a great deal, and when she’s home, she doesn’t have much truck with the town.”

“Is there a special reason?” Verna asked, slowing to negotiate a sharp bend in the road.

“Isn’t there always?” Aunt Hetty said, and then fell silent. “But you’d have to ask her what it is, Verna.” Her wrinkled old face was serious and her eyes, usually so lively, were dark. “It’s not something I’d want to talk about.”

That was a curious answer, Verna thought, and very unlike Aunt Hetty. It sounded as if there might be a mystery here. But if Aunt Hetty didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t, and that was that.

There was another silence, then Aunt Hetty said, “Tallulah is shrewd, you know, especially when it comes to money. She’ll want to know if the Savings and Trust is a good investment.” She pursed her lips. “Is it?”

“I can’t answer that question,” Verna replied cautiously, thinking that this was probably a wild-goose chase. If Tallulah LaBelle had some sort of secret grudge against the town of Darling, their visit was doomed before it began. She sighed. “Let’s just see if she will agree to talk with Mr. Duffy. Since neither of us have any idea how much money is required, we can’t tell her anything about that part of it.”

“Maybe not—but we can tell her what’s likely to happen to Darling if this problem can’t be solved,” Aunt Hetty said in a practical tone. “I always like to look on the bright side of things, but if the bank closes, it’ll be a disaster.”

Verna had been to the fabled LaBelle plantation only once, when she was just five or six years old. Mrs. Sophie LaBelle, Miss Tallulah’s widowed mother, had invited people from Darling to a lavish garden party, which had seemed to Verna to be a magical occasion. Fairy lights had been strung through the trees, a string quartet played beautiful music in the enchanted night, and there was dancing and tables laden with fine food and wines. It was an event that lingered long in the memories of Darling folk, and people still talked about it.

Something tragic had happened not long after that event, however. Verna had never heard all the details, but Sophie LaBelle was dead and Miss Tallulah had gone away on an extended visit. (It was rumored that she planned to be married to a wealthy gentleman from New York.) The plantation was left in the hands of a caretaker and overseer.

But that had been years before. Miss Tallulah had returned from wherever she had gone, having failed to marry her wealthy New York gentleman, and had taken over the management of the place and the substantial family fortune, a part of which she had used to make repairs to the main plantation house. Now restored to something like its original beauty, the house stood at the end of a long, tree-shaded lane, a Greek Revival–style mansion with fluted Corinthian columns supporting upper and lower galleries. Off to one side, Verna could see an extensive rose garden, just coming into bloom, with a pergola in the center. On the other, a sweep of green lawn led down to the edge of a lake.

“This is such a lovely setting,” Verna said admiringly, as she swung the LaSalle around the circle drive and pulled to a stop. “Like something out of a storybook.”

“Now you can see why I wore my best hat and gloves,” Aunt Hetty said, getting out of the car. She added dryly, “We are going to visit the queen. In her palace. Let’s hope we can encourage a little
noblesse oblige.
”

Verna swallowed hard, realizing that—under her usual poised exterior—she wasn’t her usual confident self. The future of Darling might be riding on this encounter. Could she and Aunt Hetty convince this woman to help, or would she smile at them and send them away?

Miss Tallulah’s maid met them at the door and ushered them into the elegant library, with an ornate fireplace, a richly colored Oriental rug, and floor-to-ceiling windows flanked by bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. Miss Tallulah was already settled on an upholstered chair behind a luxuriously appointed tea table. Her fine white hair was piled on her head Gibson Girl style and she was wearing red again, a russet red silk chiffon dress of prewar vintage with fine pleats at the bodice; sheer, wrist-length sleeves; and a skirt that fell in soft gathers to a few inches above the ankle.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said in a regal voice. “Hetty, it’s been too long. Mrs. Tidwell, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you outside your office. I’m glad you could get out for a little air this afternoon. I trust the drive was a pleasant one.”

“Yes, thank you,” Verna said, and took the seat Miss Tallulah pointed out. She looked around, a little abashed by the splendor and thinking that the palatial house—furnished with rich carpeting and draperies and what looked to her like valuable antiques—was a stark contrast to most of the homes in Darling, where people had been hit hard by the Depression. She wondered once again why Miss Talullah kept to herself out here. Was it because she didn’t like the people of Darling? Because she felt that she was somehow better than they were, just because she had more money? Or was it something else?

“Nice to see you again, Tallulah,” Aunt Hetty said briskly. “I trust you’re keeping well these days.”

“Well as can be expected, Hetty,” Miss Tallulah replied. “I must say, you look like you’re keeping in good health. Tell me what you’re up to these days.”

And so it went, with idle social chatter. Minding their manners, neither Verna nor Aunt Hetty said a word about business until Miss Tallulah had poured tea and handed around slices of tea cake. Then, holding her cup in one hand and her saucer on the other, the old lady said crisply, “Well, ladies, shall we get on with it? What brought you all the way out to LaBelle? I don’t suppose you’ve come for a casual bit of chitchat, have you?”

Verna was a little taken aback by the abruptness, but not Aunt Hetty. She put down her cup and saucer, looked Miss Tallulah squarely in the eye, and said, “It’s the Darling Savings and Trust, Tallulah. We’re in danger of losing it, and if we do, it won’t be pretty.” She turned to Verna. “Verna, you tell her. You know more of the details than I do.”

Verna took a deep breath and began. It took only a few moments to sketch out the situation, and she didn’t pull any punches. “So as you can see,” she concluded, “Darling is in a pickle. What we need is somebody to buy half of the bank shares from Delta Charter. Of course, we’re not asking for a commitment right now. But we hope you might be willing to talk to Mr. Duffy. Alvin Duffy. He’s the new bank president.”

Miss Tallulah pulled her brows together. “The
new
president?” she asked sharply. “What happened to George?”

“Mr. Johnson has . . . retired,” Verna said, not wanting to go into an extended explanation, especially since she didn’t know the details. “He’s left the bank.”

Miss Tallulah sat for a moment, silent. Her face was very still, and Verna could not read her expression. “So it’s as bad as all that,” she said softly, as if to herself. “Poor, poor George. That bank was all he had to live for, all these years. Giving it up will kill him.” She turned to Aunt Hetty and said, briskly, “You agree that something has to be done about this, Hetty?”

“I purely do, Tallulah,” Aunt Hetty said, with emphasis. “I wouldn’t be sitting here in this chair if I didn’t.” She paused. “In all honesty, I can’t guarantee that it would be the best investment you’ve ever made. You might be pouring money down a rat hole. And I know that dollars don’t grow on trees. I’m sure you have plenty of places to plant your money.” She coughed delicately. “All I can say is that us rats need you, Tallulah, and we need you
now
. If you can help, Darling would surely appreciate it.”

Pushing her lips in and out, Miss Tallulah regarded her polished nails. At last, she looked up, frowning. “Well, tell your banker friend to come and see me. I don’t know that I can go as far as buying half the shares, but maybe I can do something.”

She cut off Verna’s and Hetty’s “Thank you” by leaning forward and picking up the knife. “Now, may I cut you another slice of cake?”

*   *   *

Back at the office, Verna had not even had time to take off her red newsboy’s cap and say hello to Sherrie and Melba Jean when the door opened and Alvin Duffy stepped in. He was carrying an old brown leather satchel plastered all over with travel decals.

“Got it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, and set it on her desk. “And it’s all here! You’ll be able to get your payroll out on time.”

“That’s wonderful,” Verna said. “Where did you find it, Mr. Duffy? Who took it?”

He grinned. “I’ll tell you if you’ll drop ‘Mr. Duffy’ and just call me Al.” There was a glint in his eye. “Okay . . . Verna?”

Feeling as clumsy as a schoolgirl, she ducked her head and replied shyly. “That’s fine, Al.”

His grin got wider. “Well, then. According to Purley Mann, an angel left it for him in the alley next to the back door of the
Dispatch
last night.
He decided he would do the Lord’s work and dole out his find to friends in need, starting with old Ezekiel, who needed to play six games of pool at Pete’s Pool Parlor. Which is how Pete got the dollar he gave to Miss Mosswell.”

Verna couldn’t help but laugh. “I wonder how much of Mickey’s moonshine that angel had to drink.”

Al’s grin faded. “Speaking of moonshine, it was Purley Mann who sent the federal agents out to the still on Dead Cow Creek.”

“Uh-oh,” Verna said softly. “He told you this?”

Al nodded. “I’ve just come from a little talk with Purley and his father about what happened—and the consequences. I’m afraid things are going to be rough for Purley for the next few weeks, if people start blaming him for the young boy’s shooting.” His mouth tightened. “Although the one to blame is the agent who pulled the trigger. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Verna shook her head. “Regardless of who actually shot the boy, it will be hard for Purley. There are people in town who are going to be very angry at him.” She paused, thinking of Mrs. Hancock, the leader of Darling’s temperance crusade. “And those who will see him as a hero, I suppose.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Al said, “but I’m sure you’re right. Listen, before we begin on the payroll, I have something else to tell you.”