The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

Verna nodded, agreeing. “Anyway, Scroggins was way out of line, doing what he did at the bank, and with Coretta. If he got away with pushing the blame onto me, there was no telling what else he might try the next time he had a chance. Mr. Tombull is a straight shooter. I guess he figured that now was a good time to clean house in the treasurer’s office, since he had the auditor’s report in his hands.” She grinned. “And especially after Charlie Dickens interviewed him for that article he’s planning. I think Mr. Tombull saw the writing on the wall, so to speak.”


“I suppose the next question is who the county commissioners are going to appoint to fill the treasurer’s job,” Lizzy said. “If Scroggins is out, who’s in? One of the commissioners, maybe?”

“Uh-uh.” Myra May shook her head, her eyes alight. “Guess again.” Violet giggled.

“You know?” Verna asked in surprise, looking from Myra May to Violet.

Lizzy elbowed her. “There’s precious little these gals don’t know,” she said. “Even when a meeting is held behind closed doors, they’re bound to get wind of it, sooner or later.”

“Well, who, then?” Verna demanded.

Myra May and Violet looked at one another. Violet raised her eyebrows. Myra May nodded. Then they both leaned forward and said, together and in a loud whisper, “Verna Tidwell!”

Lizzy gasped. “Verna?”

“Me?” Verna exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. That bunch of old rascals would never in the world appoint a woman as county treasurer—not even on an acting basis.”

“Maybe they’ve decided to appoint somebody who knows what she’s doing,” Violet suggested. “After all, you were the only one who knew how to track down that missing money. Scroggins didn’t even know where to begin.”

“Right,” Myra May said. “So appointing you would seem to be a smart move, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe.” Verna’s tone was acid. “But nobody ever accused the Cypress County commissioners of being smart. Mostly, they just do as little as possible and hope for the best. They wouldn’t appoint me—they know I would actually do the job.”

“Well, no skin off our nose if you don’t believe us,” Myra May replied with a shrug. “You’ll hear about it soon enough. The commissioners are meeting tomorrow night. If I were you, Verna, I’d expect a telephone call and an invitation to the meeting. You should go.”

“And be prepared to act surprised when they announce their decision,” Violet put in. “You don’t want them to know that you were tipped off ahead of time.”

Lizzy looked from Myra May to Violet. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You’re not making it up?”

“Of course we’re not making it up,” Violet said, and smiled at Verna. “Congratulations, Verna. We’re all very proud of you. Why, I’ll bet that you’re the only female county treasurer in the whole state of Alabama.”

“I never count my chickens before they’re hatched,” Verna muttered. “I’ll believe this when it happens. If it happens.”

“When what happens?” Ophelia asked, coming to the table with a pitcher of lemonade.

“Nothing,” Verna said hastily, and held up her glass. “Are you offering refills on that lemonade?”

“Gif me a vhisky,” Myra May said huskily. “Ginger ale on the side, and don’t be stingy, baby.”

“Congratulations on your new job, Opie,” Lizzy said warmly, as Ophelia filled the glasses. “Charlie Dickens says you’re a whiz on that Linotype machine.”

“New job?” Bessie slid onto the seat next to Lizzy. “Ophelia has a job?”

“At the Dispatch,” Ophelia said proudly. “Mr. Haydon is teaching me the Linotype machine. And Mr. Dickens says that if things work out, maybe I can take a crack at being advertising manager. He hates to sell ads,” she went on in a confiding tone. “But the newspaper needs more income. And I know all the store owners, so I don’t think I’d have any problem talking to them about taking out ads in the paper.”

Myra May gave her a sharp look. “If I’d known you were looking for a job, Ophelia, I would have asked if you wanted to work on the switchboard. I’ve had it up to here”—she put her hand to her forehead, above her eyebrows—“with sweet young things. I need someone mature.”

“Well, I’m mature, but I couldn’t,” Ophelia said apologetically, pushing her hair back behind her ear. “Jed wouldn’t want me to work nights or weekends. Mr. Dickens told me I could set my own hours at the Dispatch. Of course, it doesn’t pay much,” she added. “But it pays enough.”

Lizzy looked curiously at Ophelia. Enough for what? she wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Ophelia probably had a special project in mind. Maybe some more new furniture for her house, like that pretty living room suite she’d bought from Sears a while back. Lizzy admired that little walnut coffee table.

“I always heard that the Linotype was too big a machine for a woman,” Violet said, frowning. “Isn’t it hard to operate?”