The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

Ah, Lizzy thought—of course. Of all people in Darling, Verna Tidwell was the one person who would know how and where to lay her hands on this kind of information. She had worked in the probate office for years and years. If you asked her where to find the abstract of any piece of property in the county, she’d be able to tell you. A look at the abstract would reveal any and all financial transactions recorded against the property, such as deeds, wills, probate records, court litigations, tradesmen’s liens, and tax sales. And—yes—mortgages.

“In the records for 1924,” Verna went on, “I found the original entry for the mortgage on the Sour Creek Plantation. It was held by the Merchants Bank down in Mobile, for fifteen thousand dollars, due January 12, 1930. It wasn’t paid, though, not even the interest. And in June of last year—June 1930—the bank began foreclosure proceedings.”

“Uh-oh,” Charlie said softly.

“Yes,” Verna said. “But on August tenth, the full amount of the mortgage was repaid. Fifteen thousand dollars. There’s no record of exactly how it was paid, but I was able to backtrack through the Monroeville bank accounts. I found three checks, one for six thousand five hundred dollars, another for four thousand five hundred dollars, a third for four thousand dollars, written on separate county accounts. The checks were dated August fourth, fifth, and sixth.”

“Written to whom?” Charlie asked sharply. “To the bank?”

Verna laughed dryly. “He wasn’t quite that barefaced about it, but almost. The checks were written to Mrs. DeYancy’s father. Howard Carruthers. For ‘road materials.’”

Charlie whistled low, half under his breath.

Lizzy sat back in her chair. Mrs. DeYancy’s father owned a gravel pit on the far southern border of the county. “Gosh.” She whooshed out her breath. “Fifteen thousand dollars is a whole lot of gravel.”

“You said it, Liz,” Verna replied. “And the amount—a total of fifteen thousand—and dates are just too coincidental.”

“Wait a minute,” Lizzy objected. “If the checks were in payment for road materials, even if those were bogus charges, the money wouldn’t have shown up as missing in the audit. Right? So how—”

Verna nodded approvingly. “You’re right, Liz. But for some reason—carelessness, maybe, or an effort to conceal what was being done—the payments weren’t recorded in the proper accounts. That’s why the state auditor didn’t spot them. If they’d been properly recorded, I doubt if the theft would ever have been discovered.”

“And the gravel?” Charlie asked, and answered his own question. “It was probably never ordered. And never delivered.”

Verna made a face at Charlie. “You interrupted before I could search for the two Carruthers’ invoices. But I agree. The delivery probably never existed.”

Charlie was eager now. “And I’m willing to bet that the bank records will show that the fifteen thousand that went to the Mobile bank to pay off the DeYancy mortgage came out of the Carruthers’ account,” he said excitedly. He paused, shaking his head. “Corruption and outright thievery,” he muttered. “I wonder if that’s why DeYancy killed himself. He figured that if he was out of the picture, there would never be any investigation. The plantation would be safe and his insurance would bring a nice little bundle that would take care of his wife for life.”

“Killed himself!” Verna asked, both eyebrows going up.

“But I thought it was alcohol poisoning,” Lizzy protested. “An accident. That’s what everybody said.” She pointed at Charlie. “That’s what you said. In the newspaper.”

“I had to say it. I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary. And it was alcohol poisoning, all right,” Charlie said grimly. “But whether it was accidental or intentional, we’ll probably never know. Or if it was intentional, whether it was DeYancy’s intention or somebody else’s.”

Lizzy gasped. “You mean, you think he might have been . . . murdered?”

“Alcohol is a pretty convenient weapon, Liz,” Charlie said, very seriously. “It doesn’t leave any fingerprints or ballistic traces. Drink enough, or drink the wrong stuff, and you’re dead. Happens all the time, especially since everybody and his cousin cooks his own mash. Quantity, not quality, is what they’re after.” He reached for the coffeepot and filled his mug, then leaned back. “So, Verna, what are you going to do with this information?”

Verna sat still for a moment, her fingers laced around her mug. Finally, she pushed it away. “Charlie, you’ve been watching the county commissioners more closely than I have. Do you have any reason to suspect that Amos Tombull might be in on this theft?”

Charlie considered, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Verna. Of course, the Tombulls and the DeYancys move in the same social circle, and the two men probably did their fair share of hunting and fishing together. But Tombull has always seemed on the up-and-up to me. The only thing I’ve ever been able to fault him for was being too cozy with Earle Scroggins.”

Lizzy leaned forward. “Verna, do you think Mr. Scroggins knew? About that mortgage payment, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Verna replied, and her face darkened. “But there was that nasty trick that Scroggins pulled at the bank.”