The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“It’s the same license plate,” Lizzy said. “You can confirm that with Charlie Dickens. He copied it from the wreck.”


“Her underwear,” Mr. Moseley muttered, still staring at the photo. “Out in public like that. Such a sweet little thing—I wouldn’t have thought she could be so—” He sighed. “But she lied to me. Her whole story was a lie, from start to finish. So I don’t suppose I should be surprised that she’d pose for ... for cheesecake.”

“You are entirely missing the point, Mr. Moseley,” Verna said firmly. “This has nothing to do with underwear or cheesecake. We found the photograph in the drawer of Bunny’s dressing table. It proves that she was associated with that car before last weekend. It was no accident—if you’ll pardon the pun—that she died in it.”

“The car belongs to Dr. Harper, the dentist in Monroeville,” Lizzy said gently. “I’ve spoken to him. It turns out that he knew Bunny quite well—well enough to give her a pair of pearl earrings.”

Mr. Moseley made a noise deep in his throat.

Lizzy gave him a sympathetic look, but went on. “Bunny also knew the owner’s brother, Mr. Fred Harper. He lives here in Darling now. He works at the bank.”

“He’s the man who reported the car stolen,” Verna put in. “He told the sheriff he didn’t know the woman he saw stealing it, even though he described her to a T.” She added, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm, “Harper knew her, all right. In fact, his brother says that’s him.” She pointed to the shadow of the man in the fedora. “The man who took this photo.”

Mr. Moseley raised his eyes from the photo. “You say you found this in Bunny’s room?”

“Yes,” Lizzy replied. She put an envelope on the desk. “The same place we found this letter.”

Mr. Moseley leaned back, breathing out a gusty sigh of relief “We didn’t think,” Lizzy said softly, “that it was a good idea to leave it where we found it. Since we knew that your connection to Bunny had nothing to do with her death, we thought you ought to have it back.”

Quickly, as if he were afraid that she might snatch the letter away from him, he picked it up and slipped it into his desk drawer. “Thank you,” he said. His glance went to Verna and back to Lizzy. “I know I’ve been ... foolish. I’m grateful for your help.”

“That’s good,” Verna said. “Because we need yours.”

He tilted his head warily. “What kind of help?”

“We think Fred Harper shot Bunny Scott,” Lizzy said, and told him about the .22 revolver Dr. Harper had loaned his brother.

He stared. “How do you ... Why—?”

“We’ll tell you,” Verna said, and when she had finished, he shook his head.

“How in God’s name you managed to find—” He swallowed. “So Dr. Harper is willing to say that his brother was having an affair with Miss Scott? Why would he do that?”

“Because he was in love with Bunny, too,” Lizzy said quietly. “He wants to see that the man who killed her pays for what he did.”

“But even if Fred Harper and Bunny were having an affair, that doesn’t prove he killed her,” Mr. Moseley protested. “What possible motive could he have?”

Verna put the deposit book on the desk. “She was blackmailing him. He was putting money into her bank account. Here’s the proof.”

He picked it up and began turning the pages, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ten dollars a week? On the salary of a bank teller? Where in the world was he getting it?”

“From other accounts at the bank, maybe,” Lizzy suggested. “We think he might have been stealing money. And if the sheriff searches his house, we think he’ll find that gun.”

He looked up. “The sheriff?”

Verna leaned forward. “Sheriff Burns will never listen to Lizzy and me. But he’ll listen to you. If you show him the photograph and the deposit book and tell him what Dr. Harper said about the gun, he’ll have to pay attention.”

“But how am I going to explain all this?” he asked. “Where am I supposed to have gotten this information?”

“That’s easy,” Lizzy said. “Tell him that one of Bunny’s friends brought you this stuff and told you that she was sure that there was something fishy about Fred Harper’s story.”

“If he asks who,” Verna put in, “tell him that’s a matter of attorney-client privilege.” She put a quarter on the desk. “Here’s our retainer. We’d like a receipt, please.”