The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

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.”

“And I have news for you,” Verna said. “I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but I’ve talked to somebody who might be willing—and able—to buy some of the bank shares. I don’t know if she can go as high as fifty percent, but I really think you should talk to her.”

“No kidding? That would be swell, really swell, Verna! And it’s down to twenty-five percent now, so—” His face darkened. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Johnson died early this afternoon.”

Verna gasped. “Mr. Johnson died! But how? Was he—”

“A massive heart attack, according to Dr. Roberts. He died at home, in his library.”

Verna let her breath out, relieved. “Thank God. I was afraid for a moment that—” She bit it off, not wanting to say what she had been thinking. It would have been absolutely horrible if the poor man had been murdered by a disgruntled depositor.

“I know,” Al said gravely. “That was my first thought, too, Verna. But Dr. Roberts says he’d been cautioning Mr. Johnson to slow down, and Mrs. Johnson was nagging him to sell the bank so he could get some rest.”

“But he just kept plugging.” Verna hadn’t known him well, but she had respected him. He’d had the best interests of Darling at heart throughout his decades at the bank. Since the Crash, things had been so difficult, with bank failures everywhere. It must have been very hard on him. She frowned. “You just said that you’ve found another possible buyer?”

“Yes. Bent Moseley called Mrs. Johnson up in Montgomery to tell her the bad news. It turns out that she’s willing to buy back twenty-five percent of the shares, if another buyer can be found.” He gave Verna a quizzical look. “So you’re saying that you know someone else who might be able to help?”

Verna nodded. “Hetty Little and I had a talk with Miss Tallulah LaBelle. She owns a plantation outside of town and—to all appearances, anyhow—is a wealthy woman.” She held up her hand, warning him against getting too hopeful. “I really have no idea how serious she is, or how well qualified. But she’s willing to listen to a proposal.”

Al’s glance lingered on her face. “You are a lifesaver,” he said quietly. “I owe you, Verna.”

“Don’t say that until you know how it’s going to turn out,” Verna cautioned, but she felt her pulse quicken and the color rise in her cheeks, which made her a little angry. It was silly to let this man affect her in this way.

With a determined look, he straightened his shoulders. “There’s no time like the present, strike while the iron is hot, and all that. Do you have Miss LaBelle’s telephone number? I’ll make an appointment to talk to her as soon as she’ll see me.”

Verna shook her head. “I don’t have her number, no. But if you call the Exchange and ask the operator to put you through to Miss Tallulah, you’ll reach her. It’s a small town, remember?”

The hard lines of Al’s face softened into a smile. “Oh, yes. A small town. And that is very, very nice.” He pushed the satchel toward her. “You take out what you need to meet your payroll. I’ll go make that phone call.”