The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

At the fairgrounds, the Dahlias pulled together several picnic tables under a couple of large live oaks and assembled their families there, loading the tables with the food they had brought. Platters were heaped high with Myra May’s fried catfish and Raylene’s barbecued spareribs and Alice Ann Walker’s home-cured ham. Big earthenware crocks were filled with Earlynne Biddle’s corn pudding; Aunt Hetty Little’s stewed okra with bacon, tomatoes, and corn; Verna Tidwell’s green beans cooked with fatback; and Mildred Kilgore’s coleslaw with pecans. There were plates of Miss Rogers’ deviled eggs and pints of Bessie Bloodworth’s pickles and gallons of iced tea and lemonade. The meal was topped off by desserts: cobblers and cookies, a key lime pie, Beulah’s red velvet cake, two pecan pies, and Lucy Murphy’s Jefferson Davis pie, proudly baked from a recipe that had been in her Atlanta family (who claimed kin with the Confederate president) for generations.

The Dahlias’ picnic went on for hour after lazy hour, while everyone ate a little bit of every single thing and then—in honor of their friends’ marvelous cooking—ate a little bit more. After they had finally finished and returned the very few leftovers to the picnic baskets, they were all free to enjoy themselves. The men went off to toss horseshoes or watch the Darling baseball team play the Camp Briarwood boys. The young people ran off to the swimming hole or walked to the pavilion to listen to a group of folk singers that sounded just like the Carter Family. Some of the Dahlias took glasses of iced tea and their knitting or crocheting and relaxed in the shade of the oak trees, where they could enjoy the music. Other women, feeling the need of a little after-dinner exercise, went for a stroll.

Ophelia and Lucy walked over to the swimming hole, where Ophelia could keep an eye on Sarah, who was wearing her new red swimming suit. Ophelia herself was wearing a short-sleeved, silky red blouse and a brand-new pair of tan cotton slacks, flared at the bottoms. She had told herself that a woman who was brave enough to carry out an undercover investigative journalism assignment was surely brave enough to wear whatever she wanted. When she put them on that morning, Jed pulled his eyebrows together, shook his head, and said, “Woman, darned if you don’t beat all.” She had turned around in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric over her hips, and replied, “Yes, I do, don’t I?” It was a grand moment.

The women found a picnic table in the shade of a large sycamore tree, brushed the leaves off the benches, and sat down. Lucy lit a cigarette. “Charlie told me what you were doing at the camp on Saturday, Ophelia.” Looking down, she turned her cigarette lighter in her fingers. “I thought I ought to explain about Corporal Andrews and me and what I—”

“That’s really not necessary, Lucy,” Ophelia said, not wanting to embarrass her friend. She had heard only a hint of the story from Charlie, and it seemed terribly private.

Lucy met Ophelia’s eyes. “Well, maybe I just want to get it off my chest. The truth . . . the sad truth is that Ray Andrews and I had a romantic fling. For a while, I even considered leaving Ralph and going off with him when he got reassigned to another camp. I might have, too, if Rona Jean hadn’t come along and . . . well, distracted him.” She sighed. “I was at the camp on Saturday because I had come to tell him I was through.”

“So that’s why you were so nervous,” Ophelia said, thinking she understood.

“Well, that, yes. But there’s more. When Ray and I were talking, he said something that made me suspect that he had killed Rona Jean, and I was just plain scared. When I saw you, I had just come from telephoning Charlie Dickens, at the Dispatch, to arrange a meeting. I’d already written to him about the bribery, but when I realized that Ray might have done something much, much worse, I wanted Charlie to go to the sheriff and tell him what I suspected. I was hoping that, if Charlie would do it, I could stay out of it, and nobody would find out that I had been involved with a . . . a killer.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “I was a coward, Opie. And stupid. Falling for Ray was so terribly foolish. I’m ashamed.”

“We’re all foolish sometimes, Lucy,” Ophelia said quietly. “And I can testify to Corporal Andrews’ personal magnetism. I felt it myself. Whatever else he is, the man is a charmer.” She paused. “But look at it this way. If you hadn’t gotten close to him, you wouldn’t have known what he was doing. That kickback racket he was running, I mean. And you wouldn’t have known that he and Rona Jean even knew each other, so you couldn’t have suspected that he killed her.” She reached across the table and took Lucy’s hand. “If it weren’t for you, he might have gotten away with it.”