The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star (23 page)

“I came in here for breakfast this morning,” she went on. “I happened to have my car, so when Myra May said you were late for work, I volunteered to drive out to the motor court and check on you. I didn’t get an answer when I knocked on the door of your cottage, but I saw the curtain twitch so I knew someone was inside. I got Pauline DuBerry to bring the key and—”

“And you found Lily.” Raylene smiled. “You must have been surprised. Did you wake her? We stayed up and talked pretty late. She said she was going to sleep late this morning.”

“Lily? Lily Dare?” Liz exclaimed excitedly, and the questions began to spill out. “She’s at the Marigold? So
that’s
where she went! But why? And how did she get there? The motor court is a good mile from the Kilgores’. She’s never been to Darling, and it was dark. How come she didn’t get lost?”

“She walked,” Raylene replied. “Walking a mile isn’t any big challenge for Lily. She’s always liked to stay in shape—says she couldn’t fly if she didn’t have plenty of physical stamina. And when she’s up in the air, she often has to find her way by flying along roads and railroads in marginal conditions, so she’s always mentally storing away information. She knew where the motor court was because she noticed it when Mr. Dickens drove her into town. And I happened to mention it to her when she was here for lunch yesterday. It wasn’t hard for her to figure out how to get there.”

As Raylene talked, Verna thought that there was something familiar about the strong set of her jaw—or maybe it was her penetrating gaze, the way she held your eyes and didn’t let you look away. Had she met this woman somewhere before? But the impression was fleeting, and the question was gone almost as soon as it occurred to her.

“Oh, and the moon was out last night, you know,” Raylene added, picking up a doughnut. “Lily said it was almost as bright as day.”

“I take it that she didn’t walk that mile in her negligee, barefoot,” Verna remarked dryly. “Especially with the moon as bright as it was.” She reached into her handbag and took out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Raylene.

Raylene shook her head. “No, thanks. No, Lily was fully dressed—pants, shirt, the clothes she wears when she’s working around the airplanes. She brought her nightie in her bag.” She turned to Liz. “You’ll remember that I saw you and Lily here yesterday, after lunch, Liz. That’s when I invited her to drop in and see me at the motor court while she was here in Darling.”

“Yes, but in the middle of the night?” Liz asked, taking a doughnut.

Raylene laughed. “It was a bit of a surprise when she knocked on the door and woke me up, I’ll admit. But Lily has always been . . . well, impulsive.” She tilted her head to one side. “And unpredictable. She’s like a kid that way. There’s no daylight between her idea and her doing. She gets herself in trouble sometimes, not thinking things through.” She said the last sentence regretfully and in a lower voice, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I’m not being critical,” she added, biting into her doughnut. “That’s just Lily. It’s the way she is.”

“But I still don’t understand why she felt she had to leave the Kilgores’,” Liz protested, looking from one of them to the other. “Especially the way she did it.”

“I can answer part of that.” Verna flicked a match to her cigarette. “We talked when we were driving out to the airfield. She told me she didn’t want to face Roger and Mildred across the breakfast table. She knew they would all three have matching black eyes and it would be just too embarrassing. And she was very upset at the idea that somebody—I’m afraid she was talking about you, Liz—was in the next room. She’s going to be staying at the motor court, where she can have some privacy.”

“You were there, too,” Liz said accusingly. “You were listening right along with me.”

“I know.” Verna sighed, feeling guilty. “But she didn’t know about
me.
I was trying to get her to talk to me and I didn’t think she’d want to if I told her that part of it. So I let you take the blame. Sorry about that.”

“Thanks,” Liz muttered dryly, and sipped her coffee.

Raylene sat forward on the edge of her chair. “How much of the rest of it did Lily tell you, Verna? Did she say anything about her . . . suspicions?”

“Well, some,” Verna said. “But I have no way of knowing if she told me everything.” She tapped her cigarette into the Darling Savings and Trust Bank ashtray on the table. “And of course, I can’t guarantee that what she was telling me was the truth.” She glanced at Raylene. “That’s what I hoped you could help with. Figuring out how much of what she says is true.”

“Yeah.” Raylene finished her doughnut, licked powdered sugar off her fingers, and leaned back in her chair. “With Lily, it’s hard to sort the truth from . . . well, the stories. She loves drama. She loves anything exciting—which is why she loves flying. She invents. And sometimes she gets carried away with her invention, to the point where she’s not sure about the difference between it and the truth.”

“Well, I for one would sure like to know why she invented an
abduction
,” Liz said testily. “She could have sneaked down the stairs and gone out the front door without overturning the furniture and snagging her nightgown on the sill and throwing her slipper out the second-story window, all of which made us think that somebody carried her off.” She crossed her arms on the table and looked at Verna. “Did she tell you about that?”

Verna nodded. “I’m not sure she was thinking straight when she was doing all that. She said that by the time she got to the motor court, she wished she’d just walked out and left a note. But she was scared.”

“Scared?” Liz asked, frowning. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of
who
is more like it,” Verna replied. She turned to Raylene, who was listening intently. “But you probably know more about that than either of us, Raylene. That was
really
why she came to your place, wasn’t it?”

“Yes
,
” Raylene acknowledged. “She came to me because the more she thought about it, the more afraid she got. She thought she needed a friend. Somebody she could talk to—and trust. And she didn’t trust anybody in the Kilgores’ house.” She looked at Verna with that penetrating gaze. “She told you that?”

“Some of it,” Verna said slowly. “It was the anonymous letters and the photograph that scared her. And Mildred’s charge that she—Lily, I mean—was blackmailing Roger. Finding out about that stuff really frightened her. It made her feel vulnerable.”

Raylene looked from Verna to Liz. “So both of you know about the letters and the telegrams?”

“Yes,” Liz said. She picked up her coffee cup. “Mildred told me a couple of days ago—in fact, she showed me the second letter and the incriminating photograph. And I told Verna.”

“And we both overheard Mildred accusing Miss Dare of sending the telegrams,” Verna said. “Of blackmail.”

“
Extortion
would be a better way to describe it,” Liz added, sipping coffee.

“Extortion, yes,” Raylene said, shaking her head. “An ugly word. She swears she had nothing to do with that and hates it that Roger Kilgore thought those telegrams came from her—that she was asking for money. She’s sorry she let herself get into a relationship with him and she says she’s going to break it off permanently. But the letters and those telegrams—together with the sabotage—have convinced her that somebody’s out to get her.”

Verna nodded. They were getting to the heart of it now. “But if you ask me,” she said, “it was when she figured out
who
sent those letters and the telegram and connected it to the sabotage of her airplane—that was when she got scared.” She looked at Raylene. “Did she tell you who she suspects?”

“Yes,” Raylene said slowly. “But I . . .” She stopped.

“Well, who?” Liz demanded eagerly. “Come on, Verna,
who
?”

“Rex Hart,” Verna replied.

“Rex Hart?” Liz frowned. “But Charlie Dickens said that he couldn’t have been involved. He was at the airstrip all night.” Her frown deepened. “No, wait. That’s not right. Charlie was talking about the abduction, not the letters or the telegrams. Or the sabotage.”

Verna looked at Raylene. When she didn’t say anything, she said, “Lily has decided that it’s Rex Hart who sent the letters. He was in New Orleans when the photograph was taken. He wasn’t with them at the café—Lily and Roger, that is—but she knew that he was nearby. She believes that he took the photo and wrote the letters to Mildred.
And
sent the telegrams to Roger.”

“Why?” Liz asked, puzzled. “I mean, why did he do it? What was his motivation?”

“She thinks it’s because he’s jealous,” Verna replied. “Because he’s in love with her himself. He figured he could convince Roger that the relationship with Lily was too costly—and too dangerous—to pursue. That it could wreck his marriage, and maybe his business. She says Hart wrote the letters to Roger’s wife so she would pressure Roger to break it off.”

“It makes sense, I guess,” Liz said slowly. “But what about the sabotage? Is that his work, too?”

“That’s what Lily says.” Verna frowned. “I could understand the letters and telegrams, but that’s where I lose it. I mean, if Rex Hart loves Lily enough to be jealous of her other relationships, why would he sabotage her aircraft? If he loves her, he wouldn’t try to
kill
her, would he? And there’s the damage to the show, in which he has a financial investment.” She turned to Raylene. “That was what I wanted to ask you, Raylene. Lily said that you and she met in Tampa several years ago, when your husband was taking flying lessons from Rex Hart. You know both Lily and Hart. Is she right about him?”

For a long moment, Raylene didn’t answer. At last, she countered with her own question. “Let me ask you this. If Rex Hart is in love with Lily, why doesn’t he just tell her so? He’s a grown-up and so is she. Nothing is standing in their way.”

Verna raised a surprised eyebrow at her. “You mean, he
hasn’t
? From the way Lily talked, I thought he’d told her he loved her—maybe even asked her to marry him—and she turned him down. I got the impression that he’s a disappointed lover trying to get even.”

Raylene shook her head emphatically. “He isn’t. In fact, I happen to know that Rex is seriously involved with somebody else.”

Verna was surprised. “Oh, really? Who?”

“A young woman in Tampa, named Sarah. She and Rex have known one another for several years, although they only got together about six months ago. The two of them have kept it secret because of Sarah’s mother, who’s terminally ill. And because Lily is . . . well, possessive about the members of her team. If she knew about Rex and Sarah, she might—” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Ah,” Verna said.

Raylene nodded. “Anyway, they’re keeping it to themselves, which is one reason why Lily can persuade herself that Rex is in love with
her
. Although she can persuade herself of that sort of thing pretty easily,” she added with a small smile.

Liz leaned forward. “But if this love affair is such a big secret, how do
you
know about it, Raylene? Did Sarah or Rex tell you?”

Raylene bit her lip and her glance slid away. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“They didn’t tell you,” Liz said at last. She looked squarely at Raylene. Myra May is right, isn’t she? You know because you’re psychic. Isn’t that right?”

Raylene sighed. “I don’t like to make a big point of it,” she said at last. “It’s relatively easy when it comes to knowing what people want—like Lily’s pulled pork sandwich, or your friend’s sausage and grits casserole. When somebody wants something, there’s always a great deal of . . . well, energy around the wanting. So it’s easy to get the message—sort of like turning on a radio, to a station that comes through loud and clear.”

“I suppose it works better with a Ouija board,” Verna remarked ironically.

“Yes, sometimes.” Raylene smiled. “It’s okay to be skeptical about it, Verna.” She spoke as if she understood Verna’s feelings. “Lots of people don’t understand how it works. Lots more don’t believe—or don’t want to, which amounts to the same thing. And even psychics themselves aren’t always very happy with it.”

Liz cleared her throat. “But if you know what somebody like Donna Sue wants to eat for breakfast, surely you know who wrote the letters and sent the telegrams.” She paused, then added, “And who sabotaged Lily’s airplane.”

“Yeah.” Verna chuckled dryly. “Why are we sitting around wondering who’s behind all of this? Why don’t you just tell us, Raylene? Let us in on the secret?”

“Verna, please.” Liz put her hand on Verna’s arm. “Let’s just . . . listen. Okay?” To Raylene, she said, “Please, tell us whatever you think we ought to know so we can help to get this all cleared up.”

Raylene hesitated. “Well, it’s complicated,” she said, after a moment. “There are some things I know for sure. The easy things that people want you to know, or have no special reason to hide. But other things . . . well, they’re not so easy. This business we’re talking about, the letters and the telegrams and the sabotage—somebody is trying to hide what’s going on. There’s a lot of conflict, even guilt. The energies are all confused and contradictory. It’s like static on a radio. And remember that I heard about all this for the first time last night, from Lily—who is blaming Rex Hart for everything.”

Verna stared at Raylene, wanting to flatly refuse to give any credence to such out-and-out nonsense but at the same time, feeling an odd desire to hear more.

Liz was nodding. “Yes, I can see that,” she said. “It’s all very complex. Lots of layers. It would take a while to get to the truth.”

Raylene leaned forward. “But I am sure of what I know about Rex Hart and Sarah. I know why they haven’t told Lily. And since I know that much, I have to question what Lily says. If Rex isn’t in love with her, he has no reason to be jealous. No motive for writing anonymous letters or sending telegrams asking for money.”

Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate,
Verna thought. If there was no passion, then there’d be no jealousy—or hate. Right?

Liz sighed. “Which leaves us with the big question, doesn’t it?”