The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies by Susan Wittig Albert

quite a reputation with the ladies. He was currently reputed to be pursuing Mrs. Sophia Hobart, a widow of substantial fortune and influence in Darling. Rumor had it that Mrs. Hobart was planning to go to Atlanta to shop for her trousseau, so the announcement of their engagement was expected soon.
    Verna turned and followed Miss LaMotte inside Lima’s Drugstore. Owned and operated by Mr. Lester Lima, the shop had a glass display window that featured a variety of products. Today, it was a pyramid of men’s Brylcreem (“For Head-First Brilliance”), Wildroot Hair Tonic (“For Dandruff and Falling Hair”), and an assortment of combs and hairbrushes, along with a large poster that featured a handsome man being rejected by a pretty girl, with the ominous warning, “You should have used Listerine—kills germs in 15 seconds!” The shop was long and narrow, with a soda fountain on the left, where Earlynne Biddle’s son Benny was washing glasses, and a cosmetics department on the right, where Bunny Scott used to work. Mr. Lima himself presided over the pharmacy department at the back of the store.
    Benny looked up. “C’n I help you?” he asked, shaking the suds off his hands. “Oh, hi, Miz Tidwell. C’n I make you a banana split? A malt, maybe?”
    “Not today, thanks, Benny,” Verna replied. “I’m just browsing.”
    “That’s jake.” Benny grinned and nodded toward the back of the store. “Real looker, ain’t she?” He licked his lips hungrily. “Hotsy totsy.”
    “Your mother wouldn’t approve of that language, Benny,” Verna said sternly.
    The boy looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean nothin’.”
    Verna turned away to a display of boxes of Euthymol and Pepsodent toothpastes, glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder. She had expected to see Miss LaMotte, who was a cosmetics customer if she had ever seen one, browsing the lipstick and nail polish displays. But she wasn’t. She had gone directly to the back of the store, to the pharmacy counter, where she was handing a piece of paper to Mr. Lima, a tall, thin man in a white coat and a pair of round gold glasses that rode low on his long, thin nose.
    Mr. Lima examined the paper. Frowning, he handed it back to Miss LaMotte. “I am sorry, madam,” he said, “but I can’t fill this prescription.”
    “And why not?” Miss LaMotte demanded. She jabbed her finger at the paper. “It’s got the doctor’s signature on it. Right there. Can’t you see?” She spoke fast, in a high, clipped voice. She seemed to have lost any Alabama accent she might have once had. She sounded, Verna thought, like a Yankee. An impatient Yankee.
    Verna stepped past the toothpaste, moving a little closer, not wanting to miss anything. She bent over, pretending to read the label of a bottle of Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. She couldn’t see Miss LaMotte’s face, but she could see the line of her jaw, which was a bit saggy. Still, the platinum blonde hair looked pretty much as it had ten years ago, and while the lady was wearing far more clothing than she had worn on Mr. Ziegfeld’s stage, the line of her generous bust was very obviously the same. Verna turned and caught Benny staring at Miss LaMotte’s figure. He colored, dropped his head, and went back to his soapsuds.
    Mr. Lima cleared his throat. “I can’t fill it, madam, because it’s over a year old. I suggest that you visit Dr. Roberts. Show him this and tell him why you need it. I’m sure he’ll be able to—”
    “But Dr. Roberts is out of town!” Miss LaMotte shrilled. “He won’t be back until Tuesday or Wednesday.” She pushed the paper back across the counter. “I need this filled today. Right now! It’s vitally important. It’s a matter of life and death!”
    Life and death? Verna pulled in her breath. Really, if Miss LaMotte’s health was in danger, Mr. Lima ought to sell her enough of whatever it was to tide her over until she could get in to see Doc Roberts. Or