“Sure thing,” Myra May said, and slid eight quarters across the counter. She grinned as he took the change and paused, glancing up at the chalkboard that displayed the noon menu. “You look like a hungry fella,” she added. “The dinner special today is fried chicken. Mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, a biscuit, and your choice of pie. Thirty-five cents, includes coffee. That phone call can wait till you have yourself something to eat, can’t it?”

Mr. Gold took a large pocket watch out and consulted it. “Don’t have to make it until noon,” he said. “Yeah, why not? Fix me up with the special, baby.” He slid onto one of the red leather–topped stools, took off his hat, and put it on the counter beside his elbow. His bald head glinted.

Lizzy leaned over to Bessie. “Why don’t you get a table for us,” she suggested. “And keep an eye on that man. I’m going to visit the washroom.”

But instead of turning right when she got to the back of the diner, Lizzy turned to the left, pushed open the door, and stepped into the Darling Telephone Exchange. She didn’t have a very clear idea of what she was going to do. But she knew that there must be a way to find out who the man was calling. Since Myra May was working the counter and Violet was still in Memphis, one of the other girls—Olive or Lenore—had to be on the switchboard. Lizzy knew the rules, but she was hoping that maybe she could talk the operator into not flipping the switch so she could eavesdrop on—

She didn’t get to finish the thought. She stopped inside the doorway and stared at the operator’s back.

“Verna!” she exclaimed, in great surprise. “Verna Tidwell, is that you? What in the world are you doing here?”

TWELVE - Verna Makes a Phone Call

TWELVE

Verna Makes a Phone Call

Verna had learned to be a telephone operator a few years before, when Mrs. Hooper needed extra help and she needed extra money, but she didn’t usually spend her lunch hour—or any hours—at the Darling Telephone Exchange. But being on the switchboard at noon was part of the plan she had mentioned to Liz, a plan that she had sold to Myra May the evening before.

At eight o’clock on Monday morning, as usual, Verna opened the probate office. Located on the second floor of the courthouse and to the right at the head of the stairs, the office had a reception room divided by a long wooden counter, with the public area on one side and three wooden desks and chairs on the other: one for Verna, one for Coretta Cole, and the third, behind a low partition, for Mr. Earle Scroggins, the elected probate clerk, just in case he should happen to drop in, which he didn’t, usually.