“ ‘Functional hysterical disturbances.’ ” Miss LaMotte laughed bitterly. “That’s rich.” She opened her red handbag. “Well, if you say it’ll work, I’ll take it.”
“Liquid or pills?”
She considered. “Liquid. Better give me two bottles. No, make it three. Just in case.” Three bottles? In case of what, Verna wondered. Miss LaMotte added, grudgingly, “It might be a while before Dr. Roberts can see her.”
“That will be three dollars,” Mr. Lima said, and took the money she handed him. “I hope it helps—at least, until the doctor is available.”
“I do, too,” she said grimly. “This situation is driving me abso-lute-ly bonkers.” The red bow on her hat jiggled.
Mr. Lima gave her back two dollar bills and put the bottles into a paper bag. Unbending a little, he said, “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m Miss Hamer’s niece. Nona Jean Jamison. I’m staying with her—helping out. She’s ill, you know.”
“I know that she has been under the weather for some time, yes.” He gave her a thin smile. “Well, then, welcome to Darling, Miss Jamison. Your aunt has been a customer of ours for a good many years.”
Miss LaMotte made a huffing sound. “Then I would’ve thought you could’ve helped me out with that prescription.”
Mr. Lima looked humble. “I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can get for you this afternoon?”
“No, thank you,” Miss LaMotte said, lifting her chin. She took the bag and turned to go.
By this time, Verna had decided on a course of action and a way to introduce herself. She followed the lady out of the store and caught up with her just as she turned onto Rosemont.
“Miss LaMotte,” she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Mr. Lima were talking about. I’ve had some experience with insomnia, and I would like to recommend warm milk and crackers.” She smiled cordially. “It may sound simple, but it works for me every time.”
Miss LaMotte had turned and was regarding her with some disdain. Verna was suddenly conscious that she was wearing her gardening clothes—a plaid cotton blouse and a green twill skirt, neither of them clean or pressed.
“You are speaking to me?” Miss LaMotte asked, frowning.
“Well, yes,” Verna said, thinking that this was obvious. She held out her hand. “My name is Verna Tidwell. I had the privilege of seeing you perform ten years ago, at the New Amsterdam Theater, in New York City. You were swell.”
At that moment, Mr. Bailey Beauchamp’s Cadillac came around the courthouse square on Dauphin and cruised down the block toward them, slowing so that Mr. Beauchamp could have another look. As Lightning turned onto Rosemont, to begin another circuit around the square, Mr. Beauchamp tipped his hat and gave Miss LaMotte a flirtatious smile.
Miss LaMotte turned away, pretending not to notice. She faced Verna, lifting her chin. “I am sorry,” she said sharply, ignoring Verna’s outthrust hand, “but you are mistaken. You are confusing me with someone else. My name is Nona Jean Jamison. I am staying with my aunt here in Darling.”