Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery (21 page)

Daisy stuck her hands on her hips. “I do not take you for a fool, Aunt Emily. And I listen to every word from your lips.”

As she said it, she remembered how Aunt Emily had been the first person to realize that Fred Dickerson had been deliberately poisoned, so perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to listen a little more closely to those aged and wrinkly lips.

“What I mean is”—Daisy took a deep breath—“we all value your thoughts and opinions very much. Except maybe today you can share them only with us and not Brenda.” She lowered her voice. “Or the rest of the group out there. I’m not so sure how the sheriff would react if you told him you believe the death of his oldest childhood pal may not have been an accident.”

Aunt Emily patted Daisy’s head affectionately. “There you go. Finally thinking smart like your momma.”

She squinted at her. “My momma thinks Hank’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“I don’t know about that. But I do know she doesn’t automatically assume something’s an accident just because someone happens to calls it an accident. Your momma makes up her own mind. She asks questions and looks at facts. Which is why early this morning—when everybody else was racing around getting ready for the service—Lucy was picking Special Agent Kinney’s brain.”

“What!”

“Now don’t get all panicky.” Aunt Emily patted Daisy’s head again. “It didn’t hurt her none. Quite the opposite. She seemed almost energized afterward. A little like her former spunky self. She and Mr. Kinney must have had a good conversation.”

“Well.” Daisy hesitated, wondering if that was supposed to reassure her or cause her even more concern. “I guess what matters is she was feeling better.”

Beulah concurred with a grunt. But it was a dubious grunt. And Daisy knew why. There was an unmistakable hint of excitement in Aunt Emily’s shrewd blue eyes, and that always made it difficult to discern whether she was being brilliant or bobbing up a few apples short of a bushel.

“I reckon you girls will sort it out soon enough,” Aunt Emily said.

It was Beulah’s turn to squint at her. “Sort what out?”

“Everything, of course. All of it.” This time she patted her own head, smoothing down a few stray wisps. “And I have no doubt Mr. Kinney will be of great help. Or at least some help.”

Both Daisy and Beulah were too busy squinting to respond.

“Just remember what I told you once before already, Ducky. Get more than you give. He’s going to want answers, and so will you. Keep him close. Don’t let him go wandering about unsupervised.”

“But he’s got every right to wander about unsupervised,” Daisy replied. “He’s ATF. And as you may recall from my family’s past dealings with the ATF, their agents do what they want, when they want. We don’t get a say in it.”

Aunt Emily’s nose twitched. “Then you better get a say in it.”

“And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”

She smiled. It wasn’t a broad, supercilious smile. It was a soft, sage smile. Picking up the bowl of potato salad, Aunt Emily headed toward the open doorway. Her clicking heels paused for an instant as she glanced behind her.

“Either sleep with the man, Ducky, or get some of the answers before he gets ’em.”

CHAPTER

19

Ethan looked up from the scuffed leather smoking chair when Daisy entered the parlor. “How was it?” he asked.

“It was a funeral.” She sunk down on the settee across from him. “In my experience all funerals are pretty much the same. Same pretty speeches. Same pretty flowers. Same grim company.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

She heaved a troubled sigh. It had been a difficult day. And Aunt Emily had made it even more difficult by insisting on discussing curses and accidents that might not really have been accidents.

“Want to talk about it?” Ethan offered politely.

Daisy shook her head. What she wanted was a drink. Several drinks preferably. Too bad she couldn’t get one of Rick’s jelly jars without also getting Rick in the process.

“Where’s everybody else? Didn’t they come back with you?”

“Beulah’s checking on something in her salon. Aunt Emily’s upstairs enjoying her nightly soak in the tub. And my—” She stopped. “I heard you and my momma had a lengthy conversation this morning.”

“We did,” Ethan confirmed.

Although Daisy waited for him to elaborate, he didn’t.

“What did you talk about?” she pursued after a minute.

He smiled slightly. “Didn’t your mom tell you?”

Her gaze narrowed. She didn’t like his evasiveness.

“We talked about Fox Hollow,” he said.

That made Daisy’s gaze narrow even further. “My momma’s not in good health. Surely you’re aware of that. The last few years have been extremely hard on her, and I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t add to her stress by bringing up the past. Especially after what just happened to Hank. It’s too much for her to handle.”

“I didn’t bring up the past,” Ethan informed her. “She did.”

“I doubt that.”

“You can doubt it all you want, but it’s the truth. Your mom wanted to know about the changes at Fox Hollow. She said she hasn’t been there in a long time. She was interested in learning how it looks now. And for the record,” he added, “I think your mom can handle a lot more than you think she can.”

“Are you a doctor?” Daisy snapped. “Because the doctors keep telling me any extra stress should be avoided at all cost. The very expensive doctors,” she muttered glumly under her breath.

Ethan shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, and I don’t pretend to know what exactly causes your mom extra stress. But it doesn’t seem to be Fox Hollow.”

She remained skeptical.

He shrugged again. “That’s just my opinion from how she was this morning. She didn’t appear the least bit upset when I told her about the condition of the place.”

“The condition of the place?”

“The house and gardens and such. What obviously needed work. What might have been different from the last time she saw it. Your mom asked if Mr. Dickerson had been maintaining the property. She also asked about Rick Balsam.”

Daisy sat upright. “What about Rick Balsam?”

“Apparently she heard from someone that he was there the same day we were, and she was curious to know why. I don’t think your mom realizes he owns Fox Hollow.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you!”

“No, I—”

“Good,” she cut him off. “Don’t.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t tell her!” Daisy repeated with emphasis.

“She’s going to find out eventually. Especially if everybody else knows.”

“Everybody else doesn’t know. According to Rick, he bought the place at the beginning of the year. But he kept it quiet. So quiet we weren’t even aware the property was up for sale. It didn’t come out until Fred died, and then it was only because Sheriff Lowell happened to see a copy of the papers and asked Rick about it. As far as I’m aware, there are still just a few of us who know. And we aren’t going to share the news with my momma.”

“Why not?”

Daisy grimaced. “Do you want to be the one to tell a sick, penniless widow the new owner of her former pride and joy is a seedy, womanizing bootlegger?”

“Not particularly. Not when you put it that way.”

“There’s no other way to put it.”

“I still think your mom’s going to find out eventually,” Ethan said. “But if we ever have another chat like we did this morning, you don’t have to worry about the news coming from me.”

“Thank you.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you talk about Hank too?”

“You mean with your mom?”

Daisy nodded.

“He didn’t come up. Why?”

She answered with a frown. Aunt Emily was wrong. Ethan and her momma hadn’t discussed Hank’s death—accident or not. Their conversation had been all about Fox Hollow. That was strange. Or was it? Daisy wasn’t sure. Her momma rarely mentioned the property. On the day Fred died she hadn’t even known whether he was still living there. Why would she suddenly talk about it with Special Agent Kinney from the hated ATF and not her own daughter? Was the timing mere coincidence, or could there be more to it?

A lengthy silence followed. Daisy tugged absently at a snag in the fabric on the settee. Ethan returned to the files he had been reading when she first entered the parlor. A whole big box of files had arrived for him yesterday at the inn. Daisy didn’t ask about them, and he didn’t volunteer any information. She wondered if there was some mention of her family in the copious pages. She supposed there had to be. Her eyes went to the marble mantel. Old photographs in tarnished silver frames stood in a crooked row like a long line of seashells washed up onto the beach after a storm. Battered and faded, they were eagerly collected but quickly forgotten.

Ethan glanced over at her. “Any relatives up there?”

“Oh, no. I don’t have kin still alive in these parts. Other than my momma, they’re all gone. But I’m unusual that way.” Daisy smiled. “Around here you’ve got to be careful. There aren’t any so-called seven degrees of separation. It’s closer to three. So you better find out who everyone’s relations are real fast, or you could pretty easily end up marrying your second cousin without even knowing it.”

He laughed. “I’m glad to hear that didn’t happen to you.”

She laughed with him. “It’s bad enough Matt and I went to the same grade school. I don’t recommend picking a spouse who remembers what you looked like in plaid rompers and pigtails. All the mystery is gone.”

“I bet you were awfully cute in plaid rompers and pigtails.”

“Evidently my husband didn’t think so.”

“Your husband is an idiot.”

Daisy could only shrug. “I won’t dispute that.”

Closing the file in his lap, Ethan tossed it to the floor with a thud. “I can’t read another word tonight. You want to do something?”

“Such as?”

“Such as go out and get a beer somewhere. There are actual bars and restaurants in this area, aren’t there? You don’t have to go down to the creek with a jug of home brew tucked under your arm like your buddy Rick suggested the other day, do you?”

“Of course not. Of course there are bars and restaurants. And Rick isn’t my buddy—”

The unexpected wail of the telephone in the entrance hall interrupted her. Beulah came racing up the front steps of the inn and slammed open the screen door.

“I’ll get it!” she cried.

The ringing promptly ceased. There was a bit of mumbling.

“Daisy?” Beulah called.

“In here.”

She popped her red head into the parlor. “It’s for you.”

“For me? Who is it?”

“Zeke.”

“Huh?”

“Zeke,” she repeated. “From the General.”

Daisy was so surprised, her lips parted but not a syllable came out.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Beulah agreed. “I had a lot of trouble understanding him. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to Zeke on the phone before.”

“I know I haven’t.” She rose from the settee. “He probably wants to give his condolences.”

“You’re right.” The red mop nodded. “I bet that’s it.”

As Daisy headed into the hall, Beulah turned toward the occupant of the scuffed leather smoking chair.

“Hey there, Ethan,” she cooed.

Daisy smiled. No doubt Beulah would be happy to show Special Agent Kinney where he could get a beer. She picked up the phone from the inlaid table.

“Hello?”

Zeke came straight to the point. “Daisy? Daisy, I gotta talk to ya.”

“You need to speak up, Zeke. I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t. They might be listenin’.”

“What?” There was too much background noise, and his voice was garbled. “Somebody’s listening?”

“I’m workin’, and they’re here.”

“Who’s there?”

“City folks.” Zeke coughed. “Big-city folks.”

“Okay.” Daisy didn’t know what else to say.

“They were askin’ ’bout—”

“I can’t understand you, Zeke.”

He coughed again. “Ya gotta come here, Daisy.”

“To the General?”

“Uh-huh. Will ya come tonight?”

“Oh no, not tonight.” The only place she planned on going that evening was up the stairs and into bed.

“But it’s gotta be tonight!” he exclaimed.

“Zeke—”

“I gotta talk to ya, Daisy!”

She was really unenthusiastic about going to the roadhouse, but there was such an odd urgency in his tone that it forced her to reconsider. Plus Zeke never called. Something was definitely going on, and she decided that she had better find out what it was.

“Do you want me to come now?” Daisy asked with a sigh.

“In an hour.” He sounded relieved. “After we close.”

“All right. I’ll see you in about an hour, Zeke.”

The line crackled and went dead. As she set down the phone, Daisy checked her watch. It was late. She should have been sleeping. At least she didn’t have to wake up early to make fresh coffee at H & P’s.

Grumbling to herself, Daisy trudged to her room. She needed to change her sandals and get her purse. She had to drive. When she came downstairs again a few minutes later and passed by the parlor, she saw Beulah curled up on one arm of the smoking chair like a cuddly little kitten. Ethan looked over at Daisy standing in the hall. His eyes went to the keys in her hand, and his jaw twitched.

“Going out?” he said.

“Going out,” she replied.

His jaw twitched once more. “Don’t tell me you’ve chosen the creek and jug of home brew?”

“The creek and jug of home brew?” Beulah echoed, perplexed.

“No.” Daisy shook her head, but she wasn’t inclined to explain the reference to Rick and his ’shine. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“Now?” Ethan asked incredulously.

“Yup.”

Beulah frowned at her. “What kind of an errand? You’re not going to the General, are you?”

“I am.”

The frown intensified. “By yourself at this time of night! Why?”

Daisy hesitated. Should she tell Beulah what Zeke had said? Should she ask her to come with?

As though he could read her mind, Ethan said, “Want some company?”

Considering how odd and agitated Zeke had sounded on the phone, Daisy couldn’t help thinking that having Ethan along might be good. But then she remembered what Aunt Emily had told her at the diner. Get some of the answers before he does. Well, maybe Zeke could give her those answers.