Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery (23 page)

Daisy bit the inside of her cheeks, enormously grateful at that moment that Zeke had a strict policy of not allowing any firearms in the roadhouse. Regardless of what the law might permit, he was adamant that guns and alcohol were like chlorine and ammonia and should never be mixed.

There was a lengthy silence. Zeke coughed, sucked down the final few drops in his glass, then coughed once more. Ethan watched him warily.

“The way I see it,” Zeke remarked at last, “every man’s entitled to his own mind and opinions. That’s what makes this land great. Just remember, Mister Government Agent, yer in the heart of that land right now. This”—he rapped his boney knuckles on the edge of the table—“is the blood and muscle of the country. Our boys be the ones losin’ arms and legs and lives fightin’ wars halfway ’round the world. And our boys be the ones diggin’ up the coal and growin’ the food them big-city folks take fer granted when they flip on them lights and eat in them la-di-dah restaurants. I just wish somebody’d show a little appreciation once in a while. But that ain’t how it works. In all them years I’ve been livin’ and workin’ in these parts, nobody’s said one blasted word of thanks fer nothin’. And they never will neither. In my experience the only people comin’ down to southwestern Virginny are those plannin’ on stirrin’ up trouble and botherin’ good solid folks like Daisy and Hank and their kin.”

Ethan nodded in acknowledgment. “I promise you, sir, I didn’t come down here to stir up trouble or bother any good folks. But somebody has. There doesn’t seem to me to be much doubt about that, considering what happened to Mr. Dickerson and Mr. Fitz.”

Zeke nodded back at him. “And there’s gonna be more trouble too. A heap of it I reckon. It’s why I called Daisy. She knows Fox Hollow better than all of ’em.”

That startled her. “You think the trouble has to do with Fox Hollow?”

“I do. And I’ll tell ya why. They was talkin’ ’bout who owns the place. At first they thought it was ol’ Fred, but then they realized it wasn’t ol’ Fred. He was just stayin’ there. After that they thought it might be Rick, but then they was at Fox Hollow—”

“They were actually at Fox Hollow?” Ethan interjected.

“They was
at
Fox Hollow,” Zeke repeated with emphasis, “and somethin’ wasn’t right. Somethin’ there gave ’em trouble.”

“Was it something or someone?”

Daisy’s mind went immediately to Hank. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he had gone to Fox Hollow on that fateful day. But she could very easily envision him causing the big-city folks trouble while he was there. Hank had been just the sort of tough, grizzly person to give strangers grief if he found them nosing about the place uninvited. She wondered if Ethan was thinking along a similar vein.

“When you say
someone
—” she began.

“I mean Hank,” Ethan told her. “I can’t be certain he was the trouble of course, but if he had information about these people and a confrontation with them, it would explain a lot—why he was there, why his apron was ripped off on the porch, why he was going so fast on the way out and crashed his bike.”

She was in full agreement. Daisy was convinced that Hank had known much more than he ever let on, not just about Fred but also Fred’s connection to Fox Hollow. Aunt Emily had even alluded to that. Maybe it went further. Maybe Hank had known something about Fox Hollow itself. That made sense, especially if Zeke was right and the big-city folks were asking about Fred and Rick and who owned the property.

“Zeke,” Daisy said, “how sure are you those big-city folks were talking about who owns Fox Hollow?”

“As positive as I am them Hokies are gonna win the championship this year!”

That was as confident as Zeke got. He loved Virginia Tech football. It ranked just under God, the United States of America, and the General.

“And how sure are you someone or something gave those big-city folks trouble at Fox Hollow?”

“I ain’t sure what it was, but I’m durned sure it gave ’em trouble. They was complainin’ they had to leave right quick. Too quick. They didn’t get ’nough time to finish what they was doin’.”

What were they doing? They might have been looking for Rick. That seemed to Daisy the most logical possibility. They had previously talked about driving out to Rick’s trailer, so instead they could have gone to Fox Hollow to confirm whether he was the owner of the place. Except why would they care who owned it? Perhaps they were interested in buying the property. When she had lived there, her parents had occasionally received offers for the timber, but they never sold it. They never sold even a fragment of Fox Hollow. Her daddy had been particularly proud of that fact. He always detested the idea of carving up the land like it was a Thanksgiving turkey.

Rick, on the other hand, might be fully amenable to slicing and dicing. Daisy didn’t know. She could only guess. She had no doubt, however, that if Hank had discovered Rick peddling parts and parcels of Fox Hollow, he would have done everything in his power to stop such a sale, especially if it involved big-city folks. But that was where the logical possibilities came to an abrupt end. Timber, or hunting rights, or even a few acres chopped out of one corner of the property to create a pretty little farmette weren’t in any way important enough to result in Hank’s supposed accident or Fred’s poisoning. There had to be more to it. A good deal more. And there was one person who most likely had the answer.

“Rick,” she muttered.

“I told ya before,” Zeke reminded her. “That boy’s foolin’ with the wrong folks this time. They come fer business. Big business. And he better watch out. Ya better watch out too, Daisy. If they’re lookin’ at Fox Hollow now, then eventually they’re gonna come lookin’ at ya. Ya and yer momma.”

He made it sound so ominous, she gulped.

“I think you and I need to have a chat with Rick,” Ethan said to her.

Daisy nodded. When it came to Rick, she appreciated the assistance.

“We’ll go first thing. The sooner, the better.”

She nodded again.

Finishing his beer, Ethan rose from his chair and stretched. “Time to leave.”

It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to only himself or her as well, but Daisy didn’t care. She had not an ounce of energy left for further reflection or conversation. Mind-numbing exhaustion pounded down on her like a crushing wave of boulders. With a prodigious yawn, she pushed herself up from the tilting table and took a couple of lurching steps in no specific direction.

“Whoa there.” Ethan put a hand on her shoulder to stop and steady her. “You better let me drive you.”

“Why? I haven’t had a sip to drink.”

“No, but you’re as bad as drunk. Ten seconds on that dark road and you’ll be snoring like a duck with your head flopped down on the wheel. I’d prefer not to have to inform your friends and family that you careened off into a ditch.”

“Like a duck … what?” Another giant yawn cut short her protestations.

“We’ll come back for her car tomorrow,” Ethan told Zeke as he steered Daisy toward the exit.

“Don’t much matter when, just that she be gettin’ home safe.”

“She will.”

Zeke followed them with his keys to lock up afterward.

Just as he was about to guide Daisy through the door, Ethan paused and looked over at Zeke. “You don’t happen to have any idea where those big-city folks were headed after they left here?”

“Well,” he rubbed one sunken eye, “I didn’t catch no name, but I did hear ’em say somethin’ ’bout wantin’ a burger.”

“A burger?” Ethan squinted at him. “Like a hamburger?”

“I reckon so.” Zeke shrugged. “Ain’t no other kinds of burgers unless ya talkin’ cheese.”

The squint turned to Daisy. “Didn’t you tell me Mr. Dickerson wanted a hamburger when he stumbled into H & P’s on the morning he died?”

She was listening, but her brain was only half-processing. “Huh?”

Ethan simplified the question. “Did Fred ask for a burger at the diner?”

“He did.”

“So Mr. Dickerson wanted a burger and these big-city folks wanted a burger. Don’t you find that to be a somewhat strange coincidence?”

This time Daisy squinted back at him. “Not unless the big-city folks were poisoned too.”

CHAPTER

21

Daisy didn’t think at all about burgers, poison, or any other potentially strange coincidences on the drive back to the inn. She slept. Before Ethan had even pulled his car out of the General’s parking lot, her head was already slumped against the seat like a pooped puppy that couldn’t possibly manage one more step and simply flopped down where it stood. She was so far gone, he could have deposited her on the side of the road fifty miles south across the border in North Carolina without her taking the slightest notice of it.

She regained consciousness briefly when they arrived at the behemoth Victorian. It was enough for her to register in a dazed sort of way that Ethan was carrying her across the aged porch, up the flight of stairs, and into her room. Daisy felt his thumb rub against her cheek as he laid her down on the bed. And then there were his lips.

The kiss entered her dreams. It was deep and strong and seemed to last for a very long time. She liked it. It felt good, so good she didn’t want it to stop. That she was sure of. She tried to pull him closer, except she wasn’t sure who was leaning over her. At first he had Ethan’s wavy brown hair and the small scar on the left side of his face, but then the hair became shorter and blond like Matt’s, and when Daisy opened her eyes to look at him, she found Rick’s dark, penetrating gaze staring back at her.

The instant she blinked, it was gone. They were all gone. Ethan, Matt, Rick, and the warm lips. Daisy was alone in her bed and room at the Tosh Inn. It was still dark out, but she could tell that dawn was approaching. A mourning dove cooed plaintively in the redbud outside her window. Drowsy and befuddled, she blinked some more, not entirely certain what had been real. She wondered whether the dream would return if she fell back asleep, and she was just on the verge of dozing off when there was suddenly a muffled bang. A second bang came in swift succession.

Firecrackers? That’s what it sounded like. But it was too early for firecrackers. Maybe she had dreamt it. Footsteps thudded clumsily down the stairs. A door on the lower level of the inn slammed. More footsteps down the stairs, fleeter ones this time. The door slammed again. Then there was a boom. It was a thunderous boom that made the whole house shake. Daisy’s eyes popped open. She wasn’t dreaming, and it definitely wasn’t firecrackers. She could identify that noise without any question. It was Aunt Emily’s Remington.

Another boom followed, and the house shook even harder. There was yelling. Aunt Emily’s yelling. Daisy burrowed her head under the pillow. Stupid deer. Stupid perennials. Stupid shotgun.

A door opened. It was a door upstairs, down the hall. There were no audible footsteps, but the floorboards creaked. Somebody was up. They were probably going to check on Aunt Emily. Daisy closed her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t too late for an extra little snooze. Maybe those warm lips would still make a repeat performance. It didn’t really matter who they belonged to. It was only a dream. An awfully nice dream even if it had ended with Rick Balsam. That part she could just ignore.

The floorboards continued creaking. Then came the click. The patent metallic click of a slide being drawn back on a semiautomatic. Daisy sprang out of bed as fast as if she had found a cottonmouth coiled up in the sheets next to her. It was Ethan’s semiautomatic, and Ethan wasn’t fully familiar with Aunt Emily’s hatred toward the nibblers of her pretty phlox. Hearing her shots, he would naturally assume that something much more serious was going on. Daisy had to get to him before he spooked her, because Aunt Emily had the tendency to blast away even more willy-nilly than usual when she got spooked.

Grabbing her robe from the hook by the armoire and wrapping it hastily around herself, Daisy flung open her door and scurried into the hall. As expected, she found Ethan standing there. He was pressed close to one wall, both hands in front of him gripping his black Glock. He was wearing jeans but no shirt. Daisy had never seen Ethan in a pair of jeans or without a shirt on, and she made a mental note that the new view wasn’t at all bad. Although his chest may have looked inviting, his face was grave and concerned, so she got straight to the point.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she told him. “It’s only Aunt Emily. She and the local deer are in a permanent state of war in regard to her garden. Sometimes she can get a bit overwrought and too enthusiastic with her Remington.”

Ethan shook his head. “I don’t think—”

He was interrupted by more shouts from Aunt Emily. Daisy couldn’t make out her words, but they were loud and angry. The shouts were closely succeeded by another pair of thunderous, rattling booms. Daisy growled with irritation. At the rate she was going, Aunt Emily would wake half the county before the sun rose.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Grumbling, she headed toward the stairs.

“Wait!” Ethan called after her.

Daisy glanced back.

“I don’t think it’s deer,” he said.

“It could be rabbits too, I reckon.” She started down the hall again.

“Daisy, stop!”

She stopped in front of her momma’s door, but it wasn’t because Ethan told her to. It was because the door was ajar. Daisy frowned at it. Her momma didn’t normally get up so early.

“Momma?” She tapped on the door.

There was no answer.

“Momma?”

Still no answer. Daisy pushed open the door and looked into the room. The bed was empty and rumpled. The top two drawers from the dresser had been pulled completely out and were turned upside down with their contents strewn around. The chubby lamp from the nightstand lay on the floor. So did her momma.

The walls spun, the furniture went blurry, and Daisy’s knees lost all strength. She swayed like a birch in a tornado. Ethan caught her just as she toppled over sideways. He lowered her gently to the ground.

“Daisy? Daisy, are you okay?”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. She snapped out of her haze in an instant and darted across the throw rug to her momma, who was flat on her stomach in an apricot-colored lace nightgown.