Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery (3 page)

The sheriff squinted at him dubiously. “You’re telling me you bought two hundred acres—some of the best acres we got in the county—along with a farmhouse and outbuildings and a flowing creek, but you didn’t bother with a lease?”

“I didn’t bother with a lease,” he repeated curtly, finally raising his gaze from the diner floor.

“So then what did Fred think?”

“How the hell should I know what he thought?”

“Well, he must have had some inkling in his head if he was still living there.”

Rick’s patience was wearing visibly thin. His lips curled back from his teeth like a wolf warning an enemy from its territory.

“Don’t test me, boy.” Sheriff Lowell puffed out his chest and slapped his hands on his gun belt. “I’m the law around here, and we both know you and your brother ain’t done so good with the law over the years.”

Bobby gave a meek little whimper. Rick’s snarl remained, but he answered the sheriff’s question.

“I’ve no idea what old man Dickerson was thinking. I hadn’t talked to him in ages, probably close to a decade. Not since before he moved to Fox Hollow.” Rick almost looked at Daisy again but stopped himself this time. “After I bought the place, I figured he’d been living there so long he could just go on living there. It didn’t bother me none, and I didn’t think it’d bother anybody else.”

Daisy sighed. She was furious with Rick for not telling her that the property was for sale. She was even more furious with him for buying it, and buying it in secret. He of all people knew what it was to her, what it meant. She felt terribly blindsided—and more than a little betrayed—but at the same time, she couldn’t argue with him regarding Fred Dickerson. It had never bothered her that the old farmer lived in the house or planted the fields or fished in the creek. On the contrary, there had been many moments when it almost comforted her, the thought that someone was taking care of Fox Hollow.

“So you don’t know if Fred was sick?” Sheriff Lowell asked Rick.

Rick ground the heel of his boot into the tile with irritation. “Of course not. I just told you I hadn’t talked to the man in ten years.”

“And you also didn’t see him?”

“I couldn’t swear in all that time his truck never passed by mine on the road,” he replied with a smirk. “Or that we didn’t both order ice-cream cones on the same day over at the Dairy Queen.”

Sheriff Lowell sucked on his teeth. “You want me to ask you again wearing handcuffs?”

“I. Didn’t. See. Fred. Dickerson.”

As he said it, Rick cocked his head to one side. No one seemed to notice but Daisy. And she knew what it meant. Rick Balsam only cocked his head to the side when he flirted and when he lied. He had seen Fred Dickerson somewhere, probably pretty recently if she were to hazard a guess, but he had no intention of sharing that information with George Lowell or the rest of the group.

“Are we done? Can I go now?” Rick drawled, partially stifling a yawn. “Or do you want to read my diary first?”

The sheriff grimaced at him. “Go.” He waved his hand at Bobby, then at the door. “The two of you just go. Go before I—”

“George—” Sue interrupted him.

He glanced over at her.

“They can’t leave,” she said.

Both Rick and the sheriff frowned at her.

“They can’t leave,” she repeated.

“Why not?” Bobby whined. It was the whine of a bored and hungry child, one who had never gotten his waffles with pecans or the accompanying sausage patties and was tired of old man Dickerson staring up at him from the diner floor like a bug-eyed trout.

Ignoring Bobby, Sue spoke to her husband. “I’m going to have to send him to Danville.”

Sheriff Lowell’s brow furrowed. “Danville? Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I can’t do this. I’m not a medical examiner.”

“You think—”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve got to send him to Danville.”

“He was old,” the sheriff remarked. “And probably sick.”

“I don’t know,” Sue said again. “It might be that. It’s possible he had a stroke or his heart just gave out, but…” She paused for a moment as she regarded the lifeless body with a scrutinizing eye. “There’s that discharge. Especially around his mouth. The color. It’s not right.”

Her husband shrugged. “Well, you know best. I hate getting them involved, but if you’ve got to send him to Danville, then send him to Danville.”

“So what does that have to do with us?” Rick asked somewhat sharply.

Daisy was wondering the same thing. And to her surprise, instead of answering immediately, Sue toyed with her earrings. It wasn’t a good sign.

“If you’re thinking about needing a couple of strong backs to load him into the ambulance,” Sheriff Lowell said, “I can call the office and get a pair of boys to come over. We don’t need them.” He stuck his thumb in the direction of the Balsam brothers.

“No.” Sue kept on fiddling with her earrings. “That’s not what I was thinking. You don’t have to call your office.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “You have to call the Danville office.”

“What! Why the hell should I call them?”

“You have to.”

“No, I don’t!” the sheriff roared, a tad petulantly. “Not those smug bastards!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Sue returned with briskness. “We need a forensics team, and they’ve got one.”

George Lowell snorted like an irascible bull.

“It’s the closest,” she reminded him, “and the only one Pittsylvania County is authorized to use.”

He snorted once more.

“A forensics team?” Hank said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It means she thinks it’s suspicious,” Brenda said, with a touch of excitement.

“It means I don’t want any of us getting in trouble later for not following proper procedure now,” Sue argued.

“What it really means is we’re going to be stuck here for a damn long time until the fellas from Danville drive up and do what they do.” Rick walked over to the emerald-green vinyl booth that he had previously occupied and plopped himself down in it. Lifting his coffee mug, he gave Daisy a hopeful little smile. “Refill?”

CHAPTER

3

“Is that you, Daisy?” Beulah cried at the telltale creaks from the aged front steps.

She was answered by a slamming screen door and a weary moan.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re back! We were awfully worried.” Beulah came rushing out of the parlor into the entrance hall of the inn. “First the ambulance, then Sheriff Lowell—I was just finishing up his clip when he got the call to go to the diner—and then those police cars from Danville. We were all racing around trying to figure out what had happened, but nobody actually
knew
anything!”

Despite her exhaustion, Daisy grinned. Beulah’s untamable mane of flaming red hair was sticking out in every direction, like a cartoon character that had just gotten its finger stuck in an electrical socket. It was pretty funny, especially considering that Beulah owned a hair salon, a really popular hair salon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” Daisy swapped an air kiss with her friend. “But the whole thing was just crazy. And Sue said it’d be better if we didn’t talk to anybody about it until after the police were through.”

Beulah and her hair nodded. “But you’re okay? You look okay. And Brenda and Hank? They’re okay too?”

“They’re fine. We’re all fine. Everybody except old man Dickerson.”

“Old man Dickerson? Is he still living around here?”

“Not anymore,” Daisy replied, with a wryness that surprised even her.

“You don’t mean?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh my God!” Beulah clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.

“I know. I spent half the day staring at his dead body on the diner floor and I still can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe it either. I thought for sure it had to do with one of the Balsam brothers. They finally got caught doing something even stupider than usual.”

Daisy shook her head. “Unfortunately not. But they were both there. And just wait until I tell you what Rick pulled.”

Beulah began chewing on a chipped orange fingernail. “He pulled something with old man Dickerson?”

“With Fox Hollow.”

The chewing instantly stopped. “Fox Hollow!”

Daisy hastily hushed her. “Not so loud. I don’t want my momma to hear.”

“She won’t. She’s out back. With Aunt Emily.”

Aunt Emily wasn’t actually Beulah’s aunt. She wasn’t anyone’s aunt. Emily Tosh was the last surviving member of the oldest family in Pittsylvania County. It was her kinfolk that had originally settled the area, and there were plenty of roads, cemeteries, and abandoned houses in the neighborhood bearing the name to prove it. The inn had been the grandest of all the houses, a behemoth Victorian with yellow gables and matching wraparound porches. It had been built—and for many decades maintained—by the glorious tobacco plant. But with the inexorable march of time, the once seemingly endless acres of highly profitable tobacco were converted into cheap corn. There was drought, followed by price wars. Land was sold off, and younger generations moved away, enticed by the thrill of the big city. Eventually only Emily and the venerable Tosh house remained, two worn and weathered monuments harkening back to a slightly different era.

Sociable and in need of extra income, Emily turned the family homestead into an inn. But the timing wasn’t good. Tourism in southwestern Virginia was on a steady decline. So she began to pick up neighborhood strays instead. Beulah arrived before Daisy. In an attempt to attract a few more visitors—if only just for gossip and a friendly cup of coffee—Emily encouraged Beulah to set up a little salon in an old potting shed on the property. The idea turned out to be remarkably successful for both of them, and soon Beulah traded in her shabby apartment and stale bologna sandwiches for a cheerful room and hot home-cooked dinners at the Tosh Inn.

Not long after, Daisy and her momma moved in. It was a natural enough arrangement. Emily was Daisy’s godmother, and Beulah was Daisy’s oldest friend. If the circumstances that prompted the move had been a little less unpleasant, everyone would have been quite happy. But as it was, the motley group got along fine, with only a few minor complaints, the most frequent being Aunt Emily’s shotgun.

Daisy was just about to slide onto the settee in the parlor and share with Beulah all that Rick Balsam had shared with her that day regarding Fox Hollow when the first thunderous boom emanated from the rear of the inn. It was followed in quick succession by another, which set all the decorative plates lining the walls of the room rattling.

“Aw jeez,” she groaned.

Beulah grimaced and nodded. “I told you she was out back.”

“But now? Does she have to shoot now?”

“Either she thinks the deer have been munching on her perennials again or she’s warning off all those vicious burglars who might be skulking around the neighborhood just waiting for an opportunity to prey on us helpless females.”

“But it’s the middle of the afternoon,” Daisy protested. “The deer aren’t out in the middle of the afternoon. Nor are any supposed burglars.”

Beulah smirked. “Try explaining that to Aunt Emily.”

Daisy rolled her eyes, then settled down on the settee. Beulah curled up in the scuffed leather smoking chair across from her.

“Okay, so what did that weasel Rick do this time?”

“You won’t believe it,” she began. “I can barely believe it. But Sheriff Lowell says it’s true. He saw a copy of the papers and—”

She was interrupted by a second set of thunderous, rattling booms.

“All right. That’s it.” Daisy popped back up. “My momma’s supposed to be resting, not getting her eardrums blasted to kingdom come.”

“I tried talking to her about it earlier,” Beulah said. “I told Aunt Emily some of my customers have been complaining. The main reason they come to the salon is to relax. They’re trying to get away from the fussing men and screaming babies. The last thing they want to do while they’re here is be stuck in the middle of an artillery range. But you know Aunt Emily. She’s like a rabid raccoon with that gun. She’ll probably insist on being buried with the damn thing.”

Daisy headed down the hall toward the kitchen. Beulah followed along. They stepped out onto the back porch just as the rabid raccoon was cracking open the breech of her beloved firearm for reloading.

“Ah, the girls,” she cried. “Just in time!”

“Hey there, Aunt Emily. Hey there, Momma.” Daisy went over to her mother, who was sitting quietly in a white pine rocking chair, and brushed back a few stray wisps of pale blond hair from her sunken cheek. “How are you today, Momma?”

Lucy Hale looked up at her daughter and smiled. “Hi, honey. I’m okay. I can’t complain. I got to come outside.”

“It is a pretty day, isn’t it?” Daisy frowned at the thick cotton quilt wrapped snugly around her momma’s thin legs. “Are you cold? You shouldn’t be. It must be at least eighty-five degrees out here.”

“With ninety percent humidity,” Beulah added sourly, trying without the least amount of success to press down her unruly mop.

“It’s those new drugs,” Lucy responded, taking her daughter’s hand from her cheek and squeezing it affectionately. “They just give me a chill, that’s all.”

“But are they making a difference?” Daisy asked anxiously. “The doctor said it might take a few weeks to see an improvement. He also said we should watch out for side effects. If you have any shortness of breath or—”

“Oh, let’s not talk about that now,” Lucy cut her off gently, squeezing her hand once more. “Not on such a beautiful afternoon. The sun shining. The breeze in the magnolias. And look at those zinnias, Daisy. Aren’t they the most beautiful scarlet you ever saw?”

Daisy glanced over at the pair of old barrels stationed at the corners of the porch that were overflowing with blooms. “They are lovely,” she agreed absently, more concerned with her momma’s wan complexion than the crimson flowers.

“The deer haven’t gotten them yet,” Aunt Emily said, pulling out the spent casings from her Remington.

“And they aren’t going to get them,” Beulah returned teasingly. “Not unless those deer are geniuses and can learn to climb a whole flight of stairs.”