Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery (6 page)

Beulah laughed and lifted her bottle too. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Careful, Daisy,” Rick warned, rising from his chair. “If you start talking like that, pretty soon people might think
you
murdered him.” And with a parting wink, he walked off.

“He’s right,” Beulah said, as she watched Rick return to his brother and their dates with a critical gaze. “You better be careful. You better be real careful. Because unless I’m very much mistaken, that weasel wants something from you.”

CHAPTER

5

She didn’t have to be careful that weekend. Daisy neither saw Rick Balsam nor heard one word about Fred Dickerson. It was the best weekend she’d had in a very long time. On Saturday she and her momma enjoyed a lazy morning on the back porch of the Tosh Inn, followed by a hilarious afternoon at Beulah’s salon. And on Sunday the weather was picture-perfect for the annual church picnic, complete with fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and plenty of sweet lemonade. Daisy even managed to convince Beulah to sample the fare, after promising her that none of it had been prepared by the poison-talking Aunt Emily.

On Monday she arrived at the diner feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, like she had spent an entire month at some fancy Parisian spa, rather than a few simple days in rural southwestern Virginia. Brenda appeared equally relaxed, and during the lull between breakfast and lunch, the two happily sampled Daisy’s newest culinary creation—white-chocolate raspberry scones—until Hank slammed down the phone in a fury.

“Idiots. That’s what they are. Goddam idiots!”

Daisy and Brenda swiveled on their stools toward him. Hank was standing next to the cash register, dressed in his usual grease-smeared apron and jeans, glaring at the phone like it was a rat that’d had the audacity to sneak into his storeroom and he was about to take a cleaver to its filthy head.

“Problem?” Brenda said in the untroubled tone of a woman who was eating chocolate and had spent the past three days not serving anything to anybody.

“You bet there’s a problem,” Hank growled. “They’re jackasses.”

“Who?” Daisy asked, with only slightly more sympathy than Brenda. She was feeling rather chipper herself. So far her momma’s new drugs hadn’t shown any ill side effects, and they actually seemed to be helping somewhat. Her energy level had been better than usual that weekend, and she’d even had enough strength on Sunday evening to go for a short stroll through the garden to admire the perennials that the deer hadn’t snacked on yet.

“Those fools down in Danville!”

“You mean the forensics team? Did they damage something when they were here?”

As she said it, Daisy glanced around the diner, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no sign that anything the slightest bit unusual had happened there on the previous Friday. Old man Dickerson’s body was long gone, and the spot on the floor where he had fallen was clean. No blood from his head. No foam from his mouth. Not even a lonesome speck of mud from one of his rubber boots remained. It was like Frederick Dickerson had never been there at all, alive or dead.

“They don’t know what the hell they’re doing.” Hank pounded his fist on the counter. “They should mind their own goddam business!”

“Oh, calm down,” Brenda drawled. “That’s what the police do. They get paid to dig around in other people’s business. And you should be grateful for it. Just think of George Lowell. Without him as our sheriff we’d have a whole lot more crime in this county.” She offered Hank a scone. “Here. Have one of these.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snapped. “Or to be grateful neither. And don’t stick those blasted cookies in my face—”

“Scones,” she corrected him.

“Huh?”

“Scones,” Brenda repeated, brushing the crumbs from her fingers. “It’s a scone, not a cookie. And you should try it. After one bite your mouth will be too happy for any more grousing.” She turned to Daisy. “I’ve said it before, Ducky, but I’ll say it again. You should open up a bakery. You’ve got a real knack for making pastries. People would drive from all over to buy ’em. And you could sell ’em through the Internet too. Ship ’em out.”

She smiled. “Thanks. It’s a nice idea. But the only way I’ll ever have enough money to open up a bakery is if I win the lottery. And it’d have to be a big lottery, because right now every dollar I get goes to my momma’s doctors—”

“If those morons in Danville get their way,” Hank interjected with vehemence, “you’ll have to win the lottery to pay anybody anything. You won’t get another cent from this place.”

Daisy instantly fell silent. She and Brenda looked at him.

“That’s right.” He nodded. “Not one more penny.”

“That isn’t funny.” Brenda’s voice was sharp. “You know how hard Ducky works to take care of her momma. If Lucy weren’t sick and Daisy didn’t have to be with her all the time, she could get a proper job in Lynchburg. Like she used to have before her daddy passed and Matt left. Instead of wasting her days in this old dump serving up pork and beans to lousy folks like those Balsam boys.”

“I wasn’t saying—” Hank began.

“It’s cruel. Just plain cruel,” she cut him off, “to even joke that you might fire Ducky. You’re lucky to have her! Without her, half the customers wouldn’t take a step through that door. They come to see
her
and her fabulous cookies, not
you
and your mediocre hash.”

“I wasn’t saying,” Hank tried again, louder this time, “anything about firing Daisy. Have you lost your mind, Brenda? That’s one of the stupidest things I ever heard come out of your mouth.” He shook his head at her angrily. “I didn’t mean she wasn’t going to have a job here because of me.” Turning to Daisy, Hank patted her arm with paternal affection. “Of course you’ve got a job here. You’ve got a job so long as H & P’s is open for business.”

“I know.” Daisy nodded. “And I appreciate it, Hank. I really do.”

He patted her arm again. “But I’m afraid that’s where we hit the problem. H & P’s isn’t going to be open for business much longer.”

“What!” Brenda and Daisy cried in unison.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Those idiots in Danville want to close the place. They’ve decided to shut us down.”

“They can’t do that!” Brenda exclaimed, jumping up from her stool. “They’ve got no right! They can’t go around closing down diners whenever they dang well feel like it.” She spun on her heel to Daisy. “They can’t, can they?”

“I don’t really know, but I don’t think so.” Daisy looked at Hank. “You’re current with all the health inspections, aren’t you? I thought they gave you an almost perfect score just a couple of months ago. Wasn’t it ninety-eight out of a hundred? And the only thing they found wrong was that bucket you’d been using to dump the old cooking grease. It wasn’t even anything food or health related.”

“It’s health related now,” Hank seethed, grinding his teeth.

Brenda marched over to the phone. “I’m going to call Sheriff Lowell. I’ll tell him what they’re trying to pull. He’ll straighten it out. He always does.”

“Don’t bother,” Hank responded. “George is the one who gave me the news. He’s the one I was talking to before.”

The phone dropped from Brenda’s fingers. “But—”

“But you said Danville,” Daisy finished for her, equally surprised. “You said it was the folks down in Danville.”

“It is the folks down in Danville. The goddam fools! They told George, and George told me.”

Daisy’s brow furrowed. “And Sheriff Lowell is going along with it? Since when does he agree to anything they do in Danville?”

“He doesn’t agree,” Hank informed her. “He’s mad as hell, same as me. And he’s been arguing with them since early this morning. That’s when they called the office and ordered him to shut us down.”

“Shut us down when?” Brenda asked.

“George wasn’t even supposed to let us open today.”

“Well, that explains why nobody’s here.” Daisy glanced at her watch. It was nearly twelve thirty. “I was wondering what happened to the lunch rush. I guess this time the gossip train traveled so fast, it actually beat us. Everyone in the county knew we weren’t serving before we did.”

“But why?” Brenda shook her head in confusion. “I still don’t get why. They’re closing us because of an old grease bucket?”

Hank rolled his eyes at her. “No. Don’t be a fool too! Of course they’re not closing us because of an old grease bucket. They’re closing us because of old Fred.”

Brenda went right on shaking her head. “Fred? But we were already closed because of Fred. Didn’t they finish everything they needed to do on Friday and Saturday?”

“They did finish,” Hank explained to her, “but apparently one of the idiots from the Danville forensics team didn’t like what he saw. He thought it could be a health hazard, and he reported it to the state disease center.”

“Does that mean they’re worried Fred died of something contagious?” Daisy said.

“Exactly. So they’re locking our doors. A precaution, the morons are calling it.”

“For how long?”

“A crew is supposed to come up from the Danville hospital later this week and sterilize the place.”

“They’re not planning on quarantining us too, are they?”

Brenda gaped at her in horror.

“Bite your tongue, child,” Hank reprimanded her gravely. “Nobody’s mentioned it, and we don’t want to give them any ideas.”

There was a heavy silence. Brenda returned to her stool. Hank untied his apron and hurled it into the kitchen. Daisy thought about her momma’s new medicine.

“When can the diner reopen?” she asked Hank.

“Hell if I know. They haven’t said.”

Daisy chewed on her lip. Having one vacation day was great. Having a week, or two, or three was bad. Very bad.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Hank’s thick face was creased with concern. “I’ve been thinking it too. You need the money.”

“My momma’s drugs are so expensive,” she responded plaintively.

He nodded. “I’d give you an advance, except I don’t have it. Frankly, I don’t know how I’m going to come up with the money for the cleaning.”

“They’re making you pay for the cleaning!” Brenda exclaimed indignantly.

Hank answered with a grunt.

“And you’re sure Sheriff Lowell can’t do anything?” she went on.

“George told me he’s going to keep on fighting it, but I don’t really think there’s much he can do.”

“But he’s the sheriff!” Brenda protested. “Doesn’t the Pittsylvania County sheriff trump some stupid forensics team in Danville?”

“I’m sorry to say it doesn’t work that way,” Hank replied. “It’s not a matter of who has the shiniest badge. Once there’s a report to the disease center, a whole huge set of procedures and regulations automatically kicks in. You can’t stop the ball when it’s already begun rolling. All you can do is try to ride it out.”

“And pray you don’t get squished in the process,” Daisy added without enthusiasm.

Hank grunted once more.

“That doesn’t seem right,” Brenda insisted stubbornly.

“It ain’t right,” Hank agreed. “But there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it neither.”

Daisy sighed. It had started out as such a good day, promising even. Fresh scones. New drugs for her momma. Now she couldn’t afford the drugs and there wouldn’t be any customers for the scones.

The rusty bell above the front door of the diner clanked. In unison, they all snapped their heads toward it. Daisy expected to see Sheriff Lowell, ready to drive them out of H & P’s like an impudent herd of cattle. She found Sue Lowell instead.

“Oh my lord!” Brenda gasped. “You were right, Ducky. They’re going to quarantine us too!”

“Nobody’s quarantining anyone,” Hank declared, crossing his tattooed biceps over his chest in defiance.

Sue looked puzzled, which Daisy took as a good sign. If the sheriff’s wife actually was there to quarantine them, she wouldn’t be confused by the discussion of it.

“Hey there, Sue,” she greeted her. “Want a scone?”

“Always, if it’s one of yours.”

“It is. Baked this morning.”

“Ooh, yummy. What kind?”

“White-chocolate raspberry.”

“Double yummy.” Sue rubbed her hands together greedily. “Make it a big one, please. I skipped breakfast, and it’ll have to be my lunch.”

Daisy reached under the counter, pulled out a plate, and deposited a particularly generous-sized scone onto it. She genuinely liked Sue, but she also figured that it couldn’t hurt to butter up the sheriff’s wife a bit, especially when that sheriff was in the process of shutting down her only source of income.

“So if it’s not for one of Hank’s delectably greasy bacon cheeseburgers,” Daisy drawled, sliding the plate and pastry in front of the nearest empty stool, “what brings you to the diner?”

Sue didn’t answer immediately. She took a seat and broke off a bite of scone, but she toyed with it instead of eating it.

“Just say what you came to say,” Hank demanded, not having the patience to wait her out. “Don’t play games. Give it to us straight.”

“All right.” With a sigh, she set the scone back down and pushed the plate away. “I’m here to ask for a favor.”

“A favor?” Hank’s tone was testy. “If your husband closes us up, I won’t be able to give favors to you or anybody else.”

“I know that, Hank,” Sue responded sympathetically. “George is doing his best. He really is. But those boys in Danville—”

Hank snarled. “Jackasses.”

She nodded. “Yes, but they’ve got their rules and orders. We’ve all got our rules and orders.”

“Here comes the bad news,” Hank muttered with disgust. “It’s just like in the military. The bad news always comes tucked in between talk about rules and orders.”

Brenda knotted and unknotted her fingers anxiously. “Are we going to be quarantined or not? Because if we are, somebody’s going to have to take care of Blot.”

Blot was Brenda’s very spoiled, very fat black cat. He was such a monstrous pile of shaggy fur when he sprawled out on her cream-colored carpeting that he looked like a giant ink stain, hence the name.

“Beulah could probably—” Daisy began.

“Quarantined?” Sue interjected, shaking her head. “Nobody wants you quarantined. At least not that I’ve heard.”