by Ann Yost
Sharkey grunted and fell silent. Daisy suspected he’d run out of ideas.
Jimmy broke the silence. “We should probably fish him out.”
The men laid him on the flat stones that surrounded the fountain.
“That looks uncomfortable,” Junie wailed.
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” Caro said. “Let’s go inside and get a cup of tea.”
Sharkey’s long face revealed a wistful expression, which Jimmy correctly interpreted.
“Before tea we need somebody to call it,” Jimmy said. “And you’ll need to authorize an autopsy.”
“No call for that.” Sharkey frowned as he, no doubt, contemplated the amount of paperwork involved in an autopsy. “Fella drowned.”
“There may have been foul play,”
Sharkey shot his deputy a look of disgust. “Aw, hell.”
“He’s so pale,” Junie whispered. Jimmy moved toward her and took her arm. Everybody in Mayville knew about the deputy’s crush on the youngest Budd sister.
“Let’s get that tea,” he said. “I’ll call the M.E. when we get inside.” He led Junie into the house.
Daisy’s pulse quickened. She wanted to get a closer look at the body but she needed some time.
“Caro, offer the chief some of those fresh biscuits, will you? I’ll watch the body until the medical examiner arrives.”
The chief hesitated. Daisy realized he felt some compunction about abandoning her with the corpse. She needed to make it all right for him.
“You could get statements from Caro and Junie,” Daisy suggested.
“You be okay here, gal? Don’t let nobody touch anything.”
“No problem.”
Daisy wrestled with her conscience over the direct lie but not for long. She needed to know how Adrian’s death tied into the anonymous letters. She needed to know if there was a serious threat to her family and business.
She knelt by the body as soon as the back door swung shut. The prospect of sliding her fingers into the pockets of the sodden Bermuda shorts was distinctly unappealing but she forced herself to do it. The leather billfold she found contained a laminated driver’s license registered to Hiram “Spuds” Langston. Adrian Smith was an alias. She made a mental note of the Chicago address.
The hair stood up on the back of Daisy’s neck and she shoved the wallet back into the pocket before Nick rounded the corner of the yew bushes. She stood as he strode across the courtyard.
“What the hell’s going on?”
As always, his masculine presence took her breath away. Her heart slammed into her ribs.
“Junie’s missing boyfriend. We found him in the fountain.”
“Well, hell.”
He knelt and removed the billfold again while Daisy entertained herself by admiring the way the ripples of muscle moved under his black cotton T-shirt. She saw those muscles tense for a micro-second.
“What? What is it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he stood and waved at the men dressed in the identifying vests of the medical examiner’s office. Jimmy returned a moment later.
Nick wrapped his fingers around Daisy’s upper arm and hauled her away from the body. His touch sent ribbons of sensation coursing through her body and her knees felt weak. Dang. What was it about Nick Bowman that reduced her to a mass of quivering ganglions?
Just then the screened door burst open and Junie flew across the courtyard and into Nick’s arms. She related the story, accompanied by a new spate of sobs, into the soft cotton of his shirt. He stroked Junie’s back and Daisy looked away, horrified by the lightning bolt of jealousy that attacked out of nowhere. She caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s grim face and the hostile body language of her older sister and she knew she wasn’t the only one affected by the scene.
Eventually Junie calmed down. “I want to do a memorial service for Adrian,” she announced.
“Of course,” Nick murmured.
“Something natural. Native American or Druid. I’m fairly certain the Wiccan ceremony requires a newt and a couple of doves.”
“I think I can hook you up,” Nick said.
He’d assured Daisy he had no use for his family but the comment indicated he knew all about Judith’s interest in Wicca. Was Theo’s plan working? Would Nick choose to stay in Mayville?
She hoped not. It would be torture to live here in the same town with him. On the other hand, she wanted him to re-establish some kind of relationship with his family. She let out a soul-deep sigh but, of course, no one noticed.
“Can you do it now, Nick?”
The warm smile he bestowed on her sister caught at Daisy’s heart.
“Sure, princess.”
A moment later they’d disappeared behind the hedge. Daisy turned to gauge Caro’s reaction but her sister had gone back inside.
Jimmy helped the medical examiners lift the body onto a stretcher and into the van.
“They’ll do an autopsy but it won’t be conclusive. Drownings wipe out most of the clues.”
“How could it have been an accident,” Daisy asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “He could’ve been drunk or stoned. Hit his head and blacked out.”
“Stoned?”
“I heard rumors he’s a dealer,” Jimmy said.
Daisy closed her eyes. “When will she stop dating losers?”
“She looked pretty cozy with Bowman just now.”
“He’s not a threat.” Her own words surprised her.
“What makes you think not? He’s a chick magnet.”
“He said he wouldn’t hurt her. I believe him.”
Jimmy threw her a skeptical look.
‘“Did the M.E. give you a time of death?”
“Between eleven-thirty and midnight. Why?”
“Curiosity. The guy drowned in my fountain.”
Jimmy’s arm came around her. A friendly arm, warm and comforting. It did not incite either goose bumps or shivers.
“It wasn’t your fault, Daze. Just a coincidence.”
She knew she should tell him about the letters but she hesitated. Once the police came into it everyone in town would know which meant everyone in the state would know including all the brides-to-be.
Daisy decided to wait until she had a chance to do a little investigating on her own.
Half an hour later she headed for the homeless shelter on Main Street.
Half the people in town were in their yards cleaning up debris. She waved but didn’t stop. Let them find out about the body from someone else.
The Homeless Shelter looked deserted but Daisy tried the door handle just to make sure. She found Alice Bowman at the front desk. The woman wore a tailored outfit consisting of a taupe silk blouse and cream linen pants fastened with a gold belt. Alice dressed well but she had six or seven years on her twenty-eight-year-old husband and they showed. She looked up over the pair of granny glasses perched on her nose. Her half-smile hid her alarming canines. Daisy smiled at her.
“Daisy. Are you here to see Isabelle about the handfasting?”
“No. You may not have heard but the storm last night claimed a victim. Your resident, Adrian Smith, turned up in the Cupid Fountain this morning. It seems he drowned.”
“Gracious, how horrible.”
Her words were right but her tone was unruffled. Alice Bowman’s eccentricities matched those of the rest of the Bowman household and yet, Daisy had always felt sorry for her. Even after seven years she seemed like an outsider, not just to Mayville’s first family but to the town itself.
“I figured I should see if there was a next-of-kin.”
“Of course.” She pulled out a register. “There should be some information in here. Let’s see. Adrian Smith, between jobs, permanent address in Detroit. That’s all.”
The address was probably as fake as his alias but Daisy dutifully took it.
“Do you mind if I look through his belongings?”
Alice removed her glasses. Without the plastic barrier her eyes seemed cl
oser together as if the frames had kept them from sliding toward her nose.
“I can’t see any reason why not. Follow me.”
Daisy followed the taller woman down a hall to a large, dormitory-style room. Next to each twin-sized bed was a small bureau, a bedside table and a lamp. If a resident could erect imaginary walls he’d have a cozy little space. The room was as neat and tidy as an army barracks except for the rumpled sheets in the far corner.
“Mr. Smith was our only guest,” Alice said. “The only one we’ve had all summer. I guess Isabelle is right to fear the shelter will be underused.”
Daisy nodded. Maybe it she didn’t chat the other woman would return to the front desk. She didn’t want a witness when she rummaged through the dead man’s belongings.
“What a shame the accident had to happen at Happily Ever After.”
“Mmm.”
“It could be bad for business. But then, perhaps he was drunk. Or on drugs. You could hardly be blamed.”
Daisy flashed her a half smile but did not reply. She didn’t want to think about the loss of life in her fountain. She wanted Alice to disappear so she could start her search. A moment later, fate, in the form of a telephone call, rang and Alice excused herself.
Daisy knelt to peer under the bed where she found a duffle bag full of clothes. She opened it and recoiled. Phew! She held her breath and sifted through underwear, socks and aloha shirts only to find nothing but soiled laundry.
The dresser drawers were empty, as was the bedside table drawer except for the Gideon Bible tucked inside. Daisy wondered how many of the hundreds of thousands of gifted Holy Books were ever read. She leafed through it, not expecting to find anything at all, but she felt a surge of anticipation when the book naturally fell open in the book of Mark at chapter ten. She stared at the words scrawled on a post-it note.
124 Pine Street, Mayville, Mich. B.D. Blue diamond?
Her address. The words blurred before her eyes and she felt a stab of fear. Her address. The Gray Lady.
Spuds Langston had not just drifted into town. Neither had he been interested in Junie.
Spuds Langston had come to Mayville because of the Gray Lady and Daisy was certain she knew the reason why. The man had been after the Nazi treasure. She paused, lost in thought. How did the anonymous letters figure into this? Had Spuds been their author? She heard Alice’s approaching footsteps so she slipped the paper in her pocket, closed the Bible and returned it to its drawer.
“Daisy, when I told Isabelle you were here she said to offer you the beds from the shelter. I gather the Wiccans find it more romantic to sleep at a former funeral home than in a modern homeless shelter.” Alice smiled.
“That would be great. I’ll pick them up on Friday.”
“That’s covered,” Alice said. “Isabelle said to tell you Nick can bring them over.”
Nick and beds. Daisy felt a jolt of pure lust swiftly followed by a pang of regret.
Dang.
****
Junie found Harmony Lime both enthralling and comforting. Nick decided it was safe to leave them alone together so he arranged to liberate his car from the mud and have it washed and delivered to him at the mansion before he returned to Happily Ever After. The murder would delay his search of the cellar but more than that, it brought up some worrisome questions. Langston had almost certainly been after the blue diamond. Had he been working alone or with a partner? Had that partner killed him? Had he or she already found the treasure or did he represent a threat to the Budd sisters?
Yellow police tape stretched across Gray Lady’s front door and Deputy Jimmy Crossfield sat in one of the wicker chairs on the front porch. He appeared to be filling out paperwork.
“House is sealed until further notice.”
Nick detected a frosty note in the man’s voice. Nick recognized jealousy when he heard it. So Junie had a redheaded suitor. Nick got back in the sedan, phoned the Medical Examiner’s office and was put through to the head man who assured him he would report the autopsy results as soon as they became available. In Clark County, it paid to be a Bowman.
Nick looked out his car window at the sun-dappled pavement. He had a choice to make. He could break into the Victorian tonight and find out once and for all if the blue diamond was there but he couldn’t do that and keep an eye on Daisy Budd at the same time. And he’d have to keep an eye on her. She was a reporter at heart and she was, understandably worried about her sisters and her business. As soon as his back was turned she’d investigate her way into trouble. He had no choice. He had to get the answers himself—and fast—and he had to keep her safe which meant he had to spend the night at the cabin. Nick groaned.
That, he knew, wouldn’t be safe for either of them.
He turned the ignition key and revved the motor then he pointed the Malibu toward the office of Bowman’s Biscuits. He needed a computer.
Arthur Sneed, hollow-eyed and skeletal, looked like a malaria victim. Something had to be done about this damn company before it killed Isabelle’s husband. The attorney summoned Nick into his office.
“There’s something I’d like to show you.”
He handed the younger man a bound report.
“Could you look that over? It’s the study we commissioned for the overhaul.”
“Forget it.” Nick snapped. He’d gotten tangled enough in Mayville concerns. The company, Theo’s company, was none of his business.
“No strings attached,” Arthur said. “Buzz contacted me this morning. He’ll be back in a couple of days. You’ve got a good mind, Nick, and, like it or not, you own a third of the company. I’d like your input.”
Shame filled Nick. It was utterly unfair to stick Arthur with the responsibility for Bowman’s Biscuits. The man already shouldered too much responsibility. He took the report but it burned his fingers. Theo’s company.
“I’ll look it over.”
Chapter Ten
Most of the homes in the streets nearest Main had been constructed just after World War II to provide homes for returning soldiers and their new wives. Caroline’s house on Fillmore was no exception. The Cape Cod’s deeply slanted roof and twin dormers gave the sturdy little house a homey look. Rhododendrons lined the front walk and there was a wooden porch in the back.
During the year she and Stevie had lived on Fillmore Street, Caro had made bright curtains and slipcovers for her home. Daisy’s heart always warmed when she drove up to the house. She found her sister at her drafting table focused on a new dress design, absorbed, as always, in the work she loved.
Daisy pulled a chair up to the round oak kitchen table and opened her laptop. She searched for any information about Spuds Langston, a resident of Chicago.
By the time Stevie arrived home from an afternoon outing with a friend, Daisy had decided her next move. She believed Langston had come to Mayville in search of the loot but there was something more than greed involved here. Why would an outsider leave the hateful letters and the dead butterflies? And then there was Spuds’ suspicious death. The man had had a partner but who? Daisy intended to find out.
There was no help for it. First thing in the morning, she’d head for the city of the big shoulders.
Caroline’s tongue peeked out of her mouth, a sure indication she was lost in creative thought.
“Let me take Stevie to the Biscuit for dinner,” Daisy said.
“Mmm.”
Daisy smiled. It was as much response as she would get and it was all she needed.
****
Nick spotted his prey the minute he stepped inside the Biscuit, not a difficult task as the restaurant consisted of six booths, six tables and a lunch counter, all visible from the door.
She wasn’t alone.
Nick paused for a moment, arrested by the picture of the animated young woman and the small boy. The child’s face glowed, no doubt as result of capturing his aunt’s complete attention. Nick recognized the feeling. Daisy Budd had a rare ability to make a guy feel like the only sta
r in her sky.
Nadine glanced at him as she stepped out from behind the counter to deliver two plates of the special to Daisy’s table. Nick gestured to indicate he wanted the same. The tables were full and, although no one looked directly at him, he knew he held the attention of all the diners except Daisy and her companion.
“Hey,” he said, interrupting them. He grinned at the boy. “Mind if I join you?”
The momentary irritation on the child’s face turned to delight. A racing fan or just a kid who missed his father?
Nick slid into the seat across from Daisy.
****
Daisy knew he’d arrived because of the telltale hairs that stood up on the back of her neck. Also, she’d seen him come through the door. She didn’t look directly at him but everything inside her tightened and the air was suddenly full of electricity. Daisy frowned at her reaction. She felt like a five-year-old who’d spotted Santa for the first time.
As Nick crossed the room her heart beat faster and her adrenaline surged. She couldn’t seem to think. In that moment she would have given her right arm not to feel the intense attraction. She wanted her control back. She wanted her life back.
She wanted not to want Nick.
Naturally arrogant, Nick made no apology for interrupting the téte-a-téte. He slid into the booth next to Stevie, grinned at the child and got a sweet smile in return. Good grief. The Budds were all putty in the man’s hands. Even the young ones. Resentment washed away some of Daisy’s sensual haze. She reminded herself to keep her head.
“You’re the race car driver, right?”
Nick nodded. “Formula Ones.”
Stevie wrinkled his nose. “Formula? That’s for babies.”
Nick flipped his paper placemat, pulled out a pen and using swift, bold strokes, drew a detailed picture of his racer.
The man had serious artistic talent. Who knew?
“Wow,” Stevie said. “Can I keep it, Mr. Bowman?”
“Nick,” said Nick. “Sure.”
He answered all the child’s questions with a patience that shocked Daisy and he told stories of his experiences on the track. He didn’t romanticize it, either. He described the fumes and the fire and the danger of crashes.
