“Ambulance? I didn’t hear no siren. What’d Rick do? Lop off his hand with that new butchering knife?”
Sue grimaced.
“It isn’t an emergency,” Daisy explained. “And we haven’t seen Rick. He’s not with you?” She glanced over at the shrub from which Bobby had emerged to see if his brother had secreted himself there too.
“Naw. I went out alone.”
“Well, he’s the reason we drove all the way up here, so do you know if he’s around somewhere?”
“Ain’t you tried the door?” Bobby motioned toward Sue standing in front of Rick’s trailer.
“I was just about to knock.” Sue raised a timorous fist and rapped the warped aluminum frame gently.
Bobby let out a snort. “How the jiminy is he gonna hear that? I’ll get him for ya.” He pulled the large-bore rifle from his back and let a shot rip into the woods with a sharp, startling crack.
“Bobby—” Daisy began critically.
“Relax. We got no neighbors. Ain’t nobody gonna get nicked.”
Sue gazed curiously at the rifle, which matched Bobby’s clothing in its perfect camouflage of olive green, gray, and neutral beige undertones. “Did you paint it to look like that?”
“Don’t know much about huntin’, eh?” he chortled. “You buy ’em this way. They make ’em for all different terrains. Snow, woods, water. This one’s supposed to look like real trees. It’s for goin’ after turkey.”
“It’s the middle of summer,” Daisy said. “Turkey season doesn’t open until October.”
“I’m just practicin’,” Bobby replied with a suspiciously innocent grin.
“With a rifle? Last time I checked, turkey hunting’s usually done with a shotgun.”
The grin turned sheepish.
Daisy rolled her eyes at him. He was obviously up to something bad, but in her experience the only one who ever got hurt in all of Bobby’s ill-advised and ill-fated schemes was himself, so she let it drop.
“There’s noise inside.” Sue backed swiftly down the steps and away from the trailer. “I think he heard us.”
“Took him long enough,” Bobby muttered, massaging the stock of his rifle.
Sue went over and stood next to Daisy. She knew why. It wasn’t the gun itself. Sue was used to guns. Her husband was the Pittsylvania County sheriff after all. He carried a pistol most of the time. But George Lowell had been properly trained in the use of firearms, and he was emotionally stable. Whether the same could be said for the Balsam brothers was debatable.
A lock clicked, and the screen door flew open.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How many times have I told you not to do that, Bobby? You don’t shoot at a rustle in the bushes. And if you fire a warning shot, it’s always, always into the ground. Never the trees! You don’t know who could be out there. One of those high-powered cartridges you’re using can go over a mile.”
“I tried to tell him,” Daisy said.
Rick gaped at her. She couldn’t remember when she had last seen him so stunned. Fred Dickerson’s collapse on the floor of the diner had certainly surprised him, but he hadn’t looked half as shocked then as he did now. It was like she had metamorphosed into a mermaid right before his eyes and was lying on the clay in her clam shells, flapping her tail.
“What—” he garbled, his jaw sagging so low that it wasn’t fully operational. “What are you—”
“What am I doing here?” she finished for him. “I came with Sue. She needs to talk to you.”
Turning to her in anticipation, Daisy assumed that Sue would take full advantage of the introduction and jump straight into the meat of the matter. But she was just as speechless as Rick, although rather obviously for a different reason. If Rick hadn’t expected to see Daisy standing in front of his trailer, then Sue hadn’t expected Rick to come out of that trailer half-naked.
“Gah,” was all she managed to say.
It took some effort on Daisy’s part not to laugh. Sue was quite evidently admiring a view that her darling portly George didn’t provide. It was a good view. That was an unarguable fact. Richard Balsam was tall and tan and lean and muscular. It wasn’t anything new to Daisy. She had seen him shirtless before—as he was now—wearing nothing but an old torn pair of athletic shorts. He had a pretty body and a pretty face, and as a result, girls of all ages tended to throw themselves at him. But Daisy was not one of them.
She walked over to Bobby and handed him the bag of sweet treats that she had brought along from the diner. “Wanna cookie?”
Bobby had the same attention span as his hounds. He promptly tossed his rifle to the ground and stuck his head in the bag like it was a feed trough with a fresh load of slop. Daisy was about to tell Rick that he better act fast if he had any interest in obtaining his share of the goodies, but she was interrupted by a breathy giggle.
“Did somebody say cookie?”
Daisy spun back toward the trailer. A woman was standing in the open doorway next to Rick. She was in her early twenties with big hair and big teeth. Her clothing was the opposite size. She wore a cutoff pink tank top and pink polka-dot bikini underwear. The sight of her broke Sue out of her admiring trance.
“Well,” she snickered to Daisy, “I guess now we know why he didn’t hear the dogs barking.”
The breathy giggle repeated itself. “We heard the dogs, didn’t we, Rick?” The pink tank top rubbed up close against his side. “But we were right in the middle, weren’t we? We didn’t want to stop.”
“Lovely.” Daisy wrinkled her nose in revulsion. “Thank you for sharing that.”
“Jealous, darlin’?” Rick drawled. The appearance of his female companion had snapped him out of his stupor too, and he immediately returned to his usual smug self.
“Oh yes,” Daisy retorted dryly. “I’m terribly jealous.”
“You’re welcome in my bed anytime.”
“By the looks of it, your bed is already full.”
“Just say the word, Daisy. I’d toss all the rest out for you.”
“Rick!” the pink tank top protested.
He wrapped his arm around her bare waist. “Go inside and get a drink or something, would ya? I’ve got to talk business for a minute.”
The pink tank top stuck out a pouty lip. “But—”
“Don’t fuss.” Rick sucked on the lip, then proceeded down her neck. “Be a good girl.”
“Okay.” She sighed rapturously.
“Go on now.” He gave her one last lingering kiss.
“I don’t know if I should applaud or vomit,” Sue said to Daisy, shaking her head as she watched the pair. “How does he do that? She’s like mushy mulch in his hands.”
Daisy shrugged, irritated and unimpressed. Although not quite so proficient as Rick, her husband Matt had been a snake charmer too. And look where it had gotten her. She felt sorry for the pink tank top, mostly because she knew what Rick had said before was true. He’d toss the silly girl overboard in a heartbeat, whenever he got sufficiently tired, or bored, or a potentially greener tank top appeared on the horizon.
As she disappeared into the trailer, Rick swatted her backside. The pink tank top responded with a final breathy giggle, then the door slammed shut behind her.
Having evidently heard her remark to Daisy, Rick turned to Sue with a rakish grin. “Never question the magic of the magician.”
“Or the stench of the dunghill,” Daisy muttered.
He chuckled. “I can always count on you, darlin’, to put me in my place.”
She answered with a grunt.
“But considering you brought a chaperone,” Rick went on, gesturing toward Sue, “I’ve got to assume you didn’t come to play. More’s the pity. What time is it anyway?” He looked down at his watch, only to discover that he wasn’t wearing one. “Shouldn’t you be at the diner serving up slabs of pie right about now?”
“The diner is closed,” Daisy informed him.
His grin faded. “Closed? Still?”
“No
, closed again. We were open for breakfast this morning, but then the Danville police dropped the boom on us.”
“Still investigating old man Dickerson’s death, eh?”
Daisy nodded.
“Have they latched on to Aunt Emily’s murder theory yet?”
Sue’s head whipped toward him. “What!”
Rick looked at Daisy. She raised a cautionary eyebrow at him, and she knew from the way his jaw twitched in response that he understood. Although Rick had many faults, being a fool was not one of them. He had been born much cleverer than his brother. With Bobby every card was already on the table. What you saw was exactly what you got. But with Rick there was invariably the possibility of an ace tucked up his sleeve. It could be in the form of a hidden agenda, a sly secret, or a favor to be cashed in later, and as a result, Daisy could always count on him to know when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut, especially with the Pittsylvania County sheriff’s wife.
“What did you say?” Sue demanded.
“Me?” Rick blinked at her like a guileless lamb. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did,” she retorted. “About Emily. Emily and a murder theory.”
“Oh”—he feigned a laugh—“you misunderstood. I didn’t say murder. I said burger.”
“Burger?” Sue repeated skeptically. “What’s a burger theory? And why would Emily Tosh have one?”
“Didn’t you tell her?” Rick turned his lamb eyes on Daisy. “Doesn’t she know?”
Daisy could do no more than frown at him. She was lost.
“I’m sure it’s in one of the reports somewhere,” he continued to Sue smoothly. “You probably read it—or heard about it—and you just don’t remember. The last thing Fred said before he collapsed was burger. Daisy mentioned it to Aunt Emily, and she thought he might’ve had some bad beef. Didn’t cook it right. Or it spoiled. That sort of thing. And he was trying to tell us about it when he stumbled into the diner.”
“You mean food poisoning?” Sue said.
Daisy choked. It was a marvelous twist of the facts. She couldn’t help being impressed by how quickly Rick had turned murder into burger and then explained his reference to Aunt Emily in such a plausible way. But the funny part—which Rick didn’t know of course—was that Aunt Emily had actually talked about poison. It was her original murder theory, except not through spoiled beef.
Sue glanced at her. “Emily thought Fred might’ve eaten something bad?”
“Yes.” And it wasn’t a lie. That was indeed Aunt Emily’s initial assumption, with a sprinkle of cyanide or a dash of drain cleaner added in.
“Huh.” Sue was thoughtful for a moment. “There might be something in that. If not food poisoning, then maybe a food allergy. An extreme one. A hypersensitivity. Honestly, I never really considered either of those as possibilities, but that could explain some of the symptoms he exhibited.”
“Well, we’ll find out when the autopsy comes back,” Daisy chirped, eager to move the conversation as far away from Aunt Emily as possible.
“When is that supposed to be?” Rick asked Sue.
“The physical exam should already be complete. As to the blood toxicology, my best guess is by the end of the week. Next week at the latest. I don’t know what all they’re testing for, but I doubt it’s so extensive that it’ll take much longer than that.”
“Then H & P’s can reopen,” Daisy said hopefully.
It was Rick’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She didn’t like its inference. He clearly wasn’t as confident in the results of the autopsy or what effect they would have on the diner.
Leaning against the door of his trailer, he switched topics. “So Daisy said something earlier about you needing to talk to me, Sue?”
“Right.” She nodded. “I’m here for George actually.”
Rick sucked on his teeth with displeasure.
“I know you two aren’t the best of friends, Rick, but please hear me out. As part of the investigation into Fred’s death, they need to look at where he lived. That’s obviously Fox Hollow, and since you legally own the place, someone had to talk to you about entering the property.”
“You want my permission?” He shrugged. “Okay. Tell your husband to knock himself out. He can go digging around Fox Hollow as much as he likes.”
“I’m not sure if it’ll be George or someone from Danville.”
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter either way. The whole damn state police force could—” Rick broke off abruptly and looked at Daisy. “Are you going?”
“Where?”
“To Fox Hollow with the rest of the governmental yahoos.”
“No. Why would I go?” She added crisply, “It’s not my land.”
He gave a little grunt, then looked back at Sue. “Go ahead. Tell ’em anytime is fine by me.”
Sue squinted at him. Daisy understood why. She was thinking the same thing. It was no secret that Rick hated the law, especially the law of Pittsylvania County. He had several dozen signs posted warning everyone to keep away from his junky old trailers. His brother Bobby was both willing and eager to blow a trespasser’s leg clean off. But when it came to Fox Hollow, Rick was perfectly content to let the world wander about whenever and wherever they pleased? He didn’t make even the slightest protest? Something wasn’t right.
“You’re sure?” Sue asked slowly. “You’ve got no objection at all?”
“Nope.”
“And your brother?”
They all turned toward Bobby, who had nearly reached the bottom of Daisy’s goodie bag. The camouflage paint on his chin and cheeks was mixed with brownie crumbs and icing. Bobby looked back at them without saying a word, clueless as to the subject of the discussion.
“Don’t worry about him,” Rick told Sue. “Fox Hollow ain’t none of his concern.”
“Okay.” She seemed almost stunned at how easy her task had been, and she blinked at Daisy questioningly. “So I guess we’ll be going?”
“Definitely.” Daisy was more than ready to go home. She could only take so much of the Balsam boys at one time. They were like hot sauce. A little went a long way, and a lot burned like hell.
“Rick?” came a plaintive cry from inside the trailer.
Daisy restrained a smile. “Golly, this has been fun. We’ve got to do it again real soon.”
Rick cocked his head at her. “My door is always open for ya, darlin’.”
Not bothering to respond, she turned and followed Sue to the ambulance. Rick stopped her.
“Daisy—”
She glanced around. He waited a moment, until Sue had opened the door of the vehicle and was climbing inside, then he spoke in a low tone that only Daisy could hear.
“If the sheriff goes to Fox Hollow, you have to go with him.”
“What?” Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because unless you want him to die like old man Dickerson, you gotta make sure he doesn’t drink any of Fred’s ’shine.”
CHAPTER
8
“By the by, Ducky, you never told me how those ham bones worked out last week.”
“They worked great.” Daisy smiled at the memory. “The pups chewed like maniacs, then they all laid down for a long snooze. And it was a good thing too, because poor Sue was as jittery as a foal wandering too close to a wasp nest. She’s not real good with dogs, at least not big ones that bare their teeth and don’t curl up in your lap at night like a kitten.”
Brenda chortled as she tallied the previous day’s receipts on the cash register. “I once saw her run screaming from a snake out in the parking lot. It was just a lil’ ol’ black rat snake, not a bit scary. But from the way she jumped and tore off, you’d have thought it was one of them poisonous pit vipers that slither down from the mountains now and then. I guess it’s a good thing she decided to fix up people for a living instead of critters.”
At the mention of poison, Daisy’s smile faded. Ever since Rick had whispered the strange warning to her from the steps of his trai
ler, she had followed the investigation into Fred Dickerson’s death as closely as she could. It was partly out of concern for Sheriff Lowell’s well-being and partly out of concern for her own. The longer the diner remained shuttered, the longer she remained without income. But then after only three days of closure, the sheriff had announced that H & P’s could once more officially open its doors to the coffee-drinking, waffle-eating public of southwestern Virginia.
Although both Daisy and Hank asked for an explanation, neither George nor Sue Lowell was able to give them one. The privileged folks in Danville who presumably had the information were for some reason unwilling to share it with their small-town comrades. There was no report from the autopsy, no further discussion of potential health hazards or sterilizing the diner, no reference whatsoever to a cause of death—natural or not.
After so much initial commotion, all of a sudden the investigation turned oddly still and silent. While that was good news for Daisy financially, it left her other problem uncomfortably unresolved. Sheriff Lowell wasn’t headed to Fox Hollow at present. Even though he now had permission from Rick to enter the property, there was no longer any interest in him doing so from Danville. Daisy could only guess how long that would last, and she had to figure out what she should do in the interim.
If only Rick’s words had been part of a drunken ramble. Then she could have simply dismissed them. Alas, he had appeared entirely lucid and sober. She debated whether it would be best to just come right out and tell the sheriff. But she really didn’t want to stir up a big pot of trouble, and talking to the law of Pittsylvania County about the ominous admonitions from one of the biggest lawbreakers in Pittsylvania County would undoubtedly do that. Plus she had so little information, and it made very little sense. Why would Rick think there was something wrong with Fred Dickerson’s home brew? How did he even know that Fred had been making home brew? And why on earth would he imagine that it had the potential to kill either the old man or Sheriff Lowell?
It seemed awfully far-fetched. Granted, home brew was pretty common in that area. Daisy herself had grown up with a variety of locally made wines and brandies, many of which she had sampled with her daddy after Sunday dinner and on holidays long before she was of legal drinking age. Most of the neighborhood had tried their hand at fermentation now and again over the years when some berry bush or fruit tree in their yard produced an unusually abundant harvest. Aunt Emily, for instance, was well known amongst the community cognoscenti for her remarkably tasty gooseberry concoctions. But when Rick said ’shine, Daisy doubted that he was talking about an innocent glass of the sweet and fruity, one which just happened to contain a touch of alcohol. She was quite confident that he was referring to its country cousin with a lot more punch—whiskey.
Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery Page 7
