Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery

by Miller, Carol

  “Of course,” Beulah said again, entering the room and sitting down by her. “But what about you? Where are you going?”

  “I”—she carefully transferred her momma’s head from her lap to Beulah’s—“have some business to take care of.”

  “Business?” Beulah frowned, not understanding.

  Ethan frowned too, except he did understand. “Are you sure about this?”

  Not responding to either one, Daisy grabbed the Colt from the edge of the throw rug, stood up, and marched into the hall. Ethan stepped in front of her to block her path.

  “Get out of my way,” she snapped.

  “Daisy—”

  “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

  “Just hold on a minute. Wouldn’t it be wiser to call the sheriff? Let him handle it.”

  “I’m handling it.” Her voice was steely. “You don’t want to fight me on this, Ethan.”

  There was a fiery determination in Daisy’s eyes, and he capitulated. “Then at least let me come with you. I’ll drive. You don’t have a car anyway. We left it at the General last night, remember?”

  She hesitated.

  “You can use my car, Daisy,” Beulah offered.

  “You’ll need yours if they take Lucy to the hospital,” Aunt Emily countered. “She can have mine. Only I don’t think she should take it. I think she should go with Ethan.”

  Daisy turned to her with pursed lips.

  “Think smart, Ducky. If you’re planning on confronting the Balsam boys, you’re better off not doing it alone. Take someone who knows how to handle himself—and a weapon.”

  Although she wasn’t keen to admit it, Daisy knew that Aunt Emily was right. She turned back to Ethan.

  “Fine. You want to come, you can come. But I’m driving.”

  Aunt Emily let out a low, tittering whistle. “That means you, Mr. Kinney, need to put on a shirt and a safety belt.”

  CHAPTER

  22

  “If you had been born fifty years earlier, you would have made one hell of a bootlegger.”

  “If I’d been born fifty years earlier and become a bootlegger,” Daisy retorted crisply, “you would have been chasing me instead of sitting next to me.”

  Ethan grinned. “I told you already. I’m not a revenuer.”

  “Then don’t complain about my driving.”

  “I’m not complaining. But I do think you should seriously consider a career in NASCAR.”

  It was Daisy’s turn to grin, just a little. She did it as she swerved fearlessly along a mountain ridge, not taking her foot off the gas in the slightest. She had no intention of slowing down. Not for tight curves. Not for obtuse possums. Not even for other vehicles. They could move. And they did move. It was as though they knew that she was focused on speed. Speed and Bobby Balsam.

  The first peachy streaks of dawn were beginning to brighten the night sky, but they weren’t yet strong enough to break through the thick pine stands that surrounded the Balsam homestead. Daisy barely noticed the darkness or the gradually increasing light. She was too enraged by what had happened to her momma, and she had driven that road so many times in years past that her memory simply took over. Handfuls of gravel spit out from beneath the car’s tires as she accelerated deeper into the forest.

  “You do know where you’re going?” Ethan asked her, clutching the armrest with tense fingers.

  “You’ll see the signs soon,” she said.

  “The signs?”

  “Then you’ll hear the dogs. They’ve got lots of dogs. Rottweilers, blueticks, black-and-tan coonhounds. Normally I bring a bag of ham bones with me. That keeps them pretty well in check.”

  “And without the bones?”

  “It’ll be even noisier than usual.”

  The signs started. NO TRESPASSING. BEWARE OF DOG. PRIVATE PROPERTY. Ethan read them as they sped by. When they reached the more serious signs, he laughed aloud.

  “Is there anyone they aren’t threatening to shoot on sight?”

  “There’s a mighty good chance I’ll be shooting Bobby on sight,” Daisy replied, not laughing with him.

  Ethan grew solemn. “How confident are you he’s the person?”

  “I don’t have to be confident. All I’ve got to do is look at him. Either he has a bullet in his right thigh or he doesn’t.”

  “I guess I can’t really argue with that logic, but I can tell you I still think it’d be much wiser to call the sheriff and let him handle this.”

  Daisy slammed on the brakes. Lucky for Ethan, he had taken Aunt Emily’s sage advice and put on his safety belt, so he snapped back against the seat instead of hurtling into the dash.

  “Ow.” He put his hand to his neck.

  She turned to him without sympathy. “You’re going to have to choose, Ethan. Get out now, wait here until I’m done, and I’ll pick you up on my way back.”

  “Or?”

  “Or quit talking about calling the sheriff and trust that I know how best to deal with a miserable little bastard like Bobby Balsam. This isn’t any of your business.”

  “I’m a federal agent.”

  “This ain’t federal.”

  Ethan met her gaze. The bitter, fiery determination from the inn was gone. Now Daisy’s eyes were stony. So stony, they were almost to the point of colorlessness.

  “I won’t say another word,” he promised.

  She raised a dubious eyebrow.

  “At least not about the sheriff,” Ethan amended himself. “I can’t swear I won’t call the paramedics if it looks like somebody’s about to bleed to death.”

  Daisy stepped on the gas. A few minutes later they pulled into the clearing. There was enough pale morning light to see Rick’s and Bobby’s ramshackle trailers at the far end. There was also enough light to see the dogs snoozing peaceably together in a large pen over by the fire pit. It was so early, no one had yet fed them and let them out. Their heads popped up as Daisy brought the car to a stop. She called out to them by name, and the pups greeted her with friendly yowls.

  “So what’s the plan?” Ethan said.

  “The truck.” She didn’t elaborate.

  Clasping her momma’s Colt firmly in her hand, Daisy climbed out of the car and walked over to one of the two pickup trucks parked on the mixture of red clay and scruffy weeds in the center of the clearing. Ethan followed her.

  “This is Bobby’s,” she told him, placing her empty palm on the hood. “The engine’s still warm.” Opening the door, she leaned over to examine the inside. “There’s blood on the driver’s seat. And the console. And the steering wheel. And yes, it’s fresh.”

  “Okay.” Ethan nodded. “I’ll agree that’s decent enough proof. But, Daisy, don’t do anything rash.”

  “I should have left you back in the woods,” she muttered.

  “I’m serious, Daisy.” He sounded serious too. “If you act on impulse now, you may do something you later regret.”

  “I regret giving him extra pecans on his waffles for all those breakfasts at the diner. And I regret bringing him a bunch of cookies and brownies the last time I came to this place. But I can guarantee you, Ethan, I won’t be making those sorts of mistakes again.”

  Ethan didn’t respond. He held back guardedly as she approached the trailer on the left. Daisy halted just short of the two steps that led up to the battered door with its peeling paint.

  “Bobby!” she hollered.

  Bobby Balsam didn’t appear.

  “Bobby, get out here!”

  He still didn’t appear, and Daisy’s patience was thinner than a new blade of spring grass.

  “Bobby, get your sorry ass out here right now!”

  There was some noise from inside the trailer.

  “Does it have a back exit?” Ethan asked. “He could be trying to escape that way.”

  “There’s only one door. And one window big enough.” She gestured toward a filthy pane of glass.

  “You should pull back a little and move to a more covered spot,” Ethan c
autioned her. “Emily thought he had a rifle. He’s probably got it with him.”

  Daisy didn’t budge an inch. “I know you’re in there, Bobby!”

  This time the noise came from the other trailer. Several thumps and a small crash later, the shredded screen door flew open. Rick stumbled out in his athletic shorts.

  “What the jiminy is going on! Who’s doing all the shouting?”

  “I am,” Daisy calmly informed him. “And you can turn right around because it doesn’t concern you.”

  Still half-asleep, Rick rubbed his face with his thumbs like a baby. “Daisy?”

  “Yup.”

  He squinted in her direction. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ll say it again. It doesn’t concern you.”

  His squint switched toward Ethan, who had positioned himself strategically behind the bumper of Bobby’s truck. “Is someone with you? I can’t really see ’em. That’s not Sue?”

  “No,” Daisy answered. “It’s not Sue.”

  “So who is it?”

  “Go back to bed, Rick. And whatever girl you’ve got in there waiting for you. Is it still the one with the pink tank top, or have you traded her in already for a new flavor of the month?”

  “The one with the pink tank top? What pink tank—” Rick stopped as his drowsy vision cleared. “Wait a minute. I know that car. That’s the car you were in at Fox Hollow.”

  “That’s right,” she confirmed tetchily.

  “Why is it here? Why are you here? What’s going on, Daisy?”

  It was obvious from the escalating sharpness of his tone that Rick was quickly becoming tetchy too, but Daisy was in no mood to tread lightly.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Do you need me to spell it out? It. Doesn’t. Concern. You.”

  “It sure as hell concerns me if you brought that goddam federal out here! Wasn’t taking him to Fox Hollow enough for you?”

  Her tiny remaining strand of patience snapped. Daisy wasn’t there to deal with Rick. She was there to deal with his brother. Her arm raised the .380, and she leveled it at the elder Balsam.

  Rick’s stubbly jaw convulsed with surprise. “Jesus, Daisy.”

  He wasn’t any more startled than she was. Daisy didn’t ordinarily point guns at people. In fact, she never pointed them at anything at all. But she didn’t lower her weapon.

  “Daisy—” Ethan began, taking a step forward.

  “Stay out of this,” she growled at him.

  “You did bring him here!” Rick exploded.

  “He didn’t come for you,” Daisy retorted with equal vehemence. “And he didn’t come because I asked him to. This isn’t any more his concern than it is yours.”

  “Then exactly whose concern is it?”

  “Bobby’s.”

  That silenced Rick for a moment.

  “Daisy,” Ethan began a second time, “maybe you should put down the Colt.”

  She glared at him. “I’ll put it down when I dang well feel like it, thank you very kindly.”

  “What makes it Bobby’s concern?” Rick spoke slowly, his expression hovering somewhere between wariness and indignation.

  Daisy turned her glare on him. “What makes it Bobby’s concern? He did when he attacked my momma.”

  Rick’s stubbly jaw convulsed once more. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Daisy cut him off brusquely. “Someone was in my momma’s room at the inn this morning, and Aunt Emily saw him running out wearing full camouflage and carrying a matching rifle. Just like Bobby’s got.”

  Rick frowned. “You can’t really believe it was him. Bobby wouldn’t—”

  She cut him off again. “Before my momma was knocked unconscious, she managed to get off two rounds. One hit him in the leg. Bobby’s truck has got blood on the seat, blood on the console, and blood on the steering wheel. And now I’m seeing there’s blood on those steps leading up into his trailer and blood on the door frame. So yes, I can really believe it was Bobby.”

  His frown intensified. “How’s your momma?”

  “I don’t know. She fell pretty hard, and she’s got a bad bump on her head. When I left to come here, Beulah and Aunt Emily were both with her. They’re waiting for Sue and the ambulance.”

  “Lordy, Daisy. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for your brother.” Her lips curved into a very slight, very grim smile. “Because if I find he’s got a bullet in his right thigh like I think he does, he’s going to learn what happens to people who mess with my family.”

  Not wasting any time, Rick jogged from his trailer to Bobby’s. Daisy tracked him with her gun.

  “You better not try to pull something tricky on me, Rick,” she warned him. “Not today. Not when it involves my momma.”

  With his hand on Bobby’s door, Rick paused and turned toward her. His gaze was full of resentment, but Daisy could tell that it wasn’t directed at her.

  “If Bobby went into a woman’s bedroom and threatened her with a firearm, he’s gonna have to answer for it.”

  He disappeared inside the trailer. She expected a long wait while the two Balsams argued, or deliberated, or schemed. But to her surprise, Rick reemerged within seconds. He pushed Bobby out ahead of him. The first thing that Bobby saw was the .380 staring at him, and he immediately sunk to the ground.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot me, Daisy!”

  Shooting Bobby Balsam at that moment would have been like clubbing an orphaned, injured, baby otter. He was an utterly pathetic creature. The green paint on his cheeks was smudged and streaked as though he had been crying. The sleeves of his camouflage shirt were torn as though he had been scrambling through heavy brambles. And his right leg was a bloody mess.

  “Please, Daisy. Please! Please don’t shoot me.” He clasped his red-stained hands together and shook them toward her in a wretched plea for absolution.

  “Shut up, Bobby.”

  She said it with unconcealed disgust as she lowered the Colt. There was no question that he was the one who had been at the inn that morning. If his clothing and face weren’t sufficient evidence, the condition of his thigh was incontrovertible.

  “Your mom has nice aim,” Ethan remarked, studying the wound.

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Daisy agreed. “Makes a daughter proud.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make a brother proud.” Rick gave his brother a hard shove in the shoulder with his knee.

  Bobby whimpered.

  “You better start explaining yourself,” Rick snarled.

  “I—” He whimpered some more.

  “Now!”

  Rick roared the command with such ferocity that Bobby’s petrified eyes seemed to sink into his skull.

  “I … I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

  At the mention of her momma, Daisy was tempted to raise her gun again.

  “I don’t care what you were trying to do,” Rick spat back at him. “Did you or did you not have your rifle with you?”

  “It wasn’t loaded,” Bobby whined.

  Curling and uncurling his fists repeatedly, Rick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was clearly having a difficult time restraining himself from strangling his brother.

  “Why, Bobby?” Rick said quietly, his eyes remaining closed. “Why were you at the Tosh Inn in Lucy Hale’s bedroom?”

  “If I tell you, they might hurt me.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I will hurt you.”

  Bobby gulped. “They … they paid me to do it.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  Daisy stared at Bobby in astonishment. “Someone paid you to go after my momma? Who?”

  “His … his name is Joe.”

  “Joe?” she echoed.

  “Do you know him?” Ethan asked her.

  “No.” Daisy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Rick frowned at his brother. “Who the hel
l is Joe?”

  “I don’t know.” Bobby shrugged. “He said that was his name.”

  The frown became a glower. “What was his other name, Bobby?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “What the hell do you know then!” Rick exploded.

  Bobby looked like he was about to burst into tears. There were deep wrinkles of pain mixed with fear etched into his forehead. “I … I know I met him at the General.”

  “The General?” Daisy responded sharply.

  She looked at Ethan. He looked back at her and nodded. They were thinking the same thing.

  “Bobby,” Daisy said, “was this Joe you met at the General from around here?”

  He sniffled. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, I want you to think about it. I want you to think about it real hard.” She tapped the Colt against her thigh. “Was Joe from Pittsylvania County, or was Joe from the big city?”

  Clutching his injured leg protectively, Bobby answered, “He wasn’t from these parts. He tried to act like he was, but he wasn’t. I could tell. He didn’t know things right. And he didn’t talk right. I think he was big city.”

  Daisy drew a shaky breath. So Zeke had been correct. The big-city folks had come looking for her momma. Only they had gotten stupid Bobby Balsam to do the dirty work for them.

  Ethan turned to Bobby. “What exactly did this Joe pay you to do?”

  Bobby sniffled some more. “I was supposed to talk to her.”

  “To Daisy’s mom?”

  He nodded.

  “About what?”

  There was enough hesitation on Bobby’s part that Rick was obligated to encourage him with another ungentle shove in the shoulder with his knee.

  “Okay, okay!” Bobby wailed. “Joe wanted me to pressure her to sell the land.”

  “Sell the land?” Daisy squinted at him. “She doesn’t own any land.”

  “That’s what I thought. That’s what I meant about him not knowing things right. But he said she did.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Bobby,” Rick snapped. “You know I bought Fox Hollow at the beginning of the year.”

  “I told him that, and he told me I didn’t understand.”

  Ethan frowned. “What’s there to understand? If she doesn’t own any land, she can’t sell any land. That’s as simple as it gets.”