An Old-Fashioned Murder

by Carol Miller

  “She’s not with Rick. She’s with Wade, her date. They got stuck at the General last night, and Rick happened to be there, too.”

  “Oh, I’m very glad to hear it.” Lucy sighed in relief. “I always worry when Beulah goes on those blind dates all alone. And now with the storm, she can’t leave if there’s a problem. It’s a comfort to know that Rick is watching out for her.”

  “Watching out for her?” Daisy gave a dubious snort. “It’s more likely that Rick and Beulah will throttle each other if they’re trapped together too long.”

  “Nevertheless,” her mama said, “I feel better with Rick there. We don’t know Wade. We know Rick.”

  “That’s true. We know Rick is a philandering, carousing—”

  “What did Rick say about Bud?” Aunt Emily cut her off impatiently.

  “I told Rick that Bud was the first one to suggest calling the sheriff,” Daisy explained. “He said if Bud did that, then he can’t be running from the law.” She added with a wry smile, “And if anybody knows about running from the law, it’s Rick.”

  “But Rick doesn’t know Bud?” Aunt Emily asked.

  “No. Not from his name, at least.”

  “Except it’s not his real name,” Aunt Emily reminded her.

  “I doubt there’s much chance of us finding out his real name,” Lucy remarked.

  Aunt Emily clucked her tongue. “It’s too bad Rick isn’t here.”

  Daisy’s gaze narrowed at her.

  “Now, Ducky, don’t get cross with me. You know I’m fond of Drew. I didn’t mean that I wish Rick were here instead of him. It would just be helpful to have Rick’s opinion on Bud. He has a knack for seeing through people.”

  Although Daisy didn’t admit it aloud, she knew that Aunt Emily was correct. It was precisely why she had asked Rick about his impression of Wade.

  “You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Emily,” Lucy said kindly. “You’re a mighty good judge of folks yourself.”

  She blushed at the praise. “That’s what comes from being a tough old biddy. But Rick is much better at gauging the more,” Aunt Emily clucked her tongue again, “unsavory types.”

  “That’s what comes from being an unsavory type,” Daisy muttered.

  Her mama and Aunt Emily exchanged another glance, which further ruffled her feathers.

  “Well, Rick isn’t here, and he can’t get here,” she snapped, “so we’ll have to figure out Bud by ourselves.”

  There was a loud thump overhead, and all three of them looked up. The noise had come from Bud’s room. Perhaps he had thrown down his duffle bag again.

  “I think,” Lucy mused, her eyes still raised toward the ceiling, “that you were right before, honey. The question isn’t his name, but what do we do with him now?”

  “Chuck him out,” Aunt Emily promptly proposed, and she made a motion of drop-kicking the man.

  Daisy had to laugh, because she could well imagine her booting him straight through the front door just like a football. “When he wanted a different room, I told him that it was either the Joseph E. Johnston or one of the rocking chairs on the porch.”

  Rocking in her own chair, Aunt Emily nodded approvingly, but Lucy shook her head.

  “We can’t put him out on the porch,” she scolded them. “Not in the freezing temperatures and with all the snow.”

  As if to prove her point, the wind howled fiercely against the side of the inn and rattled the bedroom windows. With a shiver and a cough, Lucy pulled up the patchwork quilt, which had been folded back while she ate.

  “I suppose it would be uncharitable,” Aunt Emily agreed after a moment, although she looked disappointed by the lack of drop-kicking. She turned to Daisy. “Why did he want a different room?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s definitely got some reason beyond the usual nonsense of objecting to the color of the wallpaper or not fancying the view that nitpicking guests like to use, especially when it comes time to pay the bill. I’m sure there’s more to it. He wanted to know who was on what floor, and he even asked for Henry’s room.”

  “Henry’s room?” Her mama frowned.

  “I said he couldn’t have it because Sheriff Lowell hadn’t been in it yet.”

  “That was quick thinking, Ducky,” Aunt Emily complimented her.

  Lucy frowned harder. “But Henry’s room? It seems suspicious, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Aunt Emily stopped rocking, “except Bud—or whatever his name actually is—couldn’t have done dear Henry in. He wasn’t in the inn when it happened.”

  “Done him in!” Daisy exclaimed.

  It was Aunt Emily’s turn to frown. “I’m afraid there’s a good chance of it, Ducky. Don’t tell me you haven’t considered it yourself.”

  Daisy looked hastily at her mama, worried what effect the shock of Aunt Emily’s words could have on her fragile health, but she didn’t appear at all startled by the idea that Henry Brent’s death might not have been an accident. On the contrary, Daisy had the distinct impression that she and Aunt Emily had discussed the possibility previously. It was Aunt Emily—and not herself—who had first told her mama about the tragic event downstairs.

  “Could there be something in Henry’s room?” her mama remarked thoughtfully.

  “But if there is,” Aunt Emily started rocking again, “how would Bud know about it? From the way he looked at the body and talked about the need for an investigation, he didn’t seem to know Henry at all. Unless…” She hesitated.

  “Unless he knows someone else here,” Lucy continued for her. “And that was why he asked Daisy who was on what floor—”

  “So he could slip into their room and speak to them privately,” Aunt Emily concluded, “unnoticed by the rest of us.”

  There was a short pause. Daisy couldn’t help being a little amused. Listening to her mama and Aunt Emily finish each other’s sentences was a bit like following along with one of the Fowler sisters’ conversations. But she was also more than a little concerned, because what they were saying had a strong ring of truth to it. Bud could indeed know a person at the inn. In his questions to her, it had felt as though he was trying to locate the room of someone—surreptitiously.

  “I wonder who he could know.” Lucy turned to her daughter. “Didn’t you mention something last night about Georgia recognizing or being surprised to see someone?”

  Daisy nodded. “She was surprised enough to drop that tray of glasses. And afterward, she was staring hard at somebody. But it couldn’t have been Bud. He wasn’t here yet.”

  Suddenly Aunt Emily burst out with a cackle. “Maybe Bud knows Lillian! Maybe he’s come to the inn for a tryst with her!”

  “Oh, Emily, please,” Lucy groaned. “Lillian and a romantic rendezvous? I’ve only just finished my breakfast.”

  She went right on cackling. “Can you imagine how delicious the scandal would be? Lillian’s always getting on her high horse and complaining about the supposed improprieties of others.”

  Half suppressing a smile, Lucy replied, “What about poor Parker?”

  “Pish, pish.” Aunt Emily waved a nonchalant hand. “After the initial shock wore off, Parker would be as happy as a raccoon with a jar of peanut butter. Getting untethered from his sourpuss wife would be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it either,” Daisy added, more earnestly than the others. “If Lillian and Parker were officially on the rocks, then she would have to stop trying to make me feel guilty about Matt.”

  “You don’t have a speck to feel guilty about, Ducky!”

  “Nothing at all, honey,” her mama concurred.

  Daisy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, regardless, because I think we can be pretty confident that Bud is not having a dalliance with Lillian.”

  “He’s here for something, though,” Aunt Emily countered. “And it darn well isn’t selling insurance. If that man is in the business of life insurance, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

  Lucy laughed.
“You would be an excellent organ grinder, Emily—”

  She was interrupted by another loud thump from above.

  “What on earth is he doing up there?” Aunt Emily cried.

  Remembering Rick’s caution about people overhearing, Daisy hushed her. “We should be careful what we say. The walls—and the ceiling—are thin.”

  “Too thin for comfort, on occasion.” Her mama spoke in a low tone. “Last night I heard the Lunts talking about buying the inn again.”

  Aunt Emily’s brow furrowed. “But I told them it wasn’t for sale.”

  “They seem to be under the impression that you might change your mind.”

  “Change my mind?” She was taken aback. “Why would I do that?”

  “You said the timing didn’t work,” Daisy reminded her. “Maybe they believe the timing’s better now.”

  “Because Henry is dead?” Aunt Emily’s astonishment switched to indignation. “They have some bloody nerve—”

  “I doubt it’s that,” Daisy broke in hurriedly, motioning for her to keep her voice down. The Lunts’ room was the George Pickett right next door. She didn’t know if they were presently in it, but she did know that if her mama could overhear them, then they might also be able to overhear Aunt Emily. “Timing can include a lot of things. Honestly, it was sort of an odd answer you gave them.”

  Aunt Emily pressed her raspberry lips together hard, but she didn’t respond.

  Lucy changed the subject. “I keep thinking about Bud wanting Henry’s room. What could Henry have that would interest Bud?”

  Daisy’s mind went immediately to the mysterious disappearing piece of paper. But that had been in Henry Brent’s hand, not his room. And Bud couldn’t have taken it, because unlike all the others, he didn’t get near the body. He wasn’t close enough to have even seen the paper.

  “We could check the room,” Aunt Emily proposed.

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Lucy said. “One never knows what one might stumble across.”

  Aunt Emily nodded. “Pop in, take a peep around, pop back out.”

  In unison, the pair turned toward Daisy. Understanding the inference, she arched an eyebrow at them.

  “So you want me to do it? I’m the one who’s supposed to go snooping?”

  “Your mama’s cough is just beginning to mend, Ducky,” Aunt Emily pointed out. “She can’t go downstairs without potentially catching her death.”

  Although Daisy would never have suggested that her mama climb up and down the steps with her lungs in such a weakened state, let alone take the chance of her being caught in an icy draft, she still found it rather ironic that the two women were so quick to volunteer her for the task of poking about in Henry Brent’s room.

  The eyebrow remained raised. “And I presume that you’re far too busy with the guests, Aunt Emily?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, yes.” She fussed with the sleeves of her blouse. “It’s nearly time for lunch, and then there are afternoon cocktails to think about…”

  “You could take Drew with you, honey,” Lucy suggested.

  “Oh, what an excellent idea!” Aunt Emily commended her. “An extra set of eyes is always beneficial.”

  “And it would let you and Drew have a moment’s privacy,” her mama added.

  Daisy smiled at her in gratitude. She didn’t consider rooting through a dead man’s room to be a particularly amorous activity, but it would get her and Drew away from Lillian’s ever-watchful gaze, even just for a little while.

  Her mama started to smile back when a severe coughing fit suddenly overtook her. Daisy swiftly got up and handed her a dose of medicine. It helped, but only slightly. The coughing continued.

  “Enough talking,” Daisy said, throwing Aunt Emily a stern glance, because she had the tendency to chat with her mama indefinitely. “Now you need to rest.” She plumped up the pillows behind her head and tucked the quilt snugly around her.

  Lucy patted her daughter’s hand and coughed some more.

  Picking up the breakfast tray, Daisy headed toward the door. “Come on, Aunt Emily.”

  As she rose from the rocker, she gave Lucy an encouraging nod. “We’ll report back as soon as Ducky and Drew find something.”

  “If we find something,” Daisy corrected her.

  “I have every confidence,” Aunt Emily returned optimistically.

  But Daisy couldn’t share in such a rosy view, because it occurred to her that in all their discussion of Bud Foster’s fake identity, and what Henry Brent might have in his room, and someone doing the dear man in, there was one thing they didn’t mention. If someone had indeed done Henry Brent in, then that person was certainly still at the inn.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Daisy’s foremost challenge wasn’t finding something of importance in Henry Brent’s room. It was finding Drew. She checked his room, the kitchen, and the parlor, but he wasn’t in any of them. The stairway leading down to the cellar was dark, and the French doors that concealed the nook and the body were still closed. He couldn’t be wandering around outside in the storm, and he also would have no reason to climb up to the attic. Drew seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

  Puzzled, she was about to go back up the steps to see if he had returned to his room in the interim when she noticed Lillian sitting on the Windsor bench in the hallway across from the linen closet.

  “Have you lost something?” Lillian said, with a not-quite-friendly twang.

  Daisy stopped and looked at her. She was wearing a yellow-and-brown-spotted sweater, topped by a large cowl that made her neck stretch up like a giraffe’s. Her mouth was puckered even tighter than usual, and she was holding a goblet that contained a liquid more closely resembling whiskey than water.

  Not wanting to broach the subject of Drew, Daisy motioned toward the glass. “A bit early in the day, isn’t it?”

  “Just a drop of sherry. Takes the edge off.”

  She swallowed a laugh. No goblet was big enough to take the edge off Lillian. A bathtub full of sherry might have done it.

  “Not much of a party,” Lillian grumbled.

  “It certainly hasn’t gone like Aunt Emily planned.”

  As she said it, Daisy couldn’t help thinking that all of the unpleasantness had begun with Lillian’s arrival. But if Aunt Emily was right that bad things did always happen in threes, then maybe they were done now. First there had been Lillian’s unexpected and unwelcome appearance. Then came Bud Foster. And finally—with the worst occurring last—Henry Brent’s death. The bad omen for the weekend had been fulfilled, and a sunny sky would soon follow. Hopefully.

  Lillian sipped her sherry. “I told Parker I wanted to leave.”

  Although Daisy would have been delighted to see her go, she knew it wasn’t possible. “I don’t think you can get to your car. The parking lot is buried.”

  “That’s what Parker said. I told him then I wanted to walk.”

  “Walk home in this weather! Oh, Lillian, I know it’s only a mile or so to your house, but you wouldn’t make even half of that. You can’t see your own arms and legs out there. You and Parker would get lost and covered before you reached the end of the inn’s driveway.”

  “That’s what he said,” she repeated.

  “He’s right. But it’s okay that you have to stay.” Daisy tried to buck up her spirits, well aware that an unhappy Lillian was liable to make everybody else unhappy, too. “Lunch should be ready shortly, with cherry pie for dessert. If I remember correctly, isn’t cherry pie one of your favorites?”

  Lillian answered with a half nod, then she took another drink.

  “Where is Parker?” Daisy asked, hoping that after another minute of polite conversation, she could excuse herself and return to her search for Drew.

  “With those Fowler sisters.” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently they’re still all shook up, and Edna was worried that May would be too unsteady on her feet to make it down the stairs by herself. So she asked Parker to come and help. I
don’t know what’s keeping them. They’re only on the second floor.”

  It took Daisy some effort not to roll her eyes back at Lillian. Even with all that had happened, the woman was still holding a grudge and grinding an ax over the location of her room. She replied lightly, “It’s nice of Parker to help. May did look pretty shaky earlier.”

  “Too indulgent.” Lillian sucked on her teeth. “Far too indulgent.”

  Daisy wasn’t sure if she was referring to her husband, Edna, or everybody at the inn generally—aside from her unsympathetic sour lemon self—but she didn’t seek any further explanation or dispute the point. She could see that Lillian’s mood was not improving, and she was eager to distance herself as soon as possible.

  “Well, lunch should be ready shortly,” she said once more, unable to think of any other innocuous topic. She turned to walk away.

  Lillian sucked on her teeth again. It was a grating sound. “You’ve lost him, haven’t you?”

  Daisy stiffened.

  “I don’t mean Matt.” Her voice was harsh and bitter. “I mean the one you replaced him with.”

  To her surprise, Daisy found herself more fatigued than angry. With a weary sigh, she turned back around. “Really, Lillian? Do we have to have the same argument over and over?”

  “I’m simply looking out for you, Daisy. Matt would want that.”

  She was tempted to respond that if Matt had any interest whatsoever in her well-being, he wouldn’t have left her in the first place, but there was no sense in egging the woman on.

  “I can’t shirk my responsibilities to my family,” Lillian continued, haughty and grave.

  The sigh repeated itself.

  “And I don’t trust him.”

  At that remark, Daisy’s brow furrowed. Since when did Lillian not trust her darling nephew?

  “It’s very suspicious,” Lillian said.

  “What is?” Daisy asked her hesitantly.

  “That boy, of course.”

  She was confused. “Matt?”

  Lillian’s nostrils flared. “No, not Matt! How would Matt be suspicious? I’m talking about Drew!”

  Daisy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Lillian, I am not going to keep doing this—”