by Carol Miller
“Georgia’s scared of talking to you,” he explained. “She’s worried that if she tells you something important, you’ll tell Emily.”
“Well, she’s right. If it’s something that Aunt Emily should be made aware of, then of course I’ll tell her about it. She’s my family, blood or not. And she’s given me and my mama a home when we needed it the most. My loyalty will always lie with her, particularly over someone I’ve known for barely a month.”
“I told Georgia that. I also told her that you were fair and wouldn’t jump to conclusions. You’d probably tell Emily, but you wouldn’t automatically hold it against her.”
“This doesn’t sound good,” Daisy grumbled. “What is it? What did she do?”
“It’s not so much what she did—”
“It’s what somebody else did?” She was suddenly apprehensive. “Does Georgia know something in connection to what happened to Henry?”
“I’m not sure about that.” Drew frowned. “I did ask her, but she wouldn’t give me a straight answer, which makes me think that maybe she does.”
“So ask her harder!”
He shook his head. “It won’t work. She’s too jumpy, and she’ll just clam up. Then she’ll go hide in some cranny where no one can find her until a week after the storm has cleared and everybody has gone home.”
Daisy gave a little grunt. “That’s not really such a bad idea. Maybe we should all do it.”
Drew grinned. “Only if you and I can hide in the same cranny.”
“Then it’d better be far away from Lillian’s.”
He chuckled for a moment, then returned to the matter at hand. “But Georgia did see something. It doesn’t have anything to do with Henry. Or at least, it doesn’t seem to me to have anything to do with him. And she’s afraid that if she tells you or Emily, she might lose her job. She’s very concerned about that. She doesn’t want to leave the inn.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?” Daisy prodded him.
“I can’t. I promised her I wouldn’t.”
Her gaze narrowed.
“It’s nothing that would harm you,” Drew said quickly. “Or your mama or Emily. Of course I’d never keep anything like that from you. Georgia simply saw something yesterday afternoon that she wishes she hadn’t.”
“Yesterday afternoon?” Daisy echoed thoughtfully. “Wait a second. Does this have any relation to her dropping that tray of glasses in the dining room when everybody was first admiring the secretary?”
Drew nodded.
“I thought Georgia might have recognized someone and was staring at them in surprise,” she went on.
“Surprise, yes. Recognize, no.”
“I don’t follow.”
“If I say any more,” he answered apologetically, “I’ll have told you. And I really shouldn’t, Daisy. In a way, Georgia’s just a kid. She needs to learn to have more confidence in herself. I hate breaking her trust over something like this, because then she might not trust anyone again for a long time.”
Although she certainly wasn’t keen on Drew keeping secrets from her, Daisy couldn’t argue with his reasoning. She knew firsthand—courtesy of Matt—how hard it was to trust after having your faith shattered.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe if Georgia believes that she can trust you on this, then she’ll also trust you with anything that she might know in connection to Henry.”
“Maybe,” Drew agreed, his brow furrowed. “It’s hard to figure her out exactly. Even for a kid, she’s a bit peculiar. When I was talking to her on the stairs earlier, she kept mentioning your mama’s tea.”
Daisy blinked at him. “My mama’s tea?”
He could only shrug.
“She does seem to like my mama,” Daisy remarked, remembering how Georgia had decided to hide Lucy’s favorite tea bags in the Rhett Butler cookie jar to protect them from so-called sticky fingers. “And she worries a lot about her tea.”
As Drew shrugged once more, Daisy turned the knob and swung open the door. A minute later, she was down the hall, up the steps, and in her mama’s room, depositing the Remington and the needlepoint bag full of shells, which she had snatched from the hook in the kitchen along the way.
CHAPTER
18
“We missed you at lunch,” Parker said to Daisy, as she walked into the parlor where the guests were gathered. “But of course you needed to take care of your mama. How’s she feeling?”
“A little better, I think. Thanks for asking. Her cough isn’t quite so—”
Lillian cut her off mid-sentence. “You weren’t at lunch, either,” she observed sharply in Drew’s direction.
He turned toward her from the scuffed leather smoking chair. Lillian was in her usual spot on the gold-brocaded settee, with Parker next to her. Edna and May sat across from them on the emerald-brocaded settee. The Lunts occupied the damask armchairs. Bud Foster had chosen a straight-backed chair from one of the tea tables. Georgia, to no one’s surprise, was absent. And Aunt Emily was busy at the liquor cart, taking stock of the decanters and murmuring occasionally to herself.
“I don’t suppose you were taking care of Lucy, as well,” Lillian continued to Drew in a derisive tone.
“Now, my dear—” Parker began.
She didn’t pay the least heed. “So what were you getting up to? Where have you been poking around?”
When Drew didn’t immediately answer, Lillian pursed her lips at Daisy and tittered. Daisy understood her perfectly. She was trying to prove that she had been right earlier—Drew wasn’t trustworthy, and he was engaging in some sort of shady behavior. What Lillian didn’t know, of course, was that Daisy hadn’t been taking care of her mama during lunch, either. She and Drew had been poking around together.
Under different circumstances, Daisy would have simply let the matter slide and brushed aside Lillian’s snickering spitefulness as another fruitless attack on Drew in support of Matt, but she saw that the entire group was now looking at Drew. And they were looking at him with considerable interest. Lillian had sparked a general curiosity with her comments, and it couldn’t just be ignored. Presumably somebody in that parlor was a killer, and Daisy couldn’t let them think that Drew might be poking around their secret. It was too dangerous.
The lamps in the parlor chose that moment to flicker, and it gave her an idea.
“What was he getting up to, Lillian?” she replied. “While you were lounging in the sunroom and tucking into that cherry pie, Drew was working. For your benefit, I might add. As I’m sure you’re aware, the inn’s wiring is old and not the most reliable during storms. With the lights sputtering like they have been, Drew was afraid that the power might go out, so he was organizing wood for the fireplaces.”
It wasn’t actually a lie. When they had passed through the kitchen from Henry Brent’s room, and Daisy had grabbed the needlepoint bag from the wall behind the wrought-iron log holder, Drew had noted that the holder was only half full. He had then remarked that he should talk to Aunt Emily to find out if she wanted him to bring in some more wood from the larger stack on the porch.
“How very thoughtful,” Edna said.
“Yes, indeed,” May agreed. Her fingers fiddled with the lace on her handkerchief, which had moved permanently from her skirt pocket to her hands. “But—oh, my—do you think that we could really lose power?”
“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Drew told her in a comforting tone.
“Nothing at all,” Aunt Emily chimed in, glancing up from the stack of cocktail napkins that she was meticulously straightening. “There are already candles in every room. We have an army of oil lanterns waiting in the cellar. And there’s a big enough pile of firewood out back to keep us warm and fed from the Dutch oven for a month.”
“Stay here for a month?” Lillian echoed sullenly. “Not on your life, thank you.”
Daisy concealed a grin. Her little ploy had worked. Everyone’s attention had been diverted from Drew poking around where somebody might not w
ant him to, and as an added bonus, she had also managed to dampen Lillian’s mood. Maybe that would silence her lemon lips for a bit.
“I don’t like the cold,” Sarah Lunt squeaked, as she huddled in her chair.
“No worries there,” Drew responded in the same comforting manner that he had with May. “We can build you a roaring blaze.”
“I’m fully capable of looking after my wife,” Kenneth snapped at him.
Drew frowned. “I wasn’t suggesting that you weren’t.”
“It seems to me that you were.”
“I’m glad your mama’s cough isn’t getting any worse, Daisy,” Parker interjected, trying to change the subject.
“Me, too—” she started to answer.
“That blasted cough kept me up half the night,” Kenneth complained. “I could hear it through the wall like it was in my own room.”
Daisy was tempted to reply that her mama could hear him, as well, especially when he and his wife talked about wanting to buy the inn, but she restrained herself.
Aunt Emily must have been thinking something similar, because she said, “Thin walls make for careful neighbors.”
Not catching the hint, Kenneth retorted, “Neighbors should mind their own business.”
Sarah responded with a shiver and a sigh. “It would be nice to have neighbors like this. Everybody is so friendly around here.”
Her husband gave a snort.
“There are lots of wonderful groups in this area to join,” May told Sarah. “Something—”
“—for everyone,” Edna concluded.
“I was just saying to Edna,” May went on, “that at our next Daughters of the Confederacy meeting as president-elect she should nominate Henry for a memorial award.”
“What a lovely idea!” Aunt Emily exclaimed.
Daisy smiled. She had no doubt that Henry Brent would have been tickled pink at the prospect of a memorial award. That was partly because he was a great enthusiast of history and heritage, having been a dedicated supporter of the Pittsylvania Historical Society for most of his life. And also because he had always enjoyed teasing the Fowler sisters about the humongous floppy dress hats and white gloves that they so frequently wore to Daughters of the Confederacy events, particularly when those events involved awards.
“With a cape and a horse added to his striped suit and polka dot bow tie,” Georgia remarked, “Mr. Brent would have been just as dandy in the cavalry as Jeb Stuart.”
Every neck in the room swiveled toward her in surprise. Without any notice, Georgia had crept into the parlor as stealthy as a panther and was now standing next to Daisy, holding a platter of well-organized cheese and crackers.
There was a brief silence, then May said, “Are you a member of the Daughters, dear?”
“Naw.” Georgia shook her head. “But my best friend’s meemaw is. She used to show us old pictures of Mr. Stuart. He seemed awfully fond of having a flashy uniform and being in parades.”
Aunt Emily chuckled. “I’ve seen those pictures, too. I’ve also read that he liked wearing a big yellow sash and having an ostrich plume in his hat. They say he cut such a dashing figure leading the cavalcade at reviews that the ladies would swoon by the dozens.”
“He was a decorated hero,” Edna admonished her sternly. “And a general,” she corrected Georgia.
“No question about that,” Aunt Emily concurred, immediately growing serious, although she cast a quick wink at Daisy as if to say—When it comes to Confederate generals, don’t mess with the president-elect.
At the moment, Daisy was far more interested in Georgia than in Edna’s affinity for Confederate military men. Georgia apparently had a best friend, and that best friend had a meemaw. It was the most that Daisy had learned about her kith and kin over the entire past month.
“Where does your friend’s meemaw live?” Edna asked Georgia.
While Edna naturally wanted to find out if the aforementioned meemaw’s chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy was near her own chapter, Daisy was also curious to hear the response, albeit for a different reason. She still didn’t know where exactly Georgia had been raised.
Georgia, however, didn’t oblige them with an answer. She squinted at the floor for several seconds, then gave an abrupt start, as though suddenly remembering that she had left the kettle boiling on the stove. Depositing the cheese and cracker platter unceremoniously in Daisy’s arms, she whirled around and scurried out of the room, not uttering another syllable.
“Goodness!” May said.
“Skittish little thing,” Parker observed sympathetically.
Edna’s brow furrowed. “Too many people, perhaps.”
“Maybe she’s cold,” Sarah Lunt suggested, shivering once more.
Daisy and Drew exchanged a glance. Drew promptly rose from his seat and left the parlor, as well.
Kenneth watched him go with evident distaste. “He sure does spend a lot of time worrying about other women.”
Lillian sniffed and mumbled something under her breath about Matt. Daisy ignored both of them. She understood what Drew was doing, and she was in full accord. It was an excellent opportunity to get Georgia alone and press her on whether she knew anything in connection to what had happened to Henry Brent.
As individual conversations replaced the collective discussion, Daisy adjusted the platter in her hands and walked over to the liquor cart under the pretense of procuring some serving napkins.
“Drew told me about the Remington,” Aunt Emily said, barely above a whisper. “That was smart of you to leave it with your mama, Ducky.”
“It’s the safest place I could come up with on short notice.”
Aunt Emily nodded. “Henry must have known something was wrong. He never would have taken the gun otherwise.”
Daisy nodded back at her. “Drew and I think Georgia might know something also. He’s gone to talk to her, or at least try to talk to her.”
“I can’t figure it out. Poor Henry. Why would somebody want to…” Aunt Emily didn’t finish the sentence. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Not a lick,” she agreed. “But don’t forget that whoever did it is here with us right now. So we have to be careful.”
Following her own counsel, Daisy feigned a hearty laugh in relation to nothing and pecked Aunt Emily on the cheek, not wanting to raise suspicion by speaking with her too earnestly for too long. Then she began a circle around the parlor, offering the cheese and crackers with her usual waitress gusto.
Bud Foster was her first stop. Up until that point, he hadn’t spoken one word. From the way his arms were folded tightly across his chest and his knees just as stiffly crossed, he gave the impression of not being at all interested in socializing with or getting to know any of the other guests. But Daisy wasn’t fooled by his detached demeanor. She could see that Bud was paying close attention to everything that transpired. His gaze was quick and watchful. If it hadn’t been for the fake name and fishy story, she might have supposed that he was the law. Except he was too rough, even for being undercover. Daisy didn’t know who or why, but she was certain that Bud was focused on someone in the room.
Lillian and Parker came next. Lillian was not a happy camper. She kept glowering at Parker, who was leaning toward the other settee, conversing with Edna and May. The trio was smiling and chattering merrily, obviously trying to make the best out of a less than ideal situation. When Daisy offered the platter to Lillian, she glared at it like she wanted to hurl it—along with her husband—into the entrance hall. Parker and the Fowler sisters, on the other hand, thanked Daisy profusely and stocked up on the cheese as though they were expecting an imminent shortage of all comestibles.
Kenneth Lunt took a polite serving of the snacks. His wife, however, seemed stumped. Sarah gaped at the platter Daisy held before her as if it contained a live octopus waving at her, and she couldn’t decide whether she should shake the creature’s tentacle in greeting or run away screaming. It reminded Daisy of the similar breadbasket e
pisodes at dinner.
“She doesn’t want any,” Kenneth said after a moment.
Daisy started to move away, but she turned back when she saw Sarah blink longingly at the retreating crackers. “They’re tasty,” she encouraged her, pushing the platter a little closer.
Sarah’s hand lifted toward it.
“No.” Kenneth’s voice was low and firm.
The hand retreated.
“If you’re hungry, then you should eat,” Drew advised, reappearing in the parlor.
“Keep out of it!” Kenneth snarled in fury.
The room instantly grew quiet. Everyone looked startled, including Daisy. Did Sarah want the dinner rolls and crackers, but her husband for some inexplicable reason didn’t approve? Daisy remembered that Beulah had thought Sarah’s mousiness and hesitancy were exaggerated, so maybe there was more to it. Either way, Sarah’s hand remained down, which Daisy could only interpret as her having made a final decision against the snacks.
“Well, I’ll leave them here,” Daisy said, setting the platter and remaining napkins on the nearest tea table, “if anybody changes their mind or wants a second helping.”
After an awkward minute, the group resumed chatting. When they did, Drew cleared his throat softly. Daisy took it as a hint that he had information for her, but she needed a way for them to exit the parlor. She turned to Aunt Emily.
“I’m going to start bringing up those lanterns from the cellar, just in case.”
Aunt Emily’s shrewd blue eyes understood. “Good plan, Ducky.”
“I’ll help,” Drew volunteered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Parker rose to offer his assistance, but Aunt Emily swiftly intercepted him with an urgent question about the selection of cocktails before dinner. Meanwhile, Daisy and Drew hastened into the hallway.
“Any luck with Georgia?” she asked him, the instant they were out of earshot.
Drew shook his head in disappointment. “I tried, but she wouldn’t say a thing about Henry. All she wanted to talk about was your mama’s tea.”
“Again?”
He sighed. “I can’t explain it.”
Daisy was thoughtful. “Maybe it’s a nervous tick, like May and that handkerchief of hers. Georgia isn’t really focused on my mama or her tea. It’s just something that comes out of her mouth when she gets anxious.”