by Carol Miller
“Don’t let go of this,” she said, dropping her voice to a cautionary whisper as she held out the hatchet. “Don’t give it to anyone.”
Parker nodded, and with some lingering reluctance, Daisy released the hatchet into his hand. She hoped that she hadn’t just made a very grave mistake.
CHAPTER
26
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Parker, but Daisy would have felt better with the hatchet still in her possession. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much choice. Her comfort at the moment was less important than the killer’s comfort. And she needed them to feel confident and at ease, believing that their secret of being a murderer remained safe and that no one suspected them. That way they would hopefully stay calm and not attempt to murder anybody else, at least until Sheriff Lowell arrived.
Daisy’s own confidence, however, was limited. She had doubts about how clearly Parker was thinking. He had almost strangled Bud because of a few boot prints on the porch, and then he had been defensive of both Sarah and Georgia, even though he barely knew either one. Daisy worried that his nerves were too on edge and that he might somehow be talked into giving up the hatchet. She really didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.
Trying to suppress her apprehension, she watched Bud lead the way through the kitchen and into the main hall, as Parker followed at a close pace. Daisy was tempted to trail after them and listen to the conversation as they entered the parlor, but she returned instead to the archway at the edge of the dining room. It was the most secure spot for her to talk on the phone without going back outside or heading upstairs. No one could sneak up behind her, whether simply to eavesdrop or for a more sinister purpose.
Her phone showed numerous missed calls and several waiting messages. They were all from Beulah, or more accurately, Beulah’s phone. But Daisy didn’t play the messages. The battery on her phone was starting to get low, and with the power out, she couldn’t recharge it, so she had to be careful with what she had left. It wasn’t difficult for her to guess that Rick and Beulah were concerned. She had hung up on them rather abruptly, just after they had heard the screeching and shouting that turned out to be Aunt Emily and the rest of the group trying to keep Parker from choking Bud.
Daisy needed to tell them that she—and the others—were all right. But if she was being honest, it wasn’t only for Rick and Beulah’s benefit that she wanted to call them. She was looking for information, too. The roadhouse where they were stuck was located on Highway 40. Highway 40 was also the main road to get to the inn. The sheriff—along with everybody else—would have to go that way to reach them, so Daisy was eager to find out the road’s condition. If it was now passable, then she wouldn’t have to wait much longer for help.
Rick picked up the instant that she dialed. He began by scolding her for not answering her phone or calling back sooner. Rather than irritating her, the rebuke made Daisy smile, partially because it was nice to be worried about, and also because there was something tremendously uplifting about his voice. It was like hearing freedom. She had been at the inn since Friday afternoon, and it was now Sunday. That was only three days, less than seventy-two hours. Except it felt closer to a month. Daisy had experienced cabin fever before from nasty weather or a miserable flu. But this was different and much worse. The walls seemed to be closing in around her. The whole place felt as though it were shrinking down into a doll’s house. And she was imprisoned inside it, with all the windows closed and every door locked. Rick was like a crack in the bricks that let in a sudden draft of fresh air.
“It’s coming along great, Daisy,” Beulah hollered in the background. “Wade is the best snow shoveler you ever saw. They’ve almost got a truck clear.”
“And the road?” she asked. “How does Highway Forty look?”
“Not too bad,” Rick answered. “One lane is drivable, sort of.”
“Oh, good—” Daisy began, encouraged.
“Are you two talking about the road?” Beulah said, still in the background. “It’s a slushy, mushy, slippery mess. I just saw a car go by heading east, and it was skidding all over the place. If it doesn’t hit a pole first, it’ll end up in the gully on the next hill for sure.”
“Oh, not good,” Daisy corrected herself with a sigh.
“Don’t fret, darlin’,” Rick drawled. “It’s just slow driving, not impossible. You should know by now that I can make it through just about anything if it means—”
He was interrupted on his end by a pair of muffled voices. Daisy couldn’t understand them. Something about tires or wheel wells.
“Take the keys,” Rick said in response. There was a jangling sound, like he was pulling a key ring from his pocket and tossing it to someone. “See if she’ll start, and try it that way.”
There was more muffled talking, then Rick returned to her.
“That was Bobby,” he explained. “They’re having some issues with the truck.”
“If he needs your help, you can call me back,” Daisy suggested, “or give the phone to Beu—”
“You’ve been drinking too much of Aunt Emily’s gooseberry brandy if you seriously think that I’m hanging up on you,” Rick cut her off. “Bobby can handle it, and I could use a break anyway. I only came inside when you called. Before that, I spent the last hour cracking through the ice on the incline from the parking lot up to the road. My fingers aren’t fully functional anymore. They have to thaw out.”
“He’s commandeered my phone, Daisy,” Beulah shouted in protest. “And he won’t give it back.”
“The battery on mine died,” Rick replied, unapologetically. “I don’t carry around a charger, and no one else has one either. Not much of a surprise, considering that we all only came here for a beer.”
“The battery on my phone is getting weak, too,” Daisy told him. “But I can’t charge it because the power is still out.”
“Then we’ll talk fast,” Rick said. “What’s happening there? What was all that commotion earlier?”
In as few words as possible, she gave him an account of Parker accusing and nearly strangling Bud, Bud revealing himself to be a private investigator in pursuit of the Lunts, and Kenneth and Sarah having embezzled a small fortune from their church, which was why they wanted to buy the inn. Beulah kept throwing out questions in the background, but Rick refused to share the phone and only repeated the bare minimum to her. At first, Beulah was vocally annoyed, but when she learned that she had been right to be suspicious of the Lunts, she pronounced herself vindicated and cheerfully declared that she was going outside to check on Wade and Bobby, and would return with a progress report.
“Where are the Lunts now?” Rick asked Daisy.
“In the parlor,” she answered, “with Bud and Aunt Emily and the rest of the group.”
“And you think that’s safe?”
“I gave Parker a hatchet from the woodpile.”
“You gave a hatchet to Parker?” Rick reproached her. “The man has a better chance of accidentally lopping off his own arm than he does protecting you or Aunt Emily.”
“That may be true, but we were short on options,” Daisy argued. “And Parker won’t actually have to use the hatchet. It’s more of a prop than anything else.”
Rick responded with a dissatisfied snort. “Assuming the Lunts don’t just take it from him.”
“They have no reason to try to take it. They don’t know that Bud is following them, or that any of us are aware of the embezzlement. Besides, Bud doesn’t think Kenneth and Sarah are the murderers.”
“Who does he suspect?”
“He isn’t sure. But,” Daisy hesitated, her own doubts coming into play, “he said that he wouldn’t count out Georgia.”
Rick was momentarily silent.
“I’m having a hard time believing it,” Daisy said, musing half to him and half to herself. “I’ve never thought that it could be her. Georgia had not the slightest connection to Henry Brent, and she seemed to like Drew an awful lot. Maybe a bit too much,
even, if you know what I mean.”
“You think she and Drew were fooling around?”
“No, of course not. At most, Georgia might have had a schoolgirl crush on him. It’s understandable. Drew was a really good guy…” She sighed.
There was a brief pause, then Rick said quietly, “Daisy, I am sorry about what happened to him.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and went on. “At any rate, Georgia trusted Drew. He listened to her. I don’t think she’s had many people in her life do that.”
“Okay, so then why does Bud—”
He was stopped by Beulah. As promised, she had returned with an update from the boys outside.
“Good news,” she announced in a loud voice. “They’ve got the truck started, and it’s out of the snow.”
Daisy gave a little exclamation of joy.
“Bad news,” Beulah continued. “It’s now stuck in a giant mud rut.”
Rick gave a not-so-little exclamation of exasperation.
“But Wade, being wonderful,” Beulah gushed, “thought to dig through the snow and scoop up some of the gravel from the parking lot to spread beneath the tires to help with the traction.”
“Cardboard will work better,” Rick told her.
“That’s what Wade said, too, except they don’t have any.”
“Check under the bar, Beulah. There’s got to be some boxes for all the bottles this place gets delivered.”
Beulah apparently did as she was instructed, because Rick returned to the phone and remarked in an amused tone, “She’s got it bad for this guy, Daisy.”
“How do you know?” Daisy asked in surprise. Rick and Beulah dueled; they were not confidants.
“She didn’t bite off my head or give me the look of death for telling her to do something.”
Daisy smiled. “You’re right. She doesn’t usually let you get away with that.”
“Found some!” Beulah called.
“Take the ones that can be ripped into squares or long strips,” Rick called back.
“Got ’em! I’m sure Wade will be able to use these. He’s so good with his hands.”
Daisy had to laugh. “You aren’t kidding, Rick. I haven’t heard Beulah that complimentary about one of her dates … uh … ever.”
“She’s also skipping around the room and humming to herself.”
“Don’t worry, Daisy,” Beulah shouted. “Wade will get the truck free, and then we’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“No!” Daisy exclaimed. “You can’t let her come to the inn, Rick! Not before Sheriff Lowell gets here.”
“She’s made up her mind,” he replied. “And I agree with her. You can’t spend another night there without help. But don’t panic. Beulah isn’t going alone.”
“How on earth does that help?” Daisy retorted. “Wade being here might even make it worse! If Beulah suddenly appears in the parlor with a strange man standing at her side, the killer could get nervous about who he is and go after the two of them next!”
“Not Wade,” Rick corrected her calmly. “Me. I’ll be with Beulah. It’s my truck that they’re clearing. I’m the one who’s driving her to the inn.”
Startled, Daisy’s mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again. “Oh, Rick, that’s so risky. I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why, darlin’, you sound like you’re concerned about my well-being.”
Although she wanted to deny it—particularly because of the distinct note of laughter in his voice—she didn’t. If Beulah was determined to come to the inn, then Daisy knew that she couldn’t stop her. Her heart warmed at Beulah’s support, but she also feared for her safety. Rick volunteering to come along was a great relief. With him there, the inn wouldn’t seem nearly so dangerous.
“Good. Then it’s all settled,” he said. “You just sit tight. As soon as we can get out of here, Beulah and I will be there.”
“I—” Daisy faltered. “I’m awfully grateful—”
Rick promptly switched the subject. “You told me a minute ago that Bud suspected Georgia. Why does he suspect her?”
“He didn’t say exactly, other than that she scampers around a lot. But it’s probably because of the hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“Georgia isn’t with the rest of the group,” Daisy explained. “She keeps disappearing. I don’t know where, except that it’s inside the inn, because she also keeps resurfacing.”
Rick chuckled. “I bet she’s using our old spot. You remember?”
“Of course. I couldn’t possibly forget it.”
For many years—all long past now—the uppermost floor of the inn had been a favorite haunt for her, Beulah, Rick, Matt, and sundry other neighborhood children, although neither Daisy nor Beulah was living there then. Having little use for it herself beyond seasonal storage, Aunt Emily had allowed them free rein of the monstrous attic. With its tiny, cobwebby windows and dark, mysterious corners, it was the perfect place to whisper secrets, share tall tales, search through old trunks that were like gleaming treasure troves to their youthful imaginations, and when they reached their teens, sneak a clandestine kiss or two. It was where Daisy had first fallen under Matt’s spell.
Shaking away the memories, she returned to the present. “Georgia could be up there. It’s easy enough to get in and out, especially since her room is on the third floor, right next to the attic steps.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Rick said.
“Just a little while ago, actually. I had gone into the dining room and caught a glimpse of her darting around the kitchen.”
“What was she doing—getting food?”
Daisy’s brow furrowed. “It’s funny that you should ask, because I wondered the same thing. I didn’t see her eating or drinking, but it looked like she was digging through the tea bags.”
“Huh?”
“I know it’s odd. We all think so. We’ve all talked about it. Drew and my mama and Aunt Emily—”
“Hold up a second,” Rick interjected. “I’m not following you. What have you all talked about?”
“Georgia and her…” Daisy paused. “Fixation. That’s probably the best way to put it. Her fixation on my mama’s tea. Georgia set aside my mama’s tea bags so that we wouldn’t run out with all the people staying here. At first I thought she was just being conscientious, but then she kept mentioning the tea to Drew, over and over again, every time she spoke to him. She wouldn’t stop going on about it.”
“Is the tea special somehow?”
“Not in the least. That’s what makes the whole thing so peculiar. It’s regular old tea, nothing exotic or expensive, even. But apparently it’s really important to Georgia. Drew said that whenever he tried to find out if she knew anything about what happened to Henry, all she wanted to talk about was the tea.”
Rick was thoughtful. “Where exactly is the tea?” he asked after a moment.
“It used to be in a tin on the counter, but Georgia was worried about what she called ‘sticky fingers’ from some of the guests, and she moved it to a spot that she considered safer. You know how Aunt Emily has all those goofy cookie jars that she keeps getting as gifts lined up on one of the shelves above the sink? Well, that’s where Georgia put the tea bags. She hid them in the Rhett Butler cookie jar.”
Again Rick was thoughtful. “You said that Georgia was at the cookie jar when you saw her a little while ago?”
“Yes, except I’m pretty sure that she wasn’t making tea, so I don’t really know what she was doing there. But,” Daisy added, “I did think earlier that all the stuff with her and the tea could be a nervous tick. Maybe it crops up when…”
She let the sentence trail away, unfinished, as she remembered that Drew had believed there was more to it than a nervous tick, primarily because Georgia had looked at him so intently while she talked about the tea. It occurred to Daisy that Georgia had also looked at someone in the dining room and the parlor with great intensity, and then talked to her about the tea. That
struck her as a rather strange coincidence. It seemed stranger still when she recalled that Georgia had confided to Drew some explanation as to why she had been staring at the person in the dining room and the parlor, after which she had once again talked about the tea.
Why always the tea? What was so darn important about her mama’s tea bags? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Yet they seemed to come up in every one of Georgia’s conversations, with almost clockwork regularity. And then suddenly Daisy realized that she had been looking at it all wrong. It wasn’t about the tea. The tea bags themselves didn’t matter one bit. They were a clue. Georgia had meant them as a clue.
“Sweet heaven,” Daisy exhaled. “I’ve been blind. The entire time she’s been giving us—giving Drew, really—a clue.”
“And I think,” Rick said, having unraveled it, too, “you should look in that cookie jar.”
CHAPTER
27
Daisy didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think about anyone seeing or overhearing her if she left the relative safety of the archway. She also didn’t consider whether she should first try to track down Georgia or consult Aunt Emily. With a singular purpose, Daisy headed through the dining room, straight into the kitchen, past the stone fireplace, and halted in front of the old farm double sink. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to the long shelf—in between the grinning pink hippopotamus and the slightly lewd dancing girl—and lifted down the Clark Gable as Rhett Butler cookie jar that contained her mama’s tea bags.
She didn’t know quite what she expected to find in the jar, aside from the tea bags, of course. It was, after all, just a cookie jar. That limited the possibilities considerably, both as to size and weight. But there had to be something inside. She was sure of it. Georgia had spent so much time and energy pointing them in the direction of the tea—and thereby the jar—that it couldn’t all be for naught.
“Here goes,” Daisy said, half to herself and half to Rick.
Holding her breath, she picked up Clark’s ceramic head. Her eager gaze went to the contents of his cutaway.