by Carol Miller
“They didn’t. You can ask your brother. He was there. So was Beulah.”
“Bobby was there? I knew that he was going to the bakery this morning to talk to you, but I haven’t heard from him since.”
“That’s probably because he was trapped all day in the kitchen with us and Deputy Johnson.”
“Deputy Johnson?” Rick frowned. “Not Sheriff Lowell?”
“Sheriff Lowell is on vacation, so we’re stuck with Deputy Johnson until he comes back. The timing really stinks.”
His frown deepened. “Maybe. Or maybe the timing was perfect.”
“What?” Daisy blinked at him in surprise. “You think those men planned it? They waited until Sheriff Lowell was gone to break in to Sweetie Pies? Why?”
“I don’t know.” Rick’s lips curled into a smile. “But I do know enough about crime to understand that three boys coming into your bakery to make trouble during the middle of the day isn’t some random act. It was definitely planned.”
Daisy found herself smiling back at him. “I can’t argue with you there, Rick. You certainly know plenty about crime.” Then she laughed. “And I can’t believe I’m about to say this—because comparing you to the law is like comparing a hornet to a moth—but you sounded almost like Deputy Johnson just then. He’s got lots of theories about criminals. Criminals and strangers.”
As soon as the word came out of her mouth, she wanted to suck it back in. She hadn’t intended on mentioning anything regarding strangers. It was a subject that dear Aunt Emily could go on about ad infinitum, especially when it came to strangers lurking, just waiting for an opportunity to prey on helpless females. The fact that Brenda hadn’t turned out to be helpless—far from it, considering that she had managed to single-handedly stick a chef’s knife into a man’s chest and kill him—wouldn’t make the tiniest difference. The strangers were still there, and they were still lurking.
Wincing in anticipation, Daisy glanced over at the straight-backed chair. To her relief, Aunt Emily didn’t seem to have noticed her slip of the tongue. On the contrary, she was sitting completely still, with her head tilted to one side, as though she was listening very closely to something else instead.
“Aunt Emily?” Daisy said.
She raised a silencing forefinger.
Daisy looked at Rick. He seemed to be listening also.
After a minute, Aunt Emily whispered, “You heard that, right? It came from outside, didn’t it?”
“By the windows,” Rick responded in an equally low tone. “Trying to see in here probably.”
Aunt Emily gave a small nod.
They listened for a few more seconds. This time Daisy listened along with them, and she realized that they were right. There was a light scratching noise outside by the windows. Lifting his hand from her knee, Rick reached around to his back. She stiffened, knowing full well what he was doing. Rick was going for his gun.
CHAPTER
4
The revolver appeared an instant later. Even without trying, Rick was a fast draw. It was a mixture of innate skill and a great deal of practice. All the Balsam babies began playing with pistols before they were out of diapers. Rick’s concealed carry weapon of choice was a Ruger .44 with a rosewood grip. He was rarely without it, and in Daisy’s experience, he tended to have an itchy trigger finger, especially when he had been drinking.
“Rick—” she began.
He rose from the leather smoking chair.
“It’s a skunk or a possum,” she said. “There’s no need to blow the poor critter’s head off.”
“Get behind the sofa,” he replied.
With a sigh, she stayed on the settee.
“I’m not going to tell you again, Daisy. Get behind the sofa.”
“Oh, Rick—”
Rick cocked the hammer on the Ruger.
Daisy turned to Aunt Emily for support, but she should have known better. Aunt Emily was no longer in her chair either. She had scurried to retrieve her shotgun and the needlepoint bag in which she stored her extra boxes of shells. Cracking open the breech of the double-barreled 20-gauge, Aunt Emily dropped in two new shells. With a satisfied smile, she snapped the breech shut again and stroked the Remington like it was a faithful old bluetick.
“Crazy people,” Daisy muttered.
There was some more scratching by the windows—slightly louder this time—and it gave the impression of moving, possibly in the direction of the front door.
“Get behind the goddam sofa right now!” Rick thundered at her.
She rolled her eyes but grudgingly complied. It was considerably easier and more prudent than arguing, especially when both he and Aunt Emily were waving around loaded firearms. Glass in hand, Daisy stood up, walked around to the back of the settee, and plopped herself down on the floor.
Rick pointed a stiff finger at her and growled, “Stay there.”
Rolling her eyes again, Daisy took a drink. At least the crazy people could be relied upon to provide ample liquor. As she sipped the bourbon, she listened to the unidentified noise outside. The scratching had now become more of a shuffling, and it was definitely moving. There was a thump on the front porch. It was a thump that sounded an awful lot like a footstep. A heavy human footstep. Not the soft paw of a skunk or possum.
She frowned. But if it was a footstep, why didn’t the person come inside? Why were they out there creeping around in the dark? It suddenly occurred to her that maybe Brenda had been right to be worried. What if the men really had come back to the bakery—and followed them to the inn—and were looking for revenge for what had happened to their friend? Daisy found herself sinking a little lower and leaning a little more closely against the back of the settee.
Peeking around the corner of the fabric, she saw Rick and Aunt Emily standing just inside the parlor at the edge of the entrance hall. They were listening attentively to the intermittent sounds out front. There was some additional shuffling, followed by another footstep or two. Somebody was clearly on the porch.
Daisy felt her heart beat a little harder in her chest. At least Brenda and Beulah were safely upstairs. Hopefully they would both stay in their rooms for the time being. She wished that she could somehow get upstairs too. Her gun was there. It was a small Colt—a .380. Her daddy had given it to her momma the Christmas before he passed, but it belonged to Daisy now. And she would have liked to have it in her hands right about then.
The porch steps creaked. Whoever was outside was standing near the front door. Daisy bit her lip. Maybe they would knock. Maybe it was just a confused guest. Maybe it had nothing to do with the men from the bakery after all. The screen door squeaked. It was just a slight squeak. The door didn’t actually open. But that made it worse. It was like somebody was testing the door, or they had brushed against it as they shifted into a better position.
It was enough to get Rick into a better position. He glanced first at Daisy. If he was checking to see whether she was still behind the settee, he didn’t need to be concerned. She had absolutely no intention of vacating the location until the identity of the person prowling outside the inn was confirmed. Motioning to Aunt Emily, Rick moved with a quick step from the parlor to the opposite side of the entrance hall. The screen door squeaked a second time. The Ruger went up.
There was more squeaking, and the door started to open. Daisy couldn’t see it, but she could hear it. Aunt Emily tucked the butt of the Remington against her shoulder and raised the barrels. Her aim wasn’t generally the greatest, except it didn’t have to be, not from that distance. It was only a few short yards from the corner of the parlor to the front door. That was sufficiently close for the shotgun to pulverize the door, along with anything else that happened to get in the way.
“Hey, Daisy,” Beulah called, trotting down the stairs. “Do you know where the extra towels—” Her words and feet stopped in the same instant, no doubt when she saw Rick and his revolver in the entrance hall.
Without taking his eyes or the gun off the door, R
ick directed sternly, “Go back upstairs, Beulah.”
Beulah didn’t ordinarily respond well to commands—especially not those issued by a Balsam brother—but she wasn’t any more eager than Daisy to end up in the middle of a gunfight. Retreating several steps, Beulah sat down on the top of the stairs. She leaned over and looked at Daisy on the floor in the parlor.
Daisy could only shrug. She didn’t know what was happening either. As she swallowed the last of her bourbon, the ice cubes rattled against the sides of the glass. They sounded loud in the tense stillness. The screen door had stopped squeaking. Based on Rick’s intent expression, Daisy assumed that the door was ajar, but no one was yet in sight.
“You’ve got two seconds to show your face,” he barked in warning, “before I start shooting.”
The door immediately slammed open.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Rick hollered. “That’s a damn good way to get yourself dead!”
He promptly lowered his Ruger, and Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently it wasn’t anyone whom Rick considered a threat. Standing up, she started toward the entrance hall. To Daisy’s surprise, Aunt Emily remained stationed at the corner of the parlor. She didn’t lower her Remington.
“You’re not welcome here,” she said brusquely.
Not welcome? But Aunt Emily was always the perfect hostess.
“I thought I made that clear the last time you came into this house uninvited.” Her finger tightened on the trigger of the shotgun. “But I guess you need a refresher.”
There was a whimper from the direction of the front door. Daisy smiled. She knew that whimper. It was Bobby Balsam.
Aunt Emily sucked on her teeth. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? Or are you just going to stand there sniveling like a half-drowned chipmunk?”
With a chuckle, Daisy turned away from the hall and headed toward the liquor cart. Now was a good time for a refill.
Beulah rose from her seat on the stairs. “Pour me one too, would ya, Daisy?”
“My glass could sure use a dividend,” Rick chimed in.
Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Just because I used to be a waitress at the diner doesn’t mean that I’m the official barmaid of the inn.”
“The bourbon is in the decanter on the far left, Ducky,” Aunt Emily said. “I wouldn’t mind a snort myself.”
“Better make it a short snort,” Beulah chortled, as she sauntered down the steps to the parlor. “Otherwise your aim might suffer.”
Bobby whimpered again.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Bobby,” Daisy called to him. “She’s not going to shoot you, at least not before you tell us why you’re here. So spit it out already.”
“I…” He gurgled. “It’s about that red velvet cake, Daisy.”
“What is it with you and red velvet cake!” Beulah snapped. “Is it some new hunting bait that nobody has ever heard of? Red velvet instead of a salt lick?”
“I…” Bobby gurgled some more.
“For all those interested, drinks are served.” Taking her own drink from the row of crystal tumblers that she had filled, Daisy returned to her former spot on the settee.
Beulah picked up a glass and joined her. Also grabbing a glass, Rick went back to the leather smoking chair. Although she glanced wistfully at the liquor cart, Aunt Emily and the Remington maintained their position.
“I know it’s a tough decision,” Beulah grinned, “but you’re going to have to put down the gun if you want the bourbon.”
“I think we can trust Bobby not to do anything silly.” Daisy looked at Rick.
He nodded. “Don’t worry,” he told Aunt Emily. “Bobby knows that he’s got to be on his best behavior here.”
Aunt Emily responded with a dubious grunt but finally lowered her firearm. After collecting her drink, she sat down on the straight-backed chair, laying the shotgun across her knees. It took a while for Bobby to muster enough courage to pop his head around the corner of the parlor.
“Did you follow us from the bakery, Bobby?” Daisy asked. “Have you been outside the whole time?”
He answered with a halfhearted shrug.
She frowned at him. “What is going on with you? You’ve been acting weird all day.”
Eyeing the shotgun warily, Bobby took no more than two shuffling steps into the room. “I—I’m gonna need a red velvet cake, Daisy.”
Beulah slammed her glass on the tea table and stuck out her hand toward Aunt Emily. “If you’re not going to shoot him, can I?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Aunt Emily replied.
Daisy was inclined to agree with Beulah. She didn’t have enough bourbon in her system to listen to Bobby prattle on interminably about red velvet cake.
“Come by the bakery on Monday,” she said. “There are probably a couple of slices in the freezer. You can have as many as you want, Bobby, if you stop talking about it now.”
“I don’t need a slice,” he protested. “I need a cake.”
Growling like a badger that was about to chew its own foot off, Beulah reached for the Remington a second time. “Please, Aunt Emily? No one has to know. We can bury him under the cellar. That groundhog has dug a pretty good hole on one side already. It wouldn’t take much to make it big enough for a body.”
Aunt Emily cackled so hard that a bit of her drink sloshed over the top of the glass. Bobby’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Daisy glanced at Rick. “Are you planning on helping him out? Because I’m not.”
“Have you told them why you want the cake?” Rick asked his brother.
Bobby shook his head.
Both Beulah and Aunt Emily turned to Rick with interest. Daisy sunk her head on the back of the settee. She couldn’t have cared less why Bobby wanted the cake.
Rick took a sip of bourbon, then he smiled. “He wants it for the wedding.”
The tumbler fell from Daisy’s fingers, hitting the Persian carpet beneath her with a thud. A cluster of melting ice cubes, mixed with the chestnut brown liquid, darkened the yellow floral pattern.
Beulah jumped up. “I’ll get a napkin.”
“There’s a stack next to the decanters.” Aunt Emily pointed toward the liquor cart.
Grabbing a handful, Beulah dropped them on top of the puddle and pressed them down with her foot.
“I’m sorry.” Daisy stared at the rug. “I don’t know how that happened.”
Unruffled, Aunt Emily clucked her tongue. “It’s not worth fretting over, Ducky. Just a little liquor and water. That carpet has seen a lot worse over the years. When it dries, it won’t even be noticeable.”
“Not noticeable at all,” Rick drawled. “Means nothing.”
The implication behind his mocking manner was unmistakable, and Daisy raised an eyebrow at him.
He raised his eyebrow right back at her. “Are you going to pretend you don’t understand me? Well, I understand you perfectly, darlin’. I spooked you just now. That’s why you dropped your glass. You don’t want me gettin’ married.”
“Why would I care if you got married?” she retorted. “As you may recall, I’m married.”
His smile grew. “We both know that is entirely different. How many years has it been since you’ve seen Matt?”
Daisy scowled.
“You’re the one getting married?” Aunt Emily interjected. “I thought you said that it was your brother’s wedding.”
“It is Bobby’s wedding.” Rick gave Daisy an arch glance. “And his charming bride has decided on a red velvet cake.”
Beulah’s mouth sagged open. Only slightly less surprised, Daisy looked at Bobby. She didn’t have to ask him if it was true. His telltale cheeks were as red and swollen as a pair of overripe tomatoes. She turned to Aunt Emily.
“Since when did you become a wedding coordinator?”
“Don’t be snide, Ducky,” Aunt Emily chastised her. “I haven’t been keeping secrets if that’s what you’re suggesting. Rick just told me about it tonight. That’s why he came ov
er. He wanted to know if they could have it here, on the back porch.”
Daisy blinked at her.
“I haven’t given an answer yet if that’s your next question,” she went on. “I was waiting to talk to you girls—and your momma, Ducky—about it first. It’s your home too. You should have a say in any events that take place here.”
That was a bunch of baloney. Aunt Emily scheduled all sorts of events without discussing them with anybody, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t. It was her inn, after all. She could hold every wedding in the Commonwealth of Virginia on the back porch if she wanted to. Except this particular wedding was different. It involved the Balsam brothers. And when Daisy met Aunt Emily’s shrewd blue eyes, she knew that the hesitation in this instance was solely for her benefit.
“It’s very thoughtful of you, Aunt Emily.” She gave an appreciative nod. “But I’m sure that my momma wouldn’t object. She likes any party with lots of pretty flowers. I’m more concerned about you. You do realize that you just held the prospective groom at gunpoint?”
“These things sometimes happen, Ducky.”
Although the words were light and jocular, the shrewd blue eyes were earnest. Daisy could see that Aunt Emily was looking for confirmation. Before making any commitment to Rick and Bobby, she wanted her approval. Daisy was admittedly a little taken aback by the idea of a Balsam wedding at the Tosh Inn. Her own wedding reception had been held there, but that was a long time ago. And she certainly didn’t want Rick to think that she had any qualms because of him.
She nodded at Aunt Emily again. “The bride would probably be grateful if you didn’t pull out your Remington during the middle of the ceremony.”
Beulah snickered. “Unless it’s a shotgun wedding.”
“It can’t be that,” Rick remarked. “Bobby only met her two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks!”
“It was love at first sight. Isn’t that right, Bobby?”
Bobby and his tomato cheeks grinned.
“You can’t be serious.” Beulah gave a derisive snort. “Love at first sight?”
“Not a believer? How about you, Daisy?” Rick said it in a taunting tone, but he didn’t wait for her to respond. “Bobby sure believes in it. Him and Laurel both, at least that’s what she says.”