by Carol Miller
“Laurel?” Beulah frowned. “That’s who the mysterious Laurel is? Your fiancée?”
Bobby went on grinning like an arthritic old hound that had found a comfortable hearth with a nice warm fire to curl up in front of.
Beulah’s nose twitched. “So maybe she’s the one who stole the cream cheese. Maybe she wanted to make her own red velvet cake.”
It was Bobby’s turn to frown. “I told you already. Laurel’s up in the woods. She had nothin’ to do with the cream cheese.”
“The cream cheese?” Rick echoed.
“Didn’t Daisy tell you about the bakery?” Beulah replied.
“She said three guys broke in, and Brenda stabbed one of ’em.”
“They also stole a hundred pounds of cream cheese.”
“Ninety pounds,” Daisy corrected her.
“Ninety pounds of cream cheese?” Rick shook his head slowly, then he looked at Daisy. “The bakery’s not open tomorrow, is it?”
“No,” she answered tersely.
“Good. That will give me a chance to improve your security.”
“I don’t need you to improve my security.”
“Considering what happened today, you could obviously use some better locks on the doors and windows.”
“Mind your own business, Rick,” she said.
“Your business is my business, darlin’, if you’re making my brother’s wedding cake.”
He was lucky that she had dropped her glass on the rug, because if it had still been in her hand, Daisy would have chucked it at his head.
CHAPTER
5
“I really appreciate you giving up your Sunday afternoon to come here, Connor,” Beulah shouted toward the utility closet at the back of the salon. “Especially since it’s getting worse. Yesterday it was two feet. Today it’s three. By tomorrow, the water might be halfway up to the ceiling.”
“Can’t let ya get flooded out,” Connor hollered back. “The missus wouldn’t like that. She’s not happy when her hair’s no good. ’Course, it always looks good to me.”
Daisy smiled. “His wife sure has him well trained.”
Beulah nodded. “The secret to a happy marriage is proper training.”
“Says the woman who is single and has never been in a relationship longer than six months.”
“I was quoting Aunt Emily.”
“Also a woman who’s single and hasn’t been in a relationship in decades.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“It’s not something I can argue either way,” Daisy remarked flatly. “My marriage certainly hasn’t been full of bliss and tranquillity.”
“At least yours was okay for a while. I doubt this crazy thing between Bobby and Laurel will last more than a week.”
“But you forget—it’s already lasted two weeks!”
Beulah laughed. “Can you imagine having Bobby Balsam as your husband?”
“Lordy, no.” After a moment, Daisy shrugged. “There are worse people in the world, though. Bobby isn’t mean or violent.”
“And he has access to all of Rick’s lovely money.”
Daisy let out a low whistle. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“No? It was the first thing that went through my mind.”
“Do you think Laurel knows? About how much Rick’s got?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s not too hard to find out, especially if you’re interested. And that nonsense about love at first sight? Talk about setting off alarm bells. Love at first sight with Bobby looking like a scruffy goat wanderin’ down from the hills?” Beulah scoffed. “More like love at first sight with Rick’s immense bank account and land holdings.”
“You could be right.”
It was Beulah’s turn to shrug. “Or I could be wrong. Laurel might be just the same as Bobby. She might look like a scruffy goat wanderin’ down from the hills too.”
“I wonder what Rick thinks of her. He did call her a charming bride.”
“I’d give him credit for being a little less weasel-like than usual by asking Aunt Emily if they could have the wedding at the inn, except I doubt it was for Bobby or Laurel’s benefit. I would wager that Rick did it as an excuse to see you.”
Wrinkling her nose in response, Daisy pulled out a small red clay circle from her pocket. “Speaking of wagers, what does this look like to you?”
Beulah took the object from her and turned it over in her hands. “It looks like a poker chip.”
“I agree. Now look at the center.”
“Is that some kind of engraving?” Squinting at it, Beulah rubbed the center of the chip with her thumb. “Are those initials?”
“TS—or at least that’s how I read it.”
“Do we know a TS?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Beulah frowned. “Don’t tell me that you’re considering taking up gambling?”
“Of course not! Do you remember how bad it got with Matt? He would lose more in a week than we both earned in six months. And then the really nasty stuff started. The calls in the middle of the night. The threats. I’ve wondered so many times if that could have been some part of why he left. The gambling and the debts and the—” Daisy broke off, shaking her head, trying as best she could not to dredge up any more painful memories of the past.
“Did you find the chip in Matt’s old stuff?” Beulah asked quietly.
“No. I found it yesterday at the bakery, in the kitchen. It was under the wire rack next to the refrigerator.”
“Yesterday in the kitchen?” Beulah blinked at her. “Do you think it could be from those men?”
“I do. Brenda said the one she stabbed crashed into the rack after tripping over Blot. My guess is that he dropped it then, or when he fell to the floor.”
“But couldn’t it have been there before they came?”
“I swept the kitchen myself early that morning. There was no poker chip. And it couldn’t possibly belong to Brenda. She doesn’t even like betting pennies at pinochle.”
Beulah went on blinking at her. “Does Deputy Johnson know about it?”
“You think he’d let me take evidence from a crime scene?”
She gave a little snort. “I’m not sure he’s smart enough to even realize it is evidence.”
“That’s precisely one of the reasons I took it. I don’t care if he’s with the sheriff’s office or not. Sweetie Pies is mine, and Brenda’s my friend. I can’t be having people stealing from me or scaring the heck out of her without trying to figure out why.”
“You can count me in.” Beulah rubbed the center of the chip again. “These initials look professionally done.”
“They do, don’t they? No one did that fiddling with a knife while rocking on their porch swing.”
“I hate to ask but … did Matt have anything like this?”
“I never saw it if he did. He didn’t usually bring home poker chips, or any other kind of counter. It was either a full wallet or an empty one.” Daisy sighed. “Mostly empty.”
“If those men had cleaned out your cash register,” Beulah mused, “or taken something more…” She hesitated.
“More marketable and less perishable?”
Beulah nodded. “Then I’d say they were trying to make a quick buck to pay off a debt. But cream cheese?”
“I’ll be the first to admit that it’s not quite as lucrative as electronics or gold jewelry—”
Daisy was interrupted by the sound of a car parking outside the salon. Beulah quickly handed the chip back to her, and she slipped it into her pocket. In unison they swiveled around on the styling chairs they were sitting in. The front door was propped open by a broom, allowing the water to flow out and tumble down over the stoop in a series of cascades.
A woman in her late twenties walked toward the building. Daisy didn’t recognize her, but she knew that she wasn’t a client. Beulah didn’t make appointments on Sundays. The woman had long black hair, even longer legs, a
nd a thick tan that was rosy enough to be natural. When she saw the water spilling from the salon, she stopped and gazed at it for a moment. Then she looked up and smiled.
“If I had known about this, I would have put on my galoshes.”
It was a warm, friendly smile—the type that instantly put a person at ease. Both Daisy and Beulah smiled in return.
“You don’t need ’em.” Beulah waved at her own bare feet. “The water isn’t cold.”
“Trust me,” the woman laughed, “you don’t want me to take off my shoes! I’ve been wearing the same pair of hiking boots for three straight weeks, and my toes look like they’ve been chewed on by piranhas.”
“Hiking boots?” Daisy thought of the swarm of hiking boot–clad customers that she had had in the bakery over the past week. “Does that mean you’re part of the hunt?”
She nodded. “I’m one of the organizers, actually.”
Beulah frowned. “I didn’t know it was a hunt. I thought it was some sort of meeting. Isn’t only archery open right now?”
“It’s not that kind of hunt,” the woman replied. “We’re geocaching. And that’s why we scheduled the event now instead of a month or two later, when all the seasons are open.”
Daisy nodded back at her. “If you rustle through the woods then, there’s a pretty good chance that somebody who has had a few too many beers and feeling a bit jumpy might mistake you for a bear or turkey.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that a geocacher got shot for poking his head around a tree and not wearing fluorescent orange in fall.”
“A geo-what?” Beulah said.
“Geocacher. Different groups in different places have their own little variances,” the woman explained, “but basically geocaching is the grown-up version of hide-and-seek outdoors. Somebody puts a logbook—and sometimes a small prize—in a waterproof container and buries or conceals it somewhere. You get clues and try to find the cache using GPS.”
“You’re doing that around here?” Beulah’s frown deepened. “But you can’t find anything around here using GPS, not reliably at least. The mountains are always getting in the way.”
“It’s one of the reasons we picked this area. Great mountains, good hiking trails, and plenty of dark nooks and crannies to use as hiding spots. We have so many experienced participants at this event. The fickle GPS makes it a lot tougher for them.”
Daisy remembered what the woman had said a minute ago about wearing the same pair of hiking boots for three straight weeks. “The hunt hasn’t been going on for three weeks already, has it?” she asked. “I thought it just started last week and had one more week to go.”
“It did start last week. And you’re right, it ends officially on Friday, assuming that all the caches haven’t been located before then. But my brother and I came early to check on the arrangements and make sure everything was set up properly for the hunt.”
Beulah sucked on her teeth. “Hunt doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t … fit.”
The woman chuckled. “That’s what Bobby says too. According to him, you can’t call it a hunt unless somebody’s bagged an eight-point buck.”
“Bobby?” Daisy gaped at her in surprise. “Bobby Balsam?”
She answered with a nod. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Laurel. Laurel Page.”
This time Daisy gaped at Beulah. This was Laurel? Bobby’s Laurel? She didn’t look at all like a scruffy goat wandering down from the hills. On the contrary, she looked much more like a sleek, spruce Thoroughbred trotting confidently around the track.
Laurel chuckled harder. “I can see what you’re thinking. You have the exact same expression Chris—my brother—did when I told him I was going to marry Bobby. I might just as well have said I was moving to Antarctica for the rest of my life to study frozen algae. I’m not delusional. I know that Bobby and I have our differences. I also know that we’re going to have some troubles now and again. But together, we’re like peas and carrots. And I happen to love carrots.”
The comparison of Bobby to a carrot made Daisy smile. “Well, welcome to Pittsylvania County then. I’m Daisy, and this is Beulah.”
“How do you do?” Laurel replied with well-mannered politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I would come inside and shake your hand, but…” She gestured toward the water on the floor. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I bet!” Beulah muttered. “Don’t believe a word that comes out of the weasel’s mouth.”
“The weasel?”
“She means Rick,” Daisy explained. “And she’s joking.”
Beulah snorted.
Laurel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I thought you and Bobby and Rick grew up together. Aren’t you all old friends?”
“Friends!” Beulah snorted again.
“But Bobby told me such nice things about you. Rick too.”
It took Daisy some effort to restrain herself from snorting along with Beulah. Clearly Rick and Bobby had put on quite a show for Laurel, making it sound like the four of them were terrific pals.
“We did all grow up together,” she responded lightly, not wanting to open the door to a full-blown discussion regarding their tortuous history. “But since we’ve known each other for so long, sometimes the line between friends and enemies can get a bit blurry.”
The furrows softened. “I can understand that. Although usually I adore Chris, every once in a while he does something that makes me want to rip out his throat with my bare hands.”
Daisy grinned. She often felt like ripping out Rick’s throat.
Laurel sighed with relief. “I’m so glad I came here. I wasn’t sure if I should. But I really wanted to thank you for agreeing to make my cake. I know it’s such short notice.”
“Bobby said you need it for this upcoming Saturday?”
Her cheeks reddened. “I realize that’s not much time.…”
“No worries,” Daisy assured her. “It’s plenty of time. Except I will have to get some new cream cheese.”
“New cream cheese?”
She glossed over the remark. It didn’t seem good form to tell a blushing bride that the old cream cheese, which would have been used for her wedding cake, had been stolen the day before and a man stabbed to death because of it. “Bobby also said you wanted it to be red velvet. I can make a red velvet groom’s cake if you’d like. That way you could have a more traditional white wedding cake.”
“What a nice offer!” Laurel exclaimed. “Rick’s right. You are sweet as sugar. But to be honest, I’m not much of a traditional girl. I don’t plan on wearing a shiny dress with lace or satin. And I told Bobby we should skip the champagne and stick with moonshine instead.”
Beulah and Daisy exchanged a glance. That answered one question. Laurel obviously knew about Rick’s business.
“So I’d rather have the red velvet cake,” she continued. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Daisy replied. “It’s your wedding.”
“And of course, you’re both invited to it,” Laurel returned cheerfully. “While we’re on the subject of invitations, Chris and I are planning on having a little party tonight. It’s nothing fancy, just a barbecue at the campground where most of us are staying. Do you know Fuzzy Lake Campground?”
Daisy nodded.
“Then you’ll come? I would love for you to meet my brother and the rest of the group.”
Beulah and Daisy exchanged another glance, and this time they both nodded.
“Great! Around seven? We’ve got nearly all the cabins rented, so we’ve pretty much taken over the place. You can’t miss us.”
With a parting smile, Laurel turned on the heels of her hiking boots and walked back to her car. “See you tonight!” she shouted through the open window as she pulled out onto the road, a cloud of gravel and dust flying after her.
There was a brief silence, which Daisy was the first to break.
“I don’t care if she is marrying Bobby fo
r Rick’s money. I like her.”
“Me too!”
“Bobby sure wasn’t exaggerating when he told us she was up in the woods.”
“Or that she likes his dirty old jeans and boots.”
After another short silence, Daisy added, “But I won’t be able to stay long tonight. Monday is always my super-early morning at the bakery.”
Beulah grimaced in sympathy. “If it makes you feel any better, I switched the appointments I had yesterday to tomorrow, so I won’t—”
She stopped as Connor emerged from the utility closet and waddled over to them looking like a short, wide, wet penguin that had eaten some bad fish.
“It’s not in here,” he said with a glum expression. “The pipes and connectors are all fine.”
“Fine? They can’t be fine.” Beulah pointed at the water.
“It’s not in here,” he repeated. “It’s the line.”
“Please tell me that you don’t mean the line from the well.”
Connor bobbed his chin apologetically, and Beulah groaned.
“Duke and I can start on it in the morning if you want. We got some other folks on the list ahead of ya, but you got it worse than them.”
“Thanks, Connor. That’s awful nice of you.”
He bobbed his chin again. “You may want to tell Emily before we go digging. It’s a safe bet that she’ll have something to say about it.”
Beulah groaned even harder, until Daisy cut her short. Connor’s quip reminded her of the poker chip in her pocket, and she pulled it out.
“You wouldn’t by any chance know where this comes from, would you, Connor?”
She didn’t expect him to have much of a response. Connor was a subdued man of few words who tended to mind his own business. But to Daisy’s surprise, he took one look at the chip and nodded.
“Sure do. Duke made a delivery there just yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Beulah echoed. “When I called yesterday you told me Duke went down to Tightsqueeze.”
“Yup. That’s where he was.”
Daisy raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is that what the initials on here stand for? The TS? Is that Tightsqueeze?”