by Carol Miller
CHAPTER
18
Henry Brent wasn’t just an aged dapper clacker in seersucker who reminisced fondly over cereal box decoder rings. He also knew how to use the Internet, and obviously, so did the geocachers. That was how they had seen the maps. That was how they knew they were hanging on the walls of the Pittsylvania Historical Society. Considering the extreme unreliability of all things satellite and cellular in the area, it seemed most likely that the geocachers had learned where the maps were before ever stepping foot in the county. The maps were probably the reason why they had chosen to attend this particular geocaching event.
Of course, Daisy had no actual proof for any of it. She could only fit the pieces together in the way that seemed to make the best sense to her. There was always the possibility that she was wrong. The geocachers hadn’t been involved. Somebody else had stolen the maps from the back conference room. But that wasn’t nearly as logical. For starters, there was the timing of the two thefts. The one at the bakery—for which the geocachers had definitely been responsible—took place on Saturday. The theft at the historical society was the very next day, and it had occurred late at night after the geocacher party, during which numerous beer cans and bottles had been emptied.
Then there was the location. The maps dealt with Fuzzy Lake. The geocachers had been staying at the conveniently situated Fuzzy Lake Campground. Finally, there was the general absurdity of it all. Beulah had put it quite aptly—the boys didn’t have their heads screwed on straight. Considering how dim-witted Jordan Snyder’s partners in crime had been about the cream cheese and the sneakers, it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that they would be just as dim-witted about the maps and the treasure.
And it really was dim-witted. If there was any treasure—which Daisy continued to seriously doubt—from every historical indication according to Henry Brent, it was under Danville. Except the maps that had been stolen didn’t show Danville. They showed the mountains around Fuzzy Lake. Assuming for a moment that the geocachers were brighter than they appeared, that they had indeed taken the correct maps and the treasure had actually been hauled from Danville to the mountains around Fuzzy Lake, how exactly did they plan on finding it? By single-handedly digging up those mountains on the remote chance of stumbling across thirty-nine rotted kegs? It was nothing short of ludicrous.
The irony was that even if the geocachers did somehow manage with the assistance of the maps to narrow down the scope of their search to a more specific spot, as of this past Monday the whole area surrounding Fuzzy Lake was closed. All access had been blocked as an emergency measure to protect the bats living in the nearby caves. Daisy knew that from Laurel. It was why the hunt had been called off early. If Laurel needed special permission to enter the area to do nothing more than collect the remaining caches, it seemed highly unlikely that the geocachers would be able to continue digging without being noticed by someone and promptly tossed out on their ears.
In theory, Daisy should have been comforted by the fact that the area was closed, but she wasn’t. She had little confidence that the geocachers had truly left Pittsylvania County or that they would so easily give up their search for the treasure. It wasn’t because she believed them to be especially wily and determined. On the contrary, her concern was the exact opposite—stupid people with stupid ideas. She had left Henry Brent and the historical society thinking it, and she continued thinking it all that evening and the following day, when she returned to the bakery to reorganize after the chaos of the previous morning and to clean up the shards of glass still lying on the storage room floor.
Sweetie Pies’ broken window troubled her the most, for the simple reason that she couldn’t come up with a good explanation for it. Beulah had suggested that the geocachers thought they had left something behind the last time and they came back to retrieve it. But Daisy wasn’t convinced. It seemed too straightforward in comparison with the convoluted saga of the maps and the treasure. Her instinct told her that there had to be more to it, except she couldn’t figure out what else there could possibly be. The bakery had nothing even slightly resembling a map. There were no treasure-hunting tools hidden in between the wire whisks or secret codes taped to the bottom of the refrigerator shelves. There was only flour, sugar, and a new supply of cream cheese—none of which played any role in finding Confederate silver.
The flour, sugar, and cream cheese did, however, combine to make a red velvet cake. As distracted as she was by the disturbing events of the past week, Daisy was resolved to make the best cake that she could for Laurel and Bobby. It was their wedding, after all. There would surely be a few hiccups along the way with such a hastily arranged affair, but she had no intention of letting her cake be among them.
Although she had originally planned on having the bakery open for its full hours both on Thursday and Friday—as well as for a short while early on Saturday before the wedding—Caesar’s death changed all of that. Brenda was dearly in need of a rest, and Daisy didn’t have nearly enough time or energy to do everything herself. So she decided to keep Sweetie Pies closed until after the weekend to recharge and focus on the cake.
Thursday passed so quietly that it surprised her. She heard from no one—not Laurel or Chris or Bobby or Rick or even Deputy Johnson. It didn’t take long for the stillness to start to play on her nerves. Working alone in the kitchen, Daisy found herself unusually jumpy. A semi rumbled down the road a bit louder than normal, and she hurried to make sure that the doors were locked. When a chainsaw wailed in the distance, she immediately double-checked all the windows. Every noise sent her imagination spinning, but the silence also made her uneasy. She told herself repeatedly that there was no cause to be anxious. The geocachers weren’t coming back, not again. Whatever they wanted from the bakery, they had already gotten or at least finished looking for. The broken storage room window and poor Caesar in the parking lot were evidence enough of that.
As Daisy waited for the cake to bake on Friday morning, she felt a growing temptation to call Rick. Another guard would be nice—just for a week or so, until everything with the geocachers was conclusively sorted out, or it all went away somehow. And if not a security guard, then a soothing jelly jar. Corn whiskey had a remarkable way of taking the edge off practically anything. But then, she prudently reminded herself that Rick invariably tended to be more trouble than help, and she still didn’t know why he had been behaving so strangely the other day.
She just had to be patient until the cake and its decoration were done and the party for Laurel began; then she could relax and have a palliative snort or two. Aunt Emily could most definitely be counted upon to have an even better stocked bar than usual for a combination bridal shower and bachelorette party. And once the cake was safely delivered to the inn, Daisy didn’t have to go to the bakery again until Monday. By then her nerves would be back to their customary calm state, Brenda would be better too, and life would hopefully return to a more peaceful routine that didn’t involve preposterous thefts of either cream cheese or treasure-hunting maps.
As promised, Aunt Emily had made room in the refrigerator at the inn, and when Daisy slid the finished red velvet cake onto the awaiting shelf just before four in the afternoon, she heaved a great sigh of relief. Everyone was in agreement: the wedding cake, although perhaps a bit untraditional, was beautiful. Laurel would surely be thrilled. Even if all else went miserably wrong on her special day—there was a sudden hailstorm, swarms of angry locusts descended from the sky, a freak tidal wave washed over southwestern Virginia—at least dessert was accounted for.
The group for the party was small—Daisy, her momma, Beulah, Aunt Emily, and a few other assorted friends and neighbors who never failed to take advantage of an opportunity to participate in a glass of something bubbly and a plate of something savory. The mood was excellent. Daisy was happy with the cake and even happier to be together with the little crowd in the parlor of the inn. Lucy was pleased to report that the fund-raiser at the historical society had
gone marvelously well and the grand banana pudding, courtesy of her daughter, had been a tremendous hit. After two horrendous days of suffering through the smell of Duke’s wet feet, Beulah was thrilled that he and Connor finally seemed to be making progress on solving the flooding at the salon. And Aunt Emily was ecstatic that their solution didn’t appear to involve her having to shut off the power to the well. There was only one thing missing from the jubilant celebration—the bride.
“You did remember to invite her, didn’t you, Ducky?” Aunt Emily asked, as the clock on the marble mantle chimed the half-hour.
Daisy replied that she had.
“And you told her the correct date and time?”
“Friday afternoon at four,” she confirmed. “Laurel even repeated the time back to me and said it was perfect.”
Aunt Emily looked at the clock and frowned. “I understand that some misguided folks may be fond of arriving so-called fashionably late, but I do believe that being thirty minutes tardy to a party which is held specifically in your honor is quickly crossing the line into downright rude.”
“The girl might have gotten lost,” Lucy suggested more temperately. “Has she been to the inn before?”
“She’s been to the salon next door,” Beulah responded. “That’s where Daisy and I first met her.”
“Maybe she got held up by something unexpected,” Lucy remarked.
Beulah chortled. “Maybe Bobby was the one who got lost, and Laurel had to go find him.”
“She was working on collecting those caches,” Daisy said. “I thought she had finished with them yesterday—or the day before, even—but maybe it took her longer than she planned. If she was still out doing that this morning, then she had to go back to the campground, get cleaned up, drive over here, and—” She left the sentence unfinished.
“What is it, Ducky?” Aunt Emily prodded.
“Well,” Daisy’s brow furrowed, “I know I told Laurel that the party was going to be at the inn, but it was Wednesday morning when we talked about it, at the bakery. The ambulance was still there, along with Deputy Johnson. It was all pretty hectic and unpleasant, so it wouldn’t be too shocking if she got confused and thought that the party was going to be at Sweetie Pies instead.”
The group nodded in sympathetic understanding.
“I’ll give her a call,” Daisy said, reaching for her phone.
She tried twice, but there was no answer either time. Aunt Emily advised contacting Bobby. Daisy wasn’t keen on the idea. Bobby was usually as coherent as a mollusk on the phone. Except that under the circumstances, she couldn’t really argue. He was the groom, after all. If anybody knew where the prospective bride was, it should be him. Daisy expected a ceaseless string of rings, followed at long last by a somnolent grunt. To her surprise, Bobby answered immediately.
“Daisy?” He sounded flustered. “Daisy, is that you?”
“Yes, Bobby, it’s me. Are you all right?”
“Is Laurel with you? Can I talk to her?”
“That’s why I’m calling, actually. We’re supposed to be having the party for her now, but she’s not here.”
“She’s not? She should be.” His words came out fast and slurred together. “She said she was. She’s not there? She should be there. She said she was going. She said she would. She said—she—”
“Wait a minute, Bobby. Slow down. Did Laurel tell you she was coming to the party this afternoon?”
“Uh-huh. She said—she—”
Daisy cut him off before he could start rambling again. “Did she tell you where the party was?”
There was a slight hesitation on Bobby’s end. “It’s at the inn, isn’t it?”
“It is, but do you know if Laurel knows that? I’m afraid she may have gotten the location mixed up.”
Another hesitation. “I’m not sure. I can’t remember. But where else would she have gone?”
“The bakery. That’s my guess, at least.”
“The bakery? The bakery isn’t far. She wouldn’t be gone all day for that.”
“Gone all day?” Daisy echoed. “I don’t understand what you mean, Bobby. The party was only supposed to be this afternoon, and maybe into the evening, not—”
“Laurel’s been gone all day!” he exclaimed.
“Have you tried calling her?”
“She doesn’t pick up!”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Daisy asked.
“Yesterday,” Bobby said.
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Yesterday.”
It was Daisy’s turn to hesitate. Yesterday certainly wasn’t very long ago, but it did seem sort of odd that Laurel hadn’t been in contact with Bobby more recently. There could be a dozen explanations for it, though. She was tired from collecting the caches and needed a chance to relax. She was superstitious and refused to see or even speak with her betrothed so close to the wedding. She wanted to spend a little extra time with her brother. She decided to be alone for a few hours to contemplate what it really meant to get married. They were all perfectly legitimate reasons for Laurel to turn off her phone.
“Bobby!” Daisy snapped.
Bobby halted his distressed mutterings.
“I’m at the inn now,” she told him, “and I’m going to drive over to the bakery to check if Laurel is there. I’ll call you again from Sweetie Pies.”
He whimpered like a dejected beagle.
“If you hear from Laurel—or see her—before I call you, you call me.”
More whimpering.
Daisy rolled her eyes at the phone. “Don’t worry, Bobby. It will all be fine. Laurel is probably sitting outside the bakery at this exact second wondering where the heck everybody has gotten to.”
“And if she’s not?”
“Then she’s sitting somewhere else, like at the campground or with Chris. There’s nothing for you to fret about.”
The whimpering ceased, so he must have been slightly cheered.
“I’ll call you from Sweetie Pies,” Daisy repeated, just to make sure that there was no misunderstanding about the plan.
“Okay.” Bobby sounded less rattled and more confident. “In the meantime, I’ll call Rick. Maybe he knows something.”
As he hung up, Daisy’s stomach instinctively tightened. Maybe Rick did indeed know something. And knowing Rick, it wouldn’t be good.
CHAPTER
19
Up until that point, Daisy hadn’t thought of Rick at all in relation to Laurel’s absence, but the moment that his name slipped from Bobby’s tongue, she felt a strong sense of uneasiness. What if Laurel hadn’t gotten confused about the location of the party? What if she wasn’t relaxing, or contemplating, or being superstitious, or spending a little extra time with her brother? What if she was spending time with Rick? And considering that Bobby hadn’t seen or spoken to her since yesterday, it could very well be a lot of time.
Daisy recalled Rick and Laurel’s intimate embrace at the bakery. Could they truly be involved with each other? It would explain Rick’s strange behavior, at least partially. But what about Laurel? It seemed entirely out of character for her. Unless Beulah had hit the nail on the head from the outset—Laurel was interested in Rick’s money, and that interest took precedence over her bridal shower and bachelorette party.
As Daisy thought about it, it occurred to her that although Laurel had been polite and gracious about the invitation, she had never actually agreed to attend the party. She had merely remarked on the time and declared how nice it was of them to think of her. Immediately thereafter, she had asked Rick to walk her to her car, ostensibly to discuss a wedding gift that she had in mind for Bobby. They could have easily discussed a rendezvous on Friday instead. The way they had stood so close together certainly didn’t refute the idea.
It annoyed Daisy considerably. Rather than enjoying a cheerful glass in the parlor with her family and friends, she now had to drive back to the bakery to look for Laurel, who she increasingly s
uspected wasn’t there. But she astutely kept that suspicion to herself, figuring there was no point in getting Bobby or the group at the inn riled up over something that might in the end turn out to be nothing.
She grumbled all the way to Sweetie Pies. She grumbled even harder when she pulled into the parking lot and didn’t see any other vehicles. Unless Laurel had roller-skated, helicoptered, or hitchhiked, she wasn’t at the bakery. Daisy climbed out of her car and walked once around the building. There was no sign of Laurel, but thankfully, there were no new broken windows or bodies lying on the gravel either.
With a frustrated sigh, she unlocked the front door, flipped on the lights, and sunk down on one of the vinyl-topped stools at the counter. What was she going to say to Bobby? Although she may not have held him in the highest esteem, Daisy also didn’t want to see him crushed, especially not by Rick. If only Laurel would pick up her phone and straighten it out. Aunt Emily would surely be mad that the guest of honor never showed up to the party, but that was infinitely better than a Balsam brother love feud.
Once more she called Laurel, and once more there was no answer. Daisy was staring at the phone—still trying to decide what to tell Bobby—when it suddenly rang in her hand. A warm wave of relief washed over her. Bobby had at last found his bride, or his bride had at last found her way to the inn. All would be well. Then she saw that it wasn’t Bobby, or Laurel, or even Aunt Emily calling, and the wave turned cold. It was Rick.
“Please, Rick,” Daisy answered grimly, skipping any sort of courteous greeting, “please tell me that you’re not in bed with her.”
“In bed with her? In bed with who?”
To his credit, he sounded startled. Daisy hoped that meant he was surprised by the idea, not surprised at being caught.
“Laurel, of course,” she replied.
Rick laughed.
“Bobby is really worried,” Daisy snapped. “He hasn’t seen or talked to her since yesterday.”