A Nip of Murder

by Carol Miller

  “Don’t play stupid,” Bobby snarled at him again. “Don’t tell us about bats! Tell us about Laurel! Where is she? What did you make her do?”

  Daisy’s gaze returned to Chris.

  “Is she trapped somewhere?” Bobby pressed him. “Is she in one of these passages? Is she in this cave?”

  “Bobby—” Daisy started to interject.

  He didn’t listen to her. “Do all the caves connect in the back? Is that where Laurel is? Do I need the maps to get to her?”

  “Stop a second, Bobby.” As she said it, Daisy took a cautious but curious step toward Chris. Even in the shadowy light, she could see that his eyes were glassy and distended. “He’s not right.”

  “He’s plenty all right,” Bobby countered. “Don’t let him trick you, Daisy. I know he had those maps. I saw them in his cabin when…”

  The sentence trailed away unfinished, but Daisy didn’t pay any attention to it. She was too busy looking at Chris. In contrast with the dark cave, his face was as gray and pale as if it had been coated with ash.

  “The cabin,” Bobby murmured behind her.

  “I didn’t— It wasn’t—” Chris faltered, seemingly unable to continue.

  “The cabin,” Bobby repeated. “It was the wrong cabin. I thought it was the right one, but it wasn’t.”

  Chris’s jaw contorted.

  “The fan was ticking,” Bobby went on. “It was ticking just like popcorn.”

  “Popcorn?” Daisy’s head snapped around. “Did you just say the fan was ticking like popcorn?”

  He nodded. “That’s why I thought it was the right cabin. The ceiling fan always sounds like popcorn.”

  Daisy remembered a ceiling fan that sounded like popcorn too.

  “I opened the door,” Bobby explained. “The fan was ticking, and the maps were there. They were spread out on the bed.”

  She blinked at him. It wasn’t Chris’s bed. It wasn’t Chris’s cabin. Chris’s cabin didn’t have a ceiling fan that ticked.

  “I couldn’t figure out why they were there. Nobody was using maps for the so-called hunt. They were all using GPS, or at least they were trying to. That’s why I thought it was the wrong cabin. And he agreed.” Bobby motioned toward Chris. “He told me it was wrong, and I thought I had gotten lost.”

  “But you didn’t,” Daisy whispered in reply. Instead of thick, her throat felt suddenly raw. It had been ripped raw by the ghastly realization. “You didn’t get lost, Bobby. You were in the right cabin all along.”

  A guttural groan came out of Chris. She looked at him. His previously trembling shoulders began to shake hard, almost to the point of convulsions. He wasn’t coughing, as Daisy had originally assumed. He was retching. Chris had been in the cave too long. It was making him seriously ill.

  “The right cabin?” Bobby responded slowly. He was so focused on what she had said that he didn’t notice how Chris’s condition was deteriorating. “But if it was the right cabin, then he wasn’t the one who had the maps. It was—it was—” As he reached the same appalling conclusion that Daisy had come to only a minute earlier, Bobby’s voice rose to a rumble that echoed through the cave like the roar of a lion. “Where the hell is Laurel!”

  “Here I am, sweetheart.”

  The purring words were promptly followed by a sharp crack. Bobby’s body twisted, and he crumpled to the ground. The Winchester dropped from his grasp as he landed heavily on his stomach.

  “Bobby!” Daisy exclaimed, dashing over to him.

  “Oh, aren’t you just so sweet…” Laurel cooed.

  “Laurel—” Chris spluttered.

  She ignored her brother. “Don’t even think about touching that rifle, Daisy. You may be sweet, but that doesn’t mean you also have to be stupid.”

  Daisy had absolutely no intention of touching Bobby’s rifle. In that moment, she was far too worried about him. He had been shot in the back. She couldn’t tell where exactly. There wasn’t enough light for her to see the wound clearly. It was low—close to his waist and more toward his right side than his spine. That was good, or at least Daisy hoped that it was good. The blood was coming fast, soaking through Rick’s sweatshirt in a dark circle.

  “Laurel—” Chris spluttered again.

  “Shut up,” his sister snapped at him. “If you weren’t such a gutless fool, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Bobby moaned.

  “You’ll be okay.” Daisy put her hand gently on his head in an effort to comfort him. “I’m going to get help, and you’ll be okay.”

  “Get help?” Laurel chortled. “Who on earth are you going to get help from? Rick? He’s certainly not helping anybody any time soon. I got him good in that cabin. He didn’t even see me coming. He’s probably still out cold on the floor.”

  Daisy’s mouth opened, but not a syllable emerged. It hadn’t been some enigmatic geocacher. It had been Laurel. Laurel had whacked Rick with the book.

  “I would have shot him, except this gun’s only got so many bullets.” Laurel waved the revolver that she was holding.

  It was Rick’s revolver. Daisy recognized it instantly. The snub-nose Smith & Wesson from the brown paper bag.

  “I already used one on that annoying security guard at your bakery,” Laurel told her. “I didn’t want to waste another on Rick. I wasn’t sure how many I might need. And now I’m glad I kept what I had. They’re obviously going to be necessary.”

  Daisy still didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her mind was desperately trying to process what was happening. However good Chris was as an actor, Laurel was a thousand times better. She had pretended to dislike firearms, and then she had taken the revolver from under the counter at Sweetie Pies. She had viciously killed Caesar, and then she had been so warm and sympathetic in the parking lot. It was no wonder that Laurel had appeared on the scene so quickly that morning. She was already there. And she didn’t dispose of the gun afterward by dumping it into a farm pond or burying it under a heap of trash. She used it to shoot her fiancé—the man who she supposedly adored and dearly wanted to marry. Daisy recalled Laurel talking to Rick about giving Bobby a wedding present. Well, putting a bullet in his back sure was one heck of a gift.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t have come here,” she said to Daisy. “It makes it all so much more complicated. Why couldn’t you have just stayed at that silly bridal shower? I thought there could be problems when you told me about it. I knew that I might not be done here in time and someone would start wondering where I was. It took me so long to figure out those maps. They were nearly impossible to decipher—which mountain and which caves and how the chambers connected inside. It was like trying to untangle a spiderweb. The plan was for my darling brother to help me with the maps, but he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want any part of it. Idiot!” Laurel kicked Chris hard in the leg.

  He let out a muffled cry, and Daisy winced. It was partly because of his evident pain and partly because of how quick she had been to blame him. One remark from Bobby about seeing Chris with the maps, and she had immediately assumed that he was responsible for everything. Except clearly he wasn’t.

  “I knew about the maps from him,” Laurel continued. “I knew about everything from him. Chris has so much information stored in that big brain of his. It’s from all those years of reading all those fat old books. But he doesn’t do a damn thing with it, just gives boring lectures and writes boring papers. Idiot!” She kicked him again.

  Daisy closed her eyes. She tried to breathe, and she tried to think. Bobby was hurt. Chris was sick. Rick was at best semiconscious and nowhere nearby. She was on her own. She was going to have to help herself.

  “At least I could talk the boys into working with me. They’re not smart like Chris,” Laurel remarked, “but they’re smart enough for the jobs I gave them. Unlike my idiotic brother, they understand the value of money.”

  “The boys?” Daisy asked, struggling to regain her voice.

  “Jordan, Mike, and Roger. All geocachers, of course. The
y’ve been good partners. Well, Mike and Roger have been.” Laurel crinkled her nose. “You know what happened to Jordan. That was bad luck, for him anyway. For me, it wasn’t really an issue. Mike and Roger could handle the cheese and the bats just fine. And it meant that there was one less person to cut in on the treasure.”

  Bobby’s body twitched. Daisy looked at him. The entire bottom half of Rick’s sweatshirt was saturated with blood. She had to think harder and faster. Even if Laurel didn’t shoot him again, he wasn’t going to make it indefinitely with that much blood loss. Daisy tried to slow the flow by putting pressure on the wound with her palm. Bobby whimpered.

  “I know it hurts,” she said as soothingly as she could. “I know it hurts real bad, Bobby. But hang in there with me. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

  “You promise?” Laurel snickered at her. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to make promises that you can’t keep?”

  “My momma also taught me not to pretend to love a man and agree to marry him as some sort of cruel ruse,” Daisy retorted.

  Laurel grinned. “But it was such a good ruse. When I first came here, I could only guess how long it would take me to get the maps, find the right cave, and come up with a way to get rid of the other geocachers. I needed an excuse to stay in the neighborhood if it all dragged on. I was a stranger in the hills of Appalachia. I couldn’t afford to attract that much attention. And then I met Bobby.” She turned her grin on him. “I realized in an instant that he was the one. He was such an easy mark, so dim and gullible. A few kisses and caresses, and he was mine. An engagement was the perfect ploy. I wasn’t a stranger anymore. Of course, I was never actually going to saunter down the aisle with the sniveling chump! The relationship—such as it was—expired the minute I no longer needed it.”

  Daisy looked at Bobby again. She dearly hoped that he wasn’t listening, that either he couldn’t hear Laurel’s words or he was too muddled to understand them fully. She needed him to be strong, to want to survive, not to be crushed by Laurel’s coldhearted callousness.

  “My only concern,” Laurel went on, “was his brother. Rick is obviously clever. You can see it in his eyes. I figured that it was just a matter of time before he got suspicious of me. I could tell he knew something was off when we were in the parking lot of your bakery that morning. He was so friendly, except he didn’t want to sleep with me. A man who’s that friendly but doesn’t want to sleep with you is always one to be wary of. It means that he doesn’t trust you and you can’t bribe him with sex.”

  “Maybe Rick didn’t trust you,” Daisy replied sharply, remembering her and Beulah’s initial suspicions, “because he thought you wanted to marry Bobby to get closer to all of his money.”

  “All of his money?” Laurel burst out laughing. “I don’t want Rick’s money. I want my own damn money! That’s why I’m here. That’s the reason I’ve got two boys digging through a hundred and fifty years of putrid filth back there.” She glanced toward the interior of the cave.

  Although Laurel’s gaze was only averted for a couple of seconds, it was long enough for Daisy to switch hands. Her left palm went onto Bobby’s back, while her right palm went into the jacket pocket.

  “Laurel—” Chris croaked.

  Daisy froze. He must have seen what she had done, and it occurred to him that it could have some detrimental purpose. He was going to warn his sister.

  “What is it?” Laurel answered crabbily. “You’ve already caused me enough trouble, Chris. If you cause me any more, I might just decide to leave you here. Then you can die with your new friends. It’ll only make it that much easier for me.”

  Forcing herself not to panic at the sheer ruthlessness of Laurel’s tone, Daisy’s eyes went to Chris. He looked back at her with such grief and regret that she realized he wasn’t going to warn his sister. He was trying to distract her instead. He was giving Daisy a chance to fight back. Her palm slid farther into the pocket.

  “You should—” Chris rasped at Laurel. “You should show them to Daisy.”

  The suggestion evidently pleased his sister, because the scowl on her face faded. Laurel took several steps forward, and as she got closer, Daisy could see that neither she nor Chris had been exaggerating about the amount of guano farther inside the cave. Laurel’s clothing and boots were covered with it. The pungent odor didn’t seem to bother her, however, or she was better able to ignore it for the sake of the treasure.

  With the revolver still in one hand, Laurel held out her other hand in Daisy’s direction. She uncurled her fist to reveal half a dozen black nuggets. They looked like small hunks of dirt, only they plainly weren’t. They were too round, and there was a telltale glimmer to them. It was very faint, because they were extremely tarnished, but it was enough for Daisy to identify them. They were silver coins.

  “We’re going to find more,” Laurel informed her confidently. “We’re going to find all of them—thirty-nine kegs’ worth. The kegs are long gone, of course. It’s far too wet in here for them. The wood must have decayed a century ago.”

  Looking at the coins, Daisy thought of Henry Brent. He was right, both about the treasure and the kegs rotting. Except he wasn’t right about the location. The silver wasn’t buried beneath Danville. It was hidden in the mountains of Pittsylvania County, in roosting caves under piles of bat guano.

  “Now you’ve seen them.” Laurel’s fist curled closed again, jealously protecting its plunder. “Now you know why I’ve done all of this.”

  Daisy’s hand touched the Ruger.

  “And I’ve done it well, if I do say so myself,” Laurel declared with unrestrained pride. “I haven’t missed a single trick yet.”

  Trying hard not to make any visible movement, Daisy wrapped her fingers around the rosewood grip.

  “My one regret,” Laurel lifted the revolver and gazed at it almost wistfully, “is that I’m going to have to kill you now, Daisy. I think perhaps in another life you and I could have been friends.”

  “Friends?” Daisy cocked the hammer with her thumb. “Friends don’t usually shoot each other.”

  “That’s true.” Laurel nodded in acknowledgment.

  Daisy searched desperately for something else to say. She needed Laurel to be diverted for just one moment—long enough for her to pull out the Ruger and put both hands on it. It was a big gun. She was going to have to hold it tight to aim right and account for the recoil.

  As though it could somehow sense her frantic thoughts, a bat suddenly raced through the cave. It darted past Laurel’s ear, and she jumped in surprise. Daisy didn’t hesitate. Swiftly drawing the weapon, she clasped it as firmly as she could and squeezed the trigger.

  The force of the bullet knocked Laurel backward. Dropping the revolver and the coins, she clutched her shoulder. It wasn’t exactly Daisy’s target, but it had the desired effect. Laurel sank to the ground, staring at her with wide, startled eyes.

  “I thought—” she stammered. “I thought you were a peace lover.”

  “I am.”

  CHAPTER

  26

  “That sounds great! I’m looking forward to it. Thanks for calling.”

  Daisy hung up the phone with a smile.

  “What sounds great? What are you looking forward to?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and found Rick standing in the open doorway leading onto the wraparound back porch of the inn. Although she was surprised to see him, her attention went immediately to his temple. The cut from Laurel and the giant history tome had been taped. The accompanying bruise was a vivid shade of purple.

  “Does it hurt much?” Daisy asked.

  “That’s what this is for, darlin’.” Rick held up a jar filled with amber liquid.

  Her smile grew, and she gestured toward the line of white-pine rocking chairs. “Take a seat, if you like. There are glasses on the potting stand over in the corner, next to those brandy bottles.”

  He gave an amused snort. “Just in case Aunt Emily gets thirsty while starting n
ext year’s tomatoes?”

  “It has nothing to do with thirst,” Daisy retorted jocularly. “It’s Grade A medicine to her. You should know that by now.”

  With another snort, Rick grabbed a pair of glasses from the stand and settled himself on the rocking chair next to hers. “So you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question was that?”

  “Who were you talking to a minute ago, and what are you looking forward to?”

  “Oh, that was Drew. He’s the bat conservationist I met going up to the caves. He invited me out to dinner next weekend.”

  Rick arched an eyebrow. “You’re going on a date with a man who digs around in bat sh— poop for a living?”

  Daisy couldn’t help but laugh. It did sound funny when he put it that way. “Drew studies the bats and their hibernation habits, not their guano,” she corrected him. “And you really shouldn’t pick on the man, Rick. You should be thanking him instead. If he hadn’t been so concerned about me hiking alone in the dark, and he hadn’t come back up the mountain to look for me to make sure that I hadn’t accidentally tumbled down a ravine, it would have taken a lot longer to get Bobby to the hospital.”

  He responded with a desultory nod.

  “How is Bobby?” she said.

  “Okay,” the nod repeated itself, “everything considered. They’re letting him out of the hospital tomorrow. He wanted to go today, but he climbed out of bed too fast this morning and fell over, busting a bunch of the stitches in his back. So the doctor told him that he had to spend another night.”

  “And he’s handling the situation with Laurel all right?”

  “Sort of.” Rick sighed. “He’s got his good moments and his bad, except there’s a lot more of the bad.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected.” Daisy echoed the sigh. “He really did like her. But it’ll get easier for him with time—and distance.”

  They were quiet. Rick pulled over a little patio table that sat next to one of the other rocking chairs. He set the two glasses on it, unscrewed the jar, and poured a generous serving into both.