A Nip of Murder
Page 25
“You want one?” He pushed a glass in Daisy’s direction.
She hesitated but only briefly. “Why not? It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’ve got no big plans. It’s either this, or slice up the red velvet cake that was supposed to be eaten yesterday at the wedding and put it in the freezer.”
Tapping the rim of his glass with hers, Rick took a drink. Daisy followed suit. The amber liquid was warm and smooth. It had a faint hint of vanilla.
“This place sure doesn’t have a very good track record when it comes to weddings,” she murmured, thinking also of her own failed marriage.
“Nothing in this life is ever certain,” Rick replied in a low tone.
For several long minutes, they sat together sipping and not speaking. Finally Rick broke the silence.
“Chris asked about you,” he said.
Daisy looked at him with mild astonishment. “You talked to Chris?”
“I did. He’s still in the hospital, just down the hall from Bobby. Apparently he’s suffering from a severe allergic reaction to all the—” Rick’s lips curled into a smile. “Guano. According to his doctor, who’s some kind of specialist, it’s not that uncommon. One of the other boys, Mike, evidently went into anaphylactic shock shortly after he was arrested. The doctor told me that he had been breathing in the stuff for way longer than his body could handle.” The smile became a grin. “You really should warn your new bat pal about it, Daisy. After all, you don’t want the guano to ruin your date.”
She ignored the remark. “Did you see Laurel?”
Rick grunted. “She’s on drugs. Super-powered painkillers. She wouldn’t be if I had my way. It’s far too good for her.” His eyes blackened. “After what she did to Caesar—to Bobby—what she almost did to you, she deserves a hell of a lot more misery than she’s getting. She better pray that she never sees me again, because if she does, her shoulder won’t be the only part of her that’s mangled. Nice job on that, by the way.”
Although he obviously meant it as a compliment, Daisy didn’t respond. It didn’t seem right to her to gloat about shooting Laurel, no matter how justified and necessary it had been under the circumstances.
“That reminds me,” she said. “I still have your Ruger. I assume it’s the reason you’re here—to get it back.”
“I’m glad you had it when you needed it,” Rick answered simply.
“I don’t know about the revolver Laurel took from the bakery,” Daisy went on. “The Smith and Wesson. It’ll probably be held as evidence in relation to Caesar’s death. You might not get it back, at least not for a while.”
“Sometimes people lose things.” Rick shrugged and took another drink. “For me, it’s the revolver. For you, all that cream cheese. For the historical society, those maps.”
“But the historical society is going to be compensated for their loss,” she informed him.
“They are?”
Daisy nodded. “Quite handsomely, from what I heard. Because the society was the legal owner of the maps which were used to find the treasure, they’re guaranteed, apparently, to get a nice percentage of the proceeds. Based on even the most pessimistic of calculations, it should be enough to keep the doors open, pay all the bills, and finish the restoration work on the railroad depot so they can move there permanently. No more fund-raisers required.” She added to herself, “Or banana puddings.”
“How much treasure actually is there?” Rick asked her.
“That’s the big question,” Daisy returned. “No one is entirely sure. And evidently everybody—aside from the historical society—is already arguing about how large their share should be. State versus federal. City versus county. Public versus private. I think it’s going to take them a long time to sort it all out. According to Drew, it’s also going to take a long time to get the rest of the treasure out of the cave. He told me it’ll be a very slow process, because they’ll have to dig so carefully. They don’t want to injure or disturb the bats, especially once they begin hibernating.”
“And your pal Drew? Is he going to be part of the digging?”
“He is,” she confirmed, restraining a smile. “He’s been asked to stay in the area to monitor the health and welfare of the bats, at least initially.”
Rick’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t say a word. He refilled his glass from the jar and turned his gaze toward the group of people gathered on the side lawn. They were what Daisy had been looking at when he first appeared on the porch.
“It’s Beulah and Aunt Emily,” she started to explain. “Along with Connor Woodley and Duke—” Feeling an irrepressible burst of mischievousness, Daisy interrupted herself. “You know Duke, of course. He is one of your trusty bootleggers, after all.”
The jaw twitched again.
“Beulah’s salon has been flooding for the past week,” she continued quickly, before Rick could offer any snide rejoinder. “Duke and Connor have been trying to fix it, but they can’t seem to figure out what the problem is. At first they thought it was the line from the well, then they weren’t so sure, and now they think it might be the well itself. The salon and the inn share the same well, which means that Aunt Emily is in an absolute tizzy about the whole thing. She’s afraid they’ll have to—”
There was a muffled rumble from the direction of the side lawn, like the echo of thunder from an impending storm off in the distance. Except there was no storm. The October sky was a clear cerulean blue.
“Did you hear that?” Daisy asked.
“I did—” Rick began.
The rumble repeated itself, louder this time.
He frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Daisy frowned too, and the rumble abruptly became a hiss. It had the shrillness of a factory whistle, as though somebody was supposed to turn down the knob on a pressure valve—and fast. Up until that point, the group on the lawn had been arguing and debating vociferously. They suddenly grew still.
Rick straightened up in his chair. “Where exactly is the well?”
“I think it’s about where they’re standing,” Daisy said. “Maybe a bit closer to the salon—”
The lawn started to quiver. All at once, the group spun around and began to run toward the inn. A second later, there was a deep groan from inside the earth. It was followed by a harsh metallic clank, and then a column of water exploded up out of the ground. Shrieks and shouts ensued. After a moment, the group stopped running. It was no use. Like oysters at high tide, they were thoroughly—and inescapably—drenched.
“Lordy,” Daisy exhaled, frozen in her seat, staring at the geyser.
She could only watch as the resultant tidal wave hit. In less than a minute, the salon had a river running through it. The side parking lot was no longer visible. And half of the inn’s wraparound front porch had broken off.
“I guess there’s your answer,” Rick responded slowly, also staring. “The problem is with the well.”
“Oh, poor Aunt Emily.”
“You don’t have to worry about her,” he replied. “Aside from being wet and probably a tad cold, she’s fine. They’re all fine.”
“But the inn,” Daisy said. “The inn is everything to Aunt Emily. Look at the damage, Rick! If that gusher doesn’t stop soon, the rest of the porch is going to wash away and the entire first floor will be under water.”
“At least she’s still got her brandy.” With a chortle, he gestured toward the potting stand, which was as safe and dry in the corner of the back porch as they were.
“Medicine or not, it won’t be much comfort to her when the furniture from the parlor starts floating down the road,” Daisy remarked tartly.
Rick turned to her. His eyes were laughing, but his tone was earnest. “Forget about the porch and the parlor, Daisy. Have you considered what this means for you—and your momma? Because if Aunt Emily is out of a home, then so are you.”
Daisy blinked at him as her stomach sunk and her throat tightened. It hadn’t occurred to her in the shock of the moment, but the tr
uth of his words was undeniable.
His dark eyes gazed at her for a few seconds longer, then Rick cocked his head and drawled, “I told you before, darlin’. Nothing in this life is ever certain.”
There was an instant when she felt slightly panicked and more than a little queasy, but like the force of the water spouting from the well, it faded. Cocking her head back at him, Daisy raised her glass. “Nothing except ’shine.”
Also by Carol Miller
Murder and Moonshine
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carol Miller was born in Germany, raised in Chicago, and lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
Visit her Web site at www.carolmillerauthor.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
A NIP OF MURDER. Copyright © 2014 by Carol Miller. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: cabin in the woods © Lisa Howarth/Trevillion Images; woman © Stephen Carroll/Trevillion Images; jars © Reginald Polynice; bushes © Denys Kurylow/Shutterstock.com
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Miller, Carol, 1972–
A nip of murder: a moonshine mystery / Carol Miller.— First edition.
p. cm.—(Moonshine mystery series; 2)
“A Thomas Dunne book.”
ISBN 978-1-250-01927-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-01928-8 (e-book)
1. Waitresses—Fiction. 2. Virginia, Southwest—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.I53277N56 2014
813'.6—dc23
2014027068
e-ISBN 9781250019288
First Edition: December 2014