by Ann Yost
“When did you get in, Nick?”
“This morning.”
“Heavens,” Isabelle said, startled. “Where’ve you been all day?”
There was really no reason not to tell.
“I got shanghaied into helping with the Renaissance wedding over at the Funeral Home.”
Four forks halted in mid-air. Four jaws dropped. He understood their confusion. He wasn’t exactly the Good Samaritan type.
Isabelle recovered first.
“I can imagine they needed help. Daisy told me they were pulling out all the stops.”
Nick kept his tone casual.
“I didn’t realize you knew Daisy Budd.”
“We worked together on the homeless shelter. She’s become a one-woman chamber of commerce. She instituted a small loan program for would-be entrepreneurs and she’s helping Nadine branch out as a caterer. She’s supported Flowers by Florence. That’s Florence Mainwright’s new venture. She was the society editor of the Monitor when Daisy’s father owned it.”
Nick had forgotten the family’s connection to the defunct paper. Apparently ink ran in Daisy’s blood. Interesting that she’d given it up for orange blossoms and tulle.
“Now, Isabelle,” Arthur said, as if they had discussed this topic many times, “no one disputes Daisy Budd’s good intentions but we need that property if we are to expand into prepared foods.”
“Expansion?”
Nick knew something about the expansion plans but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn more.
It was Alice who answered him.
“We’re losing clients. Our sales numbers have plummeted. I’ve done some research. It seems that with so many women entering the workforce, there is no one left in the kitchen. Two-income families prefer to stop at the supermarket to pick up prepared foods. Buzz and Arthur have hired a firm to do a feasibility study but everyone knows the old funeral home sits on the best land for expansion.”
“Alice is right,” Arthur put in. “We need to overhaul the factory and streamline our books. We need new equipment and new accounting procedures and a professional plant manager. We cannot afford any of that without a significant expansion.”
“Father’s paternalistic policy made for happy employees,” Isabelle said with a sad smile. “They were always allowed to make lots of overtime and he shut down in November every year for hunting season. But those old ways won’t work any longer. We have to stay competitive in our market.”
Nick frowned. “What’s the bottom line here?”
Arthur shrugged. “Without some major changes we’re looking at heavy layoffs and maybe worse.”
“Worse?”
“We can’t keep dropping clients. If we keep on as we are, Bowman’s Biscuits will have to close.”
The words hit him in a sucker punch.
Bowman’s Biscuits will have to close. It shouldn’t mean anything to him but it did. For a moment, it meant everything.
Damn.
“Nicky? Are you all right?”
He heard Aunt Isabelle’s voice but it was Alice Bowman’s face he focused on. She gave him an encouraging smile.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s hard to imagine Mayville without Bowman’s Biscuits.”
Then why have you stayed away? No one voiced the words but Nick heard them all the same. Why did you abandon your brother?
Half brother.
The correction was automatic but, for once, it failed to clear his conscience.
Isabelle cleared her throat. “I understand Miss Olive left her sister at the Gray Lady.”
Judith shook her head.
“That was a mistake. Poor Ora must be free to start on her journey. It’s a long way to Summerland.”
Nick pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
“You may be relieved to know she got as far as Titusville today.”
Nick was ready for a journey of his own. The evening air felt good after the suffocating atmosphere of Bowman Mansion but it was the feel of the steering wheel in his hands that cleared his head. Driving had always represented freedom to Nick. He found himself on Main Street.
The decades-old, downward spiral of the automobile industry had crashed into a full-scale depression and the results showed even in a town where biscuit mix was king.
The empty windows of the former Blackwell’s Department Store peered sightlessly at the ragged remains of Main Street.
Winans Pharmacy, where he’d bought his first condoms (For His Lady’s Pleasure) was still in business as was D’Agostino’s where he’d gotten his first haircut but Woolworth’s at the corner of Main and First had become a now abandoned video arcade. The Buttered Biscuit and Marshall’s Market book-ended a vacant storefront that still bore the words, “Mayville Monitor”. On the south side of the Biscuit a new sign welcomed shoppers, “Books Redux.” Nick couldn’t decide whether the name was pretentious or merely surprising for the blue-collar town.
Nick looked twice as he passed the Victorian home formerly known as the Mayville Library. The new sign offered customers a chance to pawn their valuables then have their nails done.
Nick didn’t recognize the rew, red-brick building but it was well-marked; The Theodore Bowman Homeless Shelter.
Aunt Isabelle’s work? Or maybe this was an Alice project. Buzz’s wife seemed to be involved in every aspect of the family’s life.
The marquee at the Jewel Box was blank and the building dark. Nick flashed back on the summer nights he’d spent in the theater’s balcony, his eyes on the feature film, his hands under some girl’s blouse. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever taken Caroline Budd to the movies. Her sister’s disapproving hazel eyes appeared before his face and he scowled. He didn’t need to worry about Daisy. Junie was on his side. First thing Monday morning he’d get into the Gray Lady’s cellar.
He’d find the Nazi loot and return it, if possible. In any case by this time next week he’d be back on the West Coast.
A chartreuse martini glass caught his eye and, on impulse, he pulled into the parking spot in front of Mayville’s only bar, the Grainery. Beer was the drink of choice in Mayville and Nick wondered if the joint even stocked gin.
Tonight, he decided, was an excellent time to find out.
Chapter Four
The brilliant blue overhead began to fade as the afternoon slipped toward dusk. The newlyweds departed into the sunset and the wedding guests, particularly the younger ones, abandoned their tights and grog in favor of shorts and beer.
Daisy carried a load of costumes to the cellar. Monday she’d mail them back to the rental company. She peered through the gloom and shivered. First thing next week she planned to get rid of the leftover coffins that lined one wall like oversized chocolate bars then she’d devote some time to weeding through the flotsam and jetsam of more than a hundred years. She didn’t look forward to the task but it had to be done. She consoled herself with the thought that there might be a few “treasures” buried under the rubbish. She hurried back upstairs. Tonight she wanted to bask with her sisters in the day’s success.
The phone on the reception desk halted her progress to the second floor.
“Happily Ever After,” she said. “This is Daisy.”
“This the Funeral Parlor?”
She sighed. “Not anymore. Happily Ever After is now a wedding boutique.”
“I heard this was a mortuary.”
Daisy held onto her patience.
“I can direct you to Foote’s in Titusville.”
“Look, this is Cory Aspen. Channel 6 News.”
Daisy paused. “Okay.”
“Live at Five, Six and Seven. In Detroit. I’m on the air every night. You must have seen me.”
“I don’t have a television set.”
“Good God, woman! How the hell do you get the weather?”
“I look outside. If you’ll excuse me,”
“Hang on, hang on, Ms. Bowman.”
“Ms. Budd.”
“What?”<
br />
She wished she’d let the call go to voicemail.
“Mr. Aspen, is there something I can do for you?”
“Damn straight. I got a tip about a murder at the mortuary. Some old lady named Onion.”
“That was a misunderstanding. One of our elderly residents, Ms. Ora Bunsen died of natural causes.” If death-by-pastry was considered a natural cause.
“I heard it was murder.”
The man was stubborn. It was a quality that often paid off in the news business. Suddenly she missed her old profession and her hostility fell away.
“Tell you what, Mr. Aspen, if there ever is a murder in Mayville, you’ll be the first to know.”
Daisy hung up and joined her sisters upstairs on the screened porch off the kitchen. The living quarters in the Gray Lady included three bedrooms and two baths as well as Daisy’s office, the large, square kitchen and the porch. At first she’d thought they would all live there together but Caro had wanted a separate home for herself and Stevie. Junie claimed she needed her own apartment so that she could grow up, an inarguable goal.
When Isabelle Bowman offered the cabin, Daisy had fallen in love with it. The separate living arrangements worked out well.
“Hey, Daze. We’re doing a post mortem.”
Junie lounged on the chintz-covered cushions of the glider. Her feet hung over the back and her ponytail touched the wooden slats of the floor. “My favorite moment was the Troubadors’ performance of Can’t Get No Satisfaction. Caro’s piece de resistance was Cherry Ann’s dismount. Merde! I can’t even imagine the wedding night.”
“Unfortunately,” Caroline said, “I can.”
Daisy collapsed into one of the well-padded wicker chairs next to her eldest sister.
“My Kodak moment was the planting of the ceremonial sword.”
Junie chortled and Caro smiled but she looked exhausted. The hard-won tranquility of the past few months had fled. Anxiety gripped Daisy’s insides as Junie sat up in her chair. “I think Cherry Ann is Quent’s perfect match. They say everybody’s got a soul mate.” She got to her feet. “I’ve gotta split to get ready for my date.”
“Your date?” Daisy and Caro exchanged a stricken glance. “With whom?”
“My boyfriend. You met him last week.”
Daisy felt something inside her relax. “The homeless guy?”
“Adrian’s not exactly homeless,” Junie pointed out. “He’s staying at the shelter until things start to jell.”
“He’s waiting for things to jell in Mayville?”
Junie shrugged. “He’s got irons in the fire.”
Daisy knew better than to mention Adrian’s obvious unsuitability. Their best bet was to keep a close eye on matters and wait for Junie’s taste to mature.
Junie looked from one sister to the other and grinned.
“Why the silent panic? Did you two think I was going out with Nick Bowman?”
There was no point in denying it. Daisy shrugged. “It seemed reasonable. You spent a lot of time with him today.”
“I’ll admit he’s a major hunk. Definitely a genetic gold mine.”
“He’s too old for you,” Caro said.
“That’s what he thinks. He treated me like a kid sister.”
The sense of relief that crashed into Daisy seemed out of proportion to the threat. Nick Bowman, for all his reputation, was a decent man. He wouldn’t hurt Junie.
“He’s gonna get rid of the coffins for us.” Junie sounded pleased with herself. “For free, too.”
Daisy’s eyes darted to her older sister. Caro’s already pale face had turned to rice paper. Her blue eyes looked enormous against the translucent skin. Daisy held her forefinger against her lips.
“Night, Junie,” she called out. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Hah!” Junie grinned. “If I followed that advice I’d never do anything at all.”
The front door banged shut. Caroline’s voice was terse.
“You can’t let Nick Bowman hang around.”
“Don’t worry, honey. You know Junie. By Monday she’ll have forgotten all about this.” Daisy made her voice as casual as possible.
Caro shook her head. “That man doesn’t do anything without a reason. He has an agenda and it involves our family.” Her lips trembled. “Daisy, I’m afraid.”
Daisy got up and hurried to Caro’s side. She put her arm around her older, taller sister.
“Trust me. I won’t let him hurt Junie. I won’t let him hurt any of us. Forget about Nick Bowman. The wedding was a tremendous success. Concentrate on that. We’re together, the four of us, and we’re on our way.”
The summer sky was indigo by the time Daisy turned off the interstate onto the bumpy, unpaved road that led to the cabin. She pulled into the clearing, parked and gazed at Trout Lake. The smooth water glittered like an onyx under a full moon. The air smelled of pine and filled with the ribbits of a frog chorus. Above the lake, the stars burst forth like kernels of freshly popped corn.
Daisy felt all the tension seep out of her. The cabin in the woods had become her sanctuary.
Larry greeted her at the door and glued himself to her ankles until she filled the ceramic bowl emblazoned with the name “Esmerelda.” Daisy had found the bowl under the kitchen sink the same day Larry appeared at the door to share her tuna melt. She poured herself a glass of kumquat juice and sat at the small table with the gray Formica top to re-read the letters.
They’d arrived at one week intervals, each in a spotless envelope with no stamp or address. Daisy felt a wave of anger as she remembered this morning’s missive. The anonymous letter writer had been inside Happily Ever After. She compared the missives. In each case, the message, typed on standard bond, contained the same number of words.
Where the messages differed was intensity.
The first, received two weeks earlier, included only a vague, implied threat:
Leave this house while you can.
The second, received the previous Saturday, promised potential bodily harm.
Get out before someone is hurt.
The third one, the one she’d found on her desk a few moments before Nick Bowman’s appearance this morning, was succinct. A cold shiver worked its way down her spine as she stared at the words.
Death is coming to the Gray Lady.
A death threat? Was the sender a potential murderer?
Daisy was willing to build a moat around the Gray Lady if it would protect her sisters and nephew but she couldn’t defend them against the unknown. The letter writer was able to get into and out of the old house without being noticed which meant he or she was either resourceful or someone they knew. Daisy shook her head. She knew, and trusted, everyone in town. A fierce anger shook her. This anonymous coward was trying to shake her faith in her community and she couldn’t let that happen.
There really was no choice. It was time to contact the authorities.
Exhaustion struck. It seemed an age since she’d found Miss Ora’s dead body in the casket and Nick Bowman’s very much alive body in the doorway. Daisy scraped together enough energy to drag herself into the bedroom. By the time she slid between the daffodil-colored sheets she was half asleep.
****
Nick figured he’d get some hostile looks in the bar. Bowman’s employed four out of ten people in town and ten out of ten Mayville residents were affected by the company’s fortunes—fortunes that were rapidly spiraling down. Folks might very well blame him for disappearing into a puff of exhaust seven years ago.
He’d figured wrong. The patrons of the Grainery were the opposite of hostile. They greeted him with handshakes, words of welcome and questions about his racing career. He obliged them with a few tales and rounds of beer but he was relieved when they turned back to what he imagined was an oft-visited and favorite topic—past moments of gridiron glory at Clark County High.
When the bar closed at two a.m. Nick stumbled out to the Malibu. He wasn’t drunk but the fresh air, c
ombined with the drinks and lack of sleep hit him hard. Nick knew his body. He figured he had twenty minutes until he passed out.
It was time to find a bed.
He paused at the red light at the end of Main. A right turn took him up the hill to Bowman Mansion. A left led to the interstate. The prospect of an entire night in the mausoleum was unbearable. He opted for freedom. He barreled down I-94 with no destination in mind but as soon as he spotted the weathered, hand-painted sign half-hidden by reeds he knew exactly where he was going to sleep.
****
Daisy melted and burned. It was hot enough to blister the paint on the walls. Inferno hot. She tried to push the heat away but it was always there, like a second skin. Was it coming from her? Did she have a fever? Malaria? Early menopause? Desperate for relief Daisy twisted until a steel bar clamped across her chest. Panic attacked her. She arched backward and her hips slammed into a new barrier. This one was hard and hot and, in spite of her relative lack of experience, she identified it immediately.
An erection. A big one.
Daisy screeched and launched herself skyward, breaking the hold. She felt like a smashed piñata as the floor slammed into her hip and funny bone.
“Ow!”
An artificial light flared in her eyes.
“You okay?”
She gritted her teeth and waited for the flare of pain to recede before she opened one eye.
Nick leaned over the side of the bed, his dark hair tousled from sleep, his eyelids heavy, his cheeks bristled with dark whiskers. Gray eyes glittered at her.
“Damn you felt good. C’mon back to bed, honey.”
Honey? Honey? She struggled to her feet and planted her fists at her waist as righteous anger ignited the adrenaline in her system. Her words were clean, crisp rifle shots.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Bed.”
He squinted at her as if he didn’t know what to say, as if it were inconceivable that she wouldn’t want to get back into his bed. Her bed. The man was in her bed.
He rolled to his feet in a coordinated move and stood before her unconcerned about his nudity. But why should he be concerned. He was magnificent. Daisy’s injuries receded as she struggled for breath.