by Ann Yost
Nick chafed at the interminable dinner. He needed to get Arthur alone. Finally the berry-gatherers left and the others removed to Isabelle’s small parlor. Arthur poured brandies. Nick could tell from their sober expressions there was more bad news.
He looked at his aunt’s unhappy face.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know how to tell you, but there is no point putting it off.” She glanced at Arthur then back at Nick. “We’ve had an offer from Amalgamated Grains and we mean to take it.”
“What offer?”
“For the company, Nick. We really have no choice but to sell Bowman’s Biscuits.”
It was great news all the way around. The sale would solve Daisy’s problem and it didn’t matter to him. Except it did.
“No.” he said. “We’re not going to sell.”
A shocked silence followed his words. He understood. He’d shown no interest in Bowman’s Biscuits during the past seven years despite his one-third ownership. They expected him to be indifferent to the company’s fate. Hell, he should have been indifferent.
“We’ve lost customers,” Arthur explained. “We need a complete reorganization and the acquisition of property to even begin to make the company viable. We don’t have capital, Nick, and we don’t have the leadership.”
“Where,” he asked, as anger flooded his soul, “the hell is Buzz?”
Isabelle spread her hands and shrugged. “We don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Arthur sounded weary. “Bowman’s Biscuits’ success was based on the concept of family. There’s no family left to run it.”
Isabelle slid her hand through her husband’s thin arm.
“You are family, dear,” she said. “But it isn’t fair to dump all this on your shoulders.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed on his aunt. “Doesn’t Buzz’s wife know his whereabouts?”
Isabelle shook her head. “She is as baffled as we are.”
“Amalgamated has the assets to buy us out,” Arthur explained. “They’ll keep the name and the signature pink-and-white box but they intend to drop the piecrust and other non-biscuit products. I don’t see them replacing the antiquated equipment. My guess is that within the next few years they’ll close the Mayville plant.” He sighed. “But the decision is made. We have to sell.”
It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what would happen to the small town without its largest employer.
“No,” Nick heard himself say. “No. I’ll take care of this. I will run the company.”
The two older people gaped at him.
“What about your racing and your franchise,” Arthur asked.
“I have offers for the franchise all the time. I have to finish a couple more commitments then I’ll retire. I’d been considering it, anyway.”
“Oh, Nick!” His aunt threw her arms around him. “This is just, well, an answer to prayer.”
He patted her back. What had he done? He’d committed himself to live in Mayville. He’d put himself squarely in the midst of the dysfunctional family to which he didn’t even belong. He’d have no excuse not to marry Daisy Budd if there were any consequences after last night. With a few words, he’d reversed the rotation of the world. At least, his world. His well-ordered existence was about to turn to chaos.
The prospect should have bothered him more.
Isabelle’s eyes glistened. “I know what Daddy did to you seven years ago, Nick. I don’t pretend to know why but he always had confidence in you and I know he loved you.”
Nick deliberately erased the image of the confrontation with Pops. The pain no longer mattered. The lack of blood ties no longer mattered. He knew he was a good businessman. He could and would straighten out this family’s problems without any emotional commitment. He could still be an island.
****
Oddly, the late afternoon rays of the sun that gilded and warmed the old Victorian made Daisy feel desolate. She knew it was not really the sun at fault but the mistaken assumptions she’d made and the lonely future she faced. She wandered about the place trying without much success to regain her normal optimism by cataloguing the changes she’d made and the ones she planned to make. Tomorrow things would look brighter. Happily Ever After would become a hive of activity when the Wiccans gathered. A Circle meeting was scheduled for Friday night and a handfasting for Saturday.
The cellar drew her in a way it had never done before. Tonight it was less frightening. What, after all, were stacks of old chairs, books, boxes or even coffins compared with the specter of losing her family? And Nick.
Daisy knew she was being melodramatic. She was not losing her family. They were merely moving to Chicago. And, as for Nick Bowman, well, she’d never had any claim to him. She was being absurd.
She set to work cleaning up the dead butterflies, depositing the tiny carcasses into one paper bag and the black candle into another. She reminded herself that she alone was responsible for these particular deaths. She vowed never to place another order with the butterfly farm.
When she finished she gazed around the room. She could hardly believe there was a piece of valuable art hidden here, an object that had belonged to a victim of the Holocaust. Where was it? What was it? She shivered as thought of the dreadful injustice of Hitler’s Germany and the families who had lost loved ones.
She, Daisy, had no business indulging in self-pity. She would be happy for them as they left; Caro and Stevie and Junie. And Nick.
Nick. She looked around the cellar. There was one thing she could do for him. She could find the blue diamond.
The prospect of a quest soothed Daisy and inspired her. She dug into cardboard boxes and still-full drawers of old bureaus. She sifted through stacks of books and papers. She peered into the roll compartment of a player piano.
She paused, finally, and stood to stretch the aching muscles of her back. That’s when she noticed paint-chipped secretary that had been obscured by the piles. She opened the lower doors and gasped. Daisy focused her flashlight beam and then she stared at the newfound object for a long time.
The dollhouse, a miniature of the Gray Lady, had been built with exquisite attention to detail. She recognized the scalloped gray tiles, the tall narrow windows, the wide, sheltered front porch and the intricate gingerbread. The chimneys and dormer windows had been placed correctly.
A separation in the front allowed her to open the house to see the inside. The craftsman had duplicated the foyer and winding staircase, the kitchen upstairs, bedrooms and side porch. The large room on the first floor was neither a wedding chapel nor a funeral chapel. Instead it was a parlor that contained Victorian furniture and a Christmas tree decorated with tiny wax candles and miniature knitted stockings on the hearth.
Tears filled Daisy’s eyes. The Gray Lady had once been a family’s beloved home. She felt an immediate kinship with the dollhouse’s creator and a renewed love for the structure. She would not allow the Gray Lady to become a manufacturing plant for Bowman’s Biscuits. The house deserved love and she vowed to fill it with happy people, joyous young brides and their families.
Daisy wished she could carry the beautiful creation up to the foyer. It deserved to be seen by everyone who entered the house but she couldn’t lift it. She’d ask Nick to take it up tomorrow. Her heart squeezed. No, not Nick. If she succeeded in finding the blue diamond tonight she would have no further contact with him. Someone else could carry the treasure upstairs, Jimmy or Quentin or maybe she and Junie could handle it between them.
Daisy blinked away her tears and took one last look at the marvel she’d uncovered and that’s when she spotted the dumb waiter. Whoever had built the house had cleverly designed a pulley system to allow the little box to ride up and down between the kitchen and the ground floor. No doubt some Victorian family had installed the mechanism to save its staff from the necessity of using the stairs during parties and entertainments.
In the miniature house the dumb waiter stopped in the parlor. Daisy ha
d seen the waist-high opening in the kitchen but couldn’t picture the same in the parlor which was strange because they’d just painted that entire room. Where was the other end of the real dumb waiter? She screwed up her face and closed her eyes and tried to make out the house’s architecture. The dumb waiter did not stop in the parlor. Did that mean it continued to the cellar? Her eyes popped open.
She contemplated the wall behind the Secretary, then shoved and pushed the heavy piece of furniture, one end at a time, until she’d moved it far enough to get up close to the wall. She ran the flashlight’s beam over the wall.
At first she couldn’t see anything. She edged the big desk back farther and got in closer. Sure enough, there was a faint seam. It sat well off the ground, like a squirrel hole in an oak tree and it looked as if it had been undisturbed for a long time. Sixty years?
Daisy’s heart thudded in heavy beats. Was this where Theo had hidden the stolen treasure? If she pried open the door would she find herself staring at the blue diamond?
There was only one way to find out.
She retrieved a kitchen knife from a box of odd utensils but the blade was too thick and dull to separate the paint from the opening. A strong sense of urgency kept her from climbing the two flights to the kitchen. She stepped back and stared at the dollhouse. Suddenly she spotted it.
The maker of the dollhouse had thoughtfully provided a set of miniature fireplace tools near the stone hearth in the parlor.
“Eureka.” She spoke the word, softly, although there was no one to hear her. After that she lost track of time.
She scraped at the old paint until her hands cramped, then she rested and started again. Every muscle ached by the time she’d loosened the door but more frustration loomed. There was no handle and she couldn’t get enough leverage with the tiny poker. Exasperated, she hit the thing with the edge of her fist. The slight “click” was nearly obscured by her yelp of pain. But she had no difficulty at all in seeing the dark slit between the door and the wall.
She’d done it.
Excitement burbled up inside her. She reached down for the flashlight. A cold breeze brushed against her neck but she had no time to react before the pain exploded in her head.
Chapter Sixteen
Nick stared out at the dark road and wondered at fate.
Seven years after his banishment he was back in Mayville in the old life. It was as if his racing career and his adventures in L.A. had never happened at all, as if nothing had ever changed and he was once again twenty-three, eager and ready along with Buzz, to be groomed to take over the company.
Except things had changed. There was no Buzz by his side, and no Pops to initiate them. The robust company had rusted in the past seven years. At best it needed an overhaul. At worst it had rotted from within.
And seven years ago he had not misused a local angel unless one counted Caroline Budd and he did not count her.
He had to find a way to save Bowman’s Biscuits and he had to do it without destroying Daisy.
And he still had to resolve the issue of the blue diamond and the questions surrounding Spuds Langston’s murder.
Nick glowered at the road. Had Pops foreseen the complications from his posthumous summons? The answer came quickly. Of course. Whatever else he was, Theo Bowman hadn’t been stupid. He’d known his family very well. He’d expected Nick to get snarled in their problems.
He’d expected Nick to come back to stay.
The tension seeped out of him and was replaced by an airy sense of euphoria. He found himself in the extremely unfamiliar position of wanting to share his epiphany with someone. But not just anyone.
He wanted to talk to Daisy.
He blinked at the overhead road sign. He’d automatically turned onto the interstate. His lips curved into a smile. Hell.
Nick felt the excitement rise, lava-like inside him as he pulled into the clearing. By the time he reached the screened door his skin felt too tight and a sense of anticipation drove his footsteps. He felt like a damned adolescent. A horny one. An excited one.
He found Larry home alone.
The searing disappointment he felt irritated him. Nick Bowman did not depend on other people. It shouldn’t have mattered that she was out. But it did matter. And it worried him.
They still had not identified the murderer.
She had to be at her sister’s.
Nick checked the cat’s food and water then headed back to town. He wanted to see Daisy badly enough to tangle with the hostile Budd sister but he drove past Happily Ever After just to make sure the little red Jeep wasn’t there.
It was after eleven and the hulking house was completely dark. Nick felt a flash of relief. He’d have been unhappy to find her here alone. He drove past the carport and glanced at Randolph’s old hearse and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Daisy’s car.
Nick slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car and sprinted up the back steps. His fingers shook as he turned the knob. The door was unlocked. Damn. He slammed the door open and shouted her name.
The answer came from the cellar. The voice, calm and familiar.
“She’s down here, Nick.”
He flung himself down the narrow cellar stairs his eyes riveted on the unconscious woman cradled in the arms of a large, blonde male.
An anguished roar filled the room.
His brother’s blue eyes widened. “She’ll be all right. She’s coming around.”
****
The male voice comforted her. It sounded like Nick but she knew it wasn’t Nick. For one thing, her hormones weren’t rioting. For another there was the scent. It wasn’t unpleasant but it was all wrong.
Daisy lifted her lashes and stared into a pair of clear, sky-blue eyes.
“Buzz.”
“You bumped your head,” he explained, with a gentle smile.
Her head. Ah. She’d been aware of something throbbing like an outboard motor. It must be her head. She tried to lift it and cried out.
All at once the world shifted and she reached out to steady herself and stared into a pair of worried eyes, slate-gray eyes. She inhaled and tucked her head into his shoulder. His arms closed around her and she relaxed. The right scent this time. The right man.
“What the hell happened?”
His voice was low, angry, hoarse. She could feel it as well as hear it.
“I saw her car but the place was dark so I came inside to check it out. I guess I called her name as I headed up the stairs to the second floor. Anyway, whoever attacked her left the cellar door open when he escaped out the back. I had to decide whether to chase him or check on Daisy.” He paused. “She was unconscious when I found her.”
Daisy felt Nick’s arms tighten around her.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
There was such concern, such tenderness in his voice. She snuggled against him. “I felt a rush of cold air and then a house fell on my head.”
Only Buzz laughed. She heard Nick’s sharp intake of breath and his harsh, accusatory words.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you didn’t hit her?”
“Buzz wouldn’t hit me,” she protested. “He’s your brother.”
“Step-brother.”
She heard Buzz sigh.
“I didn’t hit her. I’d been keeping an eye on this place but the intruder must have slipped in under my radar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been camped out in the room across the street.”
“Why?”
“I was waiting for you. I figured it was time we talked.”
“Buzz’s right,” Daisy said. “You need to talk.” Suddenly her eyes popped open.
“Oh my gosh!”
Nick’s muscles tightened enough to hurt her. Only they didn’t hurt her.
“What?”
“I almost forgot! I found the blue diamond! At least I found the hiding place. An old dumb waiter sealed up years ago. Oh, and Nick
, I found the most beautiful dollhouse.”
“Hiding place for what,” Buzz sounded puzzled.
“We’ll check it out tomorrow,” Nick said at the same time. “First, I’m taking you to the emergency room at Clark County General.”
She didn’t want or need to go to the hospital. “Look in the dumb waiter, okay?”
“Later, Daisy. First we take care of the bump on the head.”
She didn’t have the energy to make him understand. Instead, she turned to his brother. “Buzz?”
“Sure.” He grabbed Daisy’s fallen flashlight and headed for the opening in the wall. Second thoughts choked off her excitement. Nick should find the diamond.
“Go with him,” Daisy urged. “Put me down.”
“Not a chance.”
His concern warmed her heart. His fingers, gentle on her sore skull, warmed her blood. She winced.
“You’ve got a concussion.”
“I’m fine. I just need ice. And a good night’s sleep.”
The gray eyes flashed and she knew he was remembering the sleepless night they’d just spent together. The blood heated and rose to her cheeks and, for an instant, she forgot everything else. She started at the sound of Buzz’s voice. She’d forgotten he was there.
“You won’t believe what’s in the dumb waiter.”
“A blue diamond?”
“Blue diamond? No. Nothing like that. Time magazine’s Man of the Year edition from 1938.”
Three years before the U.S. entered World War II.
“Who is it,” she asked, though she thought she knew.
“Hitler,” Nick replied.
“How the hell did you know that?”
Daisy felt Buzz’s eyes but she only saw Nick’s.
“Maybe there’s a story inside about the Nazi loot.”
Nick shook his head. “To be chosen Man of the Year was an honor. Americans didn’t know about the Holocaust at that point.”
Daisy considered that.
“It must be a clue.”
“A clue to what?” Buzz’s exasperation finally reached her. “C’mon, you two. Stop mooning at each other and let me in on what’s happening.”