Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery

by Miller, Carol

  “What kind of junk?”

  “I don’t know. Junk.”

  “Daisy…”

  Reluctantly she raised her eyes to meet his. Daisy knew that Rick would see right through her. She was an abysmal liar. He took hold of her wrist to get a better look at the supposed junk in her hand, but he didn’t recognize it.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “Over there.”

  Daisy pointed toward the spot. A quartet of bowed rusty nails stuck out from one of the boards like a group of tipsy sailors. A tiny torn piece of matching cloth remained attached to them.

  “The nails must have snagged it,” Rick said. “What is it?”

  She didn’t respond. He tried to take it from her, and she resisted.

  “Leave it,” Daisy whispered sternly.

  Rick frowned but let go of her wrist. She immediately tucked the ball behind her back once more. She wished that she had a better way of getting rid of it. Except it was too big for a pocket. And there was no trash bag on the porch that she could pretend to dump it in now and collect it again later in private.

  Astute enough to realize that something was amiss, Ethan walked over to them. He held out his palm.

  “May I see it?” he said.

  Although Daisy tried to think up an excuse, there was none. How could she justify not handing over a purported piece of junk to a special agent from the ATF—and his Glock—standing a half foot in front of her? Her only hope was that he wouldn’t recognize it any more than Rick had.

  With the speed of a geriatric snail, Daisy lifted the ball of cloth and set it in Ethan’s waiting hand. He gazed at it for a long moment, then raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She gulped. He unfurled the ball with a quick snap. The cloth hung from his fingers like a limp flag, soiled and wrinkled. Ethan gazed at it for another long moment, and the questioning eyebrow turned toward Daisy again. This time it was joined by an unhappy—and painfully perceptive—twitch of the jaw.

  “You were planning on hiding this?” he demanded.

  She instinctively retreated a step.

  “I assume by your efforts to conceal it you know what it is,” Ethan continued gruffly, “and what it means.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Daisy replied.

  “It sure as hell means something.”

  “But it doesn’t prove—”

  “Yes, it does. It proves he was here.”

  Rick looked back and forth between the two. “Will somebody tell me what the blazes is going on?”

  Ethan swung the cloth in Rick’s direction. “Look familiar?”

  He studied it for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No.”

  “Look again. I didn’t recognize it at first either. But it’s such a dirty white. With those stains. And there’s the shape. The shape was what gave it away for me. Was it the shape for you too, Daisy?”

  She pressed her lips together hard.

  “Then there’s the fact it reeks like hamburgers,” Ethan went on.

  Rick squinted at the cloth. “Is that—” The squint turned to Daisy. “That’s not—”

  “It is.” She sighed.

  “Holy hell,” he muttered. “Hank’s apron.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  It was Hank’s apron. There was no question about that. Daisy knew it from the grease. It smelled just like him and the diner. The inimitable scent of frying oil. And it had all those creases from the day before when he pulled it off and flung it next to the mustard bottles. She had picked it up and tossed it back to him, and he had wrapped it around his waist before heading into the kitchen. Hank had been wearing the apron yesterday at H & P’s, but somehow it had ended up on the porch of Fox Hollow today.

  “How in the world did it get here?” Rick said.

  “I think the better question,” Ethan replied, “is when did it get here?”

  Daisy constructed a timeline in her head. She had last been together with Hank the prior evening at the diner. He’d had the apron on while closing down the place for the night. This morning she didn’t go to work. She went straight from the inn to Chalk Level with Ethan. They didn’t drive by H & P’s on the way.

  “I haven’t seen Hank since the day Fred died,” Rick mused.

  “I saw him yesterday,” Ethan said, “in this very apron.”

  “How can you be sure?” Daisy retorted. “It could belong to anyone.”

  “Covered with that much grill grease? I doubt it.” Ethan draped the apron over the porch railing. “And it’s still wrinkled from when he got mad at me for asking about Chalk Level and hurled it at the counter.”

  Rick half-grinned. “The man’s got a temper, doesn’t he?”

  Daisy glared at him.

  He shrugged. “There’s no need to get mad about it, darlin’. It’s the truth.”

  “Truth or not,” she snapped, “it doesn’t prove anything—”

  “You can argue all you want about his temper,” Ethan interjected, “not his apron. I said it already, but I guess it bears repeating. The apron proves Hank was here.”

  “Not necessarily.” Daisy straightened her back. “Somebody else could have left it on the porch.”

  Ethan smirked. “We both know that’s a load of crap.”

  “It is not! It’s entirely possible someone took Hank’s apron from the diner last night and brought it here.”

  “Someone such as space aliens?”

  Rick burst out laughing.

  Daisy’s face went crimson with fury. “What are you hooting about? Hank could beat you—and your brother—to a pile of mulch with one fist tied behind his back!”

  The laughter continued. “I’d love to see him try.”

  “I’d love to see it too, because in less than a minute you’d be flat on your belly, wiping the blood from your chin and begging for mercy.”

  Ethan jumped in before Rick could respond. “You sure are loyal to Hank, Daisy.”

  She didn’t deny it or apologize for it. She was loyal to Hank. Unwaveringly loyal. Hank had been there for her and her momma at the lowest point of their lives, and he had done it without expecting anything in return. If that didn’t engender loyalty, she couldn’t begin to imagine what did.

  “You probably have no idea what it means to be really loyal,” Daisy growled at Ethan. She shot Rick a bitter look. “I know you don’t.”

  Rick’s laughter died, and his eyes grew cloudy. Daisy turned away from both men with a scowl.

  In an apparent attempt to appease her, Ethan said mildly, “Okay. Let’s assume for a moment you’re right. Hank wasn’t here. Somebody else left his apron on the porch. Why would they do that? Were they trying to send him a message, or were they hoping to make it look like he was here?”

  Daisy’s brow furrowed. That was a good question. Why would someone bring Hank’s apron to Fox Hollow? It did seem a rather strange and pointless thing to do.

  “I think we can safely rule out it being a message,” Ethan went on, “because how would Hank even know his apron had been put on the porch? He doesn’t usually come here, does he?”

  Both Daisy and Rick shook their heads.

  “So then there’s the possibility somebody is hoping to make it look like he was here. But I agree with what Rick said before.” Ethan pointed toward the quartet of bowed rusty nails and the tiny torn piece of cloth that remained attached to them. “The nails snagged the apron and probably ripped it off, considering how close it was to them when Daisy picked it up. That means it wasn’t left behind on purpose.”

  He was going full circle. Daisy could see that. Ethan was methodically ruling out any reasonable chance that someone else had brought the apron to the porch.

  “Fine,” she drawled with annoyance. “You want to believe Hank was here? It’s his apron, and it got caught on the nails and pulled off? So what? That only means he was on the porch at some point between the time he shut up the diner last night and we arrived at Fox Hollow this morning. Maybe he was here looking
for Rick. Maybe he was looking for me or you. You heard me tell him where we were going today. Maybe he was even looking for Sheriff Lowell, who he knew was eventually planning on coming out here too.”

  Rick cleared his throat. “Hank could have been looking for me.”

  Daisy suppressed a smile. Rick was just as well aware as she was that Hank would never go looking for him, especially after learning that he was the new owner of the property. But Special Agent Kinney didn’t need that piece of information.

  “Whoever—or whatever—he was looking for,” Ethan remarked equably, “I’d be interested in knowing whether he found it.”

  His coolness made Daisy nervous. She chewed on the inside of one cheek as she watched Ethan study the apron, then the quartet of nails sticking out from the board, and finally the length of the porch leading back to the wrought-iron table and two jars of arsenic-laden moonshine. She wondered what he was thinking, but he gave no clue. She glanced at Rick. He was leaning against the railing, both eyes closed.

  “How well did Hank know Mr. Dickerson?” Ethan asked.

  Daisy stiffened. He had already connected Hank with the porch. Was he now trying to connect him with Fred’s death?

  “How well?” he repeated.

  She glanced at Rick again. His eyes remained closed, but his mouth was drawn tight. He was obviously ignoring the question, forcing her to answer it.

  Ethan folded his arms across his chest in anticipation.

  “I can’t really tell you.” Daisy feigned a shrug. “Hank never talked about Fred. Not when I was around. And aside from the day he died, Fred didn’t come to the diner. At least I never saw him there. I don’t think Hank visited him here either. I don’t know when he would have had the time. He spends nearly every waking hour at H & P’s.”

  Turning from her, Ethan studied the apron, nails, and jars on the table once more. After a long minute he said, “And we think the reason Mr. Dickerson came to the diner the day he died was to tell somebody about the tainted whiskey?”

  “That’s my best guess,” Rick replied, not opening his eyes.

  “But why the diner?” Ethan pursued. “It’s a long way from here to there, especially for a man who had just been poisoned. Why not go somewhere else instead?”

  “There is nowhere else.” This time Daisy didn’t have to feign the shrug. “Not between Fox Hollow and H & P’s at that hour of the day. It was so early in the morning when Fred stumbled in, I doubt he would have found anyone anywhere else.”

  Ethan gave a slight nod. “Did he speak?”

  “Who? Fred?”

  “Yes. Did he say anything when he stumbled into the diner?”

  “Sort of.” Daisy frowned. It wasn’t a very pleasant memory. “He wanted a burger.”

  “A burger! You mean a hamburger?”

  It was her turn to nod.

  “A hamburger?” Ethan repeated skeptically. “For breakfast?”

  “It’s not uncommon,” she told him. “We’ve got a crew of roofers in the area who pass through twice a week, and they always order burgers for breakfast. Most of them like theirs under a couple of fried eggs with a double serving of bacon.”

  “And did you give Mr. Dickerson a burger?”

  “No. I started to ask him what he wanted on it, like I do with everybody who comes in, but his mouth foamed … and his body began to shake … and he fell down—” Daisy stopped.

  Puzzled, Ethan scratched his neck. “That seems odd.”

  “I just explained—”

  “Not the burger,” he said. “The fact that Mr. Dickerson wanted to eat. He must have known he’d been poisoned. Or at the very least that he was seriously ill. I’m certainly not an expert on the subject, but I’d wager most people don’t think about food when they’re in the process of dying.”

  Daisy found herself agreeing with Ethan. Although she had never considered it before, it was indeed a puzzling last request.

  “I can’t tell you why he wanted it.” She shook her head. “But I couldn’t have misheard him because he said it twice.”

  “Fred asked for a burger,” Rick confirmed, finally opening his eyes. “I heard it also. Hank and Brenda must have too.”

  “What was Hank doing then?” Ethan asked.

  “Cooking,” Daisy replied swiftly.

  “Just cooking?”

  “Hank’s the cook. He was at the grill when Fred came in.”

  “What did he do after Mr. Dickerson came in?”

  “He was just as shocked as the rest of us.”

  “But what did he do?” Ethan pressed her.

  Daisy hesitated. She couldn’t outright lie, because her lie would probably be different from Hank and Brenda’s lie if Ethan posed the same question to them. She also couldn’t tell the truth. How could she possibly say that while everyone else had been in a panic calling the ambulance and worrying about the blood seeping from old man Dickerson’s head, Hank had been sitting peacefully on a stool at the counter skimming the Danville Register & Bee and shoveling peach cobbler into his mouth? It didn’t sound good.

  Ethan blinked at her expectantly.

  “I don’t know!” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I was paying attention to Fred, not Hank. I don’t know the exact second when he put down his spatula—or shut off the grill—or ran out from the kitchen.”

  “That’s understandable,” Ethan responded with sympathy.

  As he turned to the apron draped over the porch railing, Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. She saw Rick’s lips curl into a barely perceptible smile. He had been at H & P’s too. He knew precisely how Hank had behaved. But he didn’t say a word.

  “Well,” Ethan said, picking up the apron, “I think I’ve accomplished all that I can here. Now I need to go talk to Hank.”

  More than ready to leave, Daisy headed toward the porch steps. She was tired of the heat. She was tired of Rick. She was tired of having to craft answers to Ethan’s delving questions. She was even tired of Fox Hollow.

  “Do you want to go to the diner with me, Daisy?” Ethan asked, following her. “Or should I drop you off at the inn?”

  “The inn would be great.”

  The inn was cool. The inn had iced beverages. The inn had a comfortable settee to flop down on and moan.

  “What about you?” Ethan glanced at Rick. “Do you need a ride somewhere? I didn’t see a car when we pulled up.”

  “My truck is parked behind the barn.”

  Rick accompanied them across the mixture of grass and weeds at the front of the house. No one spoke until they reached Ethan’s car.

  “I assume I’ll be able to contact you if needed,” Ethan said to Rick.

  He snickered. “I won’t go into hiding if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Ethan climbed inside the car. Daisy was already seated, but she kept her door open, waiting for him to start the air-conditioning. Rick leaned down toward her.

  “Are we still on for tonight?”

  She frowned at him.

  “You and me, two jelly jars, and our feet in Frying Pan Creek,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Rick.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not!” Ethan snorted. “Maybe because the woman has higher hopes for her evening than spending it together with a gallon of mosquito spray and a barrel of homemade whiskey.”

  The darkness that eclipsed Rick’s eyes was so fierce, Daisy instantly decided that it would be wiser—and far safer—not to discuss the matter further. She reached over to close the car door, but Rick slammed it shut before striding off in the direction of the old tobacco barn. He didn’t look back.

  Ethan pulled the car around the pebbly circle and onto the driveway. Daisy watched the house shrink in the side mirror as they headed toward the ridge and the road beyond. It seemed almost like a helium balloon that someone had released and was now floating up into the ether, growing gradually smaller until only a speck of porch and white paint remaine
d. It was a sad, trifling speck.

  “Thank you.”

  “Huh?” She wasn’t listening. Daisy was too busy wondering if she would ever see the house again. She doubted it, and in a way she hoped that she wouldn’t. Nothing good could come of it.

  “Thank you,” Ethan repeated, “for showing me Fox Hollow.”

  Daisy didn’t respond.

  “Is there any way,” he went on after a brief pause, “I could talk you into coming with me to the diner? I know you said you’d rather have me drop you off at the inn, but I have a feeling it’d go a lot more smoothly with Hank—and Brenda—if you were there with us. I would really be grateful.”

  His gratitude was of little interest to her. Neither was she inclined to help make anything go more smoothly for Ethan in regard to interrogating her friends. But when Daisy reflected further, she realized that it might be better for Hank and Brenda if she was at H & P’s. Then maybe she could steer the questions—or answers—to benefit them, particularly in relation to Hank—who clearly knew something about something—and his apron.

  “I guess I could go to the diner if you think it might do some good.” She tried to make it sound like she was acting for Ethan’s benefit. “I’m hungry anyway.”

  “Great—” Without warning Ethan stepped hard on the brakes. “Sorry. I thought I saw—”

  He leaned toward her side of the car and peered out the window. Daisy’s eyes traveled with his. They had reached the top of the ridge and were just starting down the other side toward the road. There was a narrow field to the right of the driveway, followed by a line of dogwoods, then a brush border leading to the creek, which curved in at that part of the property.

  “You saw something?” Daisy asked. She didn’t see anything except untilled ground and a thicket of forsythias mixed with hollies.

  Ethan put the car into reverse and crept backward until he suddenly slammed on the brakes again. “There it is! I knew I saw it.”

  “What?” She followed his outstretched finger. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “There. In between those two bushes.”

  “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific. It’s a whole row of bushes.”