An Old-Fashioned Murder (31 page)

“It was taped to the back.”

The words came out low and soft. Some in the group might not have even heard them, but Daisy did, and they echoed through her mind.
Taped to the back.
She remembered Henry squeezing behind the secretary, trying to examine some thingamabob, as he had called it. It was the paper. The paper had been taped to the back of the secretary. Henry had obviously retrieved it, because he had been holding it when he died. Georgia had then taken it and put it in the cookie jar. Now Edna—and perhaps also May—was apparently claiming it. But why? What was so interesting about the paper?

Daisy started to unfold it once more. Edna let out an ear-splitting wail, but it was too late. The paper was already open and legible. Based on its age and creases, Daisy had expected a letter or some similar form of correspondence. Instead the paper turned out to be a certificate. More precisely, a certificate of appreciation. It was dated 1915 and presented to Jeremiah Thomas Fowler, in recognition of his “Fraternity, Charity and Loyalty.” The certificate was bestowed by an organization of veterans called the Grand Army of the Republic.

It took Daisy a minute to process what she was reading. Jeremiah Thomas Fowler was Edna and May's great-great-grandfather, and he had been commended for his service on the fiftieth anniversary of the conclusion of the Civil War. Perfectly logical. Entirely reasonable. Certainly laudable. And then Daisy realized the problem. The Grand Army of the Republic wasn't for veterans of the South. It was for veterans of the North. That meant Jeremiah Thomas Fowler had fought for the Union,
not
the Confederacy.

Her startled eyes went to Edna. Edna looked back at her with a fevered, swirling gaze.

“Would somebody,” Aunt Emily said, exasperation in her tone, “kindly explain to me what that is,” she gestured toward the certificate, “and what is going on?”

“Don't,” Edna pleaded, clutching her hands together imploringly. “Don't tell them, Daisy. You don't have to tell them. They don't need to know. Henry was going to tell them, but I stopped him. Now he can't tell, not anymore…”

An ice-cold wave of horror washed over Daisy. It struck her so hard that she couldn't speak and almost crumpled to the ground. May must have reached the same mortifying conclusion, because she sucked in her breath sharply and gripped her lace handkerchief with white knuckles.

“Good God, Edna,” she exhaled. “What have you done?”

“I had to do it,” Edna replied tearfully. “I didn't have a choice. Henry discovered the certificate. He said that it was important. Historically important. That the historical society needed to know. But if they found out, then
everyone
would find out, and we would be disgraced. The whole family would be disgraced.”

“Lord grant me strength,” May whispered, twisting and almost ripping the handkerchief in half.

“I tried to reason with him,” Edna went on, her voice slowly steadying. “I tried to make him understand. The certificate belongs to the family. It has to stay with us. But Henry wouldn't give it back. He said that I should wait and think about it. Well, I didn't want to wait and think about it. I just wanted him to keep his mouth shut. And that's when it happened. That's when I did it. It was surprisingly easy, tippy as the secretary was. But it was dreadfully noisy, so I shut off all the lamps as quick as I could, in case someone came down the stairs. Of course, then I couldn't see anything. I assumed the certificate was in Henry's pocket, underneath the secretary somewhere. I was hoping that I could get to it once the sheriff arrived.”

“Edna!” Aunt Emily cried, aghast. “Are you saying—you're the one who—”

“I'm sorry for ruining your party, Emily, but it couldn't be helped. And I'm also sorry,” Edna turned back toward Daisy, “about Drew. He seemed like such a pleasant young fellow. Awfully good-looking, too. If it's any consolation, I didn't plan on killing him. I went down to the kitchen, not able to sleep, and there he was getting oil for the lanterns. We talked, and sadly, Drew figured out what I had done. It seems that he had heard Henry and me arguing the night before, and he recognized my voice. Obviously I couldn't let him tell you. So I pushed him into the cellar. He fell hard. Everything broke.”

Anger boiled up inside Daisy like a blazing inferno, but Edna spoke again before she could explode.

“You mentioned earlier that Georgia took the certificate,” Edna said to her. “From the way she knew her Confederate history and about General Stuart, I have to assume that she understood it. Do you think she's told her friend's meemaw about it? The one in the Daughters?”

Daisy took one look at the acute anxiety on Edna's face, and all of her anger, all of her grief, all of her shock, turned into disgust.

“That's what you're concerned about?” she spat. “You murdered two men—two of the warmest, kindest, dearest people any of us will ever have the good fortune to meet—because you were afraid of getting kicked out of the Daughters of the Confederacy? You didn't want to lose your presidency of a club?”

Edna stiffened with pride. “You don't understand. It's about heritage—”

“Heritage!” Daisy scoffed. “Don't talk to me about heritage. My family fought in the American Revolutionary War. And Aunt Emily's family is the oldest in the county.”

“Then you must understand—” Edna began again, more beseeching.

“I understand,” she retorted, “that I don't have the luxury of fretting about who was on which side of what battle a century or two ago. I have to worry about
now
. Whether I'll have customers and food at the bakery tomorrow. Whether my decrepit car will start so I can even get to the bakery. Whether my mama will get better or worse, and whether I'll be able to pay her medical bills.”

Having no response to that, Edna dropped her head.

May moaned piteously. “Oh, Edna, how could you ever imagine that this would honor our family—or our friends at the Daughters? You haven't preserved our heritage. You've perverted it into something horrible. You've taken lives!”

“And those lives are
not
going to be remembered as part of some ghastly story attached to an inane piece of paper that should have been tossed in the waste bin decades ago,” Aunt Emily declared with force.

Edna's head sprang back up. Her eyes were filled with fear. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Burn it,” Aunt Emily said. “We all know the truth now. It can never be hidden again.”

“But you can't!” Edna protested. “It's a family document! It must be maintained!”

“Which is precisely why I'm destroying it. After what you've done—all the misery you've caused because of it—it's the best punishment in my power.” With dignity, Aunt Emily turned to Daisy and motioned toward the crackling fire in the hearth. “If you would do the honors, Ducky…”

“Gladly.” She glared at Edna. “For Drew and Henry.”

“No, Daisy! No!” Edna shouted.

Daisy started to move in the direction of the hearth, but she made it only one step before Edna launched herself into the air like a missile. Instinctively Daisy jumped to the side, and instead of landing on top of her, Edna knocked over the tea table. The cookie jar went flying. So did the hatchet from Parker's lap. Daisy and Edna both looked at it, then they looked at each other, and in the same instant, they dove for it.

Edna, who was closer, reached the hickory handle first. Grabbing it, she began flailing it around wildly.

“Give me the certificate!” she screamed. “Give it to me!”

The blade of the hatchet swiped Daisy's forearm, slicing open the skin. It was more of a graze than a gash, but it still hurt, and a second later, her wrist was covered with blood.

“Son of a—” Daisy growled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Parker, Bud, and Aunt Emily all rushing to her aid, but she didn't need their help. She threw one swift punch at Edna's stomach, and the air went out of the woman's lungs. As Edna sunk to the carpet, Daisy pulled the hatchet from her loosened grip. With blood dripping down her fingers, she walked slowly backward toward the hearth, the hatchet in one hand and the certificate in the other.

“Stop her, May!” Edna sobbed. “Stop her! He may have been a damn Yankee, but he was still our kin.”

May didn't even look at her sister. Instead she turned to Daisy and held out her lace handkerchief. “For your arm,” she said.

Daisy nodded and dropped the certificate into the fire. No one spoke as the paper curled and blackened. Edna wept, and faint sirens could be heard in the distance while the flames licked the last shreds into ash.

After a respectful moment had passed, Kenneth glanced sideways at Sarah, then—genial and smooth—he said to Aunt Emily, “With all of this tragedy, you must want to sell the inn now.”

Wrapping May's handkerchief around her wrist, Daisy almost laughed.

 

CHAPTER

29

The cavalry arrived more or less simultaneously, except there was no longer any need of a rescue. Edna had neither the physical nor mental strength to pick herself up from the parlor floor. Bud showed not the least intention of letting Kenneth and Sarah—and the generous reward attached to them—out of his sight. Lillian was purring with conciliatory sweetness to both Parker and May, although it was probably less sweet than it would have been half an hour earlier. No doubt Lillian was feeling considerably less chastened now that her crime appeared so very trivial in comparison to Edna's.

Together Daisy and Aunt Emily walked to the front door and stood outside on the porch, watching the assemblage of plows, law enforcement vehicles, and fire and rescue-squad trucks as they shoveled, maneuvered, and tried to park on the narrow road without ending up in a ditch.

“I should check on my mama,” Daisy said after a while.

“I'm sure that she's fine,” Aunt Emily replied. “She's probably the most relaxed and rested of all of us.”

Daisy smiled. “And poor Georgia, who's huddled up in the attic, awaiting her fate. Someone needs to tell her that she still has her job and doesn't have to leave the inn.”

“So long as she stops dropping all the dishes and doesn't mention anything related to Jeb Stuart for the next six months.” Although Aunt Emily began with a chuckle, she ended with a sigh.

It was echoed by Daisy. “It's been a hundred and fifty years, and I can't help wondering if that war will ever be over.”

“Not in these parts. Not any time soon.” She patted Daisy's uninjured arm. “That's what you learn when you become an old biddy. It's all a carousel, Ducky. Good and bad—happy and sad—past, present, and future. Everything keeps circling around. We choose to step on or off. And in your case, my dear, you need to choose a different horse.”

Daisy raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Will you look at that,” Aunt Emily drawled, laughter in her voice. “Here comes a new horse now.”

Following her gaze, Daisy saw that Rick's truck had pulled up to the edge of the driveway leading to the inn. Beulah was waving enthusiastically and leaping through the melting snow toward them. Rick walked more slowly after her. His eyes were on Daisy.

Aunt Emily gave her a nudge. “You go talk to him, Ducky. It's only polite, after all. He did bring Beulah home. Don't worry about the others. I'll explain everything to Beulah—and to Sheriff Lowell, if he ever manages to get out of that car of his.”

Tugging on a pair of boots, Daisy started down the porch steps. Beulah met her with a monstrous hug, a hundred questions, and a fervent declaration that they were all going to adore Wade Watson Howard III when he visited the inn tomorrow evening for supper. Daisy simply smiled and with great affection hugged her back.

As Aunt Emily began to answer the proliferation of questions, Daisy continued toward Rick. She reached him near the middle of the driveway. His dark gaze went immediately to the blood-soaked handkerchief wrapped around her wrist.

Before he could ask, Daisy said, “It turns out that Parker is perfectly safe with a hatchet. Edna Fowler, however…” She gave a light-hearted shrug.

Rick lifted her arm, inspecting it. Daisy didn't know if it was because of the cool air or the sensitivity of the wound, but his fingers felt hot against her skin.

“It looks much worse than it actually is,” she assured him. “I've had far nastier cuts at the diner and the bakery.”

“I told you not to do anything,” he rebuked her gruffly. “I told you to wait.”

“Well, you should know by now that I rarely do what anyone tells me, and it annoys everybody.”

Although Rick grunted in acknowledgment, his lips curled into a smile.

Daisy smiled in return. “I would invite you into the inn, but even ignoring the fact that the place is currently harboring a wide range of criminals, I can't spend any more time inside. It's so nice to be outdoors.” She raised her face to the bright rays of the sun and the topaz blue sky.

“How about a drive?” he suggested. “The roads are rough, but it's mighty pretty with the ice covering the trees and the snow on the hills.”

She hesitated for a moment, then Aunt Emily's words about carousels and horses repeated themselves in her head. Daisy wasn't so sure that the woman wasn't being a bit batty, and Aunt Emily did have an undeniable soft spot for Rick. But either way, it was only a drive. And she really didn't want to deal with Sheriff Lowell or go back to the parlor.

“A drive sounds nice,” she agreed.

They turned and started to walk toward Rick's truck. At the end of the driveway, they came to the inn's mailbox. The door was slightly ajar, and Daisy opened it to clean out the accumulated snow. To her surprise, she found an envelope inside.

“How strange,” she murmured. “We collected the mail from Friday, and there wasn't any on Saturday because of the storm.”