An Old-Fashioned Murder (30 page)

“I can understand that,” Rick agreed. “What I can't understand is why Lillian would want to steal the candlestick to begin with.”

“I don't know,” Daisy said, “but I'm about to go ask her.”

“That's a
bad
idea,” he replied sharply.

“Why?”

“Because I'm not convinced that this is just about the theft of one of Aunt Emily's candlesticks. From what you've told me, it seems like Georgia put a lot of effort into leading you and Drew to this cookie jar, and she must be really frightened if she keeps hiding up in the attic. There has to be something else.”

“And I intend to find out what it is. Lillian doesn't scare me.” As she spoke, Daisy set the candlestick back inside the cookie jar. She didn't want Lillian to see it in advance. The more surprised Lillian was, the less she would be able to conjure justifications and excuses.

“Lillian isn't the person that I'm concerned about—” Rick began.

He was interrupted by the sudden return of Beulah.

“It's clear!” Beulah reported excitedly. “Wade and Bobby have the truck out of the mud and up the incline to the road. We can go!”

“Did you hear that, Daisy?” Rick said. “Beulah and I are leaving for the inn right now. Don't do anything. Just wait until I get there.”

Their departure was welcome news to her, but Daisy had not the slightest intention of waiting for him—or anybody else—to confront Lillian.

“Drive safely,” she responded sweetly, heading out of the kitchen and into the main hall with the cookie jar tucked under her arm. “I'll see you soon.”

“Daisy,” Rick's voice rose in warning, “I mean it.
Don't do anything.
”

“Drive safely,” she said again, then she hung up the phone and stepped into the parlor.

*   *   *

The
entire group—with only Georgia missing—turned toward Daisy as she entered the room. They were arranged somewhat differently than usual, drawn closer together as though that were somehow safer. Lillian shared the gold-brocaded settee with the Fowler sisters. Kenneth and Sarah Lunt occupied the emerald-brocaded settee, while Aunt Emily sat in one of the neighboring damask armchairs. As Daisy had instructed, Parker and Bud were stationed across from each other at the tea table. She was pleased to see that Parker was still in possession of the hatchet. The hickory handle lay across his knees.

No one drank, or ate, or spoke. They all looked at Daisy with nervous anticipation, fidgeting in their seats like schoolchildren expecting a fire drill. Parker had apparently succeeded in not explaining anything. There was an uneasy tension in the room—a general wariness and apprehension. Everybody seemed to be waiting for someone to tell them what was happening and what to do next.

Aunt Emily was the first to break the silence.

“Did I hear you talking to somebody on the phone, Ducky?” she asked.

“Rick,” Daisy answered, without further elaboration.

“Oh, that's very good.” Aunt Emily's tone was hopeful. “Is he…”

Daisy didn't listen. Her eyes were fixed on the mantel above the hearth. She had been correct. The clock stood alone. The other candlestick was gone. She walked toward the gold-brocaded settee and stopped directly in front of Lillian.

“I know it was you,” Daisy said.

Lillian blinked at her but didn't reply.

“Are you seriously going to pretend that you don't understand me?”

She blinked again, several times in rapid succession, then she bit down on her lips, hard.

“So you're planning on waiting for Sheriff Lowell to arrive?” Daisy continued, deliberately trying to goad her.

Lillian's cheeks flushed, and her shoulders twitched. There was a disconcerted murmur from the group, but Daisy kept her focus firmly on Lillian.

“You want the sheriff to know?” she pressed her. “You want everybody in the neighborhood to find out?”

As Lillian's whole body began to shake, Daisy thrust the final dagger.

“You want Georgia to tell them all what you did?”

No longer able to restrain herself, Lillian shot up from the settee, wild panic in her eyes and her neck a deep shade of crimson.

“They're lies!” she shrieked. “Nothing but lies! You can't believe Georgia. She's trying to frame me. I didn't kill anybody! I didn't have anything to do with it! All I did was take the candlestick. One stupid candlestick!” Pulling the candlestick from her purse, Lillian flung it to the ground as though it burned her.

A stunned hush followed, with everyone gaping at Lillian. Even Daisy was a bit startled. Having no proof other than the crayon, she had wanted to provoke Lillian into a confession and to return the missing candlestick, but she hadn't expected her to think that anyone was accusing her of murder.

“I—” Aunt Emily rose from her chair and looked in bewilderment at the mantel. “I didn't even notice the candlesticks were gone.”

“I didn't, either,” Daisy told her. “But Georgia did. She saw Lillian steal the first one. So Georgia took the second one to protect it.” She lifted the matching candlestick from the cookie jar and held up the bottom with Lillian's name written on it.

“That girl is such a meddling little twit,” Lillian spat.

Aunt Emily spun toward her, no doubt ready to launch into a scathing rebuke, but Parker spoke before she could.

“What in heaven's name were you thinking?” he said to his wife.

Her face contorted in silence.

“Answer me.” Parker's voice was quiet, but it wasn't mild. There was a deep rumble beneath it, like something lurking at the bottom of a dark ravine, just waiting to emerge.

“If you must know,” Lillian's nostrils flared, “I did it for Matt.”

Daisy's mouth opened in astonishment.

“I was going to send the candlestick to Matt!” Lillian shouted.

They all stared at her. After a minute, Parker asked the collective question.

“Why would Matt want a candlestick?”

“He could sell it,” Lillian responded matter-of-factly. “It's sterling, so it must be worth something. All pawnshops take silver, don't they? Matt needs the money.”

“If he needs money,” Daisy retorted with irritation, “then he should get a job and work like the rest of us.”

“But he must be desperate!” Instead of angry and defensive, Lillian's expression had become anxious and pleading. “Matt must be desperate and in need of money, or he would have come back by now.”

Daisy threw up her hands in frustration. “For criminy sake! It has nothing to do with money, Lillian. The reason Matt hasn't come back is that he doesn't
want
to.
He doesn't want to be with me.
”

“That's not true.” Lillian shook her head, and then her whole body started to shake once more. “Matt would have come back if he could. I'm sure of it. He must be in trouble.” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “He needs our help! He—”

“Oh, cork it, Lillian!” Parker roared.

She let out a squeak in protest, but he glowered at her with such intensity that she didn't dare make another sound. Parker's fingers curled around the handle of the hatchet in his lap, and for a moment, it looked like he was sorely tempted to use it on his wife, himself, or some combination thereof. But he didn't. He remained in his seat and closed his eyes.

A few seconds later, Parker opened them again and said in a much calmer, almost weary tone, “If you wanted to give money to Matt so badly, Lillian, why didn't you just send him some? Why on earth would you steal—and from Emily?”

“I didn't want you to find out.” Lillian sniffled. “You would have told me that I wasn't being rational.”

Parker and Daisy exchanged a glance. There was no contradicting it, because Lillian was most definitely not being rational. But then, there was considerable doubt as to whether she had ever been rational.

“All right.” Parker sighed. “If you apologize to Emily, perhaps she'll have the kindness not to take this to the law.”

“Of course,” Aunt Emily agreed, charitable as always. “Sheriff Lowell won't find out about it from me. There's no need for public shaming.”

As she said it, Aunt Emily took the candlestick from Daisy's hand with a discreet smile. Daisy had to suppress a chuckle. The public shaming had already been accomplished. Lillian had been mortified in front of friends and strangers alike, and as much as the Fowler sisters enjoyed gossip, word was sure to spread—quickly.

“And I don't want to hear,” Parker added sternly, “any more remarks about Matt. Do you understand me, Lillian? No more pestering Daisy. She's had enough.”

Struggling not to laugh, Daisy reached down and picked up the other candlestick from the carpet. It was Parker who'd had enough, and now they were both going to benefit. They would be spared from having to listen to Lillian's copious complaints and criticisms, at least for a while.

With effort, Lillian murmured something that resembled an apology. Aunt Emily accepted it gracefully, at the same time returning the candlesticks to the mantel. Set upright, the crayon underneath wasn't visible, but Aunt Emily made no mention of cleaning it either way. She was far too clever for that, because as long as Lillian's name remained—or Lillian imagined that it remained—it would keep her slightly more humble.

Lillian plopped herself back on the settee, and all at once, the former tension in the room seemed to evaporate. May reached over and patted Lillian's knee. Edna made an appropriately benevolent remark. Kenneth and Sarah Lunt shared a pleased look, presuming that no one suspected they were also thieves, except on a grander scale. It was as though the hullabaloo with the candlesticks had made everybody forget that there had been another crime. Two much more serious crimes. Two murders.

Parker—being an excellent eater and always on the lookout for a tasty snack—turned toward Daisy and the cookie jar that she was still holding. “You wouldn't happen to have any cookies in there?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” she started to reply, “just tea bags…”

He was leaning forward in his seat so eagerly, trying to catch a glimpse inside the jar, that Daisy held it out to him for his inspection. As she did, her own eyes saw that what she said wasn't true, and her breath caught in her throat.

Rick was right. There was something else. Something that went far beyond a missing candlestick. Something that explained why Georgia was so afraid and had worked so hard to point them toward the cookie jar. It was tucked along the edge and almost under the tea bags, which was why Daisy hadn't noticed it before. But she recognized it instantly. It was the long-lost piece of paper from Henry Brent's hand.

 

CHAPTER

28

The paper was yellowed and mildly brittle with age. It was folded like a letter in crisp, straight lines, and there were several small pieces of tape on the corners, as though it had at one time been pasted somewhere. Setting down the cookie jar on the table next to Parker, Daisy pushed aside the tea bags and carefully lifted out the paper.

“What is that?” Aunt Emily asked.

Not sure herself what it was, Daisy hesitated. Edna made a gurgling noise. Daisy looked at her. She was sitting tall and rigid on the settee.

“That isn't yours,” Edna said.

“I know. It—”

The gurgling repeated itself, and Edna's voice rose slightly. “You shouldn't have that. It
isn't
yours.”

“I know,” Daisy began again. “It belongs to Henry.”

“No, it doesn't.”

Daisy frowned. “But I saw it in his hand.”

Edna frowned back at her. “It was in his hand?”

She nodded. “Henry was holding it when we first found him on the floor, but after we covered him with the blanket, his hand was empty. I couldn't figure out where the paper had gone. Now I know that Georgia took it.”

“Georgia?” Edna's frown deepened.

Aunt Emily looked back and forth between them. “I don't understand. Georgia took that paper from Henry?”

“It isn't his,” Edna objected.

“So it's Georgia's?” Aunt Emily said.

Edna shook her head and gurgled once more.

It was Aunt Emily's turn to frown. “Ducky…”

Daisy was just as puzzled. She didn't understand how Edna knew about the paper or who it belonged to when she wasn't the one who had taken it. But then it occurred to her that the most important answer was already in her hand. She started to unfold the paper.

“No!” Edna cried, jumping up from the settee.

Everyone turned to her in surprise. May gazed at her sister with concern.

“Are you feeling all right, dear?” she asked.

“Don't you see?” Edna replied in agitation.

“I see that you're terribly pale,” May answered, patting the seat next to her. “It's been such a stressful weekend for all of us. Why don't you sit down and—”

“Are you blind!” Edna cut her off severely. “Don't you realize what it is?”

For a moment, May was rendered speechless by the harshness of her sister's tone. She stared at Edna, then at Daisy, and finally at the paper in Daisy's hand. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she gasped.

“Is that … That isn't … You don't mean—”

“Exactly!” Edna exclaimed.

May appeared dumbfounded. “But I thought that was thrown away years ago…”

Edna's cleft chin jutted out.

“Why is it here?” May continued. “Where has it been all this time?”

There was a pause as the sisters looked at each other, and then May gasped again, as though she had somehow read the answer in Edna's expression.

“It was in the secretary?” she said, astounded.

Edna responded with a troubled sigh.

“Oh, Edna,” May sighed, too, “why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have sold the secretary if I had known. Or I would have removed it first. Or—” She stopped, her brow furrowed. “But I'm sure that I checked all the drawers and compartments before the boys loaded it onto the truck with the rest of the furniture. There wasn't anything in the secretary.”