An Old-Fashioned Murder (6 page)

Even with Daisy's limited knowledge of period furniture, she could tell that regardless of its placement in the back room of the Fowler sisters' shop, the secretary must have been one of their priciest and most valuable pieces. Had it been displayed in a fancy urban New England boutique rather than tucked away in tiny rural Motley, Virginia, it would have no doubt commanded a lordly sum.

“Oh, Henry.” Aunt Emily sighed again. “You really shouldn't have. It's absolutely magnificent, of course. But it's far too much.”

“Rubbish!” Henry Brent straightened his bow tie proudly. “I'm not in the poorhouse or taking alms. I had a little money saved.”

“Even so…,” Aunt Emily protested.

“Being as ancient as I am,” he gave a lively clack, “I don't have many rainy days left, so there's no need for me to be hoarding my pennies.”

“You can't take 'em with you,” Parker chimed in cheerfully.

“Don't be morbid, Parker,” Lillian chastised him.

“But he's right,” Henry Brent countered. “It can't be avoided. One day we all take the long dirt nap.” He and his dentures grinned. “Even you, Lillian.”

She flushed. “Yes, well, that hardly makes it an appropriate topic of conversation for—”

“Then it's just you and the earthworms!” Parker wheezed in amusement.

His wife's face turned plum purple.

“Ain't that the truth, Dog!” Henry Brent wheezed and woofed back at him.

“His name is Parker!” Lillian hollered.

Ignoring the digression, Aunt Emily said sweetly to May, “Thank you for organizing the delivery of such a wonderful gift. And, Henry,” she turned to face him, “I hardly know what to say. Thanking you doesn't seem at all sufficient.”

He straightened his bow tie again, this time a bit sheepishly.

“I really feel as though I must do something in return,” Aunt Emily went on. “I'm trying to think of what I could possibly—”

“You've already done it,” he interrupted her. His laughter at Lillian and the earthworms had been replaced by a grave sincerity. “When my dear Agnes got ill, you were so kind to her, Emily. I'll never forget it.”

May sniffled.

“And after she passed,” Henry Brent continued, “you always checked on me. You made sure that my belly was full and I was getting out of bed each day.”

Edna gurgled.

“I've always wanted to find some way to repay you. To give you a token of my tremendous appreciation. And,” he swallowed with difficulty, “I hope that I finally have.”

Aunt Emily blinked hard, sniffled hard, and threw her arms around the man in a heartfelt embrace. After a moment, she reached out and pulled Edna and May over to join them. There was a good deal of hugging, blubbering, and kissing among the four.

“My gracious,” Aunt Emily said, wiping her cheeks and blowing her nose when they at last separated. “We must stop being so maudlin, or the young folks will start rolling their eyes and muttering about the old wrinklies' reunion.”

A crunching noise caught Daisy's attention. She glanced over and saw Georgia sweeping together the broken glass.

Lillian sucked on her teeth disapprovingly. “That isn't the proper way of doing it. First you collect the big pieces, then you brush up the little bits.”

“Otherwise you're just spreading slivers of glass all over the place,” Kenneth Lunt concurred sternly.

“You really should be more careful,” Lillian admonished.

Georgia's shoulders tightened, but she didn't look up or reply. She simply kept on sweeping—improperly, as it were.

“Those two have an opinion on just about everything, don't they?” Drew remarked in a low tone as he came over to stand next to Daisy.

“Always. And they always think they know everything better, or at least Lillian does.” Daisy made a show of taking Drew's hand. “That should distract her.”

“Hey, I like this strategy.” Drew moved closer to her. “So are we trying to annoy Lillian or help Georgia?”

Daisy smiled. “Both would be nice.”

It worked, too. Lillian's critical gaze immediately switched from the glass on the floor to Drew and Daisy's entwined fingers. Daisy had to restrain a grin.

“Before I forget,” she said to Drew, “thanks for helping to bring in the secretary. I hope it wasn't too heavy.”

He groaned. “Heavy doesn't begin to cover it. That thing weighs a ton! It may not look like it, but it does.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I've been to enough antique stores with Aunt Emily to know that some of those old pieces of furniture made with solid wood might as well be solid rocks.”

“My aching back won't argue with that.”

“Poor baby. How about if I give you a little massage later?”

It was Drew's turn to grin. “Promise?”

Like a volcano on the verge of eruption, there was a deep rumbling from the direction of Lillian. Thankfully she was distracted once more before she could blow, this time by Henry Brent.

“A real beauty, isn't she?” he proclaimed loudly, as he stepped back to admire the secretary.

“She certainly is,” May agreed.

Edna shook her head. “I had no idea that you sold it.”

“It was so exciting when Henry wanted it!” May told her. “We've had it in the back room forever—twenty years at least, maybe more. I don't even remember how it ended up there. Why didn't we ever move it out to the front for more people to see?”

Edna went on shaking her head.

“Tippy,” Lillian said abruptly.

“Tippy?” Aunt Emily asked.

Lillian pointed.

Daisy followed her outstretched finger to the nook. As handsome as the secretary was, it was also very large. Seven feet high, nearly four feet wide, and two feet deep. It fit in the nook, but just barely.

“She's right,” Sarah Lunt commented softly. “It's tippy.”

Drew frowned. “A bit too tippy.”

Releasing Daisy's hand, he walked over to the secretary for a closer look. Kenneth, Parker, and Henry Brent all joined him. They crowded around the piece like a group of mechanics examining an engine for an oil leak.

“Maybe it's too close to the molding,” Parker said.

“That doesn't make it tippy,” Kenneth informed him. “That just keeps it from sitting flush against the wall.”

“But maybe if it were flush against the wall…,” Parker returned.

Moving to one side, Drew studied the secretary's profile. “It can't sit flush against the wall, molding or no molding,” he determined. “The back of the bookcase extends beyond the back of the desk.”

“It does?” Parker and Kenneth said in unison.

Henry Brent nodded. “There was a time when a good many secretaries—and a lot of other cabinets, too—were built that way. It's designed to accommodate a chair rail, back in the days when most of the nicer houses still had chair rails.”

“The staircase here has a chair rail,” Aunt Emily reminded him. “And so do all of the bedrooms.”

“You could always move it to one of them,” Lillian suggested.

“Should we try to catch the delivery boys—” May began anxiously.

“—before they drive off?” Edna finished.

“Those two are long gone,” Drew replied. “They skedaddled the instant they got paid. And, no,” he added hastily, “I can't move the monster all by myself.”

“No one would ever ask you to,” Daisy said, just to staunch the possibility of anybody even considering it.

“Frankly,” Drew continued, “I don't think an army of professional movers could get that secretary up the stairs. Ignoring the weight, it's too big to maneuver around the turns and through those narrow doorways.”

“I was about to say the same thing myself,” Kenneth agreed.

“Well, I don't want to move it,” Aunt Emily said. “Not unless we really have to.” She turned questioningly to Henry Brent.

He appeared entirely unconcerned. “She looks fine to me.”

“It never fell over—” May said.

“—at the shop.”

“We never worried about it—”

“—or even paid any attention,” Edna concluded.

Henry Brent clacked in accord with the sisters. “She's been standing that way for a couple hundred years, and I'd wager she'll keep standing that way for another couple hundred more.”

That was apparently enough to reassure Aunt Emily, because after one last happy glance at the secretary, she turned from it and began herding her guests back toward the parlor. Thirsty and tired of being on their feet, the group complied without dispute. There was a general mumbling about who had been seated where and which half-empty glass belonged to whom.

“I still think it's tippy,” Drew said, partially to himself and partially to Daisy as the others moved out of the dining room.

“They won't listen,” Georgia responded tersely.

Daisy glanced at her in surprise. She hadn't heard Georgia take a sharp tone before, even slightly.

“They
never
listen,” she added with emphasis.

Georgia's gray eyes were once again focused on someone in the group, except this time her gaze was narrow and almost as sharp as her tongue. Daisy still couldn't tell who the person was, and that piqued her interest. It also made her realize just how little she actually knew about Georgia.

She was eighteen years old. Her last name was Ross. And with her pixie cut and carpet of freckles, she was almost adorably cute. Georgia was also far from lazy, regrettably clumsy, and she always tried hard to please Aunt Emily. But that was it. Aside from those few passing observations, Daisy knew nothing else. Not a lick about Georgia's family, her friends, where she had been raised or why she wasn't there any longer, barely even anything about her most basic likes and dislikes, such as her favorite color or her least favorite flavor of ice cream. Granted, Georgia had only been at the inn for a couple of weeks, and Daisy worked long hours at the bakery, so they hadn't spent very much time together. Except that made Daisy all the more curious now.

Drew was evidently curious, too. “Who doesn't listen?” he asked Georgia.

“Everybody,” she answered flatly.

There was an almost childish sullenness to her voice, but the intensity with which she continued to gaze at the unidentified person in the parlor wasn't childish in the least. Georgia wasn't just idly looking at them. She was watching them, studying them, it seemed.

“Anyone in particular?” Drew pressed her.

The gray eyes clouded. Georgia hesitated just as she had earlier when Aunt Emily had asked her to get the broom and dustpan from the closet. She seemed to be debating how—or even if—she should respond.

Daisy thought she understood. Georgia must not have expected to see the person standing in the dining room of the inn, and she had dropped the tray with the glasses in surprise. But now that she had recovered from her initial shock, she either realized that the person wasn't in fact who she had originally taken them to be, or she seriously didn't like the person—both of which would explain her hard and studious gaze.

“Well, Daisy is an excellent listener,” Drew said after a moment, trying to make Georgia feel more at ease. “She lets me whine about all my problems at work. So I'm sure she'd be great at listening to whatever you—”

He didn't finish the sentence. Georgia shot him a deeply troubled look, hurriedly scooped up the broom and dustpan filled with broken glass, and lurched once more through the kitchen doorway.

“That girl,” Drew murmured after her, echoing Daisy's own thoughts, “has got some secrets.”

 

CHAPTER

6

Secrets or no, Georgia didn't return to the dining room. Daisy wondered if her and Drew's instincts were right, or if they were overthinking it all, and Georgia was just being shy. The group could certainly be overwhelming, especially for a young woman who might not be used to such an eclectic, opinionated, and voluble collection of folks. Their lively conversation in the parlor could be heard throughout the inn.

Henry Brent and Parker were drinking and woofing merrily. Lillian was complaining about the woofing and about the potential dust from the new furniture. Kenneth Lunt and Edna Fowler were vigorously debating the fluctuating prices in the antiques market. May Fowler had somehow succeeded in getting Sarah Lunt to talk about gardening. And Aunt Emily was dashing among them all like a circus ringmaster simultaneously directing flying trapeze, clown car, and fire juggling performances.

Daisy watched them from the edge of the dining room and sighed. Drew put a comforting hand on her back.

“Tired?” he asked. “How was business at the bakery today?”

“A little chaotic this morning,” she said. “It was weather paranoia, I think. Everybody seemed to be worried about the rain coming and wanted to stock up for the weekend. The bread and rolls flew out the door.”

“When we brought in the secretary, it was starting to mist, but with the temperature falling like it is, there's probably a good chance for sleet.”

Aunt Emily temporarily stopped dashing and turned toward Drew. “Did I hear you say
sleet
?”

He nodded. “If it keeps up, there could be some snow later on.”

She nodded back at him, then at Daisy. “I do hope that Brenda gets here soon, Ducky. You know how nervous she is about driving in bad weather. And she's even worse when it's dark out.”

Brenda was a longtime friend of Aunt Emily's, a fellow former waitress from Daisy's days at the diner, and now her trusty business partner at Sweetie Pies.

“Didn't I tell you?” Daisy said. “Brenda isn't coming this evening. She volunteered to handle the bakery alone tomorrow, so I could stay here and sleep in.” She smiled at Drew. “But since she has to be up so early, Brenda figured that she'd be better off at home in her own bed tonight. She'll head over as soon as she closes up, which will probably be around noon, or maybe earlier if the weather really does get bad and the place is empty.”