Murder and Moonshine: A Mystery (29 page)

“He wasn’t saying burger. He was saying Berger.”

“What?”

“Not a burger, like a hamburger you eat. But Berger as a name. A surname. A proper noun.”

Daisy looked up and found Ethan frowning at her.

“Do you remember how I told you when old man Dickerson came into the diner on the morning he died he ordered a burger?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was wrong. He wasn’t asking for a burger. He wasn’t
asking
me for anything. He was
telling
me something. Fred didn’t want breakfast. He wanted to tell me why he’d been poisoned.”

Ethan stared at her just as she had stared at the phone a minute earlier.

“At first”—Daisy drew a shaky breath—“I thought it was just bad luck and poor timing that Fred happened to stumble into H & P’s and collapse there. After we learned how he died, we were all thinking he was trying to warn Rick about the bad ’shine. But now I see it had nothing to do with Rick. Or Hank neither. It was me. Fred came to the diner because of me.”

“Because you know somebody named Berger?”

“I’m a Berger. Or partially so at least. But my momma’s a true Berger. Berger is her maiden name. Lucy Berger Hale.”

“And that’s something Mr. Dickerson would have known?”

“Without a doubt. Until the forfeiture and Rick Balsam came along, Fox Hollow was in the Berger family for generations. Everybody in Pittsylvania County knows that.”

Ethan’s frown returned.

Daisy responded with a mournful smile. “Fred thought I’d be the one who’d understand, and I should have. I should have understood right away. I should have put it together in a snap. But I didn’t. It all happened so fast. And I got distracted when I found out Rick had bought the property. I didn’t really think about what Fred had said—or why he said it—or that he said it to me.”

“It was one word.” Ethan shrugged.

“But it was an important word. A word that should have had special significance to me.” She sighed. “Maybe Hank figured it out. He didn’t need the plat map like I did. Maybe he realized what those big-city folks wanted, and they killed him because of it.”

“Do you think that’s why he came here? To tell Rick about the uranium, so he wouldn’t sell Fox Hollow to them?”

“Hank may have come here to tell Rick about the uranium, but not to stop him from selling Fox Hollow.”

“How do you know that?”

Daisy glanced at the phone still lying on the porch floor. “Because those big-city folks don’t want to buy Fox Hollow.”

Ethan squinted at her. “But the uranium is under Fox Hollow. And we know they want the uranium. They’ve been killing people to get it. You do remember the exploratory drilling permits?”

“Of course I remember them. Except the permits aren’t for Fox Hollow.”

“They’re most definitely for Fox Hollow. It says Chalk Level right on them. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Chalk Level, yes. Fox Hollow, no.”

“I’m confused.” Ethan shook his head.

“I was confused too,” Daisy said. “Until I saw that plat map. Then it all became clear. And I’m pretty sure for a long time those big-city folks were even more confused than us. That’s why they were asking so many questions about Fred and Rick and Fox Hollow. They weren’t trying to figure out who owned this land.” She pointed at the ground below them. “They were trying to figure out who owned that land.” She raised her arm straight ahead.

Ethan followed her outstretched finger. “The creek?”

“The other side of the creek.”

“Isn’t that the cemetery over there?”

“It is. The old Berger family cemetery.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Daisy lowered her hand. “It was the forfeiture. That was the problem. Before it, everybody knew my family owned Fox Hollow and the cemetery next door, which was logical considering the names carved into the tombstones. But afterward, nobody knew anything. The property records didn’t say what had happened, so it was just a big guess. And the natural assumption was if Fox Hollow was forfeit, the cemetery was forfeit right along with it. Only it wasn’t. The cemetery was never in my daddy’s name. He wasn’t a Berger. The cemetery was always only in my momma’s name. Fox Hollow was different. After they married, it became my daddy’s too.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ethan muttered.

“You were right,” she went on. “Nothing funny did happen with the forfeiture. There was no missing piece. The land was there the whole time. And my momma owned it the whole time. We were all just thinking about the wrong piece of land. All of us except for those big-city folks. They knew it was the cemetery they wanted. It had the uranium, and it needed the permits. The only issue was finding out who it belonged to after the forfeiture dust settled. They did a good job of narrowing it down. When it wasn’t Fred—and it wasn’t Rick—only my momma was left. And they sent Bobby after her.”

“So that’s what your mom was talking about when she told Bobby she wouldn’t sell her land.”

Daisy nodded. “My momma wouldn’t ever sell the cemetery. Uranium or no uranium. The world could be coming to an end. The stars could be raining down from the heavens. She’d never let it leave the family. It’s her heritage—and my heritage too. Our kin have been laid to rest there for hundreds of years. We had a great uncle, Jacob Berger, who was chief wagoner in the American Revolutionary War. Born December 21, 1745. Died January 25, 1837. I can show you his grave and dozens more like it. All with the name Berger. That’s why I can assure you without the slightest reservation there is no way in this lifetime those big-city folks will lay one dirty, money-grubbing finger on that property. My momma wouldn’t allow anyone to desecrate the family name by poisoning babies and their parents in this county—or the state—or any other state. Not with the good lord as her witness.”

A lengthy silence followed. Ethan sat down next to her on the porch swing. It creaked gently beneath them. Daisy watched the shadows crawl from the cemetery to the creek to the farmhouse as the last remnant of rosy glow from the sun faded away.

“Do you think they’re over there?” she asked Ethan after a while.

“I don’t know. I was wondering that myself. I don’t see any lights or hear any machinery. But they do have the permits. They could be doing something. And your friend Zeke at the roadhouse told us they were going for burgers. I have to assume that meant they were planning on heading to the Berger cemetery at some point.”

“I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Tomorrow I’ll look into what we can do about those permits. Without the real landowner’s permission, I don’t think they’re still valid. But I’m not sure how that works exactly. And considering what they did to Hank and Mr. Dickerson, I doubt those big-city folks are going to just walk away and give up without a fight.”

Daisy shivered. Ethan wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“You don’t have to worry about them,” he said. “Not anymore. I’ll call my boss and your sheriff. Together we’ll take care of them.”

She leaned against his chest. The swing moved with the rising night breeze. It was a clear evening. The moon was a bright crescent shimmering high above the creek. Frying Pan Creek. Such a silly name. She had no clue where it came from. A century or two ago somebody had probably used the creek for washing the grease from their skillet and it just stuck. But as silly as the name seemed, the creek was now of great importance. It divided Chalk Level. Fox Hollow from the Berger family cemetery. Rick’s land from her momma’s land. Corn whiskey from uranium deposits.

Ethan’s arm tightened against her body as the darkness spread over them like a soft mist. It was quiet on the porch. And so very peaceful. Daisy remembered how as a little girl she used to sit on the swing with her daddy counting fireflies before bed. She had planned on sitting there with her own children one day. But that dream was gone. The house was lost. She would never sit on the porch again. This was the last time. At least she wasn’t alone. It was nice being close to someone. She hadn’t realized before quite how much she missed it. She could feel Ethan’s heart beating into her back. She hoped that Rick wouldn’t suddenly appear. Then she’d have to explain. The plat map. The exploratory drilling permits. And Ethan. She would have to explain sitting with Ethan on Rick’s swing—on Rick’s porch—at Rick’s house.

Frogs burped. Whip-poor-wills called. Cicadas buzzed. It was such a hypnotic refrain that Daisy barely noticed the shout off in the distance. It sounded like Rick. Was Rick shouting? Then came the explosion.

CHAPTER

27

She ran. As the scarlet plume of fire hurtled into the sky, Daisy forgot the cicadas and the porch swing. The only thing that she could think about was the blazing cloud ahead of her. And Rick. She had heard his voice just before the explosion. He was somewhere in the middle of it. She had already lost her daddy and Matt’s daddy. She couldn’t lose another person to the flames.

“Daisy!”

It was Ethan. He was calling after her. Maybe he was running after her too. She didn’t know, and she didn’t really care. She couldn’t worry about Ethan. Not at that moment. Not when he was perfectly fine and Rick very possibly wasn’t.

“Daisy, stop!”

Her feet went faster. She was already down the porch stairs and across the gravel driveway. She had reached the side garden and was heading toward the creek.

“You don’t know what’s out there, Daisy! You don’t know
who’s
out there!”

Ethan must not have heard the shout. Or if he had, he didn’t connect it with Rick. But she did. She knew that it was Rick out there. And Daisy knew Rick. He didn’t shout without a reason. Especially not right before an explosion.

“Damn it, Daisy! Stop! It could be—”

The words became garbled in her ears, like static filtering through a radio. Daisy didn’t listen anymore. She couldn’t. She was too busy watching the red-hot sparks rocket into the air. They were coming from the cemetery. But what could burn like that in the cemetery? Nothing. At least nothing natural. There was only grass and gravestones. A brush fire expanded gradually. It didn’t detonate with the force of a missile.

The night was warm and humid. Whether it was made any warmer by the sudden inferno Daisy couldn’t tell. The land in the distance glowed crimson, but there was little light directly in front of her. She moved into the dark shrubs with only a general sense of direction. The hollies scratched her arms and legs. The forsythias slapped her face. But she pushed determinedly through the brambles and branches, knowing that they wouldn’t last long. The thicket wasn’t wide. On the other side lay the creek.

Daisy stumbled down into the muddy water. There wasn’t much of it. A trickle no more than a generous inch at its deepest. Not the swift knee-high current from a week or two earlier. The mud was sticky, and within half a dozen steps, she lost a sandal to the gummy mire. She stopped and tried to search for it, but it was no use. She couldn’t see well enough, and the sandal had been sucked beneath the glop.

Slipping over the damp rocks, she crossed the creek. Daisy almost smiled as she reached the opposite bank. It was her momma’s land that she stood on now. It would always be Berger land. The soil firmed beneath her, and she tried to run again, except she found that she couldn’t. Not with only one shoe on. She pulled off the remaining sandal, tossed it over her shoulder, and started up the embankment.

The dirt slid out from under her as she climbed. It was powdery dry from too much sun and not enough rain. Daisy scrambled higher. Only a few more feet. Then she would be at the top. She could take a good look at the situation and have a better idea of what to do about it. The smell of scorched earth struck her like a violent squall as she crested the hill. It was acrid and stung her nostrils. Her foot struck a stump, and she tumbled to the ground. When she lifted her head from the clover, Daisy saw them. And she froze.

There were men. At least ten, maybe more. Inky figures racing toward the fiery ball, trying to douse it. They weren’t firefighters. She knew that instantly. They weren’t dressed like firefighters. They didn’t move like firefighters. And they didn’t have the equipment of firefighters. They had other equipment though. Bulldozers and massive shovels and towering rigs. They were drilling. Or preparing to drill. To test the uranium no doubt, as the exploratory permits allowed. But something had exploded, without any warning from all indications. It was most likely a storage tank. Gasoline or propane. Whatever powered all that machinery.

For a long minute Daisy gaped at the scene before her. She hadn’t expected it. Not anything like this. And then she thought of Rick. Rick shouting. She looked more closely at the men. Was Rick among them? Daisy didn’t recognize him. But she couldn’t really recognize anyone. They were no more than bulky shapes moving hurriedly around the blaze. Could she have confused Rick’s voice with someone else’s? It was possible, of course. Except she had been so certain that it was him. She hadn’t hesitated for even a second jumping off the porch swing and racing away from Ethan into the darkness.

Ethan. She had forgotten all about him while struggling through the brush and muck to reach the cemetery. He had come after her, and Daisy saw him now standing not far from where she lay. His gun was in his hands in front of him. His body was turned toward the flames. She whispered his name. He didn’t respond. She tried again, a little louder. Still no success.

Daisy wavered, debating how loud to get. She was afraid of attracting the attention of anyone other than Ethan. There was plenty of noise around her. Snapping and crackling from the burning vegetation. Men hollering back and forth. Surely they wouldn’t notice one extra yell. One name called out. Her mouth opened. She promptly snapped it back shut. There were more men. A small group that she hadn’t spotted before. These men weren’t darting around. Nor were they dealing with the fire. Instead they were talking together intently. She couldn’t hear their words, but she could guess who they were. Big-city folks.

She had to get away. Daisy understood that immediately. She was too close to them. Dangerously close. They had murdered Hank and Fred. And several of them were carrying what appeared to be AR-15s. That was a serious rifle with a clip holding something in the neighborhood of thirty rounds. At least Ethan had his Glock. If only she had her momma’s .380. It might have been a small pistol, but when push came to shove, it fired bullets just like the big boys. Bobby and his bloody thigh could attest to that fact. But the Colt wasn’t there. She had left it at the inn before going to see her momma in the hospital.