16.

Ethan took a step backward and firmed his grip on the gun that he continued to hold at his side. "You do realize you just admitted to poisoning a man, don't you?"

"I told you before," Rick drawled indignantly. "I didn't poison old man Dickerson."

"You can say it a dozen more times. I don't care if you hum it, whistle it, or sing it at night like a lullaby. It doesn't change the facts. You distilled the whiskey. You delivered the whiskey. And the whiskey killed him. That's poisoning a man by any definition."

"So that's why he recognized you," Daisy interjected.

Rick turned to her.

"I knew Fred recognized you," she said. "When he first stumbled into the diner, before he had the seizure and fell. Fred looked at you and seemed to want to say something to you, except he couldn't because he was already so sick. I wondered about it, but I couldn't figure out why he'd recognize you. Now it's obvious. You gave him the 'shine, and he was trying to tell you it was bad."

"I do think he was trying to warn me," Rick agreed.

"Or accuse you," Ethan countered.

Daisy disregarded the latter remark. "You gave Fred lots of 'shine, didn't you?"

Rick answered with a grin.

"Why did you lie about it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked her, feigning innocence.

"If you gave Fred lots of 'shine, then I can't believe you didn't see him, at least once in a while. You had to come here pretty often to cook up all that likker you've got sitting in the barn. So even if you didn't ring the bell and swap stories with him every time, you still must have caught a glimpse of Fred on occasion. And you told Sheriff Lowell you hadn't seen him in ten years. I thought you were lying when you said that."

His grin grew. "How did you know?"

Settling back into her chair, Daisy folded her arms across her chest. "I've known you long enough, Richard Balsam. I can always tell when you're lying."

"As I recall," he said, cocking his head at her, "there was a time when we knew each other quite well."

She laughed because by cocking his head, Rick had proven her point. "You also told Sheriff Lowell you hadn't talked to Fred in a decade. Did you lie about that too?"

"No," he said firmly.

"Then why," Daisy said, returning to her original question, "did you lie about seeing him?"

"Aw hell, I didn't lie. I just didn't tell the whole truth." Rick leaned against the porch railing. "I honestly didn't talk to Fred. But I did see him now and again. I'd wave. He'd wave. That was the end of it. I didn't tell the sheriff because I didn't think it mattered. And it wasn't any of his goddam business either."

"If you didn't speak to Mr. Dickerson," Ethan asked, "how did you know to leave the jars for him?"

He shrugged. "After I finished my first batch, I set a jar up on the porch as a courtesy of sorts. I had seen the old man drink out here before, so I thought he might like a taste of mine. When I returned a week later, the jar was empty. I took that as a sign he enjoyed it, and I left a couple of new jars for him whenever I came back."

Ethan frowned. "But isn't what you've got in the barn aged? With the barrels and the amber color?" He gestured toward the jars of hueless liquid on the wrought-iron table. "This isn't aged."

"I do usually age what I make for me and my"a"Rick chortleda""fancier friends. But did you ever meet Fred Dickerson?" He didn't wait for Ethan's reply. "The old man lived life plain and simple. He didn't want subtle hints of flavor or bouquet. He wanted the lick of fire. So I gave him the lick of fire."

"All right." Ethan's frown continued. "You gave Mr. Dickerson some of your unaged whiskey. Latera"from the events at the dinera"you discovered the whiskey was tainted, deadly even. Why didn't you throw it away? Why did you let it sit out here for everybody to drink? You knew how dangerous it was."

Rick responded with another chortle. "Look around you. Do you see anyone? Who would possibly drink it? A horsefly might decide to buzz over and take a sip, but I'd be glad if it died. One less bloodsucker flying around the county. When I heard there was a chance the sheriff could drop by, I told Daisy straightaway to watch out for him and make sure he doesn't pour himself a glass."

Ethan merely grunted.

"Believe it or not," Rick went on, "I feel lousy about what happened. I didn't poison him, but it was still my 'shinea"and old man Dickerson drank ita"and it killed him."

"It's not your fault Fred was using arsenic on the corn," Daisy said.

He looked at her. "Fred was using arsenic on the corn?"

"Of course. How else would it have gotten there? He probably thought it was working wonderfully. The corn by the barn sure looks good. Except poor Fred didn't realize that by putting arsenic on the corn, he was also putting it in the 'shine. He poisoned himself."

Rick and Ethan glanced at each other.

"Daisy," Rick responded slowly, "Fred didn't use arsenic on the corn by the barn."

"He didn't?"

"No. I planted that corn. And I tended that corn. He had nothing to do with it."

"But"a"she blinked at him in confusiona""if he had nothing to do with it, then how a how dida"

"I don't know," Rick answered. "That's the problem. I don't know how the arsenic got there. I do know, however, Fred wasn't responsible. There's no arsenic on the corn, next to the corn, or anywhere near the corn. I'm sure of that because the rest of the batch is clean. I appreciate you saying it wasn't my fault, but it wasn't the corn's fault either."

"The arsenic didn't just magically appear in the jars," Ethan remarked dryly.

"That's the main reason I didn't throw them out," Rick told him. "I was hoping if I kept everything the way it was, maybe there would be a clue somewhere. I figured when the sheriff came, he might be able to find it."

"You're positivea" Daisy blinked at him once more. "You're positive there's no arsenic in the rest of the batch?"

Rick smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm positive. I'm still standinga"and Bobby's still standinga"and you're still standing."

"Do you think Mr. Dickerson was the target?" Ethan asked him.

"I think he had to be. Anybody who was paying any attention would have known I was putting the two jars up here on the porch for him, while I was drinking from the jars in the barn. And the jars in the barn are all fine and untouched. I've checked. Trust me, I've double- and triple-checked. But that brings me back to what I said before. Look around you. Do you see anyone? Who would possibly be paying any attention? I can't for the life of me imagine. Except somebody must have been."

"Somebody must have been," Ethan concurred. "The real question isa"why? Why would they put arsenic in these two jars and only these two jars?"

"Are you saying it was intentional?" Daisy stared at him. "Someone intentionally put arsenic in Fred's 'shine?"

Ethan gave a little snort. "You're just catching on to that now? Of course I believe it was intentional."

Her stare widened. "That can't be right. Nobody would poison old man Dickerson. Not deliberately."

"Apparently they would," Ethan retorted, "because they did."

Daisy looked at Rick. He nodded.

"But it's not logical." She stood up. "Poor Fred was a recluse. He was old and never bothered a soul. Why would you poison a person like that? There's no reason for it."

"Well, there had to be some reason for it." Ethan turned to Rick. "And since he lived on your propertya"and you're the only one we know for certain ever saw hima"you probably have the best chance of figuring out what that reason was. Or at least pointing me in the proper direction."

"Hell if I know." Rick shrugged. "I've thought about it. I've thought about it a lot actually. But Daisy's right. The man was old and never bothered a soul. Whenever I was here, Fred was always alone. He didn't have any visitors."

"Never?" Ethan said. "Not once?"

Rick rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I can't remember a timea""

Daisy walked slowly down the length of the porch. Fred Dickerson had been poisoned. Intentionally. She was having a hard time believing it, but it had to be true. Logical or not, there was no other explanation left for his death. Rick and Ethan were obviously convinced. Aunt Emily too. Granted, she had envisioned a sprinkle of cyanide in Fred's hash browns or a dash of drain cleaner in his tomato soup, but arsenic in his moonshine had worked just as well, evidently.

It was no longer a ridiculous murder theory. It was actual murder. Except the reason for it still baffled Daisy. There was no cause to hurt old man Dickerson. He hadn't been in contact with anyone for ages. He hadn't seen anyone either. Only Rick. And Hank. Hank might have seen Fred too. He was the first to positively identify him at the diner. Then there was his strange behavior, twice. Hank had to know more than he was letting on.

She caught a snippet of Rick and Ethan's conversation.

"Anyone could have come onto the property," Rick said. "The gate at the road isn't locked. And I'm not here every day. I wasn't here at all the week Fred died."

"So whoever put the arsenic in the jars didn't have to worry about you catching them, only Mr. Dickerson."

"They didn't have to worry about Fred either," Rick replied. "Not in his feeble condition. He couldn't fight a flea. If they wanted to kill hima""

"Which we have to assume they did," Ethan interjected.

"Then why use arsenic? You've got to get it, mix it in the 'shine, wait for the old man to swallow a glass and finally die. Why not shoot hima"or stab hima"or strangle him instead? They're all much simpler and quicker. And they guarantee the who and when."

"Unless you need it to look like an accident."

"That's what I was thinking," Rick agreed. "Because if you just wanted Fred dead, you could have hit him in the head with an axe and buried him somewhere in the fields. Or better yet, dumped him in the middle of the woods. There are two hundred acres of land out here, most of which aren't being touched. I wouldn't have found his body. No one would have probably ever found his body."

With a sigh, Daisy rested her head against the corner of the house. Dump him in the middle of the woods. Rick sounded just like Aunt Emily. Only he didn't have a suspect in mind, or at least he didn't name one. Aunt Emily had promptly pointed her finger at Hank, because Fred was supposedly responsible for the death of her daddy. But even if that were truea"which it couldn't possibly bea"why would Hank wait nearly five long years to seek his revenge? Why would he use arsenic in moonshine? And why on earth would Fred then go to H & P's of all places as he was dying? It made no sense.

The wood was rough on her cheek from the paint splintering off the boards. The house was in desperate need of love and attention. Surveying the condition of the porch in the corner where she was standing, Daisy clucked her tongue in irritation. Rick might not want to repair the property, but he could at least keep it from becoming a trash heap. She bent down toward a dirty rag with the intention of depositing it in the nearest garbage can. As she scooped it up, it reminded her of something. The smell and stains. She squinted at it, puzzled. Then the realization suddenly hit her, and her eyes flared open.

"Daisy?"

She crumpled the cloth into as small of a ball as she could.

"What is that?" Rick asked her.

"Hmm?" she answered vaguely.

His footsteps started toward her. "What do you have there?"

Turning around to face him, Daisy held the ball behind her. "This? Nothing. Just some junk I found. I was about to throw it out."

"What kind of junk?"

"I don't know. Junk."

"Daisya"

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 ATFa"and his Glocka"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 unhappya"and painfully perceptivea"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 provea""

"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?"