"JOE! JOE!"

Was he getting other men with lots of shovels? Once more Daisy's eyes flew frantically around the walls that trapped her. There was only one possible route for escape. Up. She had to try it. She had to try it now. No one seemed to be watching. It was a tiny open window that might slam shut at any moment.

Her fingers were wet with Ethan's blood. As Daisy wiped them dry on her already stained shirt, she searched through the darkness for a place to start. There were some small cavities in the clay as a result of the explosions. She found a spot for one hand, then the other. And she began to climb.

It was tough going. One of her arms worked much better than the other. Her weaker arm smarted terribly, and the muscles strained to the point where they felt like they could snap in half. Daisy guessed it was because of how her arm had been twisted under her when she fell, but she forced herself to ignore the throbbing. She understood what would happen if her arm suddenly gave out or she lost her grip. There would be another fall. Another hard landing. And she would have to start the climb all over again. Precious seconds would be irretrievably lost. Precious seconds that could very possibly mean the difference between survival and entombment.

Daisy glanced down at Ethan. He lay in the same position as when she left him. There was no more moaning. She wondered how much blood he had lost. But a part of her was glad that he wasn't awake. He couldn't feel the pain or know that he might never feel anything again.

With each inch that she progressed, the sky became brighter. The air seemed somehow fresher. Daisy had a bit more hope for success. The edge of the grave was now clearly in sight. Like the glittering summit of a mountain, the peak was almost within her reach. Just another couple of minutes, another foot or two, and she would be at the top. She could get out, and she could get help. Then it wouldn't matter if Joe brought a shovel. It wouldn't matter if he and the other men brought a dozen shovels. She would be gone. They wouldn't be able to bury her or Ethan.

There was the hum of an engine. Daisy didn't pay any attention to it. She knew they were moving equipment and machinery. Carlton was trying to hide what he could, as quickly as he could. But he wouldn't be able to hide it for long. Sheriff Lowell and the Glade Hill Fire & Rescue Squad would be there soon. The hum was getting louder. It was accompanied by the grinding of metal and the dry crunch of earth. It was a strange noise, but she didn't think about it. She was too close to freedom to focus on anything else.

Her weak arm felt like it was going to shatter into a hundred pieces. She had smacked her knees against the clay wall so many times, they had become swollen and ached. But it wasn't important. Nothing was important except escaping from the grave. The engine sounded awfully close to her now. Daisy wondered if they were driving the machinery next to the grave, or maybe even right over it. Would they see her climbing? Should she wait to go further until they had passed? She decided that she had better peep out before jumping out. Better to be safe than very sorry. Joe and the other men still had their AR-15s.

Stretching her hand up, she touched grass. It was warm, soft, wonderful grass simply because it wasn't clay. Like a prairie dog slowly poking its head out of its burrow, wary of lurking predators, Daisy raised her eyes cautiously over the edge of the grave. She expected to find fire, hustling men, and lots of commotion. They were all there, but she didn't see any of them. The only thing that she saw was the bulldozer. And the dirt. The towering mound of dirt that the bulldozer was pushing straight toward her.

She tried to leap out of the way. Daisy made one feverish attempt to get her body up onto the grass and roll to safety. But there wasn't enough time. The bulldozer was already too near, and the dirt started pouring into the grave with the force and speed of a torrential waterfall. She lost her hold on the clay and tumbled downward. Like a battered tennis ball, she bounced from one wall to another. There was dirt in her eyes, dirt in her nose, and dirt streaming into her clothes.

With all her might, Daisy struggled against the flow. She fought to keep her head up and breathe. She seemed to be swimming in it, paddling furiously against the tide. Except it was a rip current, sucking her inexorably away from shore. The pounding dirt was pulling her to the bottom. To the bottom of her grave. And there was absolutely nothing that she could do to stop it.

They were burying her, and they were burying Ethan somewhere below her. They were burying them alive. Daisy's mouth filled with dirt, and she began to choke. Within seconds she was gasping so violently, it felt as though every cell in her body was on the verge of bursting. She was suffocating under a mound of Pittsylvania County clay. She clawed wildly at the walls, searching for a pocket of air. When she found one, she gulped what she could. Instinct told her it wouldn't last long. The dirt was crushingly heavy. She couldn't see, and she could only partially move. But she could still dig, and that was what she did, thrusting her arms forward and kicking her legs together below her like a flipper.

It was impossible for Daisy to tell if she was making any progress. She knew she was going up, but she had no way of knowing how far she needed to go. The dirt had to end somewhere of course. The question was whether she could get there before her air and muscles gave out. Her strength was already beginning to fail her. She felt her legs sag uselessly beneath her as though they were no longer attached to her body. She forced her arms to keep working, using every bit of energy she had left. Except the gasping had started againa"and her head was pounding in agonya"and instead of pushing dirt away from her face, now something was pushing it at her.

All of a sudden, there was a light. It was a dim red glow, followed by a hand. She reached for it. As her fingers grazed the palm, it grabbed her. It pulled, and she crawled, until she could crawl no more. That was when it lifted her. The dirt fell away like a coat of chain mail, and she was free. Rick's arms were wrapped around her. Daisy coughed, and her body shuddered with such exhaustion it seemed as though her spine might crumble. But Rick held her tight and upright. Then came his drawling voice.

"Looks like you owe me one, darlin'."

CHAPTER.

30.

"Have you decided on a name for the bakery yet?"

Daisy raised her head from the stack of paperwork in her lap. She was sitting in one of the white pine rocking chairs on the back porch of the Tosh Inn. Aunt Emily stood in front of her with a sweating glass of lemonade in each hand.

"No. Brenda wants to keep it H & P's, in memory of Hank and my daddy and to thank Hank for leaving the diner to us in his will, buta"" She hesitated. "I think maybe it's time for a change. A new business should have a new name. A fresh start all around."

Aunt Emily nodded approvingly. She set one glass on the little table next to Daisy, then settled down with her own glass in the neighboring rocker. Daisy shifted in her seat to pick up the lemonade with her left hand. Her right arm was in a sling. It still hurt on occasion, but the pain was now just an annoying twinge compared to what it had been a week earlier.

"How are you coming with those?" Aunt Emily gestured toward the papers as half of them tumbled to the porch floor.

"I'm seriously beginning to hate forms." Daisy pushed the rest of the stack out of her lap. "Forms from the hospital for my momma. Forms from the government for closing the diner and opening the bakery. Forms from the sheriff and a bunch of mining bureaucrats for the mess in the cemetery. Forms, forms, forms. I'm supposed to go back to the doctor for one last look at my arm, and I really don't want to because it'll mean more forms."

"Wait until you get older." Aunt Emily chuckled. "It only gets worse. Forms and bills. That's what our existence on this earth boils down to at the end."

"Don't even get me started on the bills. How Brenda and I are going to buy the supplies we need to bake anything and sell it is a mystery to me." Daisy lifted the lemonade to her lips. She was expecting a pleasant mix of sweet and tangy but got a mouthful of lighter fluid instead. "Lord almighty, Aunt Emily! What did you put in here?"

"Just a dash of something to take the edge off, Ducky. You can't tell me you don't need it after what you've been through."

She had no argument there. Being very nearly buried alive did make a person think much more fondly of both life and liquor. Daisy took another drink, only this time she was careful to make it a sip.

"And somebody's got to give that Rick Balsam a shot of friendly competition," Aunt Emily continued with a sly gaze. "If he's doing as well as you say with his 'shine, then there's no harm in me expanding my repertoire. Branch out a bit from my usual brandies. It is medicine, after all. I'd be doing the fine folks of southwestern Virginia a service, medically speaking."

Daisy laughed.

"Unless you've caught wind of an impending crackdown by our favorite ATF agent. In that case I'll stick with the gooseberries."

"Oh, I think you'll be safe. Ethan's on sick leave right now. And after he goes back to work, he'll be staying firmly attached to the desk in his office for the foreseeable future. He's got a broken leg and about a dozen facial fractures. He'll be okay, but he needs to take it easy for a while until everything heals."

"So he hasn't made any plans for a return trip? Even unofficially?"

"Not anytime soon. At least not that he's told me about. I believe Special Agent Kinney's had his fill of Pittsylvania County. And you can't really blame him. He saw a lot more than he bargained for."

"But surely he wants to see you again, Ducky."

She could only shrug. Daisy didn't know quite where she stood with Ethan. She had spoken to him twice since his release from the hospital. Both conversations had been brief and slightly muddled, because Ethan was on a slew of painkillers.

"He'll come back 'round when he's feeling better," Aunt Emily said with confidence. "You just wait. He'll find another assignment out here."

"Maybe." Daisy shrugged again. Then she smiled, remembering what Ethan had said about not being a revenuer. "Maybe he'll discover a sudden need to smash a still or dump some pints of whiskey into the creek."

"Are we talking about Rick's still and Rick's pints of whiskey?"

"Not unless Rick causes a mighty stink somewhere. If there's any really big trouble, Ethan won't protect him. But at this pointa"considering he saved our livesa"Ethan's willing to turn a blind eye to Rick and his 'shine."

"I guess that's only fair. You were lucky Rick showed up when he did."

"I was lucky I could scream so loud," Daisy replied. "That's how Rick found us. He was already trying to stop Carlton and the others. He figured out what they were up to from the plat mapa"just like I dida"and he thought the best way to shine a little light on their activities was to blow them up. So Rick was setting off the explosions when he heard me hollering my head off."

Aunt Emily sighed. "I still can't believe it was Carlton behind it all. He always seemed like such a harmless chap to me."

"He was dreaming of money, more than he could ever make selling everybody's old junk. And he can keep right on dreaminga"in prison for the rest of his life."

"I suppose I should invite Rick over for dinner this weekend," Aunt Emily said after a slight pause. "Show my gratitude properly."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Oh?" She raised a curious eyebrow.

"I'm grateful to him, of course. Very grateful. I justa"" It was Daisy's turn to sigh. "Well, I've learned over the years it's unwise to act too grateful to Rick for anything. He has a tendency to remind you of it. A lot."

"And he's always looking for reimbursement?"

"Especially a certain type of reimbursement, if you catch my meaning."

Aunt Emily frowned. "It seems to me you two should be nearly even. You didn't hurt his brother a stitch after what he tried to pull with your momma. You let Bobby walk away scot-free."

"Bobby's actually walking with a bit of a limp these days. Although I've been told it'll go away over time as the muscles in his thigh mend. He's paying another price too. Bobby's volunteered to clean up the cemetery for me. Collect the burnt brush. Plant some new azaleas. Even scrub and polish all the scorched gravestones."

The curious eyebrow went back up. "Volunteered?"

"Let me put it this waya"" Daisy couldn't restrain a grin. "My momma's three-eighty is now my three-eighty. And it appears I can be rather convincing when I'm holding it, even with one arm in a sling."

Aunt Emily hooted so hard, she almost dropped her drink. "Now that's thinking smart!"

For several minutes she went on tittering to herself in amusement. Daisy watched the condensation trickle down the side of her glass.

"You were just kidding, weren't you, Aunt Emily?" she said at last. "You don't really believe Fox Hollowa"or the Berger cemeterya"is cursed, do you?"

At first she didn't answer, then Aunt Emily smiled. There was an unmistakable glint of excitement in her shrewd blue eyes.

"Don't you worry about that, Ducky. You just think about what you and Brenda are going to call the new bakery." She leaned over the arm of her rocker and pecked Daisy on the forehead. "Take it from an old biddy like me, some secrets are better off left buried."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Carol Miller was born in Germany, raised in Chicago, and works as an international business consultant. In her spare time, she enjoys traveling, cooking, and hiking in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of southern Virginia, where she lives. This is her first novel.

Visit her Web site at www.carolmillerauthor.com.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

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