Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  “There’s a rehearsal tonight, but I think she said she’d be at home most of the day. Maybe you can catch her.”

  “I’ll do that. In the meantime, before you go back to your job, wouldn’t you like a muffin or a scone or a brownie?”

  Vanna, gazing around the restful room, rethought her previous decision. “A brownie before noon. That sounds decadent, doesn’t it?” She had a twinkle in her eye. “I think I’ll have one since that’s as decadent as I get.”

  Daisy took a few more sips of tea then rose from her chair. “Enjoy another cup of tea. Cora Sue will bring you a brownie.”

  As Daisy was about to turn away, Vanna called her back. “I wish Margaret was more like you. I’d have a real confidante then.”

  Daisy felt herself blush. “You can talk to me anytime, Vanna. You know that, don’t you?”

  Vanna’s eyes seemed to mist over and she simply nodded.

  Daisy was going to tell Cora Sue to serve Vanna an extra-large brownie.

  * * *

  A few minutes later Daisy was headed to her office to call Margaret when her son-in-law opened the tea garden door. Foster Cranshaw let Violet precede him inside. His russet brown hair was mussed from the wind and his rimless glasses fell low on his nose.

  Daisy felt empathy and sympathy for her daughter, who was counting days at the end of her pregnancy. Daisy remembered those last few weeks of her pregnancy well. She hadn’t been able to see her feet, and fatigue interspersed with moments of high energy prodded her to do everything she had to do before the baby was born.

  Daisy didn’t waste any time in showing the couple to the spillover tearoom. Foster wasn’t slated to work until tomorrow. He had classes this morning. Her daughter was supposed to be at home resting.

  As soon as Foster pulled out Vi’s chair and helped her remove her black-and-white color-blocked wool cape, Violet said, “I wish I hadn’t stopped working so soon. I’m so bored I don’t know what to do.” Vi’s honey blond hair had grown a ways down her back. Its natural wave was wind-tossed this morning. Her cheeks were fuller than they’d been before her pregnancy.

  Foster looked frustrated as he sat at the table with his wife. “Otis misses her at Pirated Treasures. Even though she’s kept his inventory list and his bookwork up-to-date, as well as Arden Botterill’s bookkeeping, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

  Vi ticked off tasks with her fingers one at a time. “I have the baby’s area ready. I have receiving blankets and clothes all washed. Clean sheets are on the crib mattress, and I dusted our whole apartment until I can’t dust anymore. I wanted to take a walk farther than from our apartment to your house, but Foster won’t let me.”

  “Not when she’s alone,” Foster confirmed to Daisy. “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “When do you see the midwife again?” Daisy ventured.

  Vi shifted, trying to arrange herself more comfortably in the chair. “Tonight. You’re welcome to be there. Willa knows you’re worried.”

  Daisy thought she’d hidden her concern about Violet having a midwife deliver her baby in their apartment. Apparently, one woman to another, Willa knew how Daisy felt. She was a Mennonite woman who was a nurse practitioner as well as a midwife and well-qualified for her profession.

  “Yes, I’d like to be there,” Daisy assured her daughter.

  “Vi asked me to bring her here so she’d have a change of scene,” Foster explained. “I need to meet with my professor at the college this afternoon.”

  “Anything wrong?” Daisy asked, then thought maybe she shouldn’t have. She really tried to let her daughters make their own choices, and let Foster guide where he wanted his family to go.

  Foster pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and answered easily. “No problem. Actually, we’re talking about independent study after the baby’s born. It would make my hours more flexible.”

  “Rooibos iced tea with a scone?” Under Daisy’s direction, Vi had learned what teas were safe for her to drink during pregnancy. The herbal tea with ginger and mint had helped her morning sickness. There were teas that were unsafe during pregnancy like cleansing and detoxification teas as well as those with certain herbs such as black cohosh. Daisy had also counseled Vi that she should limit her tea intake to one cup a day. Two or three cups were supposed to be safe, but as with everything else, since a pregnancy scare back in August, Vi wanted to go in the direction of caution. She stayed away from any drink with caffeine.

  Violet looked almost like the little girl Daisy remembered when she asked, “Can I come back to the kitchen and visit with Tessa? It will give me something to do. Then I just want to sit here and watch your customers. Can I do that, Mom?”

  Daisy would do anything to help the last few days of Vi’s pregnancy go smoothly. Her older daughter was welcome to watch passersby and tea drinkers if that would help her occupy herself. “I’m sure everybody in the kitchen would be glad to see you.”

  Foster raised a brow. “You’ll watch over her?”

  “Of course. If I don’t, Iris will, or Cora Sue, or Eva.”

  Looking relieved, Foster stood and he helped Vi to stand too.

  Vi sighed. “I don’t think I ever realized that pregnancy would be like carrying around four bags of sugar or flour. I’ve gained twenty pounds,” she bemoaned.

  “And you look beautiful,” Daisy reminded her. “You’re healthy and strong, and according to your OB/GYN, the baby is too.” Willa had a gynecologist backing her up just in case she needed one. Fortunately, Vi’s doctor was on board with everything they were doing.

  “You have to say that,” Vi murmured. “You’re my mother.”

  Daisy could tell Foster was suppressing a smile.

  “She doesn’t believe it when I tell her she’s beautiful either,” he said. Then he kissed Violet and left the tea garden.

  Daisy walked with Vi to the kitchen, where everyone welcomed her. Before Vi had had a scare with her pregnancy, she’d worked at the tea garden beside everyone who was working there now.

  The aromas that wafted from the kitchen were cinnamon and chocolate, vanilla and sugar. There was a yeasty smell too, which meant Tessa was baking cinnamon rolls.

  Vi caught the scent right away. She said to Tessa, “If any of those cinnamon rolls are baked, I’ll have one.”

  “They’re almost baked.” Tessa looked Vi over. “You’re glowing. Pregnancy becomes you.”

  Vi just shook her head. “You all made a pact to make me feel good, didn’t you?”

  As Tessa laughed, and she and Vi began talking, Daisy said, “I have a call to make. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  She hoped it would be five minutes.

  In her office, Daisy called Margaret from the handset on her desk.

  “Vaughn residence,” someone answered on the other end of the line.

  “This is Daisy Swanson from Daisy’s Tea Garden,” Daisy explained. “Is Mrs. Vaughn in?”

  “This is Tamlyn Pittenger, Mrs. Swanson. Mrs. Vaughn is in a meeting right now in her study.”

  “I was wondering if it would be convenient for me to visit her later this afternoon. Could you check for me?”

  Tamlyn hesitated. “I . . . uh . . . I can try.”

  That sounded a little odd to Daisy.

  About a minute later, Tamlyn was back on the line. “Mrs. Swanson, I don’t know who’s with Mrs. Vaughn but the door to her study is closed. There’s an argument going on inside. I don’t think I should disturb her right now.”

  “I see. I really need to talk with her today, and I’d like to do it face-to-face.”

  “All right. Let me check her calendar. She usually writes all of her social engagements on it. She still doesn’t like using a phone app for that. The calendar is in the kitchen.”

  While Daisy waited, Tamlyn reached the kitchen quickly and related, “Mrs. Vaughn doesn’t have anyone listed on her schedule for right now, even though she’s in a meeting. It’s also empty for this afternoon. S
he usually has lunch at one. Why don’t you give me a call around two? If she’s free, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll do that,” Daisy agreed. “Thank you, Tamlyn.” She ended the call. However, as she did, she thought about everything Vanna had told her this morning. Just who was Margaret arguing with?

  Chapter Two

  Daisy drove up the lane that led to a circular driveway. She knew two acres surrounded the historic house that Margaret Vaughn now lived in with her husband. Once the area had been densely wooded with Norwegian spruce trees along one side and maples and oaks on the other, continuing to the rear of the property. The front entrance had been mostly hidden by arborvitae that had grown out of control as well as mop bushes that, for the most part, kept their round shape and almost covered the porch railings.

  After Rowan Vaughn had bought the place, he’d had many of the trees and their trunks uprooted and the shrubs around the house torn away. There had been plenty of space for a circular stamped drive, and he’d had one of those created. A decorative wheelbarrow sat in the center. It was filled with mums and marigolds that had seen their last glory days.

  The house itself was a sturdy-looking edifice. The porch ran across the front, and set-back side wings extended about twelve feet from each side. The edifice stood two and a half stories with dormers positioned on each side of a triple window in the center of the roof point. Five windows with shutters allowed light into the second floor. The middle one sat directly above the double door entrance into the main floor. She suspected the house was about fifty-five hundred square feet, which included a bedroom on the third floor. She’d only been in the house once, when she’d originally discussed the tea with Margaret.

  After Daisy parked, she climbed the steps to the main door. The doorbell sound seemed to reverberate through the house. About a minute after she pushed the button, Tamlyn opened the door. Margaret’s housekeeper was young, probably in her early twenties. She wore her long brown hair in a knot on the back of her head. Her uniform, if you could call it that, was navy slacks and a pale blue oxford shirt. Daisy knew that when Tamlyn was working in the kitchen or the butler’s pantry, she wore a white apron. The young woman’s cheeks were full, her lips wide, and her bangs practically covered her brows.

  She looked a bit nervous now as she said in a small voice, “I told Mrs. Vaughn that you’d be stopping by. She’s still in a grumpy mood from her meeting. Maybe you can change that.”

  As the young housekeeper guided Daisy through the foyer and living room down a hall, Daisy couldn’t help but admire the rich woodwork that trimmed the door frames and windows with wide windowsills. Speaking to its historic past, the plank flooring was a bit uneven and creaked. The newel post was fashioned of the same aged oak as the mantel above the stone fireplace.

  At one of the heavy paneled doors, Tamlyn stopped. She rapped and when Margaret answered, “Come in,” Tamlyn opened the door.

  Daisy entered the office as aware of the antique mahogany desk as of the woman sitting behind it. The computer on the old-fashioned credenza to the side of the desk together with the ergonomic office chair looked out of place. Margaret, on the other hand, didn’t. Although her steel-gray hair was expensively cut in a short do, her clothes reminded Daisy more of her Mennonite upbringing. She wore a midi-length gray wool skirt as well as a white silky blouse and gray wool vest. It was a severe yet stylish outfit. Her makeup was expertly applied, from a perfectly formed brow to the almost nude coloring on her lips. Her appearance almost looked like a reconciliation between the past and the present. Had her life become that too?

  As Tamlyn quietly exited the room, Margaret rose and extended her hand to Daisy with a smile that seemed genuine. “I know why you’re here. You want to convince me to go ahead with the tea. I imagine your business can slow down this time of year.”

  Margaret was apparently going to be blunt. In that case, Daisy could be blunt too.

  As Margaret took her seat in her office chair, Daisy perched on the practical suede leather chair positioned in front of Margaret’s desk. Before she spoke, Daisy decided she could be blunt, but she also knew how to be tactful too.

  Many photos were propped on Margaret’s desk—Vanna and her family including her deceased husband, one of Glenda and Margaret together, a photo of the cast, and the largest, a wedding portrait of Margaret and Rowan.

  Daisy motioned to the photo of Vanna and her family. “Your sister is concerned about you. She knows how much Christmas in the North Woods means to you, and having the production go well.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with the tea.” Margaret’s mouth formed a petulant frown.

  “You mentioned our business slacking off. That’s true of the tourist trade to a certain extent. But I arrange special events at the tea garden to pick up the slack. We’re having a gingerbread house–making contest with children. An author is coming to share her latest release along with tea and discussion. And, of course, we’ll have special Christmas celebration teas. So your tea, here in the farmhouse, won’t dent my revenue too much if you cancel it.”

  “Then why did you take your time to come here?” Margaret asked, sincerely curious.

  “I know you have doubts about the tea because of disputes with your cast.”

  “Vanna talks too much,” Margaret grumbled. “She’s always been jealous of me and my acting career, places I’ve been, the sights I’ve seen.”

  Daisy had never gotten that impression from Vanna. Vanna had once told her that as a little girl her dream had been of meeting a man who would love her forever. She’d dreamed of having children and creating a good home. That’s what she’d done. Although her husband was gone now, Daisy knew Vanna reveled in her children and grandchildren, and loved having them around her. But she wasn’t going to go into that with Margaret.

  “I just believe—” Daisy began.

  Margaret’s cell phone, which was sitting on the edge of her desk, played the theme from Phantom of the Opera. Margaret didn’t even glance at the screen. She picked up the phone. “I have to take this. It’s my husband.”

  “Would you like me to step out?” Daisy asked.

  Margaret shook her head and waved to Daisy to stay seated. She answered, “Rowan? Will you be home tonight?”

  As she listened, Daisy could see that whatever Rowan Vaughn had said to Margaret affected her. She frowned and looked older than she had a few minutes before. Although Daisy was sitting there, ready to leave if Margaret said the word, Margaret simply wheeled her office chair around until her back faced Daisy and lowered her voice.

  However, Daisy could still hear her as she said, “If you don’t clean up the mess quickly it could affect everything, including the play and ticket sales. Your endowment won’t last long if the theater can’t bring in money on its own.”

  Daisy heard a catch in Margaret’s voice.

  “Life in Willow Creek is difficult enough,” she murmured.

  After listening again for a minute or two, Margaret said, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

  Daisy wasn’t about to comment on the call. She simply sat there until Margaret wheeled her chair around, looked down at her desk, then back up at Daisy. The stiff guard she’d had in place seemed to disintegrate before Daisy’s eyes. She placed her hands on her desk and intertwined her fingers. “Rowan has lived in Lancaster all his life.”

  Since Margaret seemed to want to talk, Daisy went along with it. “Has he?”

  “Yes. His father had made a name in commercial development in the area. Actually, in the state. I think Rowan always wanted to outshine his father. Men and competition.” Margaret shook her head. “Of course, I suppose women can be the same way, or maybe competitive in a different way.” Margaret appeared to be lost in her thoughts for a few seconds, then she returned her attention to Daisy. “I was from Willow Creek, as you know. Did Vanna tell you about our upbringing?”

  “I know you were brought up in the Mennonite religion.”

  “We we
re, and I hated it. I hated the restrictions. I hated the rules. I hated dressing like someone from the eighteenth century. Vanna didn’t mind it as much, maybe never minded at all. I left to escape. She left, reaching for a dream. She found hers until her husband, Howard, died.”

  “Did you find yours?”

  Margaret stared down at the leather insert on her desk. “It took me a lot longer. I was a struggling actress for years. But then I fell in love with Rowan and coming back to Willow Creek had seemed right. Now, however, I don’t know. Maybe I simply don’t like to do the same thing for any length of time. I spent my childhood wanting to escape my life and now I find I want to escape again, at least away from Willow Creek. Don’t you find small-town values and gossip restrictive?”

  “Maybe I like to live within some restrictions,” Daisy offered with a smile. “Willow Creek has always felt like home. I was away for years. I always thought of Willow Creek fondly. When I met my husband, we moved away and he was my home. After he died, I decided moving back here with my daughters was our best decision, and it was. I believe we’re happy here.”

  “Your daughters might want to flee small-town living.”

  “They might, and I won’t dissuade them if that’s what they want to do. I’m still hoping that Willow Creek will always feel like home to them.”

  Both women seemed to consider what they had said, then Daisy asked, “Do you really want to cancel the tea? An afternoon that the cast spends together, not in dispute over the production but simply getting to know each other deeper during a relaxing time, could help them form better bonds.”

  Margaret peered out the window over the grounds of the property, seeming to study the trees that had lost most of their leaves. Finally, she said to Daisy, “You might be right. Maybe one of the reasons the cast is having problems is because everyone’s busy. When they’re not working, they’re rehearsing. They aren’t socializing. We’re on a schedule at the theater too. It could be that we all merely need time to take a breath, and maybe breathe the same air. But I don’t think I’ll invite Keisha and Ward, my production team from New York. Their presence can lead to discord.” She stopped. “All right, I’ll go ahead with the tea.”