Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Daisy couldn’t help but be thankful that the work that had already been put into planning the tea wouldn’t go to waste. “I’ll e-mail you the time that we’ll arrive to set up.”

  Margaret stood, effectively dismissing Daisy. She stood also.

  “I check my e-mails at least every half hour. Would you like Tamlyn to help serve?”

  “If she’s willing. We’d be glad to have her.”

  Margaret said, “I’ll relay that message to her. She’s probably working in the kitchen now. I’ll see you out.”

  As Margaret walked Daisy to the door, Daisy couldn’t help but wonder how long the actress would reside in Willow Creek. If the theater was a success, would it keep her here? Or would her need to escape be more powerful than keeping her hand in the acting community in Willow Creek?

  * * *

  As Daisy walked from the rear parking lot of the tea garden to Woods, Jonas Groft’s store, an Amish buggy with a beautiful bay horse, sturdy and strong, clattered down the street. It was a closed buggy, so she couldn’t see who was inside. Her friend Rachel and her family used a horse and buggy, and Daisy had ridden in the Fishers’ buggy often. As a child she’d ridden in Rachel’s parents’ buggy, which hadn’t had the bells and whistles some of the new models sported today—like a gas heater inside or battery-run lanterns on the outside.

  November had added an edge of iciness to the air that had been missing in October. Daisy raised the hood of her fleecy cat-patterned jacket and hurried along the sidewalk. At Woods, she stood outside for a minute glancing over the window display. The store had a distinctive look. In the main window an office arrangement with an oak desk, an oak captain’s chair, and a rolltop desk gleamed in the sunlight. She opened the door and stepped inside. As she always did, she glanced at the giant cubicle shelves built along one side of the store from floor to ceiling. Ladder-back chairs stood in each of the cubicles, ranging in colors from distressed blue to teal to cherrywood and a dark walnut.

  As she walked down the main aisle, her glance swerved from side to side to the islands built with reclaimed wood and a granite-topped sideboard to an armoire hand carved along its arched door and a cedar chest that many young women used as hope chests. Every piece of furniture was handcrafted by local craftsmen including Jonas. Expecting to see Jonas or his manager at the sales desk to the rear of the store, she stopped short when she realized who Jonas was talking to—Detective Morris Rappaport.

  The two men, both detectives aware of every sound, sight, and sensation in their immediate surroundings, glanced sideways at her and ended their conversation. Daisy wasn’t sure whether to slow down or pretend to be looking at some of the furniture.

  But Jonas beckoned to her even though the detective was frowning. She wondered why. The two men had a rapport that had aided them both in solving murders. At first when Daisy had become involved in solving those murders too, Detective Rappaport had been antagonistic. Now, after four cases, they’d established a friendly rapport.

  The detective’s frown eased away as he nodded to Daisy and a half smile quivered on his lips. “How are you doing, Daisy?”

  “Having trouble keeping warm today. It’s nippy out there.”

  Detective Rappaport seemed glad she was discussing the weather. He gave a shrug. “That’s why I’m glad I drive a car and not a horse and buggy. I don’t know how those Amish do it.”

  The detective had experienced culture shock when he’d moved from Pittsburgh to Willow Creek. She still didn’t have the story behind that. By now, he’d even developed a liking for snickerdoodles and whoopie pies. He still wouldn’t sample her teas except in the iced version, but she was hopeful. “You know, don’t you, a bracing cup of hot tea could warm you up.”

  He shook his finger at her. “You keep trying, don’t you?”

  “One of these days I’ll come across a tea you’ll like, or else you’ll be so cold you won’t have any choice but to try one.”

  “What this town needs is a coffee bar,” he grumbled.

  “Detective, your big-city roots are showing. Sarah Jane’s Diner serves a good cup of coffee, and there’s always McDonald’s.”

  The fifty-year-old detective gave a harrumph. “Well, I’ve got to get going. There’s a tower of paperwork on my desk. It never ends. I had to separate two football fans at Bases last night. They did some damage, and there’s always paperwork involved in that.”

  “Doesn’t a patrol officer usually take care of that?” Jonas asked.

  “Yeah, well, I just happened to be there watching a game too. Even when I’m not on call, I’m on call. Around Christmas, I’m taking time off.”

  “What will you do with your time off?” Daisy asked.

  “Going north to Raystown. I have a sort of a time share at a hunting lodge. I never use my time, though. This year I’m going to.” He gave Jonas a look. “Remember what I said.” Then he nodded to Daisy and strode out of Woods.

  Jonas approached Daisy and wrapped his arms around her. After he kissed her, she smiled. “That’s what I needed. Now I’m not chilled anymore.”

  “Are you taking a break from the tea garden?” he asked with a grin.

  “No, I’m heading back there. I visited Margaret Vaughn to try and convince her not to cancel her tea.” Daisy briefly explained the reasons why Margaret was thinking about canceling.

  “I’m enjoying working on the production set,” Jonas told her. “It certainly is different from building furniture.”

  “Artistic in a different way,” Daisy offered.

  “Exactly. I try to stay out of and close my ears to the squabbling I’ve heard. It doesn’t seem to be anything serious. Personally, I think that playwright, Glenda Nurmi, should have the final say. After all, she wrote the play. But Margaret Vaughn’s word seems to be law.”

  Daisy nodded. “That’s what Vanna told me. We’re going ahead with the tea. Maybe sharing a beverage and food will help.”

  “You want everybody to get along,” Jonas suggested fondly.

  “I do. And speaking of getting along, why was Detective Rappaport here?”

  Jonas took a step away from her and hesitated. She recognized that stone face of his. It didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling anything. It meant he was probably feeling too much. The question was—would he share his feelings with her? They’d been seriously dating about nine months now. They’d come to a general understanding that they liked being together, and they were taking their relationship wherever it would go. But they both knew Violet’s baby could change that relationship. Jonas had insisted he’d support Daisy any way he could, and he’d stick around. But she wasn’t so sure.

  Jonas began with, “The good detective wants me and Zeke to mend fences.”

  Zeke Willet was also a detective who’d come to Willow Creek from Philadelphia. He was now Rappaport’s partner. But Zeke and Jonas had a history.

  “You want that too, don’t you? You were best friends once.”

  “We were. But Brenda’s death changed all that.”

  Jonas’s significant other had been his partner in the Philadelphia police department. Brenda had been a friend of Zeke Willet’s too. The bottom line—Zeke blamed Jonas for her death.

  Jonas and Brenda had been ambushed and Jonas had been hurt. Brenda had died. As far as Daisy was concerned, she didn’t think Zeke Willet was looking at it rationally. However, when you lost someone you cared about, could you look at their death rationally? She knew it had taken a good long time for her to move past her husband Ryan’s death. It wasn’t as if she ever forgot about him. It wasn’t as if a wave didn’t overtake her now and then and bring tears to her eyes. She understood loss. But she couldn’t quite understand the bad blood between Zeke and Jonas, and Jonas couldn’t either.

  “Why is he pushing for you and Zeke to get past your history?”

  “He believes the tension between us affected Zeke’s performance in their last murder investigation, and he might be right. Zeke missed
more than one piece of evidence.”

  Daisy knew for a fact that was true because she’d been involved. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll ask Zeke to go to Bases to watch a game with me and have a beer.”

  “The same place fights broke out last night?” she asked with a bit of sarcasm.

  Jonas shrugged. “I don’t think that ever happened before there. Besides, I don’t intend to let Zeke rile me enough to make me want to fight him. I understand why he blames me for Brenda’s death. Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something different. I know if we hadn’t had that argument before we left for our shift, everything might have been different. Maybe I would have been more alert. Maybe thoughts of her being pregnant or having her IUD removed without telling me wouldn’t have been clouding my mind.”

  “You couldn’t know that the suspect you wanted to interview was going to ambush you. That was his doing, not yours.”

  Jonas studied her for a few seconds, then took her hand in his. “You’re good for a man’s ego.”

  “Nonsense. I’m just speaking the truth.”

  Looking a bit embarrassed and as if he wanted to change the subject, Jonas did. “The last time I spoke to Jazzi, she told me she’s going to spend a weekend soon with Portia and her husband.”

  “It’s all planned. I don’t know how it’s going to go. She’s excited about it, but also afraid that Colton will just shut her out and not want her to be involved in the family.”

  Colton, Portia’s husband, had separated from Portia for a little while when he’d learned her secret—that she’d had Jazzi and given her up for adoption—because he hadn’t wanted his life to be disrupted. But Portia was Jazzi’s birth mother, and the two of them got along. Colton could complicate their relationship.

  “I have a meeting with Vi and her midwife tonight. Willa thinks the baby could come at any time. Jazzi desperately wants to go to Portia’s, but she’s afraid Vi will have her baby while she’s there and she’ll miss it.”

  “Even if Jazzi goes to Portia’s,” Jonas said, “we can let her know as soon as Vi goes into labor. I can be on standby to go get her if Portia or her husband doesn’t want to drive her back home.”

  “Really?” Daisy was still surprised when Jonas wanted to go out of his way for her. Maybe she was the one who couldn’t trust.

  “Really,” he said. “Allentown’s a three-hour drive. Hopefully, I could have her back before Vi delivers. First labors are supposed to be long ones, right?”

  “They can be. I know Jazzi would be grateful if she knew you were her backup.”

  “Then assure her that I am,” he said. “Tell her when she gets a chance to stop in and we’ll talk about it.”

  Since Jonas was instrumental in finding Portia to begin with, Jazzi trusted him. Maybe Daisy should take a lesson from her daughter.

  Chapter Three

  “Do you like your mother?” Iris asked with a most serious expression the following day as she and Daisy waited for Rose to arrive for a late lunch.

  Daisy’s breath hitched as she glanced toward the front door of Sarah Jane’s Diner before she even thought about answering her aunt’s question. Sarah Jane was hostessing and stood at the front desk talking to one of her waitresses. Her strawberry blond curls fell over her forehead. She was a bit overweight but had twice as much energy as a woman half her age. She was pushing hard for a meals-on-wheels service for Willow Creek, but for now the town council and the Chamber of Commerce were set on building a homeless shelter for the community instead.

  Daisy focused on that tangent of thoughts, as well as Sarah Jane’s blue gingham apron and her fuchsia and green sneakers. That way she could avoid answering the question her aunt had posed. Daisy knew she couldn’t postpone answering for very long. Her aunt wouldn’t let her, and it would probably only be a few minutes until her mother arrived.

  “Do you like her?” Iris pressed. As Rose Gallagher’s sister, Iris Albright obviously thought she had family rights to ask awkward questions. Daisy knew she could answer flippantly or truthfully. By the look in her aunt’s eyes, she knew her aunt wanted the truth.

  “I don’t know my mother very well. That’s horrible to say. But I don’t.”

  Now Iris was the one who looked awkward, maybe thinking she shouldn’t have pressed. How was it that Daisy didn’t know her mother very well? She’d lived with her, her dad, and her sister until she’d gone to college. She’d always communicated with her father. Why hadn’t she been able to communicate with her mom?

  Before her aunt could respond, Rose Gallagher came in the front door of the diner. She spotted them sitting in a booth and waved.

  “It’s not your fault,” Iris said seriously in a low voice. “Remember that.”

  Daisy’s aunt Iris had been leading up to something for weeks now. She wished Iris would just tell her mother’s secret, or Iris’s secret, or whoever had a secret. Twenty questions just made Daisy even more uneasy.

  As Rose approached the booth, Daisy patted the red vinyl cushion beside her. “You can sit on my side,” she said with an easy smile. At least she hoped it was easy.

  Rose gave a nod of her head as if she appreciated the gesture, slipped off her coat, and hung it on the hook that rose from the back of the booth. Then she set her purse on the seat next to Daisy and slid in. “Have you two ordered yet?”

  Iris suddenly looked down at her menu. “No, we didn’t. We were talking.”

  Daisy glanced from her mother to her aunt Iris, wondering all over again what was between them. Why had there always seemed to be an uneasiness or tension?

  “What were you talking about?” Rose asked, innocently enough.

  A bit nervously, Daisy stepped into the silent breach. The idea of these luncheons was to get to know her mother better. Maybe she could do that without bringing up anything controversial.

  “Little things,” Daisy answered. A memory had come back to her while she and Iris were talking, so she used that as a conversation starter. “Do you remember the vacation we took to Ocean City when I was about six and Cammie was eight?”

  Her mother’s brow creased with a serious line as she thought about it. Not even attempting to look at her menu, she nodded. “I do remember that. It was a terrifically hot summer. The air-conditioning unit at the garden center gave up the ghost. It was early September, the week before school began. Sales had diminished for the season, so your father and I decided to close up the nursery for a long weekend and take you and Cammie to the shore.”

  “You were so relaxed on that trip. Do you remember why?” Daisy’s mom had seemed like a different person . . . away from the nursery and away from home.

  Her mother gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t have any responsibilities. I couldn’t worry about the nursery because it was closed. I guess I could have worried that a tornado would blow through, but that seemed far-fetched. I also didn’t have any housework chores. We went to restaurants and bought takeout. The maids took care of the motel room. It was an enjoyable vacation.”

  “Yes, it was. I remember the day Daddy took Cammie sailing. Neither of us wanted to go out on the water, so you and I played miniature golf and then visited the tourist shops. We bought Christmas presents.”

  “I’m surprised you remember all that in such detail,” Rose said.

  “I loved that time. We all got along so well.”

  “You and Cammie didn’t even argue on that trip,” her mom mused. “I considered that totally amazing. It’s a shame we never repeated it.”

  Other vacations had been sightseeing vacations or cabin vacations to cut the cost of going away. On sightseeing vacations, they’d rented a room with a kitchenette so they could make their own food and clean up after themselves. The same had been true of cabins. And when they camped, the chores were just chores. Daisy enjoyed the camping, her dad showing her the constellations as they lay in sleeping bags under the stars. Daisy had slept in a tent with Cammie, being a little afrai
d of what was outside in the dark . . . bonding in a way they didn’t at home. But her mother—On those vacations, there had always been something to worry about or plan or do. That one vacation had just been different.

  “What made you think of Ocean City?” Rose asked.

  “I was thinking of times we were all happy when we were together, other than holidays.”

  “I see,” Rose said softly. “Weren’t you happy at other times, like when you won an award at school or helped plant flowers in the garden?”

  “I was happy then too.” Daisy thought out loud as she added, “And when I helped Dad deliver trees or bushes to clients.” She stopped before she said too much. Whenever she’d helped her mom at the nursery, she’d felt as if Rose had been looking over her shoulder, just waiting to point out something if she did it wrong. When she’d helped her dad, they were . . . chums.

  “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” Daisy asked her mother.

  “My favorite memory was selling penny candy at the school carnival. I had a wonderful teacher that year. She picked me to manage the stand.”

  Daisy thought it odd that one of her mom’s favorite memories didn’t include her parents or Iris.

  Rose glanced at Iris. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” Since Iris hadn’t contributed to the conversation, it was as if Rose was trying to draw her in. They were all trying.

  “That’s an easy one. Remember when we found that beagle pup and we took care of him for a week?” Aunt Iris’s eyes lit up with the memory.

  “We both loved that pup. We wanted to keep him. I think Mom would have let us, but Dad found someone who wanted him. He was going to use him for hunting.” Rose’s voice had turned cooler. As if Iris knew Daisy was going to ask more questions, she gave a little shake of her head giving her the signal not to. The words Why not? rang in Daisy’s mind.