Iris suggested, “We’d better order.” She picked up her menu. “If we don’t soon signal our waitress, Sarah Jane will just think we’re here to gab.”
That was why they were here, Daisy thought, wasn’t it?
After they ordered lunch—baked chicken pot pie all around, with sides of applesauce and coleslaw—Daisy, Iris, and her mom discussed Thanksgiving.
“Cammie’s not sure what time she’ll arrive,” Rose told them. “Unless she takes off work the day before. I don’t know if she’ll do that. She’s working extra hard on her company’s business promotion.”
“Do you want me to push the time from five to six on Thanksgiving?” Daisy asked.
“That might be a good idea. Make sure you notify everyone. We wouldn’t want to have guests coming early.”
As far as Daisy was concerned, their guests could arrive whenever they wanted. They could join her in the kitchen, chat, or just relax. But she didn’t contradict her mother.
Daisy had just dipped her fork into the creamy coleslaw when her mother asked, “Have you convinced Vi to go to the hospital to have her baby instead of having a midwife?”
“She’s determined, Mom. She wanted Willa to be her midwife and she wants me to be her doula.”
“Doula,” her mom scoffed. “The nurses at the hospital are paid to gather up bloody sheets and do housekeeping.”
Daisy had volunteered for the job of doula. Midwives in the area often had women work with them, women who took care of the mom while the midwife took care of the baby. Daisy had volunteered to do it. Vi was her daughter. She’d taken care of her during any and every illness she’d ever had. Not that this was an illness. But she knew Vi would need a caring hand and she could provide it, along with good nourishment and a sympathetic ear.
Her mom went on, “Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough to change her mind.”
Iris’s back straightened and she pushed her dishes slightly away from her. “Daisy has raised Vi and Jazzi to make their own life choices. She stands back and lets them work through them. It seems to me that’s the better way to handle children.”
Rose’s lips pursed. She clasped her hands in front of her tightly, and she looked hurt.
Daisy realized the three of them hadn’t progressed at all.
* * *
After Daisy and her aunt closed the tea garden for the day, Daisy drove straight home. Foster had a late class, and she’d asked Vi to come over and join her and Jazzi for a good wholesome meal. She knew Vi certainly didn’t feel like cooking these days.
After Daisy parked in the detached garage that housed two vehicles under Vi’s and Foster’s apartment, she walked up the path to the house. She stared up at the multi-paned window that had once been a hay hatch, and her gaze rose higher to a smaller window that let light into the attic space.
A shadow passed the hayloft window. That was Jazzi’s room. The second floor had been divided into two bedrooms with a bath that had been perfect for her daughters.
The barn home with its red siding, repointed stone base, and white-trimmed windows and dormers was a comfortable home. The door was unlocked and the alarm system off. Daisy walked into her living room and heard Vi and Jazzi upstairs. Vi had moved from her old room to her new apartment over the garage, but she’d left a few belongings here. Daisy could picture a banner from Lehigh that hung over her sleek walnut desk. The drapes and spread were hues of green which were perfect for a guest room if Daisy needed it for that.
As Daisy laid her coat over the deacon’s bench under one of the living room windows, she heard a meow come from the open stairway to the rear of the living room. She flipped on the wagon-wheel chandelier and she could see Pepper scampering down the stairs. Pepper, a black and white tuxedo cat, ran to her, sat before her, and meowed. It was the best kind of hello.
Daisy picked her up and nuzzled her nose in the ruff around Pepper’s neck. “Have you been helping Jazzi and Vi with whatever they’re doing?” she asked conversationally. She always talked to her cats as if they were humans.
Pepper rubbed her nose against Daisy’s cheek and meowed again.
“I’m so glad you were. Do you want to go back upstairs and join them again?” Since Pepper didn’t wiggle in her arms, she took that as a yes. Pepper was the cuddlier of the two cats that Daisy and her girls had adopted. Marjoram, a dark tortie with a split-colored face, couldn’t abide being held for long.
Daisy glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, a focal point on the east wall. The dining table and chairs, which she’d refinished herself, stood nearby. There was no light on in the kitchen. She passed through the living room, where the furniture was upholstered in green, blue, and cream. The braided blue and rust rugs, crafted by a local Amish woman, were soft under her feet.
Flipping off her shoes, she left them at the foot of the stairs. As she looked toward the upstairs, Marjoram also came to say hello and stood on one of the upper steps. One side of her face was mottled like a tortoise shell in tan, brown, and black. But the other side was completely dark brown. Colors from orange to cream spotted her back and flanks, and her chest was a creamy tan and rust, the colors also split down the center.
Again she heard Jazzi’s and Violet’s voices. Vi’s was lower than Jazzi’s.
“What are they doing?” Daisy asked Marjoram, but the cat just turned and headed back to Jazzi’s bedroom.
Still carrying Pepper in her arms, Daisy walked into Jazzi’s room, where her eyes grew a bit wider. Clothes were strewn all over the whitewashed bed and its powder blue spread trimmed in white.
“What’s this all about?” Daisy set Pepper on the side chair where a jacket lay. Every surface seemed to be covered with clothes, including the dresser that was strewn with scarves.
Vi sat on the bench at the small white vanity, holding up a dress for Jazzi’s inspection. “Jazzi’s trying to decide what she’ll pack next weekend for her visit with Portia, but she’s second-guessing everything I propose.”
Jazzi had donned one of her favorite dresses in raspberry and teal swirly patterns. It had three-quarter-length sleeves and a swingy skirt. “I’d like to take this along in case Portia and her family go to church, but I’m afraid it’s too short. What do you think, Mom?”
“You’d wear it to church here, wouldn’t you?”
“I have,” Jazzi admitted. “But maybe people in Allentown are more conservative.”
“Maybe. Do you have another choice?”
“I don’t have that many dresses. I just don’t wear them. And my slacks, well, they aren’t the kind you’d wear to church. Some have slits at the knees, others are skinny jeans. I’m just afraid Colton will disapprove.”
Ah-ha. There was the rub—Portia’s husband.
Vi threw her mom a concerned look that easily said what Daisy was thinking. Jazzi had to relax about her visit or it would go south quickly. “Honey, what do you think Colton would approve of?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
“What would Portia approve of?” Daisy inquired.
“Totally anything I wear.”
“Are you asking me if you can buy a new outfit?”
“I guess I am. I don’t want to use my savings.”
Jazzi was saving for a car with no idea how long it would take to do it. But she was determined. She had saved tips and babysitting money and everything she made at the tea garden. So Daisy had no problem saying, “If you want a new outfit, you can buy one. Just be reasonable about it.”
“I’ll ask Stacy if she’s free to go shopping this weekend, unless you need my help desperately at the tea garden.”
“We should be fine.”
Vi held up a blouse and slacks. “So what about this? You could wear it on the drive to Allentown.”
“You could,” Daisy agreed. “Be comfortable. The most important thing is to just be yourself.”
“And if Colton doesn’t like me?”
Daisy went over to her daughter and gave her a big hug. “
You can only control what you do and say, how kind you are, how understanding, how friendly. Colton’s reactions are his problem.”
“I don’t want there to be a problem,” Jazzi complained.
“Then just be you.”
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, Daisy thought again about the advice she’d given Jazzi as she stood in Margaret Vaughn’s pantry, readying tea service. Could she do more to protect her daughter from rejection or acceptance or whatever else might happen when she visited Portia and Colton?
Shaking Daisy from her reverie, Cora Sue said, “We’re ready to serve the first course.”
Daisy nodded as she and Cora Sue, along with Tamlyn, crossed to the dining room and set piping hot bowls of split pea and ham soup in front of Margaret Vaughn’s guests. The aroma wafted along the long table, coaxing most of the guests to pick up their soup spoons.
Margaret said to Daisy, “This looks and smells wonderful.”
Glenda Nurmi, the playwright, across the table from Margaret, nodded in agreement. “I’ve never had split pea and ham soup. Is that a local dish?”
Daniel Copeland, the assistant manager of the bank, who was sitting at the head of the table because his ego demanded it, waved a hand over the bowl as if to cool it off. “Split pea and ham is one of those things you make when you don’t know what else to make. It’s one of those Amish dishes that tourists go crazy for.”
Cora Sue exchanged a look with Daisy that said she’d like to clobber the bank manager. Suppressing a smile, Daisy knew he could be irritating. But he was smart and had good organization skills. He’d contributed much to Chamber of Commerce meetings and the town council. He had a say in any of the projects that were either completed or forgotten in Willow Creek.
Arden Botterill, Heidi Korn, and Jasper Lazar, a resident of Willow Creek whom Daisy didn’t know and who didn’t have much to say, dipped into their soup.
While the guests enjoyed the first course of the tea, Daisy and Cora Sue returned to the butler’s pantry to ready the second course—a ribbon salad that included pears and pecans.
At the electric water urn, Tamlyn asked, “What tea should I prepare next?”
Since Margaret had wanted a selection of teas to be available, they had served Daisy’s Blend—a decaffeinated green tea infused with raspberry and vanilla—first. “Let’s try Winter Surprise,” Daisy answered. “It’s peppermint with a slight cranberry note.”
“I never knew there were so many teas,” Tamlyn admitted as she opened a jar that Daisy had labeled.
“More than you can ever imagine with the blends,” Cora Sue added. “Daisy mixes some of her own, but our supplier has unusual ones too. There’s actually a chocolate tea.”
“That would be good for the last course,” Tamlyn suggested.
Daisy had been watching Tamlyn as she’d helped serve and prepare. “If you ever need another job, just come to me and ask. You’re proficient in serving, and you catch on quickly to the tea garden foods.”
Nodding her head, Tamlyn blushed. “Thank you.” In a low voice she added, “Mrs. Vaughn doesn’t often give compliments.”
Without hesitation, Cora Sue smiled. “But we do. That’s why we work together so well.”
Arden, who had just entered the butler’s pantry from the dining area, overheard Tamlyn’s last statement as well as Cora Sue’s. With a frown, she practically whispered, “I don’t know how this group is ever going to put on a production. Everyone has ideas on how we should do one thing or another.” She looked at Daisy. “God bless Jonas for taking over set management. If he hadn’t done that, we’d never get a set to work.”
With a twinkle in her eye, Daisy reminded Arden, “At one time, Jonas had to deal with criminals.”
Arden burst out laughing. “That’s true. This group can’t be much different. I do wish Margaret had invited the New York duo as well as the volunteer crew, but I guess that would have been too expensive.”
Noticing Arden glancing around, Cora Sue asked, “Do you need something?”
“Yes. We need more honey.”
“Coming right up,” Tamlyn assured her as she picked up the honeypot and Arden followed her into the dining room.
Daisy looked over the checklist she’d laid on the counter in the butler’s pantry. Back in the kitchen, she realized tea service was moving along well. Good food seemed to calm everyone’s conflicts. The savory course had consisted of mini-quiches, crab puffs, and a barbecued chicken bite wrapped in bacon. No one seemed to have any complaints, and Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.
Now Daisy, Cora Sue, and Tamlyn were preparing dessert plates with apple gingerbread with clotted cream when Daisy suggested, “Tamlyn, will you help Cora Sue and me serve this? It’s their last course, and everyone can be served at the same time that way.”
“No problem,” Tamlyn assured her.
However, when they returned to the dining room to freshen the table before bringing in dessert, Daisy noticed several chairs were empty. With raised brows, she looked to Heidi for an explanation.
Heidi let Margaret answer. Margaret let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Daniel needed a smoke. Can you believe a man that smart doesn’t understand he’s killing himself?”
Heidi said, “He’s addicted, Margaret, and he doesn’t want to change.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Just like a man. Arden decided she needed fresh air, even though it’s as cold as the North Pole out there. She and Glenda had a few words.”
Heidi explained, “I think Arden wants a bigger role or at least more words to say.”
“And Jasper said he wanted to take a peek into Rowan’s library.”
Tamlyn had returned to the kitchen and now brought out a tray with three teapots. She set them on the table.
“And where’s Glenda?” Daisy asked.
Margaret explained, “She’s wandering about somewhere. Something about back strain, and she needed to stand and walk every once in a while.”
Cora Sue sidled up to Daisy. “I’m going to take a powder room break.”
Daisy picked up the water pitcher and began refilling glasses on the table. She heard the ding-dong of a phone chime and realized it was coming from somewhere on Margaret. Margaret reached into the pocket of her midi-length camel skirt and pulled out her phone. A deep worried expression crossed her face when she checked the screen.
She tossed to Daisy, “Since everyone’s taking a break, I’m going to answer this.” Her voice was terse as she left the room.
It wasn’t any business of Daisy’s whether Margaret took the call or not.
After Daisy finished filling the water glasses, she used a crumb remover and cleaned up the tablecloth. She wanted the last course to be perfect and one they would all remember.
Tamlyn removed soiled napkins and laid down fresh ones.
“I’ll get clean spoons and forks from the butler’s pantry,” Daisy told Tamlyn. She’d also look over her checklist one last time.
“I can’t wait to start on your dessert,” Heidi announced. “If you expect everyone here for the last course, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Daisy, hoping that wasn’t true, spoke with Heidi for a while, willing the other guests to return soon. Then she walked through the huge farmhouse kitchen to the butler’s pantry without hurrying.
However, when she reached the butler’s pantry, the paneled door was closed.
Was Margaret inside on the phone?
She put her ear to the heavy wood door but could hear nothing.
She rapped, but there was no answer.
Daisy slowly turned the knob and the door creaked open.
She froze.
Cold chills raced up and down her spine.
Margaret Vaughn lay on the floor. The sight of the blood that had poured from the area of Margaret’s heart choked Daisy. The sight of the clotted cream spilled over Margaret’s chest filled her with nausea and horror.
Her gaze shifted to the brushed nickel knife holder on the c
ounter. The middle knife—which Daisy suspected was the largest in the set—was missing.
As if she couldn’t help herself, her eyes darted to Margaret again as she rushed forward to check for a pulse. She pressed hard against Margaret’s neck, but she couldn’t find one.
As she reached in her pocket for her phone, she realized she could never use clotted cream again . . . for anything.
Chapter Four
Daisy had closed the door of the butler’s pantry. She knew better than to touch a crime scene. No one else should go in there, at least not until the police arrived. She’d called 9-1-1 and emergency services should be on their way.
Everyone was in shock, speaking at once over each other. Cora Sue had found Daisy at the butler’s pantry door. After Daisy stammered what she’d found, Cora Sue had called everyone into the dining room.
Daisy was still shaking. It was hard to believe someone had apparently stabbed Margaret and she’d bled out so quickly.
Daisy put her phone to her ear again. Still in shock, her mind not firing on all cylinders, she realized she had to press Jonas’s number for him to answer. Once she did, she was mute.
“Daisy, is that you?”
When she still didn’t answer, he said a bit louder, “Daisy. Answer me.”
His voice in a directive must have done it. “I’ve never found a body before,” she murmured.
There was a beat of silence.
“It’s awful, Jonas. It’s just awful. How did you do this for a living?”
“Tell me where you are,” he suggested gently, as if she were on the verge of breaking down.
She was. She still hadn’t recovered from her last encounter with a murderer. Jonas had diagnosed her with PTSD symptoms. After reading about the syndrome, she’d realized he was right. Her major symptom—she couldn’t stand to be in a confined space.
“I’m at Margaret’s for the tea. We were almost finished. I was going to serve dessert. But Margaret received a call and then I went to the butler’s pantry. I think she’d been stabbed, Jonas. There was so much blood and clotted cream all over her.”
“You’re sure she’s dead?” He sounded as if he hadn’t wanted to ask the question, but did anyway.
Murder with Clotted Cream Page 4
