Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  Jonas’s frown cut deep lines around his mouth. “Good or bad?”

  She took in a breath and exhaled. “He said if I tried to remember with someone I trusted, maybe the details would become clear. He suggested I try and do it with you.”

  As if he wasn’t surprised by the idea, he asked, “Do you want to?”

  “Yes. I want to find out who the murderer is.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  When Daisy hesitated a second, Jonas frowned, but asked another version of the question. “Do you trust me as a detective to do this with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Let’s go into the living room. I want you to relax.”

  “I can’t relax in here?”

  “In here you’re thinking about brewing tea, making a snack for Vi or Jazzi, what you’re going to serve tomorrow at the tea garden. Correct?”

  “Yep.”

  He stood and beckoned to her. “Come with me.”

  Instead of taking her to the sofa, he took her to the armchair. “Settle in,” he advised in a gentle voice.

  She hadn’t closed her eyes and she was watching him watch her. “What are you looking for?”

  “You’re a terrible subject,” he joked.

  “That kind of flattery will get you everywhere,” she grumbled.

  His lips twitched up in a smile. “I know what I’m looking for, and when I see it, I’ll know you’re relaxed. Don’t think about me.”

  “Your voice is a disembodied spirit,” she said as if in a trance.

  But he took her seriously. “If you want to think of it that way, you can.”

  “Let’s do this,” she acquiesced.

  After a few heartbeats, Jonas suggested, “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth six times . . . slowly.”

  This time Daisy didn’t argue, she just did it. However, on the third breath, he requested, “Slower.”

  So she slowed it down.

  “Now flex your hands, wiggle your fingers, and simply let them rest on the arms of the chair.”

  It was easy to do that. To her surprise, when she did, her shoulders relaxed a bit too.

  “Now I want you to imagine a blue light on top of your head. It has a bit of warmth. It’s going to start at the top of your head and slowly, slowly go down your body. As it does, the muscles under the light relax. You can feel your eyes relaxing . . . your cheek muscles. . . your jaw. Take in one of those deep breaths and let it out again.”

  She did.

  “The blue light has reached your neck and shoulders. Take a good long time and let it into every muscle and fiber so they relax well. Now the light is shining down your chest and then your arms . . . your stomach . . . your thighs . . . your knees . . . your shins . . . your feet . . . your toes. All you hear and feel is silence and warmth. The longer you sit here, the deeper the relaxation becomes. Not only your body is relaxed now, but your mind too.”

  Jonas’s voice was still soothing when he added, “This exercise is going to be easy for you. Memories will come sliding back in color. You’ll notice details you hadn’t noticed before. Take in another one of those deep breaths and let it out.”

  All Daisy was aware of was following the timbre and the timing of Jonas’s voice. Each instruction became easier, and she found she was so pleasantly relaxed, she could probably fall asleep. But sleep wasn’t what they were aiming for.

  Gently, Jonas said, “You’re at Margaret Vaughn’s house again. Everyone has enjoyed the tea. You’re getting ready to serve the dessert—apple gingerbread with clotted cream. Can you see that?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “Now you’re going to help me with the next part. The guests scattered for a break. Where did Glenda Nurmi go?”

  “She said she was going to stretch her back.”

  “How about Heidi Korn?”

  “Heidi stayed at the table and Arden went outside for fresh air.”

  “Daniel Copeland?”

  “He said he was going outside for a smoke.”

  “And Jasper Lazar?”

  “He said he wanted to see Rowan’s library.”

  “Why did you go to the butler’s pantry?”

  “Before serving dessert, I had to go to the butler’s pantry to get clean silverware and to see if I forgot anything. My checklist was in there.”

  She remembered her intent clearly, but when she’d reached the butler’s pantry—

  “What did you see when you entered the butler’s pantry?”

  “I don’t want to look.”

  “I know you don’t want to see it again, but maybe a clue you provide will help find the murderer. Try to peek in there again. Tell me what you see.”

  Swirling gray memories coalesced into specific images. “Margaret was crumpled on the floor, blood at her center. Lots and lots of blood.”

  “Was she on her back?”

  “Yes. I could see her chest and her face and her arms.”

  “Was the knife still in her?”

  “No, but I automatically glanced to the brushed nickel knife holder up on the counter. The middle one was gone.”

  “Did you notice anything else unusual about Margaret’s body?”

  “Clotted cream had been spread over her.”

  “Over what part of her?”

  “Over her chest, but mostly over a pin she was wearing. I’d seen her wear it before.”

  “What kind of pin was it?”

  “It was amethyst surrounded by diamonds. It was gorgeous.”

  “Did she ever tell you where she got it?”

  “When I admired it, I assumed her new husband bought it for her. But she told me he hadn’t. She told me it had been a gift.”

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if she wouldn’t say or we just went on to new conversation.”

  “You’re doing really well, Daisy. Did you notice anything else near her body?”

  “There was a towel there.”

  “What kind of towel?”

  “A hand towel from the kitchen with a rooster embroidered on it.”

  “When you say it was there . . . where was there?”

  “It was sort of lying over the bowl of clotted cream on the counter. My guess is whoever dumped it on Margaret used the towel to wipe his or her fingerprints from the bowl.”

  “You’re very good at this, Daisy. Is there anything else you can remember about the scene?”

  “The back door was open.”

  “Had it been open any time before you were serving?”

  “ No.”

  Jonas laid his hand on Daisy’s and she opened her eyes.

  Leaning toward her, Jonas had a pleased expression on his face. “I think you resurrected a few details that will help Zeke.”

  She hoped so.

  * * *

  Daisy hadn’t expected to be working at the tea garden today. But Iris had wanted some time with Vi and Sammy. Saturday could be busy, so Daisy had come in. She’d been a bit shaken up last night after she and Jonas had performed their little exercise. He’d encouraged her to call Zeke right then and there and she had, telling him what she’d remembered. It wasn’t a lot, but it had been something.

  Cooking was always soothing to Daisy. Between the aromas of the beef lentil soup, apple gingerbread, and snickerdoodles, she was almost able to forget the scene she’d recalled last night. Almost.

  It was midmorning when Cora Sue came rushing into the kitchen, saying a customer wanted to see Daisy.

  “Who is it?”

  “He says his name is Rowan Vaughn.”

  Daisy motioned to the snickerdoodles on cooling racks. “They should be ready for the case in about five minutes.”

  Cora Sue nodded. “I’ll take care of them.”

  “I won’t be long,” she told Tessa and Eva.

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Tessa murmured.

  Tessa Miller, her kitchen manager and best friend, knew how Daisy had become
involved in murder cases before this one.

  As Daisy went to the tearoom, she recognized Rowan Vaughn, who was standing by the yellow tearoom’s doorway. He looked like a businessman through and through. His suit appeared well cut and expensive, tailored to fit him. She recognized him because she’d seen his photo in the local papers many times with the building of the Little Theater. He was tall and thin, possibly six-three or -four. His gray hair was slicked back over his right brow, but the hair on the left side of his head was shorn shorter. It was one of the latest styles that Daisy thought cost a pretty penny to produce. His shirt was silver but he’d left the collar open. His black shoes were shiny. In some ways he looked as if he should be going to a business meeting. In others, he looked a bit lost.

  He extended his hand to her. His fingers were long and as slim as he was tall. After she took his hand, she noticed an age spot next to his mouth. He was older than Margaret—older than Margaret had been.

  “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” he said, looking again toward the yellow tearoom. “Do you have a few minutes? I really need to speak with you. I’ll order tea or something to eat or whatever I have to do.”

  “You don’t have to order anything. But I’d be glad to get you something.” She motioned to the board above the sales counter and the sales counter itself.

  “I do like tea,” he said. “Margaret turned me into a tea drinker.” A look of sadness came over his face. “How about black tea?”

  “Milk and sugar with it?”

  He shook his head. “Just plain.”

  Daisy motioned to Jada Green, one of their newly hired part-time servers. Jada’s braids were caught up into a ponytail. Her mocha skin and her dark brown eyes complemented her high cheekbones, her full lips, and her oval face. She was in her twenties, only about five-foot-one, but always wore a smile and she knew her tea. She had taken the place of another of Daisy’s servers—Karina Post—who had left Daisy’s employ to pursue a nursing career.

  Daisy told Jada what she needed and said they’d be in the yellow tearoom. Jada hurried away to put together Vaughn’s order as well as bring a cup of tea for Daisy.

  Once they were seated, Daisy said, “I know you have a lot on your mind. What can I do for you?”

  “I just came from the police station and they don’t have a clue who killed Margaret. I think even I’m a suspect. I was in town when it happened, just not at home.”

  “Whoever is closest to the victim is always considered first on the suspect list. I’m sorry.”

  “So it really is like the crime shows depict.”

  His question was rhetorical and didn’t require an answer. He went on quickly, “Vanna told me that you’ve helped solve four murders.”

  “I’m not sure how much I helped. The police solved them. I just picked up clues along the way.”

  “I was going to hire a private investigator but Vanna told me to talk with you. She said you’re good at this. This meaning solving murders.”

  “Oh, Mr. Vaughn—”

  “Call me Rowan. Please.”

  “Rowan. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I’ve recovered from what happened in the last case I helped solve. You really should leave this to the police. They don’t want me interfering.”

  “You don’t have to interfere, Mrs. Swanson.”

  “Daisy,” she said automatically.

  “Daisy, I know I might be at the top of their list, but I also know they have a long list. Everybody Margaret worked with at the Little Theater to start. I know about the grumblings. I didn’t think it was more than that. I do know Glenda Nurmi and Margaret weren’t the friends they pretended to be. They had a history. Since Margaret died, I talked with Glenda but she won’t confide in me. But she possibly would confide in you.”

  When Daisy had met Glenda, she’d realized that the woman was guarded. If she had any emotions, she saved them for her acting parts . . . or her play-writing.

  “I’ll say again, you don’t have to interfere with the police, but maybe you could whittle down that suspect list. I’ll pay you.”

  Daisy was already shaking her head and motioning for him to stop. “No. No payment. And I’m not going to agree to help you, at least not yet.”

  “What will convince you?”

  “I understand how desperate you are. I’ve seen this situation before. What I will do is talk to Vanna. Maybe she had some insights. How about if I start there?”

  “The truth is—I don’t know Vanna very well. She’s never warmed up to me. Maybe you can find out something I can’t. That would be a good start.”

  He took a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it over to her. “All of my numbers are on there. Please call me if you learn anything.”

  As Jada brought their tea and accompaniments on a tray, Daisy studied his business card and wondered if she was ready to question anyone.

  Chapter Six

  Daisy and Jazzi had gone over to Vi’s apartment after Daisy’s Tea Garden had closed for the day. Iris had spent the whole day with her and Sammy. As they climbed the stairs, they heard Sammy fussing. But by the time they reached the apartment, he was quiet again.

  Iris was sitting in the living room, such as it was, in a platform rocker. It was small so it would fit beside the sofa.

  As soon as they greeted her aunt, Daisy could see that Iris had concern on her face. Daisy went to Sammy and held her arms out for him with a grin. “How are we doing today?”

  Iris brushed the stray strands of Sammy’s hair over his forehead before she carefully handed him to Daisy. “It’s hard to give him up after I’ve been holding him.”

  “I imagine so.” Sammy had been born at seven pounds three ounces, and he fit into her arms just right. She kissed his forehead.

  Iris sat down on the sofa and let Daisy take the rocker. “How’s the new mom?” Daisy asked in a low voice.

  Iris shook her head. “She’s eating minimally. She knows she has to eat for the baby to get nourishment. And she’s sleeping a lot.”

  Iris turned her attention to Jazzi. “Jazzi, why don’t you go in and see if you can talk to her. Talk about your day, about the tea garden, about anything. Get some lights back into her eyes.”

  Jazzi studied her aunt. “Is this something to worry about? Are all new moms like this?”

  Daisy shook her head. “Fatigue is normal. Sleep deprivation is normal. But not eating and sleeping all the time isn’t normal. Go ahead and see if she’ll have a conversation with you.”

  After Jazzi had gone to the bedroom, Daisy sighed. “I don’t know what to think. Has Foster been home at all today?”

  “He left after I arrived. He stopped in again before his afternoon class. He’s enthusiastic and loves carrying Sammy around. But I can’t even convince Vi to get dressed. She says it’s not practical with breastfeeding and all.”

  “I’ll have to call Willa and talk to her. If she stops in for a visit, maybe she and I can give Vi some strategies to get back on her feet.”

  After looking down at her black tennis shoes, Iris flicked a piece of lint off her indigo jeans. “I’ve done some reading on this.”

  “On having babies?” Daisy asked with a smile.

  “Vi said I could use her computer. It’s so much easier to read on there than my phone.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “If a new mom has terrific mood swings, sleeps a lot, doesn’t want to eat or eats too much, she might have more than baby blues. It could be postpartum depression.”

  “I’ve heard of that. Vi’s certainly showing the symptoms. Maybe I should just call her doctor.”

  “I think she might become defensive if you do that. Willa might be a better bet. From what the articles say, if this kind of thing goes on for two weeks or more, that’s when the mom should see a professional.”

  Daisy let out a long breath as she placed her thumb on Sammy’s cheek and relished the feel of the purely soft baby skin. “How d
id you even know to look this up? I was thinking she was just tired from having to breastfeed the baby every two to three hours. Lack of sleep can cause confusion and mood swings too, not to mention hormones scrambling all over the place to rectify themselves.”

  Iris looked down at her shoes again. “I must have seen a talk show about it.”

  Daisy and Iris had never lied to each other, as far as Daisy knew. Her aunt was a straight shooter and was kindly when she did it. Now, however, the way she wouldn’t meet Daisy’s eyes, the way she was hesitating, convinced Daisy that something wasn’t quite right. “I’ll see how Vi is tonight while I’m here. Jazzi and I will stay until Foster gets home. If I see the symptoms you’re seeing, I’ll call Willa and set something up with her. Do you think you can handle the tea garden tomorrow if it’s busy?”

  “Jada wants more hours. I’m sure it won’t take much convincing to have her work the afternoon shift, as well as the morning shift. We all work well together. Tessa and Eva can bake and cook, and Cora Sue, Jada, and Jazzi can handle the tables. We’ll be fine. I’ll come over and pick up Jazzi in the morning.”

  Daisy’s gaze met her aunt’s. “It really does take a village, doesn’t it?” Then she tucked Sammy’s receiving blanket more securely around him.

  * * *

  “I don’t want to see Willa,” Vi complained Sunday morning as Daisy and Foster sat across from her at the table.

  From the bedroom, they could hear Sammy crying. This apartment was small enough that Vi could hear him easily, but there was also a monitor set up on the kitchen counter.

  “I’ll get him,” Vi said, hurrying. She pushed back her chair and rushed into the bedroom.

  Foster rested his elbow on the table and pushed his hair back with his fingers. “She’s like this all the time. One little sound from him and she’s there, hovering over him.”

  New mother syndrome, Daisy thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

  When Vi returned, she was holding Sammy on her shoulder. He looked as if he’d fallen back to sleep.

  “It’s not time for his feeding yet,” Foster said. “He has another hour.”

  “Babies aren’t on a timetable,” Vi shot back. “He tells us when he’s wet or hungry.”

  “And what was wrong this time?” Foster asked.