Daisy knew what happened. Life happened. The two sisters had taken different paths just as she and her sister Camellia had. Those different paths had led them away from each other instead of toward each other.
After Daisy had consoled Vanna as much as she could, Vanna wiped her tears away and they returned to the reception. Daisy spotted Zeke Willet speaking with Jasper Lazar and she wondered why. Something to do with the problems he’d had with Rowan about his apartment? Or maybe just making conversation to find out whatever he could.
Jonas and Detective Rappaport both had told her that Zeke was a good detective. However, during the last murder investigation, he had missed clues. He hadn’t been thorough enough. Because of Jonas?
Jonas was standing at the window in the dining room and peering outside into a yard that was abundant with flowers until this time of year. He could be checking out whoever was coming and going, or . . . he could be thinking. Daisy went to him, studying his strong back and his broad shoulders. He looked good in a suit, but he rarely wore one. There was no need for him to. She had to admit he looked as good in a flannel shirt and jeans. Jonas was one of those men who could wear any clothes with ease. At least that was her opinion.
When she laid her hand on his shoulder, he smiled though he didn’t turn around.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“Because I noticed you were wearing those black flat ballerina shoes this morning. I know the sound of them on the wood floor.”
His detective instincts at work again.
“And I know the scent of your shampoo,” he went on, “not to mention the way you touch me when you want to know what I’m thinking.”
“Sometimes I believe you’re psychic,” she murmured.
Now he did turn toward her. “Not psychic. I know body language. Sounds kept me alive in the field. I could hear when and how someone approached.”
“In other words, spidey senses.”
He chuckled. “If you want to call them that. Mine are duller now than they used to be. Where have you been?”
“With Vanna. You know how grief overtakes you when you least expect it.”
“I do. Is she grieving, or is she having regrets?”
That was a perceptive observation, the kind she’d come to expect from Jonas. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she has regrets, because their estrangement when Margaret was away wasn’t Vanna’s fault. Except for a communication or two, Vanna didn’t know where Margaret was or what she was doing. Marrying Rowan seemed to change all that.”
Jonas shifted away from the window. “From what I understand, Margaret was a fiercely independent woman. Do you really think marriage changed who she was?”
Daisy noticed the scar on the left side of Jonas’s face looked lighter today, as if it was fading into the past along with his career as a detective. Returning to the question he’d asked, she said, “Maybe it changed Margaret’s sense of security. She no longer felt alone in the world even though that aloneness was of her own making. Maybe she needed someone outside of her family to love her for who she was, not for what they wanted her to be.”
“That sounds like experience talking.”
“Perhaps. When I met Ryan at college, I was away from home. He loved me not because he had to, but because he wanted to.” Daisy was surprised those words had come out of her mouth. She and Jonas let the import of them settle over them.
“Do you believe your parents loved you because they had to love you . . . the same with your aunt Iris?”
Daisy lowered her voice. “I always felt Dad and Iris loved me, but my mom and Camellia? Sometimes I felt everything about our relationships was forced.”
Jonas leaned his head toward hers. “I’d like to delve into this conversation more, but I’m not sure this is the place. Somebody is headed our way.” Jonas circled her waist, pulling her close to him. For some reason, at that moment she felt she needed his support.
Rowan approached them, his gaze on Daisy’s. “I want to thank you for bringing all those delicious desserts.”
Desserts were much easier to talk about than murder. “It was the least I could do for Vanna. She’s been a good friend to me. Grief can be hard to navigate.”
“Yes, I suppose it can,” Rowan agreed. “She seemed touched when I gave her a brooch of Margaret’s.”
“She was. I have mementos from my husband that mean a lot to me. Memories are precious when a loved one passes. Anything that can make their smile or their voice or their look come alive again is important. I’m sure she’ll wear Margaret’s brooch often.”
Without a segue, Rowan asked, “So you will be speaking to Glenda soon?”
Daisy became annoyed that he kept checking with her about that. But if he was afraid that he would be charged with murder, she could understand why.
“If Glenda shows up at the tea garden, I’ll be sure to make time for her.”
“Thank you, Daisy. I’d better mingle with the other mourners. I do appreciate their coming and I want them to know that.”
As Rowan walked away, Daisy asked Jonas, “Can you find out more about Rowan?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is there a way you can find out if there are any lawsuits against him?”
Suddenly a voice sailed over Jonas’s shoulder. Zeke Willet looked angry. He targeted Jonas first. “You should become a PI if you want to snoop for Daisy. On the other hand, maybe Daisy should forget about background checks and concentrate on brewing tea.”
It was easy for Daisy to see that Jonas was angry. Color came to his cheekbones. She could see a temper he wasn’t letting loose. Usually he refused to be baited.
She kept her mouth shut. Better if she refused to be baited too.
Zeke pointed his finger at them both. “Stay out of my investigation.” Then he walked away, his stride angry, his expression seriously frustrated.
Jonas let out a pent-up breath. “There are times lately when I just want to shake him.”
“That’s because you still care what he thinks. It’s hard to let go of a friendship that was once good.”
“He has me wondering if it was ever good. Maybe I was deluding myself in thinking we had each other’s backs . . . that we cared about making the world a safer place. I’m not sure that’s Zeke’s purpose any-more.”
“Sometimes I think he’s lost his purpose and he’s just going through the motions,” Daisy observed.
“Morris Rappaport is wrong when he thinks Zeke and I can make peace. I can put the past in the past, but I don’t think Zeke can.”
* * *
Although Daisy wanted to check in with Violet often, she didn’t want Vi to feel she was hovering or controlling. Vi had seemed to be doing better after her talk with Willa. But Daisy was not at all sure about that.
After returning home from the funeral yesterday, Daisy had called one of their temp workers, Pam Dorsey, to see if she could spend the day helping out at the tea garden. She’d agreed to meet Iris there at five a.m. to start cinnamon rolls and other breakfast goodies. At home, Daisy prepared a baked blueberry and oatmeal casserole as well as a ham, cheese, and potato casserole to take to Vi. Jazzi sampled each before she took a walk down the lane to meet her school bus. As soon as Jazzi had left, Daisy wrapped both casseroles and inserted them in an insulated carry-all that would keep them warm.
Since Daisy usually left before Jazzi most mornings, Marjoram and Pepper seemed surprised when she was puttering around the kitchen, ready to walk over to Vi and Foster’s above-the-garage apartment. From her observation, her felines usually accompanied Jazzi down from her room upstairs after she was dressed and they settled on the deacon’s bench near the living room window. However, this morning the aromas from the kitchen must have drawn them there. Daisy was setting some of the dishes she’d used to prepare the casseroles into the dishwasher when Marjoram came over to her and sat on her foot. Pepper moseyed over to her dishes on the floor and gave Daisy a disdainful look when she
found them empty.
“Jazzi fed you, didn’t she?” Daisy asked, conversationally.
From her position at her cat plate with little kitty ears, Pepper meowed. It was one of those impatient I-don’ t-care-I’ d-really-like-a-treat meows. Marjoram stood and circled Daisy’s legs, her tail brushing against her calves.
“So you’re both trying to tell me treats are dessert after breakfast?”
Marjoram joined Pepper as both cats stood at the bottom cupboard where Daisy kept the treat bag.
“You two are so smart you should be able to serve yourselves.” However, when Daisy thought about that she shook her head. “Scratch that idea. You’d have my cupboard empty in no time. All right, what’s it going to be this morning, chicken and cranberry or duck and cranberry?”
Since the felines couldn’t seem to make up their minds, Daisy put a few treats of both in each dish. Then she went to the closet under the stairs for her fleece jacket, picked up the insulated bag with the casseroles, set the security alarm, and headed for Vi’s.
At the garage, Daisy pushed the bell. From the intercom she heard Vi’s “Come on up.” There was a click and the lock opened.
A few minutes later she’d climbed the stairs and entered the apartment. Sitting at the small table, Vi was still in her robe, her hair disheveled, large blue circles under her eyes.
“How about a spoonful of blueberry oatmeal and a scoop of a ham casserole I made for breakfast? You’ll have the casserole for tonight’s supper if you don’t feel like cooking.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom.”
When Daisy gave her daughter a look, Vi capitulated. “All right, just a small spoonful of each.”
Daisy hurried to unpack the casseroles before Vi changed her mind. Suddenly Daisy heard a cry from Vi’s bedroom.
“He didn’t sleep hardly at all last night,” Vi murmured.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asked, concerned.
“I called Willa and she thinks it’s newborn fussiness. We tried to give him a bottle last night and he wouldn’t take it. Besides that, I don’t know if bottle feeding will help. Foster needs his sleep too.”
“You could take turns. Foster could take the feeding before bed so you could go to bed earlier. Then you could take the middle-of-the-night ones. Or something like that.”
Vi was already on her way to pick up Sammy. Daisy followed her and peeked in the bedroom. Vi was smiling down at Sammy on the changing table as she changed his diaper. When she finished, she swaddled him in a receiving blanket and brought him into the living room. Sammy, however, still seemed unhappy as he wiggled and squirmed and wouldn’t settle. Vi sank down on the sofa to feed him.
Daisy sat with Vi for the next half hour, listening when her daughter wanted to talk, quiet when she didn’t. Vi burped Sammy after he finished eating, almost asleep, and then she sighed.
Daisy reached for the baby, always willing to hold and cuddle him. She said to Vi, “I put portions of each casserole in the oven to keep them warm. Go on and eat.”
“Don’t you have to go to the tea garden?”
“I will. I want to make sure you’re okay here. When will Foster be home?”
“Not until after five. I just have to stay awake until then.”
“No, you don’t. I’m going to drive in to the tea garden when I leave here, just to make sure all is going smoothly. But this afternoon, I’ll come over about three. I’ll take care of Sammy while you go to bed for a nap. If you’re still sleeping when Foster gets home, so much the better.”
Already shaking her head, Vi protested, “Sammy will need to be fed.”
“Foster and I will try the bottle again. Did you ever think that your anxiety might be making Sammy upset? It’s not your fault. It’s a new mom thing. But that can happen. He feels your agitation and he’s agitated too.”
“I was feeling better, Mom, really I was. I went for a walk yesterday when Foster was here. And I do love Sammy, but I just feel so down all the time.”
“When Foster gets home, he and I will see if we can coax Sammy to take the bottle. If he won’t, I’ll go shopping for a new type of bottle and nipple. Sometimes that’s the simple solution.”
“Do you know about all these things because you had a bad experience with me or Jazzi?” Vi wanted to know.
“Let’s just call it experience. Babies definitely don’t come with a manual. I remember your pediatrician telling me more than once to try everything I could think of to make life work. Something always does.” Daisy smiled. “That had to do with eating, feeding, discipline, and activities. He was usually right.”
“Is this ever going to get easier?” Vi asked.
“I asked him the same thing, and you know what he said?”
“Do I want to know what he said?” Vi said acerbically.
“Probably not. He told me when you were about four everything would ease up.”
Vi’s eyes widened. “Was that true?”
“Actually, it was—for you and Jazzi. At four you both had minds of your own, but I could reason with you most of the time. By four you were a little more self-sufficient. You have to look at each phase of Sammy’s babyhood as an adventure, something new. You’ll be amazed at what he learns each week. Keep a record of it and you’ll see what progress you’re making too.”
“In becoming a mom?”
“Yes. Your skills will increase day by day. I promise.”
But Vi still looked dejected and sad. If Vi’s moods stayed this dejected much longer, she’d have to make an appointment with her GYN and consider what options were open to her.
Chapter Nine
Daisy’s tea supplier had brought her a new shipment. She was sorting teas and pouring them into their proper tins when Cora Sue tapped her on the shoulder. Daisy jumped, startled.
Cora Sue said, “Someone’s here to see you. It’s the woman who wrote that play. You know, the one that got Margaret killed.”
Daisy didn’t believe the play had gotten Margaret killed, but one of the people involved in it might have.
“I asked Ms. Nurmi what I could bring her. She said she’d enjoy a pot of Winter Surprise, but she seemed fidgety,” Cora Sue related.
Fidgety like she didn’t want to be here? Or fidgety because she knew Daisy was going to ask her questions? Daisy would find out soon enough.
“I have all the teas stowed away. Maybe later you could make up bags of it to sell. I checked inventory and we’re getting low.”
“No problem. I’ll brew Winter Surprise. Should I bring anything else?”
“Maybe a plate of snickerdoodles. They’re hard to resist.”
Cora Sue’s brows arched and she gave Daisy a sly smile. “Are you trying to soften her up?”
“Not soften her up exactly. I’d like to make her comfortable so she doesn’t feel like I’m interrogating her.”
“Even if you are?” Cora Sue asked knowingly.
“I’m not getting involved in the case this time.”
Cora Sue gave her a long look.
“I’m just going to ask her a few questions to please Margaret’s husband. I don’t expect to get anywhere.”
“That would be the first time,” Cora Sue muttered.
“I have a lot on my plate,” Daisy murmured. “Vi and the baby, Thanksgiving, Jazzi and her birth mother. I don’t have time to step into murder mud, so to speak, and get swallowed up by it.”
Cora Sue pulled the tin of Winter Surprise from the shelf. “Do you want a cup of tea too?”
“Sure. Drinking with a friend can create a bond.”
“I wish you luck,” Cora Sue said as she went to make the tea.
It wasn’t long until Daisy was sitting across the table from Glenda, sipping tea. Glenda stirred sparkling sugar into her cup, then set down her spoon. The utensil clinked on the side of the saucer. “I’m not sure why you want to talk to me. I certainly had nothing to do with what happened to Margaret. Arden told me you help investigate murders, but I know nothing.
So this is a waste of time.”
Daisy believed Glenda was one of those women who knew she was beautiful. She wore her black hair parted down the middle. It fell into waves along her face past her shoulders. Her makeup wasn’t dramatic but expertly applied, from eyeliner and mascara to an absolutely flawless matte-surface complexion. Primer and foundation gave the impression of doll-like porcelain. Her lips were outlined and filled in with one of those nude colors that made most women look like zombies.
On Glenda? She resembled a runway model. At five-ten with a slender, almost too thin figure, she could have worn anyone’s new line. However, today she wore skinny designer jeans and a silky off-white blouse that tied at her right waist. Her plaid wool cape lay folded over the back of her chair.
“From what I understand, you were a good friend of Margaret’s,” Daisy said. “Is that right?”
Glenda gave a little lift of one shoulder. “We had one of those friendships that was on and off. I’d get too busy or she’d get too busy and we wouldn’t talk for months. In addition to that, I’m ten years younger and we didn’t often think in the same way.”
Trying to interpret what Glenda was saying, Daisy decided that Glenda and Margaret were surface friends most of the time. “How did you meet Margaret?”
“We met at an actors’ workshop. We were both much younger and trying to become experts in our craft. We were both waitressing at the time.” She lifted a shoulder again in a shrug. “Many of us did that to pay the bills.”
Daisy nodded. “I couldn’t find much information about Margaret’s acting career. I understand her stage name was Luna Larkin.”
After a slight hesitation, Glenda answered, “Her stage name was Luna Larkin. She used it when we were both taking bit parts at the time of that workshop. Margaret mostly acted off-Broadway.”
“How about you? Off-Broadway too?”
“On and off. But when I started screenwriting I felt that was my passion. I’m not sure Margaret ever found hers. She hit the jackpot when she connected with Rowan.”
Murder with Clotted Cream Page 10
