Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  “I’m not working with the police. But if I do find anything out, I share it with them. If I think it’s important.”

  “You date a former cop.”

  “I do.”

  “Jonas seems to be an upright guy. He knows his way around a saw.”

  Daisy laughed. “Yes, he does. And a sander.” Now Jasper cracked a smile. “I admire men who work with their hands. It’s a marrying of intellect and creativity. Few people appreciate that.”

  “Why did you decide to audition to be in the play?”

  He wiggled his brows. “Don’t I seem like the type?”

  “I’m not sure if there is a type. I know getting up on a stage terrified me when I was in high school.”

  “Believe it or not, when I was in school, I liked English. I was good at it. One of my teachers in high school encouraged me to audition for a play. I did, and I liked being part of the cast, putting something together that was much more than the sum of its parts.”

  “So how did you become an expert in HVAC?”

  He uncrossed his leg, put his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward. “My dad started the business. He was a pragmatic man. He told me I could go act in plays all I wanted, but not expect to be paid for it. On the other hand, if I apprenticed with him, specialized and went out on my own, I could make a good living. And I did.”

  Daisy rubbed her hands up and down her arms. It was cold in here.

  “I can see you’re chilled. How about a mug of hot chocolate? We can talk about everything that doesn’t matter.”

  Maybe it was because Daisy sensed loneliness in Jasper Lazar. Maybe instead of asking him questions, she could just listen to him to find out more about his life. “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On Monday afternoon, Daisy stopped at A Penny Saved, Willow Creek’s thrift store. It hadn’t been open very long. However, donations of clothes for children and adults had been coming in regularly. The store seemed filled to capacity. There were racks of blouses, one for skirts and one for slacks. Shoes lined up against one wall according to sizes, men’s, women’s, and children’s separated.

  Amelia Wiseman was at the checkout desk. In her mid-forties, she wore her dark brown hair layered around her face. Even though she and her husband ran the Covered Bridge Bed and Breakfast, she also volunteered her time at the thrift store. She seemed to have boundless energy.

  When she spotted Daisy, she waved and Daisy went over to the desk, commenting, “The store looks great.”

  “And I was worried about it being necessary,” Amelia said. “You wouldn’t believe the people who come in here, families that you’d never expect.”

  “Families like to put on a brave face that they’re doing well when they aren’t. I’ve noticed folks around here don’t particularly like to ask for help.”

  “Now they don’t have to ask. It’s here in plain sight. Once the town council straightens out the plans for the homeless shelter, this town should be better off.”

  “Winter is a hard time for many farming families,” Daisy agreed.

  “And for some of the store owners when the tourist trade isn’t revved up.”

  Moving closer to the counter, Daisy picked up a coupon flyer there. “Every day I’m grateful for the residents of Willow Creek who come into the tea garden.”

  Amelia sank down onto the wooden stool behind the desk. “When the tour buses arrive, those tourists want something hot to drink in this cold weather and you provide it even if they don’t buy other souvenirs. They’re likely to stop by for a scone and a cup of tea.”

  “Our special events are working out well too,” Daisy added.

  “Who doesn’t want to build a gingerbread house?” Amelia looked like a child when she said it. “I’m only going to be here about an hour or so. Agnes Hopper will be coming in for the rest of the day and Sarah Jane will be joining her for a few hours.”

  Agnes, whose husband had died about a year ago, was one of the older residents of Willow Creek. “Do you think working here fills up empty time for her?”

  “Absolutely. I’m glad we’re filling a need for the volunteers too. Volunteering and doing something for others can lift anyone’s self-esteem and spirits.” Amelia hesitated for a few moments, but then she asked, “How is Violet doing? I hear she was having some problems adjusting to marriage and motherhood.”

  It was on the tip of Daisy’s tongue to ask Amelia where she’d heard that, but there was no point. If someone at the tea garden overheard one of the servers talking about Violet, or maybe even one of Jazzi’s friends, word could get around. That’s the way Willow Creek was.

  “The truth is, I’d like to say she’s doing better. In some ways she is, but in others I just don’t know. I see a dull look in her eyes sometimes that scares me. Her energy is very low even with Foster taking some of Sammy’s feedings now. She’s getting more sleep but I can’t tell a difference.”

  Daisy had always been honest with Amelia and Amelia with Daisy. They weren’t really close friends, but they were friends, and it felt good to vent to someone outside of the situation.

  “Postpartum depression?”

  “I assume so. She’s going to be seeing her doctor.”

  “Her doctor might suggest talk therapy first, but with postpartum that doesn’t always make a difference. The truth is—doctors don’t like to take a chance with their patients since more is known about it.”

  “You’ve had experience with this?”

  “I have with one of my nieces. Let me tell you, the sooner Violet gets help the better it will be. Make sure to encourage her that breastfeeding isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

  Surprised, Daisy asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “If she’s on an antidepressant, she won’t be able to breastfeed, but her well-being and her state of mind are more important for the baby right now than breast milk.”

  Daisy could easily understand what Amelia was saying. The baby’s self-esteem, development, and even physical activity would have a lot to do with Violet—her moods, her level of energy, and her ability to give of herself.

  “I’m hoping her doctor guides her in the right direction.”

  “Doctors are so much more aware of postpartum than they were years ago, though I’m not sure families are. I know Vi has your full support. That helps.”

  Changing the subject, Amelia pointed to the racks of women’s clothes. “You ought to take a look. We even have designer dresses there.”

  “I don’t have much time. But I will.”

  Daisy started making the rounds of the racks. She really didn’t need anything right now, but if Jonas took her someplace special again, she might want to have a new dress for that. She carefully watched how much of her budget she allotted for a wardrobe for her and Jazzi. Buying at the thrift shop, she could stretch it.

  She spotted a maxi caftan-like dress that looked as if the blue, pink, and yellow flowers on it had been hand painted. It was her size. She pulled it off the rack and held it up. “This is beautiful.”

  “That off-white background is popular even in winter. You should try it on. The dressing room isn’t very elaborate, but it’s private.” Amelia pointed to the back of the store, where a cubicle had been built with a door with a latch. Daisy examined the dress again. The label at the back had been removed. It really was beautiful.

  Ten minutes later she decided to buy it. The colors in it would accompany any season. With the holidays coming up, she was sure there would be an occasion for something not too elaborate but just plain pretty.

  She was thinking about how the dress had looked on her when she’d stared in the dressing room mirror as she walked through the racks to the sales desk. She stopped and examined a man’s suit. When she checked the label, she saw it was Armani!

  “Wow, this is a beautifully cut suit.”

  Amelia came around the desk and crossed to Daisy. “I don’t usually mention who goes in and out of the store, but I can tell y
ou who brought that in.”

  Daisy couldn’t keep her curiosity in check. “Who?”

  “Ward Cooper.” She pointed to another rack. “Those dress shirts cost him a pretty penny too.”

  “I know it’s none of our business, but did he say why he was donating them?”

  “He said he lost a few pounds and they just don’t fit like they should.”

  “I didn’t think lighting techs made a bundle, but maybe I’m wrong.”

  “Or maybe by staying in Willow Creek, he’s saving a ton of money and can afford another suit.”

  Daisy studied the suit again. “I don’t understand.”

  “New York is expensive. Of course, it depends on what part of the city he lived in, but if Rowan Vaughn is giving him a place to stay here for free, that would make a difference with his expenses.”

  “But he would have kept the New York apartment, right?”

  “I don’t know how he lives, but I do know stage crews can be on the road a lot. He could lease a place month to month. Who knows? But I do know if you get a good look at the clothes that he wears, they don’t come cheap.”

  If Daisy asked any more questions, she’d be diving deeper into the suspect pool of Margaret’s murder. Right now, that wasn’t what she wanted or needed. She handed the dress she’d found to Amelia. “I’ll take this and I’ll stop looking.”

  Amelia raised a brow. “Not interested in who killed Margaret?”

  “Oh, I’m interested, but I know I shouldn’t be.”

  “By the way,” Amelia said. “I decided to help with costume fittings for the play at the Little Theater. They needed someone who could sew. I attended a rehearsal last week and it was pathetic.”

  Daisy was sorry to hear that.

  The front door of the shop opened and Agnes came in. She was a birdlike woman, short with gray wispy hair that fell around her face in a helmet-like style. Wearing a black wool cape and sturdy brown shoes, she looked ready for anything that came her way. She was all smiles as she slipped behind the desk and hung her cape on the wooden coatrack, revealing a sensible white blouse and black sweater.

  After greetings were exchanged all around, Agnes said, “You don’t know how this volunteer work fills my day. I hope there are a lot of clothes to be unpacked and hung on the racks.”

  “I guess that’s my signal to leave,” Amelia said with a smile.

  After Daisy had paid her and she’d bagged the dress, Amelia said, “I’m heading over to rehearsal at the Little Theater now. Why don’t you come with me? Jonas will be there working on the set, won’t he?”

  Yes, he would. Daisy could tell herself that was the reason she was going to stop in at the dress rehearsal at Willow Creek Little Theater . . . but if she looked deeper into the idea, she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

  * * *

  The Willow Creek Little Theater fit into the landscape. Daisy turned off Hollowback Road onto the driveway that led around to the side of the theater where the wider parking lot was located. The building itself was cedar-shingled with a peaked roof. It almost looked like a large cabin. The land behind it was filled with pines, oaks, and maples. Beyond that, hills rolled around the property.

  Although there were other entrances, Daisy and Amelia walked along the flagstone path to the portico-covered main door. Supports for the portico that were also cedar gave the illusion of a porch.

  After Daisy opened one half of the double door leading into the theater, she found herself and Amelia standing in the lobby.

  With a wave, Amelia said, “I’m going to see if any other volunteers are here.”

  There were two bulletin boards encased in glass that were supposed to announce the upcoming shows, Daisy suspected. They were empty.

  She followed a short corridor where she passed the ticket-takers’ stand and entered the rear of the theater. As soon as she did, bright lights assaulted her and she heard noise, talking, hammering, and the shuffling of feet. As she walked toward the stage, she noticed the navy cushioned seats that looked comfortable for viewing whatever the production was. There were steps on either side that led up to the stage. After taking off her winter jacket, she laid it with her purse on a front row seat. She walked toward the steps, her gaze scanning the stage for Jonas.

  Spotting him, she ran up the set of stairs on the left. On the stage, however, she stopped, listening to an argument to the left of her. It was easy to recognize Daniel Copeland’s voice as he said, “I disagree. In that scene I should be firm, maybe even cutting with my words.”

  Daisy heard Glenda answer, “No, you shouldn’t. You’re a father. There should be some understanding in your tone.”

  Daisy wondered if this type of argument went on all the time. How would they get anything done if it did?

  Before she could reach Jonas, someone on the right called her name. “Daisy, hold up,” a male voice ordered.

  She mentally groaned. It was Trevor Lundquist, the Willow Creek Messenger’s reporter who had the most bylines. Trevor was a good-looking man. His brown hair was longer now than the last time she’d seen him. It had a slight wave and lay over his mint green oxford shirt collar. He had his sleeves rolled up. His brown cargo pants were casual yet up-to-date.

  “You’re just the person I wanted to see,” he said. “And the fact that you’re here tells me what I want to know.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what happened to Margaret Vaughn, just like everyone else,” he said, his voice lowered. “Isn’t that why you’re here? You’re investigating?”

  “I’m not investigating. I came to see Jonas.” She pointed to the back of the stage. “He’s helping with the sets. Seeing me here doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “I know you, Daisy Swanson. You won’t be able to keep your nose out of this one. You found her.”

  Daisy’s heart sank. How widespread was that knowledge? “Just how do you know that?”

  “I have my sources.”

  She was already shaking her head. “I don’t care about your sources. I’m not getting involved. The last investigation practically took my life. I have too much to live for to meddle again.” Her eyes automatically went to Jonas.

  Trevor shifted from one foot to the other. “I hear you have a grandson.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I do, and you brought that up because . . . ?”

  “I’m just making conversation. Can’t we be friendly?”

  Her voice became firm as she looked into his eyes. “I don’t know, Trevor. Can we? In the past I’ve given you interviews after the fact. But I don’t know if that’s good for me or my family. I don’t want Willow Creek’s headlights turned onto me or anyone else I’m close to.”

  Trevor’s frown caused long lines on either side of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean you can’t feed me information when you have it.”

  “Read my lips, Trevor—I am not getting involved.”

  Trevor pushed both of his hands palm-out in surrender. “I hear you. But I’ll talk to you again in a few days.” He backed up, then headed down the steps to the seating area of the theater.

  Arden was on a ladder helping Jasper hang a new curtain. It looked as if the material was lush and heavy. Jasper confirmed that fact when he said to Arden, “This cost a heck of a lot more than it should have. But Margaret always had to have the best.”

  “I’m not sure where she learned what was best,” Arden returned sharply. “She didn’t have that many posh possessions growing up from what I’ve heard. The Mennonite faith isn’t that far from being Amish, is it? She might not have had a phone or especially not music to dance to. Maybe not even a computer.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true,” Jasper said. “Unless that’s the way her parents chose to live.”

  “Didn’t you find it difficult to get to know Margaret? She was so closed off.”

  Jasper, holding the curtain up in front of his shoulders, answered, “I want to know why she wouldn’t talk about her
time acting in New York.”

  “Only Glenda knew her then, and probably all of her secrets. You know how often they had their heads together.”

  Jonas was fitting two sections of scenery together when Daisy approached him. He was wearing a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up and blue jeans worn white at the pockets and the knees. She wanted to go up to him and put her arms around his waist . . . but not here . . . not now.

  As soon as he finished with the corner of the scenery, he turned toward Daisy and his face lit up with a smile. When he was glad to see her like that, her heart seemed to do a little dance, at least the rhythm of it did.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

  “It was your suggestion, remember?”

  “I guess it was. Did you come over to see our progress?” He lowered his voice. “Or to talk to everybody in sight?”

  She elbowed him and smiled. “I don’t have to talk to everybody to hear things. I just heard an interesting conversation between Arden and Jasper.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Just that Margaret paid too much for the curtain.”

  Jonas chuckled. “From what I understand, she paid too much for everything, including the oriental rug that’s used in the living room scene and those cushioned seats out there. But I’ve got to admit if I’m comfortable watching the show, I’m more likely to come back.”

  Vanna, who was standing in the wings, beckoned to Jonas.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jonas said to Daisy. “Are you going to wait?”

  “I’ll just look around.” Arden and Jasper were no longer on the ladder.

  Daisy noticed that the left side of the curtain had been hung. She peered up at a brass chandelier that must be part of the living room set. She wandered to the back of the stage. Even though it was a wider area than she expected, it was crowded with cutouts of fir trees in differing heights. That made sense since the name of the play had North Woods in it. There was also a sleigh, an old wagon, and a staircase. She imagined that staircase would be used to lead to the second floor of the house in the north woods. Vanna had told her a few things about the play, so she recognized where the scenery would go.