Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  The scent of newly sanded wood, paint, and stain was strong at the rear of the stage. She wandered along the row of trees wondering where the costumes were kept. She wouldn’t mind having a glimpse of those.

  Just then she saw a shadow above her. Before she could even think about taking a step, a row of plywood pine trees fell on top of her, jostling her onto the floor. The noise was loud enough to capture everyone’s attention, she supposed, because she heard footsteps on the side stairs and on the stage.

  Jonas was the first one to reach her. Although she was under the wooden trees, she could see Jonas’s feet. She’d recognize those black shoe boots anywhere.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded. “Let me lift these trees off of you first.”

  In a matter of minutes, the trees were upright again and Daisy could see that Jasper and Ward had helped Jonas lift them.

  Jonas crouched down beside her as she sat up. He warned again, “I’m not sure you should move. I’ll call the paramedics.”

  She grabbed his arm. “No. I’m fine. Really. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

  Amelia and Vanna were crouching down beside Jonas now too. “Were you knocked out?” Vanna asked.

  “No. More than anything, my hip hurts. One of those trees landed against me.”

  Vanna said, “Wiggle your hands and feet, then your arms and legs.”

  Daisy did that. “Everything works,” she said with a weak smile. “Just let me stand up.”

  “Can somebody get a chair?” Jonas called.

  Keisha pushed out one of the upholstered chairs that had been sitting in the wings. “Here you go.” She looked concerned.

  Vanna and Jonas helped Daisy to her feet, and she quickly sat.

  Trevor was beside Daisy now too. “I’ll stay with her if you want to look around,” Trevor said.

  Jonas gave him a can-I-trust-you? look.

  Trevor nodded again as if to reassure Jonas he was a good guy. He was, Daisy thought. Sometimes he was just a little pushy. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Jonas search behind the trees and then in the wings.

  Keisha crouched down in front of her with a bottle of water. “Here, drink some of this.”

  Taking the bottle Keisha had opened for her, Daisy took a few swallows. She thanked Keisha.

  Keisha said, “I didn’t think those trees could be tipped over. We’ll have to remedy that.”

  A few minutes later, Jonas returned to Daisy and knelt before her. “There’s no point calling the police when what happened could have been an accident.”

  Trevor faced Daisy more squarely. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  Daisy’s heart had stopped racing and had settled into a regular rhythm. She rubbed her shoulder. “Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t.”

  Jonas and Vanna exchanged a look.

  “You have a brush burn on your arm,” Vanna said.

  Keisha appeared again with an emergency first aid kit.

  Vanna took it from her.

  Daisy protested. “Vanna, I can fix myself up when I get home.”

  “Don’t be silly. You need to sit there awhile anyway. Make sure nothing hurts more than it should.”

  Jonas ducked down again until he was eye to eye with Daisy. “Are you sure you don’t hurt anywhere?”

  “Just bumps and bruises. A hot shower and Dad’s liniment will make me feel good as new.”

  Jonas took Daisy’s hand in his. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m going to take another look around.” He kept his voice low. “I really don’t see how those trees could have fallen on you on their own. Somebody had to have pushed them.”

  Somebody. A member of the cast or a volunteer? After Vanna swiped Daisy’s brush burn with peroxide, then applied antibiotic cream and a bandage, she said, “You sit still while I put this away.”

  Daisy turned slightly in the chair and looked up at Trevor. “Talk to me about anything but Margaret’s murder.”

  Trevor let out a sigh. “If you insist. There was something I wanted to ask you anyway.”

  “Something that has nothing to do with murder?”

  “Absolutely nothing to do with murder. How long have you known Tessa Miller?”

  That was a question she’d never expected. “Tessa and I went to school together. In fact, we skipped a grade together. We had each other’s backs and we still do. I couldn’t imagine anyone else as my kitchen manager. Why do you want to know?”

  “So you’d say she’s a lot like you.”

  Daisy shook her head and the movement pulled on her shoulder that was beginning to ache. She ignored it. “Oh, Tessa and I are very different.”

  “How so?”

  Forgetting momentarily about what had just happened, she explained, “Tessa is an artiste. You can tell that just by the way she dresses. She’s much more of a free spirit, and Bohemian in her taste.”

  “Including men?”

  Daisy remembered that Tessa had asked about bringing Cade for Thanksgiving dinner. Cade certainly was as staid as they came. On the other hand, a man she’d loved had been the owner of the town’s art gallery.

  “To tell the truth, I’m not sure about her taste in men. I think that all depends on who she connects with. I’m sure Tessa would say she’s a vibrations person. She’d have to receive the right vibe from a man.”

  “Uh-huh.” Trevor looked pensive.

  Was Trevor interested in Tessa?

  To tell the truth, Daisy would rather think about Tessa and Trevor instead of what had just happened.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Is your hip hurting you?” Iris asked Daisy as Daisy shifted her weight from one foot to the other at the counter in the tea garden’s kitchen the next day. They were checking the produce that Joachim Adler had brought, making sure it suited them. Joachim had taken off his black felt hat and was holding it in his hands. His light brown beard dangled close to the second button of his shirt.

  His face took on a little color and Daisy knew talking about anything personal around him would embarrass him. She said to Iris, “I’m good.” Then she gave Joachim a nod. “Everything looks top quality just as always. Your greenhouses are really producing.” She particularly liked the leaf lettuce.

  “Wunderbaar,” he said. He flopped his hat on his head. “See you next week.” With a smile, he went out the back kitchen door.

  “Sorry,” Iris apologized. “I almost forgot Joachim was there. He’s so quiet. But are you hurting? Did you sleep wrong? You keep shifting from one hip to the other.”

  Daisy wrapped the lettuce in green paper that kept it fresh. “I had a little mishap at the rehearsal yesterday.”

  Iris stopped inspecting the turnips and carrots. “What kind of mishap?”

  “I was careless and part of the set fell on me. Merely a few bumps and bruises. I’m fine, really.”

  “Was Jonas there?”

  “He was.”

  “Did he call the paramedics?”

  Daisy didn’t look her aunt in the eyes, but concentrated on wrapping produce. “Don’t be silly. I told him not to. Vanna was there and she took care of one of my brush burns.”

  “Does this have something to do with you asking questions about Margaret?”

  “No proof of that,” Daisy quickly answered, and went into the walk-in to store the lettuce.

  Everyone yesterday had made sure she was okay. She had a feeling Rowan was more worried about liability than her when he’d called her last night. She caught herself. That wasn’t nice. Everyone who had been there had been concerned. Jonas had insisted on driving her home. She’d let him. Then she’d put ice packs on the parts that hurt and texted back and forth with Foster about Violet because Vi hadn’t answered her texts.

  From Foster she’d learned Vi had had one weepy spell in the afternoon. He’d cooked supper, saying Vi had eaten a few spoonfuls of his macaroni and cheese. He’d encouraged her to eat a piece of toast later.

  Daisy was worried. V
i’s appointment with her doctor tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Cora Sue entered the kitchen from their main serving room. Finding Daisy in the walk-in, she pointed to the tearoom. “Arden Botterill’s here. She’d like to see you. I showed her to a table and asked what type of tea she’d like and she told me the honey ginseng green tea. Is that okay for you too?”

  “That’s fine.” She checked the clock on the wall. It was eleven. “Did she say if she’d like anything to eat?”

  “She insisted she just wanted tea.”

  Although Daisy didn’t know Arden well, she did know her. When Arden just requested tea and nothing to go with it, she was seriously keeping to her diet. The woman didn’t need to be on a diet, Daisy thought.

  Iris gestured to the produce still lying on the counter. “I’ll take care of this. Go talk to Arden. Be careful not to trip over anything.”

  Cora Sue gave Daisy an odd look.

  Daisy just scrunched up her nose at her aunt. “Not funny.”

  Daisy found that Cora Sue had set up Arden in the spillover tearoom that for now was almost empty. Only one other table for four was occupied. This was the best place to be for privacy.

  Daisy smiled at Arden as she sat around the corner of the table from her. “It’s good to see you. What brings you in?”

  Arden had slipped off her navy peacoat and let it slide over the back of the chair. “First of all, how are you feeling?”

  “A little sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “That was quite a fall you had yesterday, or accident, or whatever it was. I do know those pine trees are heavy. I’ve tried to move them.”

  “Fortunately, my shoulder and hip took the brunt of it,” Daisy admitted.

  “It’s a good thing it wasn’t Vanna. She could have broken something.”

  Could that accident have been meant for someone other than herself? She hadn’t thought about that.

  Cora Sue approached them carrying a tray with a pot of tea, two cups and saucers in a purple rose vintage pattern, as well as a small bowl of sparkling sugar and a tiny pitcher of cream. “Just yell if you need anything else,” she directed them, and moved away quickly, seeming to know they wanted to talk.

  After Cora Sue had entered the main tearoom, Arden stirred sugar into her tea without tasting the tea first.

  Daisy tapped her arm. “Remember, that has honey in it.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m in the mood for something really sweet right now. No one in the cast is being very sweet.”

  “Did something happen after I left?”

  Arden stared into her tea. “Not exactly. I’m just stressed about the whole thing. I don’t know how we’re ever going to be ready for a performance.”

  “Don’t you think in every production the cast feels that way?”

  With a sigh, Arden met Daisy’s gaze. “I’ve heard that. I don’t know if I believe it. If everyone knows their lines and where they’re supposed to be and when, and they’ve practiced enough, they should be pretty sure about how it’s going to go. But we haven’t done any of those things, not often enough. Margaret kept changing the script. Now Glenda’s adding notes. To tell the truth, I think she wants to spend time with Rowan more than she wants to work on the script.”

  Daisy gave Arden a questioning look, a look that asked if she really meant what she said.

  “I’m serious,” she assured Daisy. “Do you know if Glenda knew Rowan before Margaret did?”

  Daisy took a sip of her own tea and carefully set down the cup on the saucer. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I wonder if there was some rivalry between Margaret and Glenda for Rowan’s affection . . . or his money.”

  Sometimes Daisy thought Arden was very much like the vinegar and spices that she sold. She could be tangy and tart. “Did you see any evidence of that?”

  Arden picked up her spoon, studied the decorated handle, then set it down again. “I’m not sure. Rowan wasn’t there all that much when Margaret was leading the production. After all, he had business concerns to take care of. But now he seems to be there an awful lot. Glenda takes advantage of that.”

  “How?”

  “Daisy, don’t question me like that. You know what I’m talking about. When a woman likes a man, she finds a way to get close to him. Her elbow meets his. Her shoulder rocks his. Her head leans near his. She has questions she never had before, only for him. That’s the way Glenda’s been acting. What if . . .” Arden stopped and put her hand over her mouth. “I’m not going to say it out loud.”

  “No one can overhear us. What are you thinking? If it rolls around in your head, it will just make you feel worse, don’t you think?”

  “You’re probably right. You’ve had more experience with this kind of thing than I have. What if Glenda wanted Margaret out of the way? What if she’s the one who killed her?”

  That question kept rolling around in Daisy’s mind as she went through the rest of the day.

  Late in the day, Daisy was handling the credit card for an older woman who placed a large order once a week. Daisy had a feeling that Fiona Wilson bought as much as she could carry and stuffed her refrigerator so she didn’t have to cook. She’d said to Daisy more than once, “Your foods are healthy and that’s why I buy them.”

  Daisy knew that was mostly true. No preservatives if she could help it, scratch-made for all the baked goods.

  In front of her, Fiona studied her. “Are you feeling all right, darling? You’re looking a little peaked.”

  Her muscles and bruises were starting to ache more. She thought of Fiona and being seventy-five or eighty and still stopping in here once a week for her food rather than going to a grocery store.

  “Tell me something, Fiona,” Daisy said. “How would you feel if Willow Creek had a meals-on-wheels lunch or dinner service? Would you use it?”

  “Would the food be as good as yours?”

  Daisy chuckled. “I’m not sure about that. That would all have to be discussed in the planning stages. Citizens have brought it up before at the town council meeting but it’s always been thrown by the wayside.”

  Fiona gave Daisy a smile. “We have a thrift store now.” She touched the scarf around her neck, a pretty fuzzy material with a taupe and blue pattern. “I bought this there. I forgot where I put my old one and had to come up with something.”

  Daisy considered whether the town council could actually get a vote for meals-on-wheels and get it up and running for seniors over sixty. Maybe it could consist of good Pennsylvania Dutch food made from wholesome ingredients.

  “Fiona, if you ever need food, and you find you can’t come in yourself, call in your order. I’ll make sure Jazzi or one of our servers delivers it to you. You don’t live that far away from the tea garden.”

  “I moved into one of those senior apartments near the square about a year ago.”

  “How do you like it?”

  “I like having my independence, and I don’t have upkeep. Rent is on a sliding scale according to what I can pay. Filling out all that paperwork took a week, but I’m happy I’m there now. We ought to find a horse and buggy driver who would deliver food to people. Wouldn’t the tourists just love that?”

  As Fiona took her bags of food, one in each hand, Daisy heard the bell at the tea garden door chime. She didn’t know if she was sorry or sad to see Zeke Willet come in. She knew he’d want something. He never just stopped for a visit.

  Today she could tell by that determined look in his eye that he had something particular on his mind. She found it hard to believe that he was coming to her for information rather than more questions.

  They would soon be closed for the day, and she knew her servers could take care of the end-of-the-day business. She waited at the sales counter.

  When Zeke approached her, she asked, “Would you like to go into my office? I can fix you a cup of tea if you’d like it.”

  “You are bound and determined to give a cup of tea to anyone who walks throug
h that door, aren’t you?”

  The way he made it sound, that wasn’t a good thing.

  She simply responded with, “Tea calms the soul.”

  His eyebrows drew together and he frowned. “And you think my soul needs calming?”

  “I’ve gotten that impression.” As soon as that was out, she knew she shouldn’t have said it. But she was getting tired and she ached.

  “That came out fast as if you’d been meaning to say it for a while.”

  “Come on, Zeke. Have a cup of tea with me and tell me why you’re here.”

  She could see that he had stopped in for a reason, and she wanted him to ask his questions and leave.

  Once in her office, where she kept a smaller heated urn than the one in the kitchen, she pulled two mugs from the stack, filled them with hot water, and settled a tea bag in each.

  “We’ll go for the quick version this time. This is a Fortnum and Mason’s afternoon blend.”

  “I’m supposed to recognize the name?”

  “Probably not. It’s good with a splash of milk.”

  He turned up his nose. “I’ll try it straight, if I try it at all.”

  “Do you ever not argue with someone about something?”

  He dropped into the chair in front of her desk, put an elbow on her desk, and sighed. “Long night. Short on flatfoots to run down leads. I’m getting frustrated. You seem to have a broad network, maybe even broader than mine.”

  “Detective Willet, I told you I’m staying out of this.”

  “I hope so,” he said gruffly.

  Daisy put a touch of milk into her tea, stirred, and took a sip. “What did you stop in to talk about?”

  After he studied her carefully, he asked, “Do you know about the brooch that Margaret was wearing when she was murdered?”

  “Yes, she wore it often. It was decorated with amethysts and diamonds.”

  “Correct. And quite valuable it was too. We had a jeweler appraise it. Rowan insists that he doesn’t know where she got it. If I had a wife and she wore something like that often, I’d make it my business to know where she got it.”