Daisy slid into position beside Jonas.
Jasper pushed Zeke away from him, saying, “You shouldn’t even be a cop if you can’t hold your liquor.”
To Daisy’s dismay, Zeke bounced right back. He took Jasper by the shoulders. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
Jasper was practically shouting now to be heard against the wind. “You’ve no right to ask me anything without a lawyer present. If I say I want my lawyer, you have to back off.”
Apparently, Jonas didn’t want this to escalate. He said to Frank Dowling, “Can you go around the other side? I’ll try to talk to Zeke.”
Frank did as Jonas suggested in case they had to physically break up a fight.
Jonas approached Zeke with an easy gait, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked, “Need some help here?”
Zeke shrugged off his hand. “No, I don’t need help, especially not yours.”
Jonas turned to Jasper. “Are you interested in talking to the police?”
“If I was,” Jasper said, anger in his voice, “I wouldn’t be talking to this detective.”
“You’ll talk to me because I’m on the case,” Zeke returned.
“Zeke, do you really think this is the way to have your questions answered?” Jonas asked calmly.
Now Zeke swung around to Jonas. “Stop butting in on my business.”
“Stop making a spectacle of yourself,” Jonas advised. “Do you want me to call Rappaport?”
“And just what do you think he can do? He’s not getting any further with this investigation than I am.”
Jonas’s voice was steady and even. “You know it takes time. You know one clue leads to the next.”
“I want you out of my life,” Zeke shouted at Jonas.
Maybe frustrated and disappointed with the way Zeke had been treating him, Jonas asked, “Then why did you come to Willow Creek? You could have gone anywhere.” Backing off a couple of steps, Jonas gave Zeke space.
“I needed a new job.”
“And this was the only one that was open? Did you know I was here?” Jonas’s expression was as somber and questioning as his voice.
“Yeah, I knew. I thought maybe we could get things straightened out once and for all. I thought you’d be as unhappy as I was. But, no, you’re just moving right along. You’ve got a new girlfriend and everything.”
Daisy took in a sharp breath, knowing no good could come from this public discussion. She seemed to have an even greater premonition of that when Jonas asked, “Why can’t you move along, Zeke?”
After a long, deafeningly silent moment, Zeke answered, “Because I don’t know if Brenda’s baby was yours or mine.”
Daisy heard Jonas gasp as if Zeke had punched him in his solar plexus. In that one statement Zeke just might have changed Jonas’s attitude about life, about love, and about moving forward.
Chapter Nineteen
Daisy was scooping scones onto a cookie sheet the following morning when her phone played its tuba sound.
Eva slipped over next to her to take her place. “Go ahead and take it,” she said. “I know your life requires spinning many plates right now.”
Spinning plates was putting it kindly. When Daisy checked her screen, she saw that Jonas had placed the call. She absolutely wanted to take this.
She answered, “Good morning, Jonas. Give me a minute. I want to take this in my office where I can hear.”
As she made her way to her office across the hall from the kitchen, she thought about the bonfire last night and what had happened. Zeke had quieted down after he’d blurted out that Brenda’s baby might have been his child. Jonas had turned away from him, his face showing complete control.
However, Daisy knew Jonas’s emotions had to be roiling. He’d thought that baby had been his child. Brenda had told him so. Now he had to be plagued with a feeling of betrayal as well as loss.
They’d driven back to her house from the bonfire in a resounding silence. Finally, after Jonas pulled up in her driveway, she’d asked, “Do you want to come in and talk?”
His No had been immediate and vehement. But she hadn’t let it deter her from the possibility that he’d completely close down his emotions. “Do you want to stay here and talk?”
“Daisy, let it go.”
That’s what he’d wanted her to do. “Are you going to let it go?” she’d asked him.
“I don’t know what I’m thinking right now. And I definitely don’t want to have a feelings talk.”
In a slow, gentle voice, she’d protested. “The fact that you think of a possible discussion that way tells me you’ve already dissociated from your feelings.”
With an exasperated tone, he’d advised, “Using that lingo on me isn’t going to help either.”
She’d reached over and touched his arm. “Jonas.”
Turning toward her, he’d let out a long sigh. “All I can tell you is that I need to be alone.”
Although she hadn’t wanted to, although she’d wanted to hug him, she’d accepted his words at face value.
However, now in the morning light, possibly he was ready to share with her. “Okay, Jonas. I’m in my office. How can I help?”
After silence for a few beats, she knew she’d probably said the wrong thing. She suspected he wasn’t going to want her help.
Without commenting on her question, he turned to the topic he wanted to talk about. “I heard from my friend in New York.”
It took her a moment to remember what that was all about—the photograph that Vanna had showed her and she’d taken a photo of . . . the photo that Jonas had sent to his friend.
“Did he recognize where it was taken?”
“He did. It was shot at Chelsea Market.”
“What do you think I should do next? How can we find out if Margaret lived around there . . . and what she was doing then?”
“There is one way,” he said as if he’d expected her question and considered it. “It depends on how much Margaret shared with Rowan. They would have had to file their income taxes separately until they were married, and my guess is maybe even after they were married. As precise and responsible as Margaret was, she might have had copies of her income tax forms from even the time before she met Rowan. It’s quite possible he could have them at the house. If he does, he could look up her addresses and you could check if any of them were near Chelsea Market.”
Thinking about what had happened since she’d last spoken with Rowan, she responded, “I don’t know if he’ll do that.”
“If he wants to find out who killed Margaret, he will.”
If Rowan wanted to clear himself, he would agree. Even if he wanted to clear Glenda because they were having an affair, that would give him even more reason. “I’ll call him and ask. Right now.”
She waited a beat to see if Jonas would jump into the awkward silence. Silences hadn’t been awkward between them for a very long time. Last night could have changed that. Last night might have put Jonas back on the road he’d been on when she’d first met him—closed off, guarded, not sure he wanted to be involved in a relationship. The fact that he now could feel betrayed by a woman he’d loved didn’t bode well for the two of them.
The aroma of cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar wafted into Daisy’s office, even with the door closed. Instead of asking a question that Jonas might find intrusive, she jumped into what might be a normal conversation for them. “If you were here, I’d offer you a just-baked cinnamon scone.”
She thought she heard a sigh of relief when he said, “I’d tell you to save one for me, but I’m driving up toward Caledonia today to see a man about walnut timber. I’ll probably be gone all day. I might even stay over up there. He has a cabin.”
Without putting his thoughts or feelings into words, Jonas was telling her that he needed to get away. He needed to be in a different location—away from people he would normally see. He needed to be alone in a cabin with his cell phone turned off. All of that could be what he thought he needed.
/> She didn’t agree.
“If you change your mind and you want company tonight, you know where I’ll be.”
“Thanks, Daisy.” His voice was husky when he added, “But I need time to myself.”
After Daisy said good-bye, she couldn’t think about Jonas without her heart hurting—for him, for Zeke, and for her and Jonas as a couple. They now knew what was at the bottom of Zeke’s anger and resentment toward Jonas. They now knew there was little they could do about that.
Somehow both Jonas and Zeke had to find their way to peace. She had the feeling she would be no help, and maybe she’d even be a hindrance.
Her cell phone still in her hand from her phone call, she tapped on her CONTACTS icon to call Rowan. One way or another, she’d find out where Margaret had lived in New York. One way or another, she’d get to the bottom of her murder.
* * *
Since Jazzi had worked at the tea garden after school, Daisy drove them home. She listened as Jazzi told her about a peer counseling session. Jazzi normally kept the information quiet . . . and confidential. But she also knew Daisy wouldn’t spill a secret.
“I just feel so sorry for Brielle, Mom. Her parents are rich. She has everything she wants. But they’re never home. They both go out of town a lot.”
“What does she do when they go out of town?”
“They have a housekeeper who stays overnight. If she can convince her parents, she stays with her grammy who’s very old-world . . . almost Amish.”
Daisy knew there wasn’t any almost Amish. You either were or you weren’t. But she knew what Jazzi meant. The girl’s grammy might live with the bare essentials, and ultimately a plain life. Maybe they all should be living a plain life. Maybe the world would be a better place, focusing on faith, family, and community.
Daisy considered her childhood friend Rachel and Levi and their family. Sure, they had family troubles too. But somehow they all pulled together to ease those troubles. Somehow the family nights around the dinner table, evenings filled with homework and possibly board games, gave them family unity. Physical labor with chores, learning to farm, caring for animals all contributed to teamwork. It coalesced into a happy life for the Fisher family.
A sigh inside of her seemed to build up so big that she couldn’t let it out. She was probably idealizing. Even Rachel would tell her so.
“Mom, did you hear me?”
Daisy gave Jazzi a sideways glance. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Nothing important.”
“Jazzi, whatever you have to say is important. You just caught me daydreaming for a minute.”
Perceptive, Jazzi shook her head, her long black hair sliding across her peacoat. “I don’t think it was daydreaming.”
Daisy gave her daughter another quick sideways glance. “Pardon me?”
“You were up at dawn this morning before I caught the school bus.”
Because she had been worried about Jonas, she’d felt the need to go into the tea garden early, meet Iris there, and start baking. Her hands kneading dough always calmed her. “I left you a note.”
“Yeah, something lame about helping Aunt Iris make loaves of apple bread. Since when do you go in at five a.m. to help with that? Usually Tessa and Aunt Iris start it.”
Daisy was silent. Her daughter was more observant than she gave her credit for. She wasn’t going to lie to her. “I had something on my mind.”
“Something to do with Jonas?”
When Daisy had gotten home, Jazzi had still been at Vi’s and Foster’s apartment. After Jazzi had come home, they’d both gone to bed.
“Mom,” Jazzi prompted, drawing out the title.
“I do have Jonas on my mind. Detective Willet said something to him last night that upset Jonas.”
“But you’re not going to tell me more,” Jazzi guessed.
“Not now.”
“Do you know why Jonas is upset?” Jazzi asked.
Daisy turned onto the road that led to her house. “I do.”
“Then I know you’ll help him.”
Jazzi’s sureness about that possibility disconcerted Daisy. “That’s the problem, Jazzi—I don’t know if he’s going to want my help.”
Both of them were quiet on the rest of the drive. After they walked from the garage to the house, they went inside the house and greeted the cats. Marjoram almost tripped Jazzi as she crossed to the closet to hang up her coat.
She picked up the tortoiseshell and nuzzled her neck. “You’re demanding attention. Didn’t you and your sister have enough to do today?”
Daisy pointed to the ruffled rug near the coffee table and the few toys—a Ping-Pong ball, a toy turtle filled with catnip, and a fake mouse—that lay in the area.
Daisy had hung up her jacket when Pepper ran to her.
“You don’t want to be left out, do you?” Daisy stooped over and picked up the tuxedo cat, scratching her around her ruff. Pepper purred and leaned against Daisy’s chest. The warm little body against hers felt good.
Marjoram had already squiggled out of Jazzi’s arms. She headed to the kitchen as if to ask, When’s supper?
Daisy sank down onto the sofa with Pepper, running her hand down her back, relaxing along with Pepper’s purrs. She’d heard petting a cat could lower blood pressure. She also thought cuddling with a cat could soothe her soul.
Sitting on the coffee table facing Daisy, Jazzi asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, Mom?”
Daisy flipped off her shoes. “No, honey. I just need a couple of minutes before I start supper. Are tacos okay tonight?”
“They’re fine.”
“I want to check my e-mail and then we can get started.”
“Are you expecting an e-mail from Jonas?”
When Daisy gave her daughter a warning look, Jazzi reached over to pet Pepper too. “All right, I won’t press. But why are you checking e-mail? Do you want your laptop?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll get it.” Jazzi knew Daisy kept her laptop on the desk in her bedroom. Seconds later, she was back with it. Daisy booted up her e-mail program.
Pepper walked from Daisy’s lap to the sofa cushion beside her and wriggled next to her leg. Marjoram came back into the living room and sat at Daisy’s feet, looking up at her as if to say, What’s the holdup with supper?
When Daisy checked her e-mail, she found what she was looking for. “Aha! I got them.”
“Got what?” Jazzi asked.
“Addresses. Margaret moved around from year to year.”
“Can you tell me about that or is that a no-no for discussion too?”
Should she tell Jazzi and let her help? They seemed to bond when they did research. And it wasn’t getting Jazzi involved in the investigation per se.
Daisy explained, “I had a photo of Margaret Vaughn. Jonas found out from a friend where the photo was taken—Chelsea Market.”
“I’ve heard of that place. It’s fabulous. It’s in Manhattan, right? There’s shopping, food, and an office building too, I think.”
“That’s it,” Daisy said. “We think Margaret lived near it in the years before she met Rowan. After I asked, he looked through her old income tax forms to find out what her addresses were back then. He sent me a list of five of them. Do you want to help me check out if they’re near the Market?”
“Sure. I’ll feed Pepper and Marjoram. Do you want to get a snack to hold us over until we finish?”
Daisy had realized often over the past year that Jazzi was no longer a child but a maturing young woman. “How about carrot salad, farmer’s cheese, and some of those multigrain crackers that Tessa baked?”
“With that as a snack, I won’t need tacos.”
“You’ll be hungry for tacos. Looking up addresses is hard work.”
Jazzi gave Daisy a smile that told her she was probably right.
Daisy smiled back, thinking that this day had just turned around.
* * *
The Amtrak tr
ain that Daisy had picked up in Lancaster the following day zoomed on its way to New York City. It had been a long time since she’d been on a train. As this one clacked against the tracks, she tried to read. It was impossible. She thought about texting Jonas, then decided against it. She wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what she was doing. Apparently, he was consumed by what Zeke had told him. She couldn’t blame him for that, but she wondered where it left the two of them. An outsider might say what had happened with Brenda was in the past. Her relationship with Jonas was the present. So true. Yet she knew that the past could dog them whether they wanted it to or not.
Jonas had once believed in Brenda’s loyalty. And love. He’d first learned she’d betrayed him the night she’d told him she was pregnant. That night she’d also told him she’d had her IUD removed. She wanted a family . . . with him. They’d argued and, as Philadelphia PD partners, they’d headed to their shift together. After all, they had a murder suspect to question. When they’d arrived at the location where the suspect was holed up, he’d ambushed them. He shot and killed Brenda. While Jonas had tried to save her, the suspect had shot Jonas too.
Jonas’s shoulder—the way it stiffened up and he had to work it to keep it agile—was a daily reminder of what had happened that night. As if he needed one. He’d lost his lover and his child.
His child. That’s what he’d thought.
Now his paternity was in question. And Jonas was in turmoil.
Yes, she was right not telling him about this trip. It might lead to nothing. It might lead to something. She wasn’t in any danger. All she was doing was looking into Margaret’s background. She and Jazzi had worked finding the address closest to Chelsea Market. Rowan’s list had guided them. Only one address had made sense.
To Daisy’s surprise, as well as Jazzi’s, they’d used several search engines as well as address look-up sites. They hadn’t been able to find a viable phone number for the address. They had used Google Images and Zillow, finding that Margaret’s former address was a four-story, multimillion-dollar town house! Someone with that kind of money might do anything in their power to keep their phone number off the Internet. Today, she was going to find out who lived there . . . and whether or not they’d known Margaret.
Murder with Clotted Cream Page 22
