Two of Rachel’s daughters, Hannah who was twenty and Sarah who was sixteen, assisted her at Quilts and Notions.
Suddenly, there was a woman standing in the doorway to the yellow tea room. She asked, “Daisy Swanson?”
Daisy turned toward the strawberry-blond, tall woman with high cheekbones and a long, thin face. She was wearing jeans and a cowl-neck short-sleeve coral-colored sweater.
Daisy answered her, “I’m Daisy Swanson. How can I help you?”
Rachel patted Daisy’s arm. “I will come in soon for a cup of tea and a scone, I promise. But now I have to scoot.”
Daisy gave her friend a hug and watched her walk away, as her long skirt brushed the heels of her sneakers.
The tall woman approached Daisy now. “Your assistant said I’d find you in here.”
Daisy waited.
The woman shifted her purse from her left hand to her right and held out her hand for Daisy to shake. “I’m Clementine Hankey from Atlanta.”
“Are you interested in tea rooms?” Daisy couldn’t figure out why she was here.
“You could say that, but what I’m really interested in is information about Derek Schumacher.”
Daisy wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to this Clementine. “Are you a reporter?”
“I am. But I don’t want an exclusive story from you or anything like that.”
“What do you want?” Daisy asked bluntly.
“Can we sit for a few minutes?” Clementine asked her.
Daisy checked the main tea room and it seemed to be running smoothly. She motioned Clementine to a table. Just because she was suspicious about the woman didn’t mean she should be rude. “Would you like a cup of tea while we talk?”
“I’d appreciate that,” Clementine said, looking around as if for the first time.
Five minutes later Daisy returned with two cups of Earl Grey tea on a tray with sugar, as well as honey, and a dish with two chocolate scones. She placed the tray on the table and then sat across from Clementine. “You do know Derek Schumacher is dead.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not usually an investigative reporter, but this is a little different.”
“In what way? Do you intend to find out who murdered him?”
“If I can. I knew something was going to blow up, though I really didn’t expect it to end in his death.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Daisy advised her.
Clementine took one of the chocolate scones. After breaking off a piece, popping it into her mouth, and chewing, she took a sip of tea. “I followed Derek’s cable show when he was a famous chef, and I’ve been following his blog as long as he’s been writing it.”
“You report on food?” Daisy asked, curious.
“I’m a freelancer. I report on anything that I think will end up with a good story. I like working on five things at once, so Derek’s story was always in the back of my mind.”
“What story?”
“I became personally interested in him when he switched partners on his TV show. He and his co-host had been doing very well, but suddenly he switched from one female host to another.”
“And no one knew why?”
“That in itself is curious because news always gets out. But everyone was hush-hush about this. One day Miranda Senft was in, and the next day she’d been replaced by Birgit Oppenheimer, a blonde with much less talent.”
Daisy thought about her partnership with her aunt. “Is it possible that Derek Schumacher made a stronger connection with this Birgit?”
“Anything is possible, and TV is as cutthroat as anything else.”
“Did you ever meet Derek?” Daisy was beginning to feel that she knew him, so it was easy to use his first name.
“I didn’t actually meet him, but I was in the same proximity a few times.”
Daisy hoped she wasn’t talking to Derek Schumacher’s stalker.
Clementine was shaking her head. “I know what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t have a crush on him or anything like that. I never went to his personal residence. I was interested in his professional career because something just wasn’t right.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Ever since his show was canceled and he became a food blogger, a mean streak emerged. And it seemed to get even worse after his mother had a stroke.”
“You know about that?”
“Chefs and everyone in the cooking industry gossip. News makes its rounds as if it were a small town like Willow Creek. But stories also became distorted, so I decided to write a piece on Derek and get to the bottom of what was happening with him.”
“You couldn’t just set up an interview and ask him?”
Clementine took another sip of tea. “It’s never that simple. Believe me. With the reasons for the changes on his show so hush-hush, as well as why the show was canceled, I knew he wouldn’t tell me outright. I decided first to see if his reviews had merit. I ate at some of the same restaurants he ate at. But the last place I actually saw him was a coastal town in Maine when he was reviewing seafood restaurants. The reviews on one restaurant by other critics were stellar. Derek gave it a terrible review. So I drove to Maine, ate at the restaurant, and found the food delicious. I began to wonder if Derek was just burdened with too much responsibility. I heard his mother had moved in with him, but I’d also learned she was doing well. Still, when he traveled, he had to make sure she was taken care of. He had a home health aide, but his mother threw her out, so on his last few travels, his sister-in-law had stayed with his mother. It’s quite possible his mental state had something to do with the tough reviews, but I wanted to know.”
Clementine’s story pushed Daisy to wonder what review Derek had given the tea garden.
As if Clementine read her mind, she asked, “Do you know what review Daisy’s Tea Garden received?”
On Derek’s website, he listed upcoming reviews and posted expected dates when his opinion of the eatery would go live.
“I hadn’t received his review yet,” Daisy said. “Maybe the police know what it is, but I probably never will.”
“My guess is that they’ve confiscated Derek’s computer,” Clementine said, and Daisy knew she was right.
“So why are you pursuing this story now that Derek is dead?”
“None of the rumors I’ve followed about the show being canceled, about why he changed co-hosts, have panned out. I thought that was a bit suspicious. If there was a scandal, that type of thing always resurfaces . . . or something else happens. I’d like to be the first reporter to break the story. Since Derek was from Willow Creek, since his chef show began in Lancaster, since he died here, I think it’s a good place to start.”
Daisy summed it up. “So what you’re saying is that Derek’s bad professional history led to his murder.”
“I believe it’s an exceptional possibility.” Clementine ate the remainder of her scone. Wiping crumbs from her mouth, she declared, “This is delicious. If Derek didn’t give you a good review, then either something had spoiled his palate . . . or his peace of mind.”
Daisy knew either of those reasons could lead to murder.
* * *
The following evening at Daisy’s direction, Jazzi cut butter into the flour mixture in the bowl in their kitchen. “Why can’t I just use the mixer for this?” Jazzi asked.
“You probably could,” Daisy answered. “But the dough would be a different consistency after it bakes. I know baking is supposed to be all about science, but I just know what works when I want something to come out a certain way.”
“The chili smells good. Did you make it spicy?”
Daisy returned the glass lid to her slow cooker after stirring the chili con carne. “If you mean did I put three tablespoons of chili powder in there, yes, I did.”
Jazzi gave her mom a smile, then went back to cutting the butter with the pastry cutter.
All of a sudden Jazzi’s phone played a Gwen Stefani song that Daisy recognized. Jazzi changed he
r ring tone every week or so.
“Is it okay if I get it?” Jazzi asked Daisy.
Daisy had made a rule that none of them would take phone calls or texts while they were sitting down at dinner. But since they were still in the food preparation stage . . .
“See who it is,” Daisy said.
Jazzi wiped her hands on a paper towel, tossed it into the waste can under the sink, and then checked her phone. “It’s Portia,” she said, a bit breathless.
“Go ahead and take it. I’ll spoon the biscuit dough onto the cookie sheet.”
As Daisy did just that, she could hear the slow rumble of Jazzi’s voice in the living room. She couldn’t make out the words, and that was just as well. Jazzi needed her privacy as much as Daisy sometimes needed hers. This relationship between Portia, Jazzi, and herself was complicated at best, headed for disaster at worst. Had Portia spoken to her husband about her youth and how she had given Jazzi up for adoption? If so, it was a momentous moment in all of their lives.
Daisy slipped the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer for fifteen minutes. Then to distract herself from Jazzi’s voice that had risen a little, she opened the refrigerator and picked up the bowl of coleslaw that she’d made earlier. They could eat as soon as the biscuits were a golden brown.
Thinking about dessert, Daisy pulled two whoopee pies from the refrigerator. These were chocolate with peanut butter filling, Jazzi’s favorite. Maybe she’d put on the teakettle so they could have tea with their dessert. Suddenly, dessert seemed very important after Jazzi’s phone call, or maybe it was the conversation that having tea together usually produced that was important. Sometimes after a phone call with Portia, Jazzi clammed up. Sometimes she told Daisy about it in detail. The more detail, the more serious the conversation.
As soon as Jazzi entered the kitchen, Daisy could feel her daughter’s sadness. When she looked at Jazzi’s expression, Daisy just wanted to hold her in her arms. But she needed some signal from Jazzi on what she should do next.
“What happened?” Daisy asked.
Jazzi found her way to a stool at the kitchen island, sank down to it, and turned to face her mother. She shook her head. “Portia’s husband didn’t take the news well. He’s staying at a motel for a few nights while he thinks about everything. Portia was crying almost the whole time we talked. I feel so bad. I feel responsible.”
Crossing to the stool beside Jazzi, Daisy pulled it out and sat. Facing her daughter, she took Jazzi’s two hands in hers. “Portia’s marital difficulties aren’t your fault.”
“Yes, they are. Maybe I pushed too hard for her to tell him. Maybe she should have waited.”
“And maybe she should have told him before they were married,” Daisy decided firmly.
“Mom, that’s so judgmental.”
Yes, it was, Daisy conceded to herself. However, it was also what she believed would be the right thing to do. You couldn’t keep secrets from a marriage partner and have a good marriage.
“A marriage is based on trust, Jazzi. If one person lies or omits something important before taking vows, it always comes back to haunt them.”
“She thinks she would have lost him if she’d told him when they were dating.”
Oh, so they’d talked about that. “And what did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t know. I don’t know anything.” Tears began cascading down Jazzi’s cheeks and Daisy took her into her arms. She didn’t say anything more. What could she say? That everything would be fine? She didn’t know if it would be, and she wasn’t going to give her daughter false hope.
After a while Jazzi pulled away. “I still think this is my fault, and I should do something. Maybe I should talk to her husband.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Daisy insisted. “This is between the two of them. They have to solve it. You can’t do that for them. What did Portia say about contacting you again?”
“She said we should give it time. Now she doesn’t want to call me on the sly. She wants Colton to know about it when she does. But if he’s in a hotel and she’s at home, he wouldn’t know anyway.”
“Remember what I said about secrets. She probably feels she’d be lying if she did that. The only thing you can do for the moment is to give Portia and her family space as well as time. I know that’s going to be difficult, but you can’t push or it will only make things worse.” Daisy took Jazzi’s hand again. “Do you understand? It’s sort of like when Aunt Iris and your grandmother have a fight or an argument. Camellia and I or even Dad can’t step in and fix it. They have to do it on their own.”
“Do you believe love conquers all?” Jazzi asked with hope in her voice.
“I believe sometimes it can.” Yet Daisy thought to herself that most of the time, it couldn’t conquer what couldn’t be changed.
* * *
On Sunday after working at the tea garden with Daisy, Jazzi decided to go out to dinner with Iris. That gave Daisy the opportunity to go with Cora Sue to pay a condolence call to Harriet Schumacher.
Cora Sue drove. After chatting about tea services that afternoon, Cora Sue pointed out, “This is Derek’s neighborhood. Nice, isn’t it?”
From what Daisy could see in the dusk, the neighborhood was more than nice. But that didn’t surprise her. Schumacher had been a star at one time. If he’d saved his money and invested it wisely, he could have still afforded living here. The neighborhood was one of those on the outskirts of Willow Creek, much farther out than Daisy’s barn home. The area would have been rural if not for the development. It seemed like a small community with a convenience store, a gas station, and a pizza and sub shop. Daisy was glad Cora Sue had driven since she knew all about the area and exactly where she was going. Schumacher’s house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac.
As Cora Sue pulled into the driveway, she said, “I understand that Derek bought three lots—the one in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and one on either side so that he’d have privacy.”
Daisy whistled. “That must have cost a bundle.”
The house was a Colonial-style, a square with an emphasis on the entry door in the middle of the front of the house. There were paired chimneys, and the windows were framed by shutters, black against the white siding.
“The second floor has four bedrooms,” Cora Sue explained. “But Derek had the floor renovated for his mother. There’s a small kitchen and a full bath up there. He knocked out a wall to make a more open sitting area. The great room in the back of the house on the first floor became his master suite.”
“Is there a reason he didn’t give his mother the first floor if she has problems with steps?”
“That’s why he put in the chair lift. Since she likes quiet, he thought she’d have more privacy upstairs. I understand he sometimes had other chefs in and out, cooking up a storm. He also had friends who liked late nights. I think he felt more free being on the first floor himself with a large kitchen with the island to cook at. After all, the kitchen used to be the center of his life.”
Used to be. Again Daisy wondered what had happened that Derek’s show was canceled. Just low ratings? Or something else. Maybe something more sinister?
Cora Sue and Daisy exited the car and walked to the front door. There Daisy noted the video camera doorbell. It was probably part of a security system.
Cora Sue pointed to it and rang the doorbell. “When I press the doorbell, Harriet receives an alert on her phone. The app shows her who’s at the door.”
A voice came through the small intercom. “Cora Sue? I see you. Who’s with you?” Harriet Schumacher’s voice was clipped and terse.
“It’s Daisy Swanson from Daisy’s Tea Garden. She wanted to come along to pay her condolences too.”
Daisy thought she heard a harrumph, then there was a loud click at the doorknob. Harriet’s voice came over the intercom again. “Come on up. I just opened the door for you.”
“I’m surprised she’s using high-tech security,” Daisy noted.
“Ju
st because Harriet is in her sixties doesn’t mean she’s not up on the latest trends. I think she’s the one who found the system she wanted Derek to put in.”
Daisy could understand why Detective Rappaport was looking at Cora Sue closely as a suspect. She had ties to the family. Did many people? Maybe Daisy would soon find out.
After Daisy and Cora Sue entered the house, they closed the door behind them and heard it click. The stairway was directly in front of them and cut the second floor in half. As Daisy peered up the stairs, she spotted the chair lift at the top. She also saw a woman standing there with a four-pronged cane.
“Come on up,” Harriet said. “I have enough sweets that could kill a person with diabetes. Fortunately, I don’t have it. You can eat some of them so I don’t have to throw them out.”
Cora Sue leaned close to Daisy. “Harriet can be crotchety, but I like her. You never have to guess what she’s thinking.”
After Cora Sue and Daisy climbed the stairs, Cora Sue introduced Daisy to Harriet. Daisy took Harriet’s hand and said sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I got to know Derek just a little when he came into the tea garden.”
“Did he give you a bad review?” Harriet asked brusquely.
“I don’t know,” Daisy responded honestly. “He hadn’t put it on his blog yet.”
“That blog,” Harriet grumbled. “It’s probably what got him killed.” The older woman motioned to the living room. “I need to sit. My legs still get shaky now and then.”
The living room was decorated in shades of claret and pale pink, from the sofa and faux-suede recliner to the flowered valances. Even the marble-topped tables had a bit of pink in them.
Harriet sat in the recliner, put her cane along the chair, and then pressed a button so that the footrest came up. Daisy recognized the type of chair. It was one of those recliners that raised its seat so standing up was easier.
Cora Sue commented, “I thought your family would be here with you.”
Harriet took the chair’s control in hand and adjusted her sitting position. “I sent them all home. They were more of a bother than a help. The police have still been in and out, asking all types of questions. I wish they’d all just leave me alone.”
Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches Page 7
