Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Derek Schumacher’s co-host on his cable show worked with him for a long time and very successfully. Her name is Miranda Senft.”

  “You said she worked with him a long time. What happened?”

  Her daughter had good deductive reasoning skills. “I don’t know, and that’s what I’d like to find out. It might not have anything at all to do with the murder, but it wouldn’t hurt if I connected with Miranda Senft and asked a few questions.”

  “Do you know where to find her?”

  “As you’ve taught me, I’ll start with Google.”

  “Do you want me to look her up?”

  Yes or no? Always decisions for a parent to ponder. But why not? This woman was a cook and nothing else, right? “Sure. Let me get my laptop. Is this going to interfere with your time for schoolwork?”

  “I have all afternoon and later tonight. If I can help you, I’d like to.”

  Daisy went to her first-floor bedroom. On her way to the small secretary desk, she glanced at the Sunshine and Shadow quilt on her bed. She’d found it in Bird in Hand and couldn’t resist. Her bedroom was almost like a walk into the past with antique pine furniture and a bowl sink in her bathroom that added another country touch. This room was a refuge. In a way her whole house was, and she wanted it to be that way for her girls too.

  When she returned to the living room, she sat on the sofa and opened the laptop.

  Jazzi took it from her, and with a speed Daisy still didn’t understand, her daughter found Miranda Senft’s website. Jazzi handed the computer back to her. “She’s still a cook. She’s teaching cooking classes at that gourmet kitchen shop in Park City Center. It’s called Potz.”

  When Daisy looked at the site, she could see pots was spelled with a “z.” There was a short bio on Miranda’s website that listed her credentials—a culinary school and her years working on Derek’s show. Daisy checked the hours for the shop easily because there was a link from Miranda’s site to Potz. The store was open today.

  “Do you mind if I go out for a little while?” she asked Jazzi.

  “I don’t care. I’ll keep an eye on Vi if you’re worried about her. I can always phone you if I need you.”

  That was certainly true. And she wouldn’t be that far away. All in all, she could be back in an hour and a half.

  “Okay, that sounds good. You do your schoolwork and I’ll go to the shop. Maybe we can both keep our minds off tonight until tonight.”

  Jazzi gave her mom a hug, and Daisy held her tight.

  * * *

  Daisy arrived home in plenty of time to check the pot roast, peel potatoes, start them boiling, and mix up and bake biscuits for dinner. She’d called to Jazzi and Vi when she’d returned home so they’d know she was in the house. Vi had called back that she was working on a research paper. Jazzi had said she’d be down soon.

  Soon turned into a half an hour, but that was fine. The only thing left to do was set the oak, distressed wood table for dinner. Daisy glanced at the chairs, which she’d found at a flea market. She’d refinished them herself. The act of rehabbing them had been therapeutic. Maybe she needed to do something like that again.

  Daisy could hear Jazzi’s footsteps as she came down the open stairway in the back of the living room, then into the kitchen. She’d changed into a pretty peach blouse and a pair of her good jeans.

  Jazzi kept her voice low as she asked, “Did you find anything out?”

  Daisy scooped biscuit dough into a muffin pan. “Not a lot, but some details that will help.”

  Jazzi opened the refrigerator door and plucked a carrot from the salad, popping it into her mouth. After she’d chewed and swallowed, she asked, “Like what details?”

  After making sure she had approximately the same size scoop of biscuit dough in each muffin hole, Daisy clicked off what she’d learned. “There was a clerk working there who knows Miranda Senft. Her shift is the same time as Miranda’s cooking lessons. She wouldn’t give me Miranda’s address—no surprise there—but she claimed I could find it in the white pages online. The most important clue was—the clerk told me that Miranda lives near Centerville. So when I get a chance, I’ll do sleuthing online.”

  Jazzi checked the kitchen clock that looked like a copper teapot. “You probably won’t have time before Foster gets here, and Vi doesn’t seem to want to spend any time with us until he does. What can I do to help?”

  “You can either set the table or mash the potatoes for me.”

  Jazzi made a face. “I’ll set the table. Place mats or tablecloth?”

  “Let’s do place mats tonight. I’d need to iron a tablecloth.”

  “No point going to any trouble,” Jazzi said.

  “Jazzi . . .” Daisy warned.

  Jazzi’s nose wrinkled. “She’s treating us like we’re the enemy, and I don’t like it.”

  “I know you don’t. But just think what a shock it was when she found out she was pregnant.”

  “Do you think it really was a shock, or could it have been planned?”

  “I certainly hope it wasn’t planned,” Daisy countered.

  “In a way, wouldn’t that be better? It would prove they weren’t careless.”

  Daisy had always tried to talk to her daughters about their bodies. Over and over she’d told them making love was the most natural and beautiful thing in the world . . . with the right person. It was part of life. She hoped she’d given them the values they’d needed to make good choices.

  So what exactly had happened with Violet? Maybe she’d find out tonight.

  It wasn’t long until Foster arrived, looking awkward and embarrassed. This time Daisy didn’t even try to have a conversation. She welcomed him into their home and had Jazzi call Violet. Then she went to the kitchen to put dinner on the table. The sooner it was on the table . . . the sooner they would talk.

  After they were all seated, had passed the platters around, and filled their plates with food, Daisy jumped right in. “Let’s start at the beginning,” Daisy said. “There’s a question I have to ask.”

  Both Foster and Vi looked a bit panicked. Daisy didn’t know how to make this any easier. “Was this pregnancy planned?” Her gaze found Violet’s and held.

  “No,” blurted out of both Violet’s and Foster’s mouths at the same time. Then Violet, looking indignant, shook her head. “Why would you ever think that, Mom?”

  “I was hoping it wasn’t, but I had to ask. Sometimes when two people are in love, they’ll do anything to be together. I thought that might be the case with you.”

  Foster and Violet exchanged a look, and Daisy didn’t know what that meant.

  They all spent a few minutes eating, though Daisy had no appetite at all. She saw that Jazzi was just picking at her food too. The tension around the table had cut all of their appetites, even Foster’s. He usually ate like a football player. But not tonight.

  Daisy knew she had to move forward with the questions and answers. “So tell Jazzi and me what your plans are.”

  Foster put his fork down and took Violet’s hand. “We’re in love, Mrs. Swanson. So getting married isn’t a hardship for either of us. It’s what we wanted for the future, but we realized our future just arrived early. We want to get married as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve been looking into apartments in Willow Creek and Lancaster,” Violet assured Daisy. “I’m also putting a résumé together. We’ll get married—nothing fancy. Maybe we’ll just go to a justice of the peace.”

  Daisy’s heart lurched. She didn’t feel that was the way to start a marriage. If her daughter was going to get married, she’d like to see her married in a church. She’d keep silent about that for now. “So you’re going to get married, find an apartment, and then jobs. Do I have that right?” she asked.

  Both Violet and Foster nodded. The driving force here was that they were in love. They had a starry idea of what married life would be, let alone what life and the expenses included in having a baby would mean.

  “W
hat if you can’t find jobs?” Jazzi asked.

  “Of course, we’ll find jobs,” Violet shot back. “Why would you even say that?”

  “Because maybe the only job you’ll find will be a minimum wage one,” Jazzi returned.

  To Daisy’s surprise, she realized Jazzi might have a grasp on what was involved in a marriage. Had she been observant of Daisy and Ryan’s marriage? Had she listened when they talked about expenses and finances? Had she noticed the times in the lean years when Daisy had been out of work and the money for groceries at the end of the week could be tight?

  It was hard to know. Maybe she and Jazzi would have that conversation sometime.

  However, now Daisy wanted to make a suggestion to the couple that might help them face reality. “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

  “What?” Violet asked warily.

  “First, are you going back to school tomorrow?”

  “No,” Violet answered quickly. “Foster and I have a lot of things to talk about yet. I’m going to leave Tuesday morning.”

  Daisy nodded as if that was a good idea. “All right. I’d like the two of you to prepare a budget for six months to cover everything you need for yourselves and a newborn.”

  “Mom, is that really necessary? Foster and I have other plans to make,” Vi complained.

  “Since you sprung this on me and Jazzi all of a sudden, I think it’s the least you and Foster can do for me.”

  Foster gave Violet a reassuring smile. “We can do that, Vi. It will only take a couple of hours. What do you want us to do with it then?”

  “I’d like the two of you to come for dinner again tomorrow night. Then we can talk about it.”

  “I don’t see the point,” Violet said stubbornly. “But we’ll do it if it means you’ll cooperate with us on the plans we want to make.”

  Daisy believed they had no idea how expensive those plans would be. She made eye contact with Foster. “Have you told your father yet?”

  “No. After dinner tonight, we’ll drive over and tell him.”

  Violet looked worried at the idea of telling Foster’s dad. She turned to Daisy. “Will you stand by us through this?”

  Daisy didn’t hesitate to answer. “I’ll always stand by you. But I want you to see the future realistically with a baby and without an education. Wouldn’t it be better if you wait to get married until you’re sure?”

  Foster shook his head. “I want to give the baby my name and take responsibility.”

  Daisy didn’t argue with him. She was hoping that if they made a budget and gained a practical view of what their life would be, they’d look for practical solutions.

  Maybe since they were tabling the discussions until tomorrow night, they could enjoy the apple crisp she’d baked for dessert.

  But she doubted it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Business was so slow the next day that Daisy had too much time to think. The weather had turned gray and drizzly. Of course, Violet and Foster were first on her mind, but Daisy’s Tea Garden was second. She was worried about the profit for the week since business was down. She suspected that the bus tours had taken Daisy’s Tea Garden off their list. Who could blame them? No one wanted to eat food that might have killed somebody.

  She spent time in her office doing everything that could possibly need doing. Finally, she gave up pretending she was busy and searched again for Miranda Senft’s name on the computer. The clerk at the mall had told Daisy that Miranda lived in Centerville, which was even closer to Lancaster than Willow Creek. As soon as she plugged in Miranda’s name and Centerville at one of the white pages sites, Daisy found the chef’s address. It really was scary how much information could be found on anyone.

  After telling her staff she was headed out for a while, she dashed through raindrops to the tea garden’s parking lot and slid into her PT Cruiser. Her van was parked in the lot also, but they hadn’t had to use it lately. It was for catering gigs, including parties. She’d had a couple of cancellations, and the calendar was empty for the next few weeks. She hoped that would change, but it might only change if she found out who had killed Derek.

  Last evening when she couldn’t sleep, Daisy had found reruns of Derek’s cable show on one of the foodie networks. Miranda had been attractive, polished, and even funny at times. She’d acted as Derek’s sous-chef, but it was easy for Daisy to see she executed excellent cooking skills. She might not be home when Daisy called. If she wasn’t, Daisy would try again some other time. Nothing was going to deter her from her path to return her business to full throttle. Vi’s pregnancy made that even more important.

  After allowing a horse and buggy to rattle by, she followed the directions on her GPS. Eventually, she came to a farmhouse on Centerville Road. The exterior was white clapboard with a closed-in windowed porch on the front and side. It looked like a huge house for one. Did Miranda have a family?

  Daisy checked the address again and saw that Miranda’s address had a “B” after it. What did that mean?

  Rain poured down and splattered her windshield as Daisy parked on the gravel driveway and walked to the front door. Running inside the glassed-in porch, she crossed to the front door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. Through the inside window, she could see that everything was dim. No sound or movement.

  Putting up the hood on her lilac trench coat, Daisy returned outside and thought about that B after the number. There was a path from the front of the house along the side, and she jogged around the corner. On the back of the house, there seemed to be a small addition. As she approached, she saw the house number with a B after it. Maybe this addition had been built as a rental property.

  Daisy went right up to the door and knocked, staying close to the building under a small overhang.

  The door was answered immediately. Miranda Senft stood there with a spatula in hand. The smell of tomato sauce wafted out the door.

  “Yes?” Miranda inquired with a smile that Daisy supposed was an invitation to introduce herself.

  “Hi, Miss Senft. My name is Daisy Swanson, and I own Daisy’s Tea Garden. Could I ask you a few questions? I know you worked with Derek and I’m trying to figure out who might have wanted to hurt him.”

  Miranda took hold of the doorjamb, ready to shut the door.

  Daisy quickly added, “I don’t know what happened with you and Derek. I don’t know exactly why someone put something in my food that Derek ate, but my business has been going downhill because the public thinks I poisoned him. Will you please talk to me?”

  Miranda took a huge deep breath, closed her eyes, then opened them again. “You aren’t the only one to have found me, you know. I’ve had reporters here. Of course, I sent them away too.”

  Daisy knew about reporters. A local reporter, Trevor Lundquist, had contacted her. She’d put him off by promising she’d give him an interview after the case was solved.

  “What about the police?” Daisy asked.

  “Not yet. But I suppose they’ll get around to me.” Miranda gave Daisy the once-over again, from her trench coat to her white work clogs, to her purse decorated with cats.

  “All right, come on in. But we have to talk while I cook. I’m trying a new recipe for pasta fagioli, and I’ll be showing others how to cook it tomorrow. I have to perfect it today.”

  “I saw that you were giving cooking lessons at Potz.”

  Miranda made no comment.

  Daisy unbuttoned her coat and let it slide over the back of the kitchen chair. This addition resembled a studio apartment. It was one big room, most of it kitchen. Daisy could see some expense had been put into the appliances and the granite countertop. On the other hand, the single bed at the back wall was covered with a light beige duvet. There was a door that Daisy suspected led to the bathroom. A corduroy love seat that looked as if it might have come from a thrift store sat near the bed.

  “Before you ask, I don’t have a TV. I stream on my laptop.”

  “So you do have Wi-Fi?”

/>   “It’s covered with my rent. I was lucky to find this place. The kitchen is all I care about.”

  This studio apartment gave Daisy an idea that might work for Vi and Foster. She might have to establish a line of credit or put a mortgage on her house . . . She roped her thoughts back where they belonged. “I saw you at the funeral home,” Daisy admitted.

  Again, Miranda remained silent.

  “The way you approached the casket, not giving Derek’s family any condolences, made me wonder about you.”

  Miranda stirred the sauce that was in a stainless-steel sauce pot. At the same time, she was browning ground beef in a frying pan on another burner. She gave it a stir too.

  Finally, she asked, “So how did you find out who I was? Derek’s mother?”

  “No, a reporter named Clementine Hankey.”

  “Ugh,” Miranda said with some vehemence. “She’s such a bother. She lets me alone for a while but then comes back at me. I wish she’d just go away.”

  “So why was your behavior different than most at the funeral home?”

  Miranda kept stirring the ground beef. After adding oregano, pepper, and thyme from the spice rack hanging above the stove, she turned slightly. “You really should leave.”

  “I imagine the police are going to ask you these same questions. You can use me as a practice run. I promise, I won’t tell any reporter what you tell me.”

  “Why am I supposed to believe you?”

  Miranda’s question revealed that she felt hurt and angry.

  “Because I’m giving you my word. If you’d like, I’ll let you call and talk to any one of my staff. I keep my promises, Miranda.”

  Daisy could swear she saw Miranda’s eyes glisten for a moment, but she turned back to the stove, switched the heat down on the ground beef, and sighed. “I was angry at Derek. He was dead in that casket, and I almost wished I had been the one who killed him.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No, I didn’t. We’d had some good times. Derek and I had a great relationship on and off the show for years. Our ratings were high.”