“Or passion, I suppose,” Clementine added.
Clementine’s eyes targeted Daisy’s. “Do you know what was in those sandwiches that killed Derek?”
“I do,” Daisy said honestly after only a few moments’ hesitation. “But I’m not supposed to say. All I can tell you about it is that someone had to know Derek to put in those sandwiches what they did.”
Still studying Daisy carefully, Clementine surmised, “So what you’re telling me is that it wasn’t a usual poison like arsenic.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” Daisy said.
Clementine got that. There was an underlying message, but Daisy hadn’t revealed specifics. “I talked to Miranda Senft since I last saw you. I didn’t get much out of her. She told me that one day she was in and the next day she was out. Derek had met someone at a food and wine festival and decided he wanted her as his co-host.”
“Birgit?”
Daisy refilled Clementine’s cup, then filled her own too. “Yep. Miranda wasn’t sure if there was a romantic relationship there or not, but she assumed there was, just as there had been with her.”
Clementine gave a low whistle. “So Miranda’s the main suspect?”
“She’s on my list. I know nothing about Birgit or where to find her. I’m not sure she’s in this mix, not if the show was canceled because of her or because of ratings.”
“Still,” Clementine said, musing, “if Derek dropped her because of it, she could be as angry as Miranda.”
“That’s possible. I did have an unusual visitor.”
Clementine added a teaspoon of sugar to her cup. “Who was that?”
“Leonard Bach. Have you run into him when you were following Derek?”
“Oh yes,” Clementine said. “Derek and Leonard Bach had an out-and-out scuffle in Baltimore when they both showed up to review the same restaurant. They acted as if they hated each other.”
“Bach is coming to our full tea service next week after Easter. I’m trying to be prepared. He says he wanted to pick up Derek’s fans from his blog.”
“Leonard Bach doesn’t have the following that Derek had. Although Derek could be scathing, once upon a time he had a great sense of humor. Bach is very cut and dried in his reviews. He ate this. He thought that. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not much narrative.”
“Right. So for that reason he’ll never be the star Derek was.”
Daisy supposed that if Leonard Bach knew that fact deep down in his soul, his rivalry with Derek might have led to murder.
* * *
Daisy felt at loose ends that evening. Jazzi had gone to Stacy’s to practice for the talent show on Saturday evening. There had been discussion at the PTA meeting at the beginning of the year about concern having the talent show Saturday of Easter weekend. But the activities schedule hadn’t permitted moving it to another weekend.
There were a hundred things Daisy could be doing. Instead of those, she sat on her bed with a legal pad on her lap. She wrote down the name of every suspect she could think of and what their motive might be. The last name she added to the list was Leonard Bach.
However, when she examined the list again, she circled June’s and Harriet’s names. She still believed that their secret, whatever it was, had to do with Derek’s murder. It was a hunch, but it could be why June was evasive about their past.
She could be off base. If she was, she was hoping Detective Rappaport was covering all of the other bases.
The more she thought about the two hours she had left before she picked up Jazzi, she knew what she wanted to do with the time.
Marjoram and Pepper had both jumped up onto the bed with her. She wasn’t sure if they thought she was their surrogate mom, or Jazzi was. Thinking of Portia, she told the two felines, “I suppose it’s all right to have two moms. We both care about you very much.”
She could only hope that Portia cared enough to maintain a relationship with Jazzi.
She looked once more at her list and decided she wouldn’t be able to rest until she talked to June and Harriet again. She didn’t want to alert them by calling. They could just ignore her call. But if she showed up with a container of chicken soup she’d brought home . . . She didn’t think Harriet would refuse the chicken soup.
Since daylight savings time had taken effect, she knew she had at least another hour of daylight.
Removing her lounge pants and T-shirt, she pulled on jeans and an oversized oxford shirt. Its yellow and blue pinstripes on a white background reminded her of spring. She didn’t bother with a jacket because she wasn’t going to be outside much. Enclosing her cell phone in her purse, she waved to Marjoram and Pepper who were napping. “I’ll leave the kitchen light on for you two.”
Marjoram opened her beautiful green eyes, raised her head, then closed her eyes and curled into a ball.
Daisy entered the side door of the garage and almost tripped over the head of the rake that she’d set just inside the door. There were other tools there too: a gardening spade, a hoe, and a Lesche shovel—a garden implement with a serrated blade. She was attempting to clean out the rear of the garage that would be the office for Vi and Foster . . . if they wanted it . . . if they liked her idea.
It took about ten minutes to reach the development where Derek’s house was located. Daisy parked along the curb of the cul-de-sac and went to the door, carrying the container of soup.
To her surprise, Harriet didn’t answer the buzzer from inside. Rather, June opened the door. “Hi there,” Daisy said. “I brought you and Harriet some soup. Harriet said she liked the chicken noodle.”
June smiled. “That’s so nice of you. Why don’t you come in? I’m afraid Harriet already went to her room for the evening. She’s been doing that after supper. She’s been sleeping a lot.”
Daisy followed June inside. “She’s probably depressed. I know any type of grief will do that.”
June headed for the downstairs kitchen. “Even after my husband and I divorced, I went through a grief period. It was almost two years until I felt I was really living again.”
Pleased that June was opening up about her personal life, Daisy went to the refrigerator. “Would you like this inside this refrigerator or in Harriet’s refrigerator upstairs?”
“I’ve been enjoying cooking in this marvelous kitchen. I made Derek’s recipe for shrimp scampi tonight. But Harriet hardly touched it.”
“Is she losing weight?”
“I’m not sure about that. She has a doctor’s appointment coming up. If she lets me, I’ll go with her. Would you like coffee? I made a pot of decaf. Or I have wine, if you prefer that.”
Daisy hadn’t known what to expect, but she hadn’t expected to be offered wine. Because June seemed more staid than that?
“A cup of coffee would be great. I have to pick up Jazzi, so I’d rather not drink wine right now.”
“Those are the words of a true mom,” June said. “You’re setting a good example.”
Daisy took a seat at the high island. Hopping up onto the stool, she put her feet on the bottom rung. When she thought about how Jazzi had gotten drunk, she wasn’t sure about that good example.
Switching the conversation back to June, she asked, “How long were you married?”
After taking two cups and two saucers out of the cupboard, June poured coffee into them. “We were married for nine years. He was from Erie, and I moved my life there to be with him. The divorce had me spinning my wheels for a while, but I got back on my feet. Although Jimmy denied it, it was the fact that I couldn’t have children that broke us up. Children can hold a marriage together. The lack of children can tear a marriage apart. All those expectations newly married couples have . . .”
Maybe if Daisy shared a little of her story—“I know what you mean. When Ryan and I tried to have another child after Violet, we couldn’t. We had a bumpy time for a while. But then we decided to adopt.”
June didn’t say anything to that. She brought the cups of c
offee to the island where a sugar bowl sat. After taking cream from the refrigerator, she offered it to Daisy.
Daisy added a little.
Apparently, the adoption idea had stopped June cold. Time to change the subject. “Do you still live in Erie now?”
“Yes. I do. I have a tailoring shop.”
“Were you and Harriet close when you were children?”
“Oh yes. Even though I was older, we still hung around together. We got into trouble wading in Willow Creek without permission, hiking through the cornrows, and playing hide-and-seek there. Those hot summer days were the best. We had each other, and nothing else mattered.”
“I have a sister, but we aren’t that close. Usually, I wish we were. But we’re so different.”
“Harriet and I were very much alike, except—” June stopped.
“Except . . .”
“It’s not important. I suppose you know we didn’t speak for thirty-five years. I think that changed both of us. We became more withdrawn, more introverted. But now everything is better again.”
“Do you wish you had visited Harriet sooner?”
Without any hesitation, June shook her head. “No, I don’t. There’s a right time for everything. And this was the right time for us.”
“My two girls are close. When Vi started college, Jazzi really missed her. She still does. Teens can get into a lot of trouble—with makeup, clothes, boys. Were you and Harriet like that?”
June took a few swallows of her coffee before she answered. “As teens, we weren’t very wild. Driving to York on a Friday night to see a movie was our main escape. I guess you could say we were quite dull.”
June changed the subject. “I’m hoping I can convince Harriet to go back to Erie and live with me there. I think that would be the best for her.”
“She might miss Bradley and Lauren and Chrissy.”
“She might. But most of the time I think she feels like a burden to them. She knows she wouldn’t be a burden with me.” Suddenly, June hopped up from her seat, went to the cupboard, and produced a beautiful teapot. “I know you’ll appreciate this. I bought it for Harriet this week . . . for when we have tea together.”
Daisy recognized the pot right away—it was a Royal Albert Old Country Roses. It was a particularly fine six-cup teapot. “It’s beautiful. I don’t have one of those in my collection.”
“It actually made Harriet smile. And now I know what I can buy her for Christmas . . . cups and saucers to go with it.”
From then on, the conversation turned to teapots, bone China, and delicacies June had tried at other tea rooms. Daisy was listening, but she was thinking at the same time. June didn’t hesitate to talk about her childhood with Harriet, but she always veered away from those teen years. She never went past the time when she moved to Erie as a newlywed. She’d told Daisy she’d been twenty-three. That meant Harriet had been twenty-one. It was easy to sense that June wasn’t telling Daisy the whole story.
Just what could that story be?
* * *
In the kitchen on Saturday, Daisy was mixing ingredients for the potato salad dressing. Violet would be home any minute. She didn’t want to miss Jazzi’s talent show. And Vi, Foster, and Daisy had more to discuss. Daisy had taken off today, and tomorrow was Easter Sunday. After lunch, Foster would be returning to the tea garden. Maybe then she and Vi could have a private conversation.
Foster had arrived a few minutes ago. He was in the living room talking with Jazzi. Any time Daisy had been around him at the tea garden this week had been awkward. Once they had this talk today, she hoped tension would ease. She had invited Gavin to lunch, but he’d refused. Even though he’d agreed to a few concessions for the couple, he insisted he still couldn’t rationally discuss it. He needed to calm down and accept what was happening. When he reached acceptance, he said he’d let her know.
As Foster entered the kitchen, he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her first instinct was to say no, but that wouldn’t patch up their relationship. She pointed to the counter. “I bought a loaf of sourdough bread. Can you cut it in slices for sandwiches?”
“Sure,” he said with a weak smile. After he opened the loaf of bread and placed it on the cutting board Daisy had set out, he took a bread knife from the drawer and began slicing. “Jazzi told me you went to visit Harriet and June on Wednesday evening. Did you make any progress with finding out their story?”
Foster had a stake in this, too, if he wanted business in the tea garden to pick up. Rappaport had cleared him as a suspect because of his alibi.
“I thought the evening would be a good time to visit Harriet, but apparently it wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t Harriet there?”
“Although it was early evening, she’d gone to bed. I asked if she wasn’t feeling well, but June said she seemed all right physically. She gets up late, naps every afternoon, and goes to bed early.”
Foster said what Daisy was thinking. “She could be depressed. A year after my mom died, Dad slept more than usual. He closed himself up in the bedroom. Ben and I shot hoops to deal with our feelings.”
“And your sister?”
“She had a friend who’d lost her dad, so they could talk about it together. That seemed to help her.”
“Talking usually does help.”
Foster took a sideways glance at Daisy over his shoulder. “Mrs. Swanson, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell you what was happening because Vi made me promise not to. She wanted to tell you herself.”
“Foster, you can call me Daisy. And I understand now. Of course, she wanted to tell me herself. But that put you in a very awkward position.”
He shrugged. “I’ll do whatever I have to for her . . . and our baby.”
He cleared his throat, then changed the subject back to what they’d been conversing about. “Did you talk to Harriet’s sister very long?”
Daisy smiled. “What you’re asking is—did I learn anything else about Derek.”
“I guess that’s what I’m asking.”
“June and I had coffee together. I got the feeling that June regretted not being there for her sister when Harriet’s husband died. She reminisced about her own divorce and her childhood with Harriet.”
“Any clues there?” Foster gathered the bread he’d sliced and piled it into a basket that Daisy had arranged with napkins for serving.
“She related stories about her growing-up years with Harriet. But she stopped when she reached the time period when Harriet got pregnant.”
“I wonder why.”
Daisy wondered the same thing as she mixed the dressing with the boiled and diced potatoes. “After high school June had apprenticed with a seamstress who sewed slipcovers and draperies. She did custom work but then she moved to Erie. She asked Harriet to go along with her, knowing she could learn the most that way and maybe open her own shop someday if she went along. She did mention Harriet went to Erie to have Derek. She didn’t say any more than that.”
“Do you feel she was leaving something out?”
“I do. I don’t think she was telling me the whole story.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the living room. Daisy heard the excited high-pitched voices of both of her daughters. She set the potato salad in the refrigerator and went to join them. They all hugged, and tears came to Daisy’s eyes.
Foster soon joined them. He hugged Violet, too, and gave her a kiss. After they’d all settled down, Daisy asked, “Do you want to talk first or eat first?”
Violet pushed her hair over her shoulder and exchanged a look with Foster. “Let’s talk first. I won’t be able to eat anything until I know what you’re thinking.”
When Pepper came over to Violet and rubbed against her ankles, Violet lifted the cat onto the sofa beside her. Maybe thinking she deserved the same amount of attention, Marjoram went to Jazzi. With a smile, Jazzi picked her up and sat her on her lap.
Daisy took a seat, too, and then told Foster, “I inv
ited your dad to join us.”
“He’s so angry that he doesn’t know what to say to me,” Foster admitted, turning a bit red.
“I know, but he’ll come around. Tell me what you’re thinking about your future.”
Vi and Foster were holding hands. Vi said, “We still want to get married as soon as possible. Somehow, we’re going to do this, Mom.”
“I kind of figured that. So I have an idea and I ran it by Gavin. I think it will help you make a budget and stick to it. I’ve always planned to finish the space above the garage. Now I have a good reason to do it. We can make it into an apartment. You can live there rent-free for the first year.” Then Daisy addressed Foster. “Your dad might be angry, but he loves you. He’s agreed to pay for furnishings if you and Vi can stick to thrift stores.”
Violet was crying now. Pepper rubbed her head against Vi’s arm. Vi released Foster’s hand and came over to hug her mom. “I don’t know what to say. I promise you that someday we’ll pay you back.”
“I want to know that this is what Foster wants too. He’ll be living awfully close to his mother-in-law,” Daisy said, half-joking and half-serious.
Violet turned to him. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m okay with it,” he said, a bit huskily.
“We can talk about the plans for the apartment later, but I want your input. You might start thinking about it.”
Still crying, Violet returned to sit next to Foster. “I’ve already sent résumés to businesses in Willow Creek and Lancaster to get a job until the end of my pregnancy.”
Foster added, “And Mrs. Wiseman has recommended me as a website designer to Arden Botterill. I’ll be handling her computer software setup as well as her social media. I opened a savings account for the baby.”
Daisy was still worried about this young couple. She knew they were certainly going to have their ups and downs. But instincts had told her Foster was a responsible young man when she’d hired him. He was proving that. So no matter what her thoughts were about this marriage and what they wanted to do about schooling, she’d try to support their dreams.
Isn’t that what parents should do?
Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches Page 20
