Murder with Lemon Tea Cakes

by Karen Rose Smith

  Cade’s brown eyes didn’t waver from her blue ones. “You’ve just made my day.”

  His expression told her there could be more than friendship on his mind. Had she just made a mistake?

  * * *

  Daisy’s house was different than most. It once had been a barn!

  She parked on the gravel in front of the building that had once been an equipment shed. Now it served as a detached two-car garage. Cade pulled up beside her. They’d agreed to meet here at seven-fifteen, and he was right on time.

  “How come you asked him to dinner?” Jazzi asked from the passenger seat, curiosity in her voice.

  Daisy switched off the ignition of her purple PT Cruiser and gave her daughter her full attention. “I’ve known Cade for years. He went out of his way to negotiate the best deal for the barn and for the tea garden property. Asking him tonight was just an impulsive decision. Do you mind?”

  Jazzi gave her a one-shouldered teenage shrug. “I guess not. I have friends over. You can have friends over. I just wondered if you’re . . . forgetting about Dad.”

  Daisy reached out and put her hand on Jazzi’s arm. “I will never forget about your dad. I promise.” This particular subject had never come up between her and her daughters. She was glad Jazzi felt so deeply about her father. Where Violet had been born from Daisy’s womb, Jazzi had been adopted. She and Ryan had worked hard to make sure Jazzi knew she was a child of their hearts as much as Violet was.

  Jazzi pulled away, unfastened her seat belt and opened her car door. “I’m not going to hang with you guys anyway. I have a paper due in a few days.”

  She was out of the car before Daisy could take another breath. Just what was going on with her? Fifteen-year-old angst? Or something else?

  As Cade joined Daisy and walked with her up the path leading to the house, he glanced up at the multi-paned window that had once been a hay hatch where hay bales had been hauled into the barn and out. A smaller window above that one let light into the attic space. A floodlight at the peak of the roof had gone on with dusk, and Daisy could catch a glimpse of the blue plaid curtain that draped the window in Jazzi’s room. The second floor had been divided into two bedrooms with a bath and had suited her daughters perfectly. Jazzi had chosen white-washed furniture as well as a spread that was blue trimmed in white. Violet’s room, however, was less country and more contemporary, with sleek-lined walnut furniture. The drapes and spread were hues of green.

  “You know,” Cade said, “I couldn’t envision this the way you did. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

  Cade had witnessed the outside makeover with its barn-red siding and repointed and cleaned stone base. White trimmed the windows as well as the dormers. But he hadn’t seen the structural changes inside. Ryan’s insurance money had made this new life in Willow Creek possible. She’d always be grateful for that.

  “You can have the five-cent tour. Anyone who comes to dinner gets it.”

  Jazzi had her own key. She’d already unlocked the wide white front door and punched in the code to switch off the security alarm.

  As soon as Cade stepped inside the barn house, he whistled. “Wow! You should do this for a living.”

  “Decorate barns?” she asked with some amusement.

  “No, buy them and redesign them.”

  He was staring at the open stairway to the rear of the living room. A huge wagon wheel chandelier lit up the area which was open to a dining area and kitchen. A floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace was a focal point on the east wall.

  “Come on,” Daisy said. Leading Cade into the kitchen area, she motioned down a short hall. “My room’s down here.”

  Cade went down the hall, and Daisy knew he could see the sleigh bed.

  “A Sunshine and Shadow quilt,” he said when he returned to the kitchen.

  “It’s my mom’s favorite design. When I saw it in a shop in Bird in Hand, I couldn’t resist it. I put one of those bowl sinks in the powder room and my bathroom to add a country touch.”

  “The antique pine furniture does that too.” Cade admiringly shook his head again. “You did this all yourself?”

  “I did it with the help of Mom and Iris and the girls. It was a joint project. I especially wanted Vi and Jazzi involved so it would feel like home to them.”

  In the living room once more, Daisy tried to see the entire space through Cade’s eyes. The furniture was all upholstered in blue, green, and cream. The braided blue and rust rugs had been woven by a local Amish woman.

  Jazzi had run upstairs to her bedroom to drop her backpack. Daisy smiled when she noticed her two cats, who had started down the stairs. Was Cade an animal person?

  “Are you going to introduce me to the rest of the family?” he asked Daisy, pointing to the stairway.

  The cats apparently sensed another friendly human because they descended the rest of the stairs. Daisy motioned to Marjoram, who was a tortoiseshell with unmistakably unique markings. One side of her face was mottled like a tortoiseshell in tan, brown, and black. The other side was completely dark brown. Various colors including orange to cream spotted her back and flanks, while her chest was a creamy tan and rust.

  “This is Marjoram,” Daisy said as she scooped up the cat and cuddled her against her body. The other feline, black with white fluffy spots on her chest, crossed to Cade, sat on his shoe, looked up at him, and gave a small meow.

  “That’s Pepper,” Daisy added with a smile.

  “How old are they?” Cade asked.

  “Probably about eighteen months. We found them last fall in the garden, hence their names Marjoram and Pepper.” After another cuddle—the tortie couldn’t abide cuddling for long—Daisy let Marjoram down to the floor. “Another cup of tea before I put supper on the table?” she asked.

  Pepper moved from Cade’s shoe, walked a circle around his legs, then crossed to a deacon’s bench under a window and settled on an afghan there.

  “What kind do you have?” Cade asked.

  “I have an Assam that I like. It’s a black tea from India.”

  “If you brew the tea, you have to give me something to do.”

  “Guests don’t have chores in the kitchen,” she told him as Marjoram joined her sister on the bench.

  “Consider it a contribution,” he said. “What can I do? Really.”

  “You can toss the salad. I’ll warm up the bread.”

  They worked companionably together as Daisy brewed tea, popped the bread in the oven, and watched Cade slice the carrots at the island. She pulled a basket from one of the knotty pine cupboards and lined it with a napkin, preparing it for the warmed bread. It had been over three years since she’d worked beside a man in the kitchen. Ryan’s cancer had taken him so fast, they’d hardly had time to say good-bye. Not nearly enough time. But she shouldn’t be thinking about loss now, not if she wanted to move on.

  “I really appreciate this. Home-cooked meals are hard to come by,” Cade said as he set the salad bowl on the table.

  The round pedestal table was oak with a distressed wood finish. The chairs were antiques that she’d found at the flea market and refinished herself. All of it had been part of rehabilitation, grieving, and starting over. For the most part, it had worked.

  “Are you saying you live on my scones?” she joked. A former dietician, she was aware of eating habits, both good and bad. When Cade did stop in at the tea garden, he usually bought a dozen scones. He’d told her that he often froze them and pulled them out when he needed them.

  “Of course, I don’t just live on your scones,” he answered, faking injured pride. “I can fry burgers and cook an omelet.”

  When Daisy looked at Cade, she saw the man he’d become, but she also remembered the boy he’d been. “Why haven’t you ever married?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe after our prom date, no other woman could compare to you.”

  His explanation stunned her for a moment, and before she could decide whether he was serious or not, her cell phone rang. It was
n’t exactly a ring. It was a sound like a tuba bellowing.

  Cade’s eyebrows arched.

  “It’s the only ringtone I can hear when I’m in the tea garden with customers.” She saw her Aunt Iris was calling. “It’s Aunt Iris. Excuse me for a minute?”

  He nodded. “I’ll take the bread from the oven.”

  Daisy moved into the living room and answered the call. “Hi, what’s up?” Maybe Harvey wanted to change their plans for tomorrow afternoon in his store. Maybe he wanted her to bring a particular tea.

  “Harvey just left.”

  “You’re still at the tea garden?”

  “We were talking,” her aunt said defensively, and Daisy knew she’d better back off with any disapproval she might be feeling.

  “Were you talking about tea at his shop tomorrow or the party on Sunday?”

  “Both. He finalized everything he wants served for afternoon tea service on Sunday. But that isn’t why I’m calling.”

  Daisy waited.

  “Harvey left because he received a phone call from his lawyer. It’s about the divorce settlement.”

  “I thought all that was finalized.”

  “He did too. But apparently Monica made new demands, or else changed her mind about something they’d already agreed on. He didn’t go into detail. He said he had to leave and take care of it. He didn’t want anything to hold it up. I think he was going to see his lawyer . . . or maybe even Monica. He didn’t say exactly.”

  Daisy could hear the worry in her aunt’s voice and the fear that maybe the dreams she was beginning to weave weren’t going to come true.

  “Aunt Iris, what would you say if I told you I was dating a man who wasn’t divorced yet?”

  Iris was silent for a few moments, but then she said, “I’d tell you to be very careful. I’d tell you to keep your eyes wide open and listen to your sixth sense.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?”

  “I am. Harvey Fitz is one of the special ones. He’s worth waiting for.”

  Daisy wasn’t sure of that. She wasn’t sure of that at all.

  Chapter Two

  The following afternoon, Daisy noted the latest styles in men’s clothing for fall as she put the finishing touches on the dessert and tea display at Men’s Trends. Shawl-collared sweaters were back, as well as waffle-knit pullovers. Color-blocked hoodies hung on the racks with raglan crewneck sweaters.

  Ryan had preferred classic cable-knitted sweaters, but then he’d been a traditional, or maybe you could say an old-fashioned, kind of guy. He never would have worn the leather jacket trimmed with fur, or the black and orange anorak. He might possibly have tried on the double-breasted peacoat, simply because it was retro and might have appealed to his traditional sense. As far as sport coats . . . he also might have succumbed to buying the houndstooth blazer, but not with its notched lapels. The black sharkskin would have been out. Definitely forget the plaid. He would have asserted that the floral blazer didn’t belong in the store.

  But Men’s Trends was all about trends, from Hugo Boss to Kenneth Cole to Saint Laurent and Brioni. Harvey Fitz also took measurements for custom-made suits. He had an impeccable reputation as a men’s clothier, and Men’s Trends was the reason why.

  Daisy added a sprinkle of powdered sugar to the double chocolate chip cookies. She knew the cookies would melt in anyone’s mouth.

  Turning her attention to the sandwich tray, she was pleased Tessa had created the triangles with avocado pepperoni spread and others with smoked turkey and farmer’s cheese. For now, they had steeped Earl Grey tea and a peach-infused green tea. Harvey’s manager, Bennett Topper, had helped her move in three tall tables this morning where customers could stand, sip tea, and eat dessert. That had seemed the prudent thing to do.

  As customers stopped by to sample the cookies and sandwiches she displayed, she could hear snippets of conversations that told her these men and women came from a pay echelon she’d never reach. They spoke of trips to Europe and BMWs, cruises in the Mediterranean and excursions to Thailand.

  Just how rich was Harvey Fitz?

  As so often happened, the people flowing around the dessert and tea table paid her no mind. It was as if she were just part of the furnishings. She didn’t feel that way when she was serving at Daisy’s. There, conversation was everything. It was critical to the success of her endeavor. Customers came to talk and relax. Businessmen wanted efficient service. The word was spreading that she provided conversation, relaxation, and darn good food.

  Daisy was keeping the water heater for the tea in the break room next to Harvey’s office. Now Tessa came down the short hall carrying two teapots covered with embroidered cozies. She set them into place on the display between twinkle lights, flower arrangements, and the array of desserts. She added Asian pear white tea and pomegranate tea to the other selections. The pomegranate was one of Daisy’s favorites. It was a blend of Ceylon black tea from Sri Lanka with a sweetly tart pomegranate flavor.

  “Quite a crowd,” Tessa said as she readied cups and saucers.

  “Do you think they’re here for the tea or the fashion?” Daisy joked.

  “More likely for the free desserts,” Tessa returned with a wry smile.

  Abruptly, Daisy’s concentration was distracted from tea and dessert and shifted to a woman rushing after Harvey Fitz in between the tie racks.

  “Harvey. Don’t walk away from me like that,” the woman protested. “I know your divorce is going to be final, and I think we should talk.”

  Bennett Topper, the store’s manager, smoothly stepped between the woman and Harvey.

  “Miss Darren,” Bennett Topper said, “Mr. Fitz is handling his twenty-fifth anniversary open house. Now isn’t quite the time for conversation. Maybe you could make an appointment with him for next week.”

  Harvey swiftly escaped into his office and shut the door.

  Daisy couldn’t help but wonder what his connection was to this Miss Darren. She really didn’t have the right to know. On the other hand, if her Aunt Iris was involved with Harvey, maybe she did.

  A couple who had been hovering near the shirt display suddenly moved closer to the desserts. They each nodded to Daisy. The man picked up a chocolate chip cookie, the woman one of the lemon tea cakes. They seemed to dismiss Daisy as they turned away.

  With shoulder-length, wavy blond hair and blue eyes, Daisy was usually underestimated. Because of the blond hair? Not exactly. But teachers, and in her adult life businesspeople, seemed to think she was window dressing and not particularly serious-minded. That was before they got to know her. After they did, they realized she could be as serious as a category-four hurricane when she was determined to do something . . . or when anyone she loved was threatened.

  For now, however, as she assembled teacups and saucers, she listened to the couple’s conversation. The man said, “That Darren woman has been after him for years. Now that Harvey’s finally getting a divorce, she probably wants to hook up.”

  “Maybe she didn’t hear about his latest will change,” the woman responded. “First of all, he could lose half of his assets in his divorce. But Agnes told me that he was changing his will to reflect his divorce proceedings. He’s giving everything to charity.”

  “Even though he has a son and daughter who expect to inherit?” the man asked.

  “Agnes said he’s disinheriting them because they feel entitled to everything he has. His boy, Daniel, isn’t satisfied no matter where he takes a job.”

  “I heard that when Daniel worked here, he tried on clothes more than he sold them.”

  “And Harvey’s daughter is just like her mother. She spends every penny she makes. Neither of them deserves his fortune.”

  “They’re his kids,” the man reminded her.

  “Exactly,” the woman agreed. “They’re his children. But do they even visit him, have dinner with him, spend any time with him? They’ve taken their mother’s side in the divorce, so why should he leave them anything?”

>   All of this was news to Daisy, and she wondered if it would be news to her aunt too. After all, if Aunt Iris was serious about Harvey, she’d have to deal with his children and possibly his ex-wife.

  Aunt Iris was soft-hearted, and Daisy couldn’t imagine her in a world where she had to deal with the likes of Miss Darren . . . and maybe even Harvey’s wife.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Daisy reduced her speed as she approached the slanted parking spaces with hitching posts for the tea garden’s Amish customers who drove horse and buggies. She turned her van left onto the lane that led to the rear of the property and a few private parking spaces. Handicapped customers could use this parking area. She always parked here when she was serving tea off the grounds and had to load up the van or empty it after an off-site party.

  Afternoon tea inside should be over by now. Iris, Karina Post, a temporary employee who helped mainly with the afternoon teas, and Cora Sue Bauer would be clearing tables and serving any of the after-work crowd who joined them on a Friday afternoon. Eva would be tending to the kitchen.

  Before Daisy and Tessa exited the van to go inside, Tessa asked her, “Are we really ready for Sunday and Harvey’s official anniversary party?”

  “We’d better be ready. He’s renting out Daisy’s for the day and paying us big bucks.”

  “We need to do it more often. It would help the bottom line.”

  Daisy knew that, but she also hated to close the tea room to her regular customers. “I’ll be coming in around six AM Sunday morning to make sure the lemon tea cakes are freshly baked. The other cookie and scone dough will be ready to be scooped and baked too. But we’ll mix up those batches tomorrow,” she reminded Tessa. “All the ingredients for the salads will be prepped and ready, along with the dressings. The mini cheesecakes just need to be thawed, and I’ll start the soup before I begin anything else.”

  “That new recipe for leek and potato soup?”

  “I think that will be a good one.”

  “Will Karina be helping us serve?”

  “Jazzi, Karina, and Cora Sue will be doing most of the serving. Iris will watch over the tea brewing, while you and Eva handle the kitchen. I think we’ve got it all covered. How about if we go in and have a cup of tea ourselves before we start to unload?”