Murder with Cinnamon Scones

by Karen Rose Smith

  Daisy felt her cheeks growing a little red. “It’s really not necessary right now.”

  Tessa motioned to her attic steps. “Go on. Yes, I’d like you to stay here with me, but I could use a few minutes to think about all this. Go on and talk to Jonas. You know you should.”

  No, she didn’t know she should. But he was looking at her as if he expected her to want to talk to him. Men.

  When Daisy had renovated the attic of the tea garden, she’d made sure it was heated and also had air-conditioning like the rest of the house. As she and Jonas went up the stairs located in the spare bedroom, she realized the temperature was a little cooler than on the second floor. But Tessa had said she didn’t mind that.

  Sunlight poured in from the pair of double pane windows at both ends of the space. Paintings were propped everywhere. Tessa painted realistic scenes and enjoyed doing animals. There were several of cats in yards and on porches with flowerpots, and some of dogs, too. Their furry faces and eyes were filled with expression. Many of the propped works were landscapes of the Lancaster countryside. There wasn’t much furniture up here—a purple brocade love seat, a floor lamp with a beaded, fringed shade. There was a craft light, too, so Tessa could aim light wherever she wanted it. She’d set a drop cloth under an easel and it was obvious that that painting was her work in progress.

  Two finished paintings were propped against the wall, and it was apparent they had the theme Morning Has Broken. The first painting was the morning winter sky, gold and orange and fuchsia with purple breaking the other colors. A horse and buggy were depicted with a misty shadow as part of the scene. The second painting depicted a half-risen sun gleaming across the fir trees in that area. Only a corner of the covered bridge was evident. The third painting that Tessa was obviously working on showed the covered bridge at its best in full sunlight. About half of it was finished. She was working on laying in the covered bridge amidst the other colors of sunrise.

  Studying the paintings, Jonas frowned. “We can only hope Rappaport doesn’t get a warrant and come up here to see these.”

  “Just because she painted the area doesn’t mean she killed Reese there.”

  “Why did you call Marshall instead of me?” Jonas asked in a low voice.

  Since all of her relationships were built on honesty, she admitted, “I didn’t know if you’d want me to call you. I hadn’t heard from you since New Year’s Eve. Even after Tessa and I stopped in at the shop, you didn’t call . . . or text.”

  Hurt must have sounded in her voice. Jonas’s expression softened and he motioned to the purple love seat. She went over to it and sat. A folding wooden chair was propped against the wall. He took hold of it and dragged it to the love seat and opened it.

  Sitting across from her, almost knees to knees, he confessed, “I didn’t call but I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together.”

  Uh-oh. She heard the underlying message there. A very big “but” was coming. “You’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. Does that mean we’re not going to enjoy any more time together?”

  After all, she wanted to be clear about this. After her husband’s death, she’d been hurt, lonely, angry, filled with pain so deep even when she cried it wouldn’t come out. After she’d been able to breathe again, take stock again, made the decision to come to Willow Creek, she’d also made several resolutions. She would not need a man to make her life full. She would not depend on a man again to fill any need. She would protect herself and her girls from caring for anyone who could love them and then leave. She wasn’t sure how she intended to do that, but it was one of the reasons she hadn’t dated since Ryan had died. Jonas had been the first man she wanted to date. She wasn’t sure how to tell him all that.

  He leaned forward a bit. “I came to a realization on New Year’s Eve when I spent the evening with you and Vi and Jazzi.”

  “Do I want to hear this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But I can only be honest about what I was feeling. I realized that night you deserve more than I can give. I let a woman down once before and I don’t want to do it again. The stakes are even higher now with your girls involved.”

  Because she was still smarting from not knowing where she stood, she bristled and leaned back. “If you don’t want to date me or even be friends, that’s fine. I’m not asking anything of you.”

  Because she knew she’d started caring about Jonas, because she didn’t want to take their discussion any further, she rose to her feet, turned, and said, “I have to get back to Tessa,” and went downstairs.

  Why did she feel as if they’d broken up when they’d never really been together?

  That was easy. Because they were often on the same wavelength. Because Jonas had been respectful and kind and compassionate with her. Because he’d seemed to care.

  In the living room, Daisy found Tessa sitting on the sofa, staring into space. She heard Jonas’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and then on the hardwood floors following her to the living room. He looked pained as if he’d wanted to say more and she hadn’t given him the chance. Why should she?

  Jonas looked from Tessa to Daisy, then ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll see if I can collect more information for you. Tessa, if I learn anything else, I’ll call you. Make sure you phone Marsh if Rappaport calls you.”

  After a glance at Daisy, he said, “I can let myself out.”

  As he left Tessa’s apartment, Daisy felt her breath hitch and her throat constrict a little.

  “What happened up there?” Tessa asked her.

  “Nothing happened. Jonas has his life and I have mine. I’m going to concentrate on the Quilt Lovers Weekend and help you stay out of trouble. I don’t need any romance in my life.”

  Tessa’s expression said she didn’t believe a word of what Daisy had just said, but Daisy was determined she was going to put Jonas Groft right out of her mind . . . and her heart, too.

  Chapter Five

  On Sunday, Daisy moved around the kitchen and dining area quickly, readying everything for dinner. The huge wagon-wheel chandelier cast a mellow glow over the area. Daisy had started a fire in the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that was a focal point on the east wall. The blue and rust braided rugs woven by a local Amish woman added another artistic touch with the furniture upholstered in blue and cream with a touch of green.

  Daisy had to admit she felt awkward around Portia Smith Harding and that’s why she’d invited her aunt Iris to join them tonight. Iris was always a good buffer between Daisy and her mom, so she thought her aunt would be a good buffer today too. In addition, Vi had asked Daisy if Foster could join them since she’d be leaving for college the next day and it would be her last chance to spend time with him.

  Of course, Daisy couldn’t refuse. She’d decided on a sit-down meal this evening because that seemed more conducive to conversation and getting-to-know-you time.

  Vi and Foster had their heads together over the mixer bowl. They were murmuring in low conversation when the mixer wasn’t running to mash the potatoes. Daisy worried about their relationship. How could she help it? They were so young. On the other hand, she and Vi had had all the talks they were supposed to have. She was over eighteen now. The rest was up to Vi unless she came to Daisy for advice. Daisy knew full well how too much motherly concern could push a daughter away. Her own mother had done that with her. Aunt Iris, on the other hand, had just always been there to give advice when it was asked for. Daisy still appreciated that quality about her aunt.

  As her aunt took broccoli from a steamer, then pulled a bowl from a knotty pine upper cupboard, Daisy mixed flour and water with a hand blender. She’d stir it into beef broth to make a gravy.

  While Foster held a bowl for Vi to spoon the potatoes into, Vi said to Daisy, “I’m going to leave early tomorrow morning, Mom. Bad weather is supposed to move in around noon. I’d like to get back before it does. I imagine Portia will want to do the same.”

 
The last snow prediction had only amounted to about four inches. But tomorrow’s forecast could be a different story. Winter in Pennsylvania was like that. “I’ll talk to her about it tonight before she turns in,” Daisy assured Vi. She was giving Portia her downstairs bedroom and Daisy would sleep on the pull-out sofa bed in the living room.

  Vi looked toward the living room where Portia and Jazzi were seated on the sofa paging through a photograph album Daisy had made. Pepper’s head and front paws were in Jazzi’s lap. Marjoram sat in a bread loaf position on the back of the sofa. “Portia and Jazzi seem to be getting along okay. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  Daisy looked that way too. Portia’s hair was black like Jazzi’s. She wore it in a short stylish cut. At thirty-two, she was younger than Daisy. “I’m not sure how I feel about it, honey,” Daisy said honestly. “Part of me is glad for Jazzi. She once told me she has a bit of a hole that needs to be filled up simply because she didn’t know who her parents were—her biological parents. And since your dad died, I imagine that hole feels even deeper. So if Portia can help fill her up again, I’m glad about that.”

  As Aunt Iris frowned, Foster said, “That’s an admirable attitude, Mrs. Swanson.”

  She lowered her voice. “Nothing admirable about it, Foster, because, on the other hand, I’m worried that Jazzi could get closer to Portia than she is to me.”

  “That will never happen, Mom,” Vi said loyally.

  Giving her a wan smile, Daisy said, “You never know what will happen when the heart’s involved.”

  Foster and Vi exchanged an intimate look, a look that said they were more than dating—they were involved.

  Daisy shoved her pangs of worry about Vi aside to concentrate on making the meal go well. She’d baked a recipe for brownies that she’d created for Valentine’s Day at the tea garden. She, Aunt Iris, and Tessa had taste-tested them many times. But this would be their first public appearance along with tea and flavored coffee. She was hoping for a long meal with lots of conversation. Maybe she’d have a better handle on Portia’s personality by the time dinner was over.

  Foster and Vi took the bowl of mashed potatoes to the round pedestal oak table with distressed wood. Daisy had bought the antique chairs at a flea market and refinished them herself. That had been part of her starting-over process.

  Iris broke into Daisy’s thoughts. “It’s a shame Tessa couldn’t join us.”

  “When I invited her, she seemed torn,” Daisy responded. “She offered to stay at the tea garden all day and close tonight. I’ll call her later to make sure she’s okay.”

  Once everyone was seated at the table, the conversation revolved around the food. Foster grinned at Daisy. “That pot roast smells delicious. You have to tell me how you make it.”

  “If you have a Crock-Pot, it’s easy,” Daisy told him.

  “Easy is good. I can put it on before class and we can have it for supper. Dad isn’t much on cooking. I mean he does it, but it’s because he has to. So burgers and tater tots are a big part of our menu.”

  Foster and his brother and sister had lost their mom. His father was doing the best he could on his own, and Daisy admired him for it. It wasn’t easy raising kids as the only parent. She was lucky she’d had her parents and Aunt Iris to help her transition to single parenthood when she’d returned to Willow Creek with her daughters.

  Jazzi took a forkful of mashed potatoes. “We should have these more often, Mom.”

  Portia looked Daisy’s way and gave her a knowing mother’s smile. Maybe they were more alike than they were different. After all, Portia had two children of her own.

  In the middle of the meal, Portia said to Daisy, “Jazzi tells me you want to give me your bed tonight. Really, the couch is okay for me.”

  Daisy shook her head. “I want you to have my room and privacy. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  Iris had been fairly quiet up until now, which wasn’t like her. They were almost finished with their main course when she turned to Portia and asked, “What’s your family doing today?”

  Daisy tried to give her aunt a warning look. She did manage to give her a hand signal that told her she wanted to cut off that conversation, but Iris ignored that with a little shake of her head. She was telling her niece she wasn’t going to back down and she wanted an answer.

  Silence reigned around the table as Portia’s cheeks turned red out of obvious embarrassment. But she didn’t say it wasn’t any of Iris’s business. She responded, “My husband, Colton, is out of town on business. That’s why this weekend was good for me to come up here. And my kids are with my sister today and tomorrow. The nice thing about working at home for myself is that I can take a day off whenever I like.”

  Daisy thought about working at home. Portia was a graphic artist who could probably do her work anywhere as long as she had a laptop with her. Daisy would miss the interaction with other people and knew she preferred conversation and friendly faces.

  Still ignoring Daisy’s signals, Iris followed up one awkward question with another. “Does your family know you’re here?”

  Portia hesitated and shook her head. “No, they don’t. My husband and my sister think I’m seeing college friends.”

  It was obvious that Jazzi was embarrassed for Portia, and Daisy hoped Iris could see that too. She quickly jumped in. “Vi, why don’t you tell Iris about your course load for the new semester. What’s your favorite class going to be?”

  On the same wavelength as Daisy, Vi answered immediately. “I know it doesn’t seem to fit with all the business administration courses, but I’m looking forward to Nineteenth-Century English Poets. They’ve been a favorite for a long time.” She glanced at Foster, who was sitting next to her. “They’re so romantic.”

  He just gave her a grin and Daisy almost wanted to groan.

  In a lower voice, Vi admitted, “It’s going to be hard going back after the break. My time won’t be my own again.”

  Daisy didn’t believe Vi was worried about her time. More than anything, she sensed her daughter didn’t want to leave Foster. But Daisy saw both of them returning to class as a very good thing. They needed to have their minds on something other than each other.

  * * *

  As Daisy peered out the kitchen window later that evening, she could see the lights of Foster’s car in the drive in front of the detached garage. Violet had grabbed her coat and gone outside to say good-bye to him in private. Daisy understood the need for privacy. She remembered young love, and hopefully, with the temperature below freezing, Vi and Foster wouldn’t be doing more than saying good-bye and kissing.

  She heard the sound of slippers on the stairs and suspected that was Portia coming down after saying good night to Jazzi. When Daisy had renovated the barn, the upstairs bedrooms with a bathroom had been perfect for her daughters.

  Daisy went through the dining area into the living room knowing it would be better if she made up the sofa bed and turned in too. Violet would be in shortly and they could all get some sleep.

  But first she needed to see if Portia wanted anything before bed. When the woman reached the bottom of the open stairway at the rear of the living room, she turned toward Daisy with a smile.

  “Would you like a cup of tea or hot chocolate before bed?” Daisy asked.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, a cup of tea would be good. I can make it myself.”

  Daisy studied Portia again. She was wearing a high-collared velour zippered robe in a beautiful shade of green. Her slippers matched and Daisy wondered if she’d bought the outfit just for this visit. Maybe she wanted to make a good impression, though Daisy didn’t consider the visit about impressions. It was about getting to know each other.

  She said, “I could use a cup of chamomile myself. How about if I mix a little peach in with it?”

  “Sounds good,” Portia agreed, and both women went to the kitchen. Daisy filled her copper teakettle and set it on the burner. She was grateful for the filtered water system in her house
. The type of water anyone used for tea could make a difference in the taste.

  She motioned to the eat-at island and asked Portia, “How about another brownie?”

  Portia gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Sounds good. I don’t usually indulge. It feels as if I’ve been watching my weight forever but this seems like a good occasion to forget about calories.”

  Going to the corner hutch in the dining area, Daisy removed a James Sadler teapot, cream colored with pink roses. Taking it to the kitchen, she slipped her tea infuser into it and filled it with three-quarters chamomile tea and a quarter of the peach mixture. Then she went to the island to sit with Portia to wait for the kettle on the stove to whistle. The brownies were stored in a can on the island. Daisy opened the decorative lid and pushed the tin toward Portia. Portia took out a brownie and pulled a napkin from a holder. However, she set it on the napkin without taking a bite.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “You’ve done a wonderful job with Jazzi. She’s so bright. She has so many interests, and she seems—” Portia hunted for the right word and finally found it. “Balanced.”

  “I hope that’s true,” Daisy said. “She had a tough time after Ryan died. Vi talked to me more about her feelings, but Jazzi kept a lot inside until she told me about her search for you.”

  Portia plucked off a corner of the brownie, popped it into her mouth, and ate it. The teakettle whistled and Daisy went to it and removed it from the burner. Then she poured the water into the teapot and waited for the tea to steep.

  Portia raised her head and her dark brown eyes made contact with Daisy. “I wish I had as much courage as you do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I hear the admiration in Jazzi’s voice when she talks about you. She told me how you continued on after your husband died, how you moved here with them and started the tea garden.” She motioned to the barn home. “How you bought this and renovated it. All the ideas to do it were yours. But mostly I admire how you’re raising the girls on your own.”