“I liked Aunt Iris’s pot pie just the way it was,” Daisy protested automatically. “I think everyone else did too.”
She wasn’t even sure her mother had heard her as Rose stepped closer to her and lowered her voice. She glanced at Tessa, who was in the kitchen with Iris. “I wanted to talk to you about Tessa,” she whispered.
“What about her?” Daisy asked.
“You need to stay clear of her situation, and maybe even clear of her.”
“Mom’s right,” Camellia seconded. “You don’t want any suspicion falling on you, and it’s not good for business if the police are around the tea garden.”
“First of all,” Daisy said, “the police haven’t been around the tea garden much. And most important, Tessa is my friend and I won’t desert her. She didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m going to help her however I can.”
Her father had stepped forward again so he was in the conversation too. She could feel her mother’s disapproval emanating from her frown and her narrowed eyes.
Daisy’s father patted her shoulder. “You should do what you think is right.”
Her mother gave her dad a why-did-you-tell-her-that look, but then she launched from one touchy subject into another. “You really didn’t tell me how Jazzi’s weekend went with Portia Harding. Every time I asked you when we talked, you evaded it.”
Daisy wasn’t going to let her mother draw her into this conversation, either. Her own feelings about the matter didn’t seem important compared to her daughter’s.
She beckoned to Jazzi, who’d been folding the tablecloth from the dining room table.
Jazzi came over with a smile.
Daisy draped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I think Jazzi needs to tell you herself. Your grandmother wants to know how your weekend went with Portia.”
As she expected, Daisy could see her mother also disapproved of her bringing Jazzi into this conversation. Her sister, however, gave her an approving nod as if she understood why Daisy had done it.
As usual, Jazzi didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. “I’m getting to know Portia a little at a time. I like her. The fact that I’m in her life is monumental for her, so we’re both going to have to deal with that.”
“Deal with it how?” Rose wanted to know.
Jazzi shrugged. “She hasn’t told her family about me yet, and I won’t push her to do that.”
Rose looked stunned at that news, and Camellia appeared troubled.
From their expressions Aunt Iris must have guessed they weren’t having the kind of conversation Daisy or Jazzi appreciated. She called, “Camellia. Rose. Would you like to take pot pie along with you? You can warm it up for lunch tomorrow. And Sean. How about helping me carry all those teacups of Daisy’s out to her car.”
“Sounds good to me,” he called back.
Once again Daisy’s aunt Iris, as well as her father, had saved her and Jazzi, too. She’d think of a special way to thank both of them.
When Tessa looked her way, Daisy could see that her friend appeared to be acting like her normal self. This party had been good for her, too. As far as Daisy knew, no one here had asked Tessa probing questions or put her on the spot. Daisy had meant what she’d told her mother. She would do anything she could to help Tessa.
She just had to figure out the best way to help.
Chapter Eight
Daisy’s lunch with Cade at Sarah Jane’s was thoroughly enjoyable. He didn’t bring up one controversial topic and neither did she. When they drove back to the tea garden, he came around to Daisy’s side of his car and opened the door for her.
Taking her hand, he held it as he walked her to the tea garden. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said.
He was wearing a topcoat today over his suit. She thought she could read interest in his brown eyes, but not anything more. He touched the ends of her hair, then he said, “Have a good rest of the day. I’ll see you soon.”
So he didn’t kiss her. Had this been a date? Was he interested in more than having lunch?
After a sigh, Daisy wondered if the world really could revolve without men. Maybe women could just take it over and run everything. Well, almost everything.
Daisy ran up the steps to the porch. She always enjoyed the look of the pale green Victorian with its yellow and white trim. As soon as she opened the door and stepped through the front entrance of the tea garden, she looked past the customers having cups or mugs of tea with the day’s special of corn bread or the cinnamon scones that were selling so well. Immediately she saw Marshall standing near the kitchen talking to Tessa. More bad news? she wondered.
As soon as he spotted her, Marshall went into her office and beckoned to her and Tessa. She stepped inside with him, unzipped her jacket, and asked, “What’s going on?”
Tessa sank down onto one of Daisy’s chairs. “More bad news.”
“It’s not necessarily bad news,” Marshall protested. “Some of the forensics is in.”
“And?” Daisy asked, hanging her jacket on the clothes tree.
“We know for certain that Reese wasn’t killed near the woods at the covered bridge. He was killed elsewhere and the body dumped there.”
“Where was he killed?” Daisy wanted to know. That could certainly point to the murderer.
Marshall and Tessa both shook their heads at the same time, but Marshall answered. “They don’t know. What are they going to do, scour the whole town looking for blood?”
At the mention of blood, Tessa paled.
Once more, Daisy turned questioning eyes to Marshall.
“The police also found blood in the back of Reese’s SUV—his blood,” Marshall explained. “Apparently, that was the vehicle that moved the body. Hence, all those questions to Tessa about whether she was in his SUV or not. And they did find Tessa’s fingerprints on the steering wheel.”
“They’re going to arrest me,” Tessa murmured.
“The same holds true today that held true the other times the police questioned you,” Marshall scolded. “They don’t have enough evidence to arrest you. You told them you drove Reese’s SUV so, of course, your fingerprints are going to be in there. They’re going to be in other places, too, because you rode in the vehicle. They might even be in the back because that’s where you loaded the picture frames. You told the police that.”
“But that doesn’t mean they believe me,” Tessa almost wailed.
“They don’t have to believe you, but they do need to find concrete evidence to dispute what you’re saying. They haven’t done that.”
Daisy thought she heard a “yet” at the end of that sentence, but she was glad Marshall hadn’t said it or Tessa might really jump off the deep end.
“So what do we do now?” Daisy asked.
“We wait. There’s nothing else we can do. We can’t disprove a negative. We can’t prove Tessa didn’t kill Reese. The police have to prove she did. And not only do they have to prove it, they have to find enough evidence that the DA will charge her. I’m sorry, Tessa, but you’re just going to have to take one day at a time, one hour at a time. That’s all you can do. Yell, scream, paint, walk, drive if you have to. But try to stay as centered as you can. That will help you with dealing with all of it.”
“She already knows that,” Daisy said. “She meditates.”
“I don’t think she’s been meditating recently,” Marshall said with a twinkle in his eye.
Tessa rose to her feet. “Right now I’m going to bake and then maybe I’ll wash teapots. If I keep my hands busy, maybe my mind will follow.” She went into the kitchen, her smock flowing out behind her, pulled out the flour bin, and started measuring flour into a bowl.
“Is there anything I can do for her?” Daisy asked.
Marshall shook his head. “Not really. Try to keep her positive but realistic. I don’t know if Detective Rappaport will come up with anything else. My guess is, he’d love to search her apartment. But he doesn’t have grounds. I’d like to keep it
that way. I’ll say good-bye to Tessa on the way out. Hopefully, neither of you will need me anytime soon.”
Marshall gave her a wave, stopped at the kitchen to do the same with Tessa, and then headed out the tea garden’s front door.
Daisy had no sooner turned around, put on her apron, left her office, washed her hands, and gone to the counter where Tessa stood when Iris came into the kitchen and said, “There’s somebody here to see you.”
Daisy didn’t recognize the man standing at the cashier’s desk. He was about six foot tall and looked vaguely familiar. His hair was sandy brown, parted to one side. His nose was long, his jaw square. He was wearing jeans and his red down jacket was open over a plaid flannel shirt.
Daisy and Iris went to the sales counter.
“This is Daisy Swanson,” Iris said.
Daisy studied the man. “And you are?”
He extended his hand to her. “I’m Gavin Cranshaw, Foster’s father. Can I talk to you privately?”
He was a good-looking man with a bit of a rugged appearance. Apparently, they were going to talk about Foster but she didn’t understand why. “How about hot tea and a scone? Chocolate or cinnamon scone?”
“Chocolate,” he said, almost reluctantly.
“Do you like tea?”
“I drink it now and then. How about a nice black tea with plenty of caffeine?”
So he did know something about tea. He must have learned it from Foster’s mom.
Daisy pointed to the yellow tea room, quiet for the moment. They could talk in there without being disturbed. She said, “Give me five minutes and I’ll be there. Do you have the time?”
Gavin Cranshaw nodded. “I have the time.”
His expression and his words portended a serious conversation. That made her nervous. Still, she brewed the tea expertly as she always did and used tongs to pick the scones out of the case and put them on a china plate. She carried it into the tea room and set it on the table.
After she was seated and poured both of them cups of tea, he looked down at the scones and then up at her. “I peeked into the tea garden over the weekend to find out just what Foster did here.”
“He didn’t tell you?” she asked.
“Tell me?” Gavin scoffed. “I just found out last week that Foster had this part-time job that was taking up a lot of his time.”
Daisy was easily getting the feeling that Foster’s father didn’t approve of the job.
“I’m worried,” he said. “Foster needs to keep his mind on his studies, not bussing tables.”
So she’d been right about his not approving. This was one time she hadn’t wanted to be right. “Foster does much more than bus tables.”
Gavin stared down at his hand on the handle of the teacup. “I’ve worked with my hands all of my working years, as did my dad before me. I roof houses. I want more than that for my kids. My wife wanted more than that for her kids.”
To make Gavin Cranshaw feel more at ease, Daisy said, “Foster told us about his mom and how much he misses her.”
At that, Gavin looked surprised. He admitted gruffly, “Foster doesn’t talk about her at home.”
“I lost my husband three years ago,” Daisy said. “My one daughter, Vi, talked about her grief and still talks about what she misses about her dad. My younger daughter, Jazzi, who’s fifteen, kept it all in. It wasn’t good for her or for us. Because of some other circumstances that happened, she’s talking about it now. But don’t you think it’s good if Foster talks to someone about it?”
“You’d think he’d talk to his brother or sister or me.”
“But you miss her as much as he does. That makes it harder for him.”
His dad thought about that and then he nodded. “I suppose that could be true. I suppose I’m worried because Foster’s the oldest and he sets the example. I don’t want him veering off his path into a food services degree.”
Daisy had heard many stories from friends and relatives whose kids went to college majoring in one thing then deciding they wanted a job in another. She asked, “What if Foster earns an MBA and still wants to be involved in food service? What if he manages or opens a restaurant?”
“Not my dream for him,” Gavin grumbled.
“But what if it’s Foster’s dream?” Daisy asked.
Gavin Cranshaw’s spine seemed to become straighter, his shoulders rigid and squared. “Restaurants hit the tubes more than they succeed. No offense to you,” he added.
“I know how hard it is. After I lost Ryan, I had to take a risk. This tea garden was it. Moving back to Willow Creek was it. All together it meant a new life for me and Vi and Jazzi.”
Gavin Cranshaw was silent.
“Mr. Cranshaw . . .” she started.
“Gavin, please,” he said.
“All right. Gavin. Let me tell you what Foster does here. First of all he knows tea. He told me his mother taught him. He knows the different kinds, he can sense quality, and he knows how to blend and brew it. Besides that, he has people skills. He’s great with my customers. Everybody loves him. On top of all that, he has computer skills. He’s using them to help me market the tea garden on social media. I’m paying him extra for the time he spends on that.”
Gavin looked shell-shocked. “I don’t understand any of it. And there is something else.” His face grew ruddier when he said it. And Daisy could only suspect what was coming next.
“I don’t think Foster should be getting involved seriously with a girl right now. From what I understand, Foster and your daughter are dating.”
“They are. He’s dating my older daughter, Violet. She’s at Lehigh, so they’re only seeing each other if she manages to come home on weekends.”
“I thought she was local,” Gavin said, looking a bit more relaxed.
Daisy wasn’t sure how to get her point across, but she decided to try it anyway. “How old were you when you got married?”
Without even thinking about her question, he answered, “Too young to know better. But I don’t regret a minute of it.”
It was easy to see that Gavin had loved his wife.
“I was too young too,” she said. “But I don’t regret it either.”
“Those were different times,” he protested. “Dating seriously can keep Foster from achieving his goals.”
“Or your goals for him,” Daisy returned.
Leaning back in his chair, Gavin studied her. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Not a young tea shop owner who got involved in solving a murder. I guess I expected somebody older.”
She just smiled. “Life isn’t always neat.”
In the next few minutes, Gavin ate his scone while she sipped her tea. Then he drank down the rest of his tea all at one time. Afterward, he wiped his hands on his napkin and laid his hands on the table, ready to push himself up. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Anytime,” she told him. “These are our children. We care more about them than anything else in our lives.”
Someone walked past the window and when she turned to look, she saw Jonas passing by. He was looking in, by habit she guessed, and he saw her there with Gavin. She should tell him—
There was nothing to tell him. She had nothing to explain. Did she?
She stood to walk Gavin to the front tea room. At the counter he asked, “Does Foster bake scones too?”
“Sometimes,” she said.
Again Gavin just shook his head. “I have to wrap my mind around all this. I was going to tell him he had to quit, but if what you say is true, it sounds as if he really enjoys what he’s doing. I imagine being around the tea brings back memories of his mom. I don’t want to take that from him if I don’t have to. We’ll just see how the dating plays out. Usually boys that age don’t stick to one girl very long.”
“Unless it’s the right girl,” Daisy suggested.
But she could see that Gavin didn’t want to entertain that possibility. He said, “Thanks
for the information and the conversation. I’m sure we’ll be talking again sometime.” Then he turned and left.
“Did I hear right?” Aunt Iris asked. “That was Foster’s dad?”
“It was.”
“He’s quite good-looking, don’t you think, in a rugged man type of way?”
“Aunt Iris—”
“You can’t fault your fairy godmother for trying, but you’re not a very cooperative godchild.”
“I see someone who needs her teacup filled. I’ll take care of it,” Daisy told her aunt. But she said it with a smile so her aunt knew she appreciated everything she did, even matchmaking. It showed how much Iris cared.
A few hours later, at almost closing, Daisy was putting dough for lemon tea cakes into the walk-in. Tessa had gone out to the counter to see what was left in the case.
When Daisy heard loud voices in the other room, she stepped away from the walk-in to peer into the tea room. It only took her a second to recognize Chloie. She was pointing at Tessa. “You murdered Reese. I know you did.”
Tessa’s face was red and she was speechless, which was rare for Tessa.
Chloie went on, “Reese was going to break it off with you and date me. I told the police that too.”
Daisy went to the counter to stand beside Tessa. She studied the too-blond blonde, who seemed to be in good shape. That reminded her that Tessa had said Chloie worked out at the gym. So it was feasible she could have killed Reese and disposed of his body.
Daisy spoke up since someone needed to defend her friend. “Chloie, I understand you’re upset, and you’re grief-stricken that Reese is gone. But if you can’t be civil and speak in a normal tone when you come into the tea garden, then please don’t come in.”
“I can come in if I want to,” Chloie said stubbornly, a defiant expression on her face, much like a small child’s.
“No, you can’t,” Daisy insisted. “Customers are welcome here but only if they behave properly. You’re not. I can call the police if you’re disturbing the peace.”
Chloie pointed her finger at Tessa again. “You’ll be sorry.” Then she turned and fled without a cup of tea or a scone.
Murder with Cinnamon Scones Page 10
