“She’s not squinting against the light like she was yesterday, though,” her mother added.
“I’m in the room,” Daisy told them both, resigned to their scrutiny. “I’m going to be up and around a little bit today to see how I really feel. I’d like to go back to the tea garden tomorrow.”
Her parents exchanged a look. While her mother pursed her lips, her father said reasonably, “See how you feel by the end of the day.”
He’d always given her reasonable advice.
When her mother insisted on making pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon, Daisy didn’t argue. After all, she had to make concessions. She spent some of her time that morning creating more recipes on her legal pad. Writing on paper didn’t bother her eyes like looking at her phone or tablet. She was sitting on the sofa going over them when her parents’ doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Rose called from the kitchen where she was baking cookies. Jazzi’s favorite—chocolate chip.
When her mother opened the door, to Daisy’s surprise, she heard Foster’s voice. “Hello, Mrs. Gallagher,” he said. “I came to check up on Daisy. Everybody at the tea garden wants a firsthand report.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Rose said. “Come on in. But don’t tire her out.”
Daisy bit her tongue. She’d stand up for her rights against her mom another time. She smiled at Foster and patted the sofa next to her. “You don’t have classes today?” she asked.
“Not this morning.”
“How is everything at the tea garden?”
“Going smoothly. You have to trust us.”
“I do.”
He gave her a smile. “I know it’s hard to let go of control, but Iris is good. With this cold weather, we’re not swamped right now, either. Tourist buses have stopped for the moment. It’s just too cold to stroll from shop to shop.”
Foster might have stopped in to check up on her, but his hands balled into fists and at times he wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. That wasn’t like him.
“Foster, what’s the matter? Why did you really come?”
He looked insulted. “I really came to see how you were.”
“Besides that,” she prompted.
He looked down at his sneakers then back up at her. “I’m sorry my dad bothered you. Eva told me he stopped in at the tea garden.”
Gavin’s visit seemed like a long time ago, even though it wasn’t. “Foster, it wasn’t a bother. Your dad’s concerned about you. He wants a better life for you than he had. Parents are like that. Really, it’s okay. Your dad’s a nice guy.”
“Most of the time,” Foster admitted. “But I’m old enough to know what I want, and he’s going to have to respect that.”
“Give him time to get used to the idea that you’ve grown up. Now tell me, how’s Tessa?”
“Have you talked to her?” Foster asked.
“Her phone keeps going to voice mail. It’s like someone is giving her orders not to talk to me.”
“She probably just doesn’t want to upset you.”
“What would I be upset about?”
“The police searched her apartment and her car. They sprayed that luminol stuff that shows bloodstains, but they only found a trace in back of her painting.”
“That makes sense. How’s she handling it?”
“The truth is she’s scared and jumpy and seems to be on the verge of tears all the time.”
“I’m going to have to figure out who did this to her . . . to Reese. I’m just not sure who to talk to next,” she murmured.
“Are you really serious about doing that after what happened?” He sounded amazed that she could keep at it.
“I’m serious about it. The police might be on this, but they’re still focusing on Tessa. It wouldn’t hurt to gather more information.”
“I can give you an idea if you’re serious.”
“I’m serious. Someone gave me this lump on my forehead even if it was indirectly.”
Foster nodded. “Now and then I stop in at the Smokey Palace with friends.”
That isn’t good, Daisy thought, concerned about Foster. The Smokey Palace was the electronic cigarette shop.
He must have seen her concern. “Don’t worry. I don’t smoke. I just talk with friends who do. It’s set up like a lounge. Anyway, Reese Masemer was there sometimes when I stopped in. He does smoke, or did smoke. It’s possible the manager of the place could give you names of Reese’s cronies.”
The Smokey Palace was only a few blocks from the tea garden. She’d never been inside, but now she had a reason to investigate it.
“I’m going to rest today and have my dad take me home tomorrow. I’ll putter around the house and I’ll make sure I’m okay before coming back to work. But if there’s a problem at the tea garden, any problem at all, I want to know about it.”
“You have my word. Tessa’s planning a service for Reese, though she still doesn’t know when that will be. I know how hard it is to do that.”
Because of his mother. Children shouldn’t have to learn that so early. Foster looked grown up, but she knew he still missed his mom and always would.
“I’ll talk to Tessa about it when I come back.”
“Okay,” Foster said, rising to his feet. “I’m going to leave so you can keep resting.” He lowered his voice. “You’re going to need all your strength if you’re going to catch a killer.”
* * *
The following day, against her mom’s protests, her father took her home. Her mother had sent along a few days’ worth of food. After her dad made sure she was settled on the sofa, he left.
Daisy had stayed put for an hour before she started to go stir-crazy. She couldn’t just lie around and pet Pepper and Marjoram, though they’d be happy if she did. Her dad had stopped in to give them food and attention. On the sofa with Marjoram on her lap and Pepper beside her, she stroked them, considering the fact her headache was practically nonexistent. Practically.
Marjoram stood up on her lap.
Daisy studied the little split face, almost black on one side and golden tan on the other. The cat’s golden eyes seemed to study her, and then Marjoram meowed. It was a little meow as if asking, What’s wrong now?
“I can’t just sit here,” Daisy said. “I can’t. I could bake something. I really should take Jonas cookies or muffins as a thank-you.”
Pepper stretched out a paw, positioned it on Daisy’s arm, and made a mrr-wup sound.
“I suppose you’re agreeing with me,” Daisy said, “because you like Jonas.”
Both cats seemed to exchange a look. Then their attention was back on Daisy.
“I know Jazzi said you should take care of me, and you are. But I have things to do. I can’t simply go into work tomorrow and spend a full day without testing myself first, can I?”
Marjoram sat back down on Daisy’s lap as if this could be a long discussion. Or else she wanted to keep Daisy right where she was.
“How about this?” Daisy asked cheerily. “I don’t know for sure if I should drive, but I want to investigate while I have time off.”
Both cats’ eyes were trained on her as she talked. “So . . . I think Foster told me he doesn’t have classes today until late afternoon. I’m going to give him a call and see if he’ll drive me to the Smokey Palace.”
This time Pepper patted Daisy’s arm with her paw, and Daisy wasn’t sure if that meant she approved or she didn’t. But she was going to take the gesture as approval.
Both cats watched her as she picked up her phone and dialed Foster. “Are you busy?” she asked him.
“Daisy! How do you feel?”
“I’ll feel a lot better if I can escape for an hour or so. Are you studying?”
“Just going over notes. What do you need?”
“I need a driver and someone who knows his way around the Smokey Palace.”
“Are you supposed to be out and about?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She heard
him sigh before he said, “At least if I’m with you, you won’t get into trouble . . . or do something you shouldn’t.”
“That’s possibly true,” she responded, being honest.
“Can you be ready in half an hour?” he asked. “That should give us plenty of time to drive there, ask a few questions, and drive back before I have to go to class.”
“Sounds good. I can be ready.”
And she was. Marjoram and Pepper weren’t too happy about moving from their comfy spots using her as their pillow, but they adjusted. While she got dressed, they took their positions on the cushion on the deacon’s bench at the living room window. Sunshine flitted through and they were happily washing when Foster came to her door. She was ready.
“It’s called vaping,” Foster told Daisy as they parked near the Smokey Palace ten minutes later.
“You mean instead of smoking.”
“Yes. The object for some is to inhale pure nicotine instead of all the processed chemicals that are also in tobacco.”
“That sounds just as bad.”
“Could be. There’s a condition called popcorn lung that’s occurring in people who smoke e-cigs. Quality control is still a problem. Even teens are attracted to e-cigs because they can purchase their favorite e-juice flavor. The Smokey Palace is actually considered an e-juice bar where customers can have their vaping juices custom-made. So it’s labeled a personal vaporizer shop.”
“Do I need to know any of this?”
“I just thought you should know what you’re walking into. I mean, at first glance, all of it can look inviting. The cigarettes come in all different colors and the juice for them—it comes in everything from traditional tobacco, to menthol, to peach, to peanut butter cup.”
“Peanut butter cup?”
“The e-cigs themselves have rechargeable batteries. You can buy starter kits.”
“How lovely! What about kids? Can they just walk in and buy?”
“Nope. You have to show ID and be over eighteen.”
“That’s something, at least.”
“So are you ready?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. Do I have to act like I’m going to buy something?”
“That’s why I told you a little bit about it. You could say you haven’t made a decision yet to try it . . . that you want to stop smoking and you heard these are a great alternative.”
“Okay.”
“I know the manager. You’ll be okay.”
As they walked in the door, Daisy murmured to him, “But what if the manager isn’t here and it’s somebody else?”
“We’ll deal,” Foster said.
Inside, Daisy looked all around, amazed by everything she saw in the cases, as well as the art on the walls. There were couches and chairs with customers sitting in them smoking, reading magazines, books, e-readers. So this wasn’t only a place to buy the product, it was a place to use the product. She got it now. This place could be a small community in itself.
Foster waved to two young men seated on a couch, their focus on electronic tablets. Foster went to talk to them.
Daisy spent a few minutes perusing the cases—the juices, the cigarettes, the batteries—until Foster rejoined her.
When the man behind the counter saw Foster, he smiled and came over to Daisy. He looked to be in his fifties with thinning red-brown hair, a mustache, a soul patch, and black-rimmed glasses that sat on the middle of his nose.
Foster introduced Daisy to Harry Gilman.
He shook Daisy’s hand. “First time here?” he asked.
“How can you tell?” Daisy asked.
“It’s that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look. You have no idea what you’re looking at . . . or what to look at first.”
“Something like that,” she said. “I have a friend who wants to quit smoking, so I thought I’d come in and scout out the place.”
“Scout out all you want. Foster here knows his way around. But if you want me to explain anything, just give a holler.”
“How about if you show me a basic set?”
Daisy thought she should be informed, just in case it ever came up again with Jazzi . . . or Violet, for that matter. Who knew what she was doing in college. Vi had been pretty open about what kids were doing in high school, but college could be a whole different story.
After Harry showed Daisy a beginner’s pack, including a red case, she told him she was going to think about it and explain it all to her friend.
As he nodded and started putting it away, she said, “I did know Reese Masemer. He came in here a lot, didn’t he?”
“Sure did,” Harry said with a frown so deep his soul patch and mustache almost met. “What a shame. No one can believe what happened to him.”
“My friend was dating him and she’s really upset.”
Harry looked at Foster as if to verify what Daisy was saying.
Foster gave him a nod. “Tessa Miller. I don’t know if she ever came in with Reese.”
“Pretty brown hair, clothes you notice? She met Reese here,” Harry said, looking at Daisy. “So she’s your friend, huh?”
“Actually, she works with me. She’s my kitchen manager at Daisy’s Tea Garden.”
“I’ve heard of it. But I’ve never stopped in because tea isn’t my thing.”
“How about scones or apple bread or leek and potato soup? We have all those, too.”
“Really?” he asked. “I thought it was just a bunch of little old ladies drinking tea.”
“Nope,” Daisy returned. “Reese was often a visitor. So are many of the other businessmen in Willow Creek . . . and from Lancaster. I don’t think you’d feel out of place. Especially not during the tourist season. You ought to stop in during Quilt Lovers Weekend. I’m hoping we have a crowd.”
“I don’t think your quilt lovers are going to want to buy electronic cigarettes. That’s why I didn’t put money into the promotion.”
“You never know. Their husbands might,” Daisy commented.
“You think husbands are going to come along?”
“If it’s a getaway weekend for couples. You just never know. Keep an open mind.”
“Maybe I will run a special that weekend,” Harry decided.
“Can you tell me if Reese was in here the days before he was killed?” Daisy asked.
The manager glanced at Foster.
Foster said, “She really is trying to help her friend. The police are looking at her.”
Harry chewed on his lower lip, then gave a nod. “Yeah, he was here. He almost got into a yelling match with someone I’ve never seen in the store before. It got pretty hot. I had to ask them to take it outside.”
“Does your shop have video surveillance?” she asked.
“Yeah, we do. But to get it, I’d have to see a warrant.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Daisy said. Then she held out her hand. “Thank you very much for answering my questions. I’m sure someone will be in touch about your surveillance system.”
After another smile, Daisy and Foster left the shop.
Foster said, “I think you could have asked Harry anything. Your blond hair and blue eyes—”
When Daisy gave him a sharp look, he held up his hand and surrendered. “It just sort of melts them.”
“Oh, Foster. If only that were true! The one advantage of the blond hair and blue eyes is that men do underestimate me.”
“How’s your headache?”
“Not so bad,” she said, though there was a little pounding in her temples.
“I’ll take you home.”
“I need to make another stop first—”
“Where to?”
“Jonas’s shop. I want Detective Rappaport to know about the Smokey Palace and their surveillance system. But instead of going directly to him, because he might not listen to me, I want Jonas to contact him.”
“I can take you to Woods, but I don’t know if I should. Don’t you think you should rest?”
“I will rest
after I see Jonas. I promise.”
At that, Foster gave her a nod of agreement and accepted her word for it.
Chapter Eleven
When Foster drove Daisy to Woods, Jonas was in his workshop behind the store. As soon as Daisy was inside and seated on a bench, Foster said, “I have to go to class. Will you be okay? Will your Aunt Iris or someone from the tea garden take you home?”
“I’ll see that Daisy gets home,” Jonas said. “Elijah is in the store all day today.”
Daisy unzipped her jacket. She’d only had one arm in, and she let the jacket fall onto the unfinished bench where she was sitting.
Jonas sat beside her and they were quiet for a few seconds. She wondered if they were going to have their talk now.
Instead of that, however, Jonas looked down at his shoe boot and then back at her. “I have some news for you.”
“Investigation news?”
He nodded. “Reese wasn’t killed at the gallery, so that will be eliminated as a crime scene. There weren’t any blood traces when the forensics team used the luminol there.”
“I have news too,” she said. “Foster took me to the Smokey Palace.”
Jonas gave her one of his are-you-sure-you-should-have-done-that looks. She ignored it and told him what they’d found out about the argument Reese had had with someone. She ended with, “I thought Detective Rappaport might act on the information quicker if it comes from you.”
“That is possible, but I’d like to cover more bases before I contact him.”
“What kind of bases?”
“I think we should talk to Reese’s assistant at the gallery. Whoever Reese had the argument with had to find him first. Maybe Chloie would know.”
“She might not want to talk to me,” Daisy admitted. “I had to ask her to leave the tea garden. She was really mean to Tessa. Tessa has been insecure about her affair with Reese and has suspicions that Chloie was sleeping with him. But she has no evidence of that. And there is something else. Chloie could be the killer.”
“Let me ask you a few questions about who knocked you down the steps.”
“I already answered all the detective’s questions,” Daisy protested.
Murder with Cinnamon Scones Page 13
