Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea

by Karen Rose Smith

  Gavin was lean and tall with a square jaw that noted determination similar to his son’s. His sandy brown hair was already blonding in the warm weather. A contractor, he was tan from working outdoors. Gavin had had wonderful news lately. He’d won the bid to build the homeless shelter.

  After giving Daisy a hug, Gavin shook Jonas’s hand. At one time, Jonas had been jealous of Gavin, but they’d settled all that.

  Gavin blew out a breath. “I feel as if I’ve been glad-handing everyone since I got here. Daniel Copeland thinks I need to speak with anybody who could be influential in raising money for the shelter.”

  Jonas asked, “Do they still have plans to hire a professional fundraiser?”

  Gavin slipped a hand into the pocket of his navy slacks. “As far as I can tell. I simply wonder if a town the size of Willow Creek can raise enough money to actually build the shelter. If they can’t start building and complete the project quickly, prices will go up and we’ll need to raise even more money.”

  Jonas suggested, “Is scaling back the plans and the cost a possibility?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Only if we have to. We should know within the first two months of raising money how it’s going to go. I’m simply concerned about who the mayor will hire to head the fundraising effort.”

  “There’s a public relations blitz planned,” Daisy reminded him.

  Gavin looked directly at Daisy. “Do you think Arden Botterill really has the know-how that it takes to do the marketing for the shelter?”

  Daisy shrugged. “She says she does. And she volunteered. The council won’t have to pay her.”

  Arden owned the shop called Vinegar and Spice. Daisy wondered again what Arden’s background was and if she’d submitted a résumé to the council. Then again, since she was volunteering, the men might not have looked any further.

  Gavin said, “I see the mayor over there. I haven’t connected with him yet today. I’d better do that before I leave. You two have a good evening.”

  After Gavin moved away, Jonas pointed to the TV truck and camera crew from the Lancaster TV station. A van with a satellite dish was also parked at the curb on the other side of the field. That one was from Harrisburg. “It looks like we’ve garnered some attention,” Jonas noted. “You could be on the news tonight.”

  “I hope I’m not. I’m hoping they skip over the refreshments under the canopies and talk to pro and con residents about the shelter, not making it all one-sided.”

  Jonas nodded toward an interview with Daniel Copeland taking place nearby. “I would think this is community news that the general population would take an interest in.”

  Daisy studied Daniel and the camera crew. “I hope that’s why they’re here.”

  Suddenly Jonas nudged her arm and pointed in another direction to the field behind the canopies. Daisy saw he was focused on the two dogs playing there. One looked like a cocker spaniel and the other appeared to be a Scottie. The Scottie hunkered down, front paws forward and his back end up. The cocker in the position of power just stood staring at him. After a yip from the Scottie, they started chasing each other around the field.

  Daisy swerved her attention from the dogs to Jonas and saw that he was watching them intently.

  After a moment he asked, “What do you think about me adopting a dog?”

  Daisy was aware that a friend of Jonas’s had recommended that Jonas adopt one when he was going through a tough time. She didn’t know if he’d taken his friend seriously, but maybe the idea had taken root.

  She didn’t want to sway him one way or the other. “What breed are you thinking of?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “You know me too well. You believe I’ve been thinking about this ever since Detective Rappaport mentioned it.”

  “Maybe I do. Am I right about that?”

  Jonas towered above her. Lean and muscled with a stern jaw, he could look fierce. That look had shadowed him since his job as a homicide detective in Philadelphia and his experiences with it. But she knew the man behind the rugged attempt to hold people at a distance. If he was uncertain about something, which wasn’t often, he brushed his hair up over his forehead. The sunlight, beaming through the side of the tent, illuminated the silver strands at his temples as his green eyes grew darker. Recently he’d told her he secretly liked the idea that she could sometimes read his thoughts.

  “When Rappaport first mentioned it,” Jonas said, “I really did think he was joking. He was making a point that I wasn’t getting along with anybody else so I might as well adopt a dog to have as a friend. But the more I thought about it, I realized how much I do like dogs. I even did shifts as a canine handler back in Philadelphia. I don’t care about any particular breed. I’d like to adopt from the animal shelter at the edge of town. I want to feel as if I’m saving a life.”

  Daisy knew that sentiment was typical of Jonas too.

  “The thing is . . .” He hesitated. “I haven’t made a decision because I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You’re the one who would have to walk a dog and care for it. This has to be what you want to do,” she advised.

  “I’m well aware of that,” he agreed with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “But do you like dogs?”

  “I do. Ryan and I talked about adopting one when the girls were small, but our lifestyle didn’t seem to be a good one for caring for a dog. By the time Vi and Jazzi were both at school, we knew we would be away all day. It just didn’t seem fair to the animal.”

  “I’d like to adopt a dog who’s gentle enough to take to work with me,” he confided. “My yard at the townhouse isn’t huge but your property could be suitable for a dog to run and fetch.”

  Daisy considered the next few years, surprised that’s where her thoughts were going. Her daughter Jazzi would be leaving for college in a year. Daisy liked the idea of a dog around the property, especially as her grandson Sammy grew older.

  “It’s plenty large for a dog to exercise, maybe with humans having fun too.”

  Jonas took her hand and she could see in his expression that he was happy they usually thought alike.

  Although Daisy liked spending this time with Jonas, she knew she should check on the pastries. Did she still have enough in the van? She hadn’t been sure what quantity to supply, but since the tea garden was five minutes away, she could fetch more if she needed to.

  Nevertheless, she was enjoying standing here with Jonas, watching the dogs play in the field, thinking about the future.

  The breeze lifted a stray strand of hair along her cheek and tossed it across her lips. She was about to brush it away when Jonas released her hand and did it for her. His finger was rough from woodworking and slightly callused.

  The tingle she always felt around Jonas lifted the corners of her lips. He smiled back, his eyes dark with a desire to be alone with her later.

  Conversations swirled around them. Friends and neighbors picked up a dish of cookies and whoopie pies, cups or glasses of tea. Daisy’s elbow brushed again against Jonas’s as the day seemed almost perfect. She had a business that she enjoyed, family and friends she loved . . . and Jonas.

  Then like a sudden storm enveloping the gathering, everything changed. Daisy didn’t see a black cloud moving overhead. However, she did hear a negative buzz begin to sweep over the crowd. It began from the field on the south side of the plot of land closest to Market Street, Willow Creek’s main street.

  Protest chants reached her ears from at least a dozen persons marching toward the canopies. At first glance, she couldn’t tell if they were men or women. Even though the day was summer-like, the protestors were wearing hooded sweatshirts, boots, and camouflage-patterned inhalation masks.

  She felt Jonas’s arm shoot to his belt for his phone. She suspected he was calling the Willow Creek Police Department.

  As the group drew closer, their shouts increased in volume. They shouted in unison—No homeless shelter in Willow Creek. No homeless shelter in Willow Creek. No homeless shelte
r in Willow Creek.

  As much as their shouts coursed over the field and sent shivers up Daisy’s spine, their boots on the ground sounded a menacing warning too. The protestors marched closer. She took a step back and clutched Jonas’s arm.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jonas curled his arm around Daisy’s waist and pulled her away from the canopied tent. Before she could voice a thought, she watched him—keeping true to his cop training—hurriedly return to the tent and do the same with others, clearing them away from the tables and pointing to the field far from the protestors.

  Horrified, her hand covered her mouth as the protestors marched through the area, upsetting cold and hot tea urns, flipping the cookie tray, and jostling aside anyone or anything in their way until the whoopie pies fell onto the table too. With fear clutching her chest and disbelief invading every thought, Daisy was so grateful that neither of her daughters had attended the gathering today. Checking for her Aunt Iris, she spotted her farther back in the field with Russ Windom, the man she was dating. Her aunt gazed on the spectacle with astonishment.

  The protestors’ chants continued as they disrupted the community assembled to celebrate the building of the homeless shelter.

  Then the police arrived.

  After the siren stopped and the patrolmen and Detective Rappaport spilled from their vehicles, Daisy felt a modicum of relief. Detective Rappaport, who Daisy knew from investigations they had clashed on and eventually worked on together, jogged toward the first line of protestors. Officer Bart Cosner put his hand on his weapon and pointed the protestors away from the canopies and back into the fields from which they’d come. Two more officers rounded the canopies and shouted at all the persons wearing inhalation masks to remove their masks and move into a line.

  Most obeyed.

  Jonas, who had returned to Daisy, held her shoulder and leaned close to her. “They’re removing their masks. I don’t think they’re violent, just noisy and disruptive.”

  “Look, though.” Daisy pointed to one of the hooded figures. He was arguing with Detective Rappaport and apparently wouldn’t remove his mask.

  He shouted, “I want my lawyer. Hiram Hershberger is right over there.” The man pointed to Hiram enmeshed within a group of men.

  With a pained expression on his face, Hiram Hershberger crossed to the protestor with the mask.

  As the protestors quieted down, the residents of Willow Creek that had been gathered for the community social began chattering. Watching carefully, Daisy saw Hiram convince the protestor to remove his mask.

  Daisy asked Jonas, “Do you know anyone protesting?”

  Jonas looked over the line of men. “I’m not certain about most, but the man with Hiram is—”

  Jonas’s words were cut off as a woman brushed against Daisy’s arm. When she turned to see who it was, she saw Rachel Fisher and her husband. Rachel and Levi were New Order Amish. Daisy and Rachel had been friends since childhood. It had been an unlikely friendship, English and Amish, but they’d connected. They’d run through cornfields together, played tag near the family farm, and even swum in the pond. Rachel and Levi owned Quilts and Notions, a store downtown not far from the tea garden.

  Rachel directed their attention to the man with Hiram. With his hood lowered and his mask removed, Daisy could see that the young man had blond hair and was a young adult. His blue eyes were intense on Hiram’s face as Hiram spoke to him as if he were giving a lecture.

  “That’s Eli Lapp!” Rachel said. “He’s a fence jumper.”

  Daisy had always understood that a fence jumper was a young person who had left the Amish community when he was in his teens, often during rumspringa—a time when Amish youth tasted the world and decided if they wanted to commit to the faith. Some New Order Amish were shunned if they left the community. That depended on the family and the Ordnung—the set of rules—governing their district.

  Levi cut in, “From what I understand, Hiram has helped Eli out of sticky situations.”

  It looked as if the officers intended to walk the protestors to the police station since there were too many to fit into their patrol cars. But it seemed that Eli and Hiram were getting special treatment. Bart showed Eli into the back of the PD’s SUV. Hiram signaled that he’d be along in his vehicle.

  “Are they arresting him?” Daisy asked. She knew it was a silly question that Jonas couldn’t answer, but she thought she’d ask it anyway.

  “My guess is that Rappaport wants to scare all of them. I guess Eli is receiving special treatment because he has his lawyer with him. They’ll get to the bottom of why this was happening and the motives behind it.”

  “The motives seem clear to me,” Levi said. “They don’t want a homeless shelter here.”

  “Or,” Jonas suggested, “all of those young men were paid for this performance. Someone might not want to be identified with the protest yet they don’t want the homeless shelter here. The detective and Bart will figure it out.”

  Slowly everyone began moving back toward the canopies.

  Iris came up beside Daisy. “What do you want to do?”

  Making a sudden decision, Daisy suggested, “If you can take care of the tea, set more iced teacups up, I’ll go to the van and bring the remainder of the cookies and whoopie pies. We can have new trays arranged in no time.”

  Daisy looked up at Jonas. “Can you try and convince people not to leave yet? I hate to see this shut down when it was going so well. People are talking to each other, discussing what the shelter might do for Willow Creek. We desperately need volunteers and I don’t want anyone to be scared that the project isn’t going to happen.”

  “I’ll talk to the mayor. He can make an announcement. I’ll assure everyone there’s still time to enjoy tea and cookies and talk.”

  With Daisy’s clogs sinking into the ground a little, she stood on tiptoe and kissed Jonas on the cheek.

  Daisy and Iris spent about fifteen minutes making sure the tables were ready for another round of service. Rachel accompanied Daisy to her work van to help carry cookies to refill the platter.

  Rachel said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into Eli. Hiram definitely had an influence over him.”

  “I take it you don’t think it was a good influence?” Daisy inquired.

  Rachel’s expression was distressed. “Hiram left the community. Eli left. That’s never good.”

  The district Rachel came from was tight-knit. Hers was one with a bishop who expressed a little more leniency than others in the area. Still, the district practiced the old ways, even though Rachel used a gas-powered oven and a cell phone for work purposes and emergencies. Rachel, like others in her community, felt that the old ways helped them stay closer to God. Daisy admired so much about the Amish community. In these times it was hard to keep families together, whether Amish or English.

  As they stepped down from the van, Rachel asked, “Has Jazzi considered the colleges she wants to look at this summer? You’re going to take a couple of road trips, ain’t so?”

  “Later in the summer,” Daisy said. “Jazzi is still deciding where she wants to apply. But if she wants to apply for early admission for next year, she’s going to have to decide soon.”

  “Your heart is probably half sweet and half bitter over the idea.”

  Daisy looked over at Rachel, noticing details such as her white heart-shaped kapp, her hair pulled tightly into a bun, her kapp strings floating down the front of her apron. They were different in so many ways, yet so much the same in others. “You can see my heart.”

  “For certain sure I can. You’re a mamm just like me and mammi.” Levi’s mom lived with Rachel and her husband and their children. That was the way of the Amish too.

  Daisy and Rachel carried the trays of baked goods toward the table. Daisy donned latex gloves that she’d brought along to arrange the cookies and whoopie pies as attractively as she could. She was pleased to notice that many of the residents of Willow Creek had lingered. Jonas had made sure that the te
a urns were positioned the way they should be. All looked as if it had never been disturbed.

  However, near the brace for the canopy, Daisy heard men’s voices growing louder. When she glanced up, she noted that Hiram was still there. He was arguing with Emory.

  The news crews still circulated and Daisy could see that the argument had caught not only the attention of the local reporter—Trevor Lundquist who dated Tessa Miller, her kitchen manager and best friend—but also the eyes of one of the camera crew.

  Emory’s voice burst from him like a ball from a cannon. “You are a miserable man for defending the clinic. Someone should make sure you can’t do it.”

  Lawrence suddenly approached his son-in-law and pulled on his shoulder. Then Lawrence held onto Emory’s arm so he wouldn’t swing back to the lawyer.

  Hiram looked a bit embarrassed and raised his arms and hands in a what-can-you-do-about-it gesture.

  Lawrence walked Emory a good twenty feet away but Emory was still glaring back at the lawyer.

  From beside her, Jonas approached Hiram. “Everything okay?”

  Hiram glanced sharply at Emory. “Just another hothead who doesn’t understand what lawyers do.”

  “I imagine any of the clinic’s clients could be upset with you when they see the clinic as the cause of their issues,” Jonas pointed out.

  “I can’t discuss the case,” Hiram grumbled. “And I need to get down to the police station to rescue a young man from himself.”

  After Hiram had stalked off, Daisy said to Jonas, “I suppose he’s talking about Eli.”

  “I suppose so. I was surprised at what Eli was doing today.”

  “You know him?”

  “He’s come into the shop now and then to apprentice on how to make furniture. I really had never taken him for a rabble-rouser, or even someone who would stand strongly against something. He seems mild mannered, cooperative, and is quite good at woodworking.”