Tessa ignored her and started toward the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Cora Sue had carried a tray with two iced teas, sugar syrup in a small crystal pitcher, cinnamon sticks lying across a cut-glass nappy, and a cup of cucumber soup, delivering it all with a flourish. When she stepped away and headed back toward the tearoom, Daisy carried the tiered plate of mini sandwich triangles, chocolate espresso cookies, and lemon tarts to the men’s table.
Maybe Daisy had appeared more quickly than they expected because Hiram was tapping Troy Richter’s arm saying, “The name of the tech who caused the accident will remain confidential. I promise you, no pressure put on me will induce me to reveal who was responsible. I’m steadfast. No one in my office will know the identity but me, mostly for the person’s safety.”
Troy responded in a morose tone, “Social media and the press are brutal. Nothing must get out.”
They both looked up in surprise when Daisy set the tiered tray on the table. She didn’t give any indication she’d overheard anything. She simply said, “Enjoy, gentlemen. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
Then she retired from the room, leaving them in privacy once more.
* * *
When Daisy exited the kitchen an hour later to survey the tearoom, she was surprised to see Brielle Horn and her grandmother, Glorie Beck, sitting at a table for four in the center of the room. She was glad to see them. Brielle, a good friend of Jazzi’s, had stayed with Daisy and Jazzi while her parents had been on a professional trip.
Brielle also helped serve at the tea garden this summer when a friend of Glorie’s spent time with her . . . for Glorie’s safety. Her arthritis inhibited her from doing activities she enjoyed. While Brielle had stayed with Daisy, Daisy had met Glorie, the seventeen-year-old’s grandmother. She enjoyed the company of both, even though, at first, she hadn’t been sure what to think of Brielle.
Approaching the table, Daisy could see that Brielle was keeping her hair short and spiked. Her natural black color made a contrast to her pink bangs. Her nose ring, eyebrow piercing, and Goth tattoos on her forearms had scared Daisy at first, if she was to be honest with herself. But she’d soon understood Brielle had to learn her own self-worth and how to make good decisions for her life. She was living with her grandmother now and they both looked happy as they sipped iced tea and munched on chocolate espresso cookies.
Glorie lived a somewhat plain life in a rural area of Willow Creek. Her curly, light-brown hair, streaked with gray, looked like a soft web around her face. Her uniform of sorts consisted of jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Today she wore a red one. Daisy had heard her claim many times that she didn’t like fancy clothes.
Since everyone in the tearoom seemed content with what they were eating and drinking, Daisy looked around for her staff. Cora Sue stood at the sales counter ready to handle new customers. Foster, Vi’s husband, was standing at the service cart glancing around, making sure everyone had what they needed. Since Daisy had just been in the kitchen, she knew everything was under control in there.
Foster gave her a thumbs-up sign and pointed to the table where Brielle and Glorie were seated. Daisy knew that meant he’d cover for her. She loved her son-in-law as if he were her own son. He was good for Vi and a caring dad with their son Sammy.
After she gave him a nod, she pulled out a chair and sat at Glorie and Brielle’s table.
“What are you two up to?” Daisy asked, as she looked from Brielle to her grandmother.
“We just stopped in for a snack,” Brielle answered, her gaze pointedly going to Glorie’s cane which was propped against the table.
Glorie’s arthritis bothered her daily. Brielle had moved in with her grandmother partly to assist her and to make her daily life a little easier. Brielle had a nurturing side, and Glorie brought it out.
Glorie finished a cookie and then met Daisy’s gaze. “I’m not supposed to be eating sweets, you know. But a little chocolate never hurt anyone.”
“She didn’t put sugar in her tea, so she thinks she’s entitled,” Brielle commented wryly.
“We had to get out of my house,” Glorie revealed.
“Why?” Daisy asked, genuinely puzzled.
“We didn’t have to get out of your house.” Brielle explained to Daisy, “Mom sent someone over to install a window air conditioner in my grandmother’s bedroom. She’s supposed to try it.”
“It will give me all kinds of aches and pains, even worse than I already have,” Glorie insisted.
“You haven’t tried it yet,” Brielle reminded her.
“I sit in air conditioning at the doctor’s office. It gives me goose bumps.”
Brielle’s pierced eyebrow arched as she rolled her eyes. “Mom said if the air conditioner makes summer easier, then she’ll have central air installed in the house. You won’t have drafts then.”
“That window unit is going to make too much noise and block the light from the window.”
Brielle patted her grandmother’s arm. “That’s why you need to let Mom have central air installed. It’s quiet, no drafts, and it simply runs like the heat.”
Daisy watched the give-and-take between Glorie and Brielle. They were good for each other. The past was meeting the present, and granddaughter and grandmother were learning a different kind of compromise.
“I don’t think the situation with the air conditioner is going to be settled today, is it?” Daisy asked, with a hint of a smile.
“I think she’ll sleep better,” Brielle said. “Once the temperature hits ninety or ninety-five, she’ll be thankful for that air conditioner. The doctor told her she shouldn’t be out in the heat when it gets too hot.”
“I’m still going to watch over my garden,” Glorie mumbled.
“Well, I’m going to fetch the produce and pull the weeds,” Brielle assured her.
After they talked about Glorie’s garden for a bit which was very similar to Daisy’s, Daisy decided to change the subject. She said to Glorie, “You know a lot of people in this town.”
“I sure do. When my husband and I had that produce stand out front of our property, you wouldn’t believe all the people we talked to in a day. Not just the one season either. People came back, year after year.”
“I’m looking for a little history,” Daisy confided. “Did you hear what happened at the social for the homeless shelter?”
“I sure did hear.” Glorie pushed her plate away from her. “Those protestors scared a whole group of folks.”
“They did,” Daisy agreed. Jumping to the question foremost in her mind, she asked, “Do you know the Lapp family?”
“I surely do. I even remember when Eli jumped the fence, and the rumors that swirled all over town.”
Since that was a time before Daisy had returned to Willow Creek, she asked, “What rumors were those?”
“Eli’s family was convinced that Hiram Hershberger was the main reason why Eli left the Amish community.”
Daisy leaned closer to Glorie. “How could that be?”
Glorie put her hand to her forehead as if that might help her recall what had occurred. “Eli admired Hiram. From what I remember, Eli had lots of spirit and he wanted to make his own way in the world and expand his views.”
“He wanted to continue his education?” Daisy knew that goal could be frowned on in the Amish community.
“Not so much that,” Glorie said. “He wanted to get out of Willow Creek and do some traveling. From what I understand Hiram took in Eli when he left his community. Hiram funded a trip for Eli to go out West and to New York City so Eli could get a taste of the world. Eli had been in trouble when he was still in school as early as sixth grade, then seventh. Although I don’t know the story behind it, he damaged some Englischer’s property and the man wanted to press charges. Hiram stepped in and saved Eli more than once. Many people in town could see that Eli wasn’t happy being Amish. Only his family seemed shocked when he left.”
Brielle had been listening intently.
Now she asked, “Like my parents were shocked when I told them I wanted to live with you?”
“It was a little bit like that,” Glorie agreed. “But much worse in Eli’s case. His family cut him out of their lives.”
Daisy thought about the Eli Lapp she had seen . . . with the camouflage inhalation mask, the hoodie, and the attitude. Would Eli have left the Amish if it hadn’t been for Hiram Hershberger?
That was a question only Eli could answer.
* * *
Daisy had taken the day off on Wednesday. Their tearoom traffic in summer was much heavier at the end of the week and she liked to be at the Victorian then. She liked to cook at home, especially for friends and family. Jonas was coming to dinner along with Tessa and Trevor Lundquist. Fortunately Jazzi liked everyone’s company too, so Daisy was really looking forward to the evening. Since the temperature outside had been around eighty all week, she’d decided they’d eat outside on her patio.
In preparation, she partially cooked chicken pieces in the oven that Jonas would finish on the grill with a specific sauce they all liked. She’d found the recipe in an old Fanny Farmer cookbook. Jonas had arrived first since he was going to help her with the meal. The potato salad in the refrigerator was ready along with pickled beets. Jazzi had tossed a salad. Daisy had also made baked beans in the slow cooker. Dessert would be chocolate cake with peanut butter icing because she knew both Trevor and Jonas liked it.
Trevor immediately went outside to help Jonas after he and Tessa arrived.
Tessa asked, “What is it about men and grills?”
Daisy laughed.
Jazzi said, “I’m out of this conversation for a while. I’ll kick around a soccer ball outside unless you guys need me.”
After Jazzi went outside, Daisy and Tessa divided up tasks. As Daisy quartered berries for fruit salad and Tessa sliced tomatoes, Daisy said, “I read the article Trevor wrote for the newspaper about the social on Sunday. He summed it up the way it happened. He’s getting good at taking photos too. He captured good shots of the protestors.”
“I saw the segment that played over and over again on the local news.” Tessa attractively arranged the tomato slices on the plate. “The stations concentrated on that more than they did the homeless shelter. It’s a shame.”
“I’m hoping Arden can generate good publicity for the shelter. She says she can, but I don’t know how much experience she’s had.”
“You don’t know her background before she opened Vinegar and Spice?” Tessa inquired.
“Not really. I think she was raised in Baltimore, but I don’t know why she decided to come here and open a business.”
“Why does anyone move to Willow Creek?” Tessa asked. “I think it’s to escape.”
“Or maybe to find a refuge,” Daisy said. “That’s why I returned with the girls.”
“And I’m glad you did.” Tessa’s smile was wide.
Tessa’s smile brought back all the experiences they’d shared, through middle school, through high school, through letters and email while Daisy had been in Florida starting her life. She and Tessa could read each other well. They always had been able to. That’s why they had become best friends.
After they all gathered around the table outside, dished out helpings of chicken, potato salad, and other accompaniments, Jazzi said, “I made a list of the colleges I want to tour.”
Trevor looked curious when he suggested, “Give me the list.”
“I’m mostly interested in social work programs, so I’d like to tour Shippensburg, Penn State or a satellite campus, University of Pennsylvania, King’s College, and maybe West Chester University.”
“Wow,” Trevor said. “I might have to help your mom at the tea garden if she takes off for all those visits.”
Seeing Jazzi’s face fall, Daisy realized her daughter obviously hadn’t thought of that.
Jonas intervened. “The tea garden is a well-oiled machine. I’m sure your mom could take a few drives and it will manage to survive.”
“I’m just kidding,” Trevor said. “You should explore as many colleges as you want. Make sure that’s where you want to go. Even as important as exploring the campuses, you should talk to the students in the programs that you’re interested in.”
“But how do I do that?” Jazzi asked.
Putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, Daisy gave her an idea. “I can contact Stella Cotton. She might know a way.” Stella was the guidance counselor at Jazzi’s high school, and she and Daisy were friends.
“There is something else you might want to think about.” Tessa plucked a chicken wing from the platter onto her plate. “You’re going to have to write an essay, probably more than one when you apply to these colleges. You need to really think about what you want to do in terms that you can explain. Why is social work important to you?”
“You all know the answer to that,” Jazzi said. “Because I’m adopted . . . because I searched for my birth mother and found her. If I hadn’t had Jonas’s help and Mom’s support, that could have gone south really fast.”
“You need to put that personal connection in an essay,” Tessa commented. “Whoever reads it needs to feel your passion and caring for the subject and why you think you’d be good at helping families.”
Daisy nodded. “She’s right.”
“Most of the time,” Trevor joked. “To my utter disappointment.”
They all laughed.
“While Jazzi is searching out colleges, I’m going to be doing more freelancing.” Trevor reached for the bowl of potato salad.
“What type of freelancing?” Jonas asked.
“Any kind I can think of,” Trevor concluded. “I don’t know how long the newspaper is going to exist. You know how small-town newspapers are going out of business. Right now, I’m looking at a series of articles about small towns for a social influencer’s blog. That might get me some notice to open up a network to submit articles to.”
“Just what are you going to say about small towns?” Daisy wanted to know. Trevor could be acerbic and bluntly honest.
“Everything you already know,” he explained offhandedly. “I think I might do the first article on gossip . . . the fact that it’s the life of a small town.”
“Trevor . . .” Daisy chided.
“I’m serious,” he said with arched brows. “You know I’m right. Everyone’s connected. News travels fast like a supersonic plane rather than a horse and buggy, though horses and buggies have something to do with it too. I think it will be an interesting article.”
“It will probably hit raw nerves,” Jonas noted, wrapping his hand around a glass of tea. “I know you’ll put truth in the article that no one can deny. Gossip in small towns helps business. Recommendations circle around better than ads. I know that’s the way I sell a lot of furniture. I had someone buy a hutch last week whose brother saw the piece and then he wanted bookshelves. A cousin told me yesterday that she was interested in a pedestal table. We might call it gossip, but it’s more like a circular file system. The gossip acts like a hub and all the residents circulate around it.”
“I might want to talk to you more about this,” Trevor said. “Before I write the article.”
Trevor’s phone buzzed. When he took it from his pocket to check the screen, Tessa bumped his arm. He said offhandedly, “Daisy doesn’t mind. She knows I have contacts.”
“An important contact?” Tessa murmured.
“This one is,” he said seriously.
“Take it,” Daisy advised. “We don’t mind.”
Trevor answered the call and said tersely into the phone, “Give me what you’ve got.” Daisy heard him say, “Thanks. I’ll follow up, even if I have to go to the scene myself.”
After Trevor ended the call, he set the phone on the table and just stared at it. Then he turned to the group. “Hiram Hershberger is dead.”
CHAPTER FOUR
An hour and a half later, Trevor returned to Daisy’s home with news of sorts
. He lowered himself onto the sofa beside Tessa. “It’s true. Hiram is dead.”
“I just saw him on Monday. He looked healthy enough.” Daisy was having trouble wrapping her mind around the news.
“When I got the phone call, my contact said it looked as if Hershberger died in his office from natural causes.”
“I hear a but in your voice,” Jonas noted.
“When I arrived at the scene, I found out from someone else that the cops think someone used a stun gun on Hershberger. There were burn marks on him.”
“A taser or a stun gun?” Jonas asked.
“Not a taser. At least not that they can tell. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to know for sure. I can’t imagine merely the stun gun would have killed him.”
“Was there a sign of anything else around?” Daisy asked. She’d become used to examining details about crime scenes and asking questions about them.
“That’s the thing, Daisy,” Trevor said with warning chagrin. “There will probably be a cop at your door or one of the detectives.”
When that news took Daisy’s breath away, Tessa asked, “Whatever for?”
“A cup of tea sat on Hershberger’s desk. One of those bags of tea like you sell with an orange pekoe label—it had the tea garden’s logo on it—lay on the credenza beside an electric urn. At least that’s what my person who saw the crime scene said.”
“I’d like to know who this person is,” Jonas murmured.
“A journalist never reveals his sources,” Trevor returned, half-seriously and half-kidding.
“Just what I need, a detective at the door of the tea garden,” Daisy murmured.
“You can always go down to the station,” Trevor advised with a twinkle in his eye.
“That would look even worse,” Daisy protested. “I can imagine customers watching me slide into a patrol car to go down to the police station.”
“They probably just want to ask you about the tea. You served the same kind at the social,” Trevor reminded her.
“I know I did. And when Hiram came with his friend Troy Richter to the tea garden, he bought some. I guess he liked it that much. Now I wish he’d simply bought it at the grocery store.”
Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea Page 4
