Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea

by Karen Rose Smith

  Eli’s face darkened as he frowned. “No, he didn’t.”

  Eli’s protest against the shelter seemed flimsy to Daisy. There was so much more to it than offering someone a place to stay overnight. There could be counseling and job training as well as help to give people a new life. But Eli believed what he believed, and she couldn’t argue with that.

  Jonas rested his hands on the bubble-wrapped granite surface and leaned slightly on it to peer at Eli with more care. “I understand why you have the beliefs you do,” Jonas said. “But why did you wear a mask to the protest?”

  “I wore it and didn’t want to take it off because I didn’t want anyone taking my picture or putting me on the news.”

  Jonas exchanged a look with Daisy and Daisy could sense what he was thinking. Daisy knew the Amish forbade photography of individuals. Their objection was based on the second commandment coming from Exodus. Thou shall not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above or that is in the earth beneath or that is in the water under the earth. It was a basic tenet and apparently Eli still believed in that one too. His Amish upbringing had apparently had a deep and abiding influence on him.

  She looked at Eli differently today than she had on the day of the social when he’d been dressed in a hoodie and a camouflage inhalation mask. She was reminded that outside appearances didn’t always reveal the person inside. Though she knew Eli was under suspicion for Hiram’s death, she didn’t think this young man who cherished the beliefs of his Amish faith could have done anything like that.

  Would the detectives agree with her?

  * * *

  Concerts in the park were something new the community had started this year. Music was supplied by local bands. Tonight, the Rockin’ Aces were playing oldies but goodies.

  Daisy and Jonas sat on a blanket on the grass. The scents of summer were all around them—pine, leafed-out trees, honeysuckle not so far away. The honeysuckle brought memories back to Daisy of the times with Rachel on her family farm. Honeysuckle had grown up along the house on a trellis and smelled wonderful. It also attracted bees, and Rachel and Daisy had done their best to stay away from them. Rachel’s brothers not so much.

  The band played on a small stage surrounded by a white picket fence. The town council had spent time arguing with citizens about the cost of bringing electricity to the stage. But without the speakers no one in the park would have been able to hear the music except for citizens who sat close to the stage.

  As Jonas and Daisy listened to the band’s version of My Girl, Jonas dropped his arm around Daisy’s shoulders.

  Not only did this music have a good beat and romantic lyrics, but the words meant something to Daisy. She often played the oldies station on her phone’s radio app when she was cooking or gardening or cleaning.

  Her reverie was interrupted when Trevor and Tessa arrived to join them. Trevor unfurled a blanket next to theirs. “I thought there’d be more people here,” he said.

  “I guess this music won’t draw a crowd,” Daisy said with a smile.

  “Or everyone is just too busy to take the time and enjoy the music,” Trevor suggested.

  Tessa, who had seated herself on the other side of Trevor, leaned across him to say to Daisy, “I like that outfit. That violet color becomes you. Those earrings too. You don’t get dressed up often enough.”

  Jonas eyed Tessa. “Are you saying I don’t take her out on enough dates?”

  “If the shoe fits . . .” Tessa teased, never one to mince words with either of them.

  Instead of being insulted, Jonas laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. More dinner dates in expensive restaurants.”

  “You’ll be able to afford it after that sale you and Elijah are going to have,” Trevor said. “You ought to be auctioning off the furniture. You’d make more money.”

  “Ever the pragmatist.” Tessa bumped Trevor’s shoulder with her own.

  After a pause, Trevor said, “I do come bearing news.”

  Suddenly all attention was riveted on him, and the music faded into the background.

  “What?” Daisy asked.

  “The autopsy on Hiram was completed. The coroner suspected something beyond the stun gun killed him. It did. Hiram was killed with an insulin overdose. The autopsy revealed two injection sites. Apparently the stun gun was used to immobilize him for the injections. The killer knew exactly what he or she was doing.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day, Daisy left the tea garden to do an errand. As she walked down the steps at the front of the Victorian, a horse and buggy clomped down Market Street. The sound was as native to Willow Creek as the view of farmland surrounding the town. This horse was a beauty—a sturdy sorrel. Daisy couldn’t help her gaze from following it a bit as it clip-clopped along the street.

  The door of the tea garden opened behind her. Daisy exchanged greetings with Fiona Wilson, a regular older customer.

  Fiona said, “Just the sight of the tea garden when I approach it makes me smile.”

  Daisy turned back to the tea garden to see if she could view it as Fiona must. She studied the green Victorian with its white trim, gingerbread edging, and the covered porch. A rainbow of ceramic pots sat on the gray plank flooring. The pots contained herbs like lavender, sage, and chocolate mint. Pink and yellow petunias added their color as did perky marigolds in orange and yellow, as well as zinnias in red, pink, and white. Her parents had started them at their nursery, Gallagher’s Garden Corner, in early spring.

  Daisy was proud of the business she and her aunt had developed. Her Aunt Iris was a real tea aficionado. Daisy had always liked tea from an early age, and she brought her dietitian’s background to the recipes they developed and created in the tea garden. All this characterized a business she loved. Looking at the Victorian made her feel happy too.

  To Fiona, Daisy said, “I hope everyone who comes here feels as you do. I’m going to Vinegar and Spice. Are you walking that way?”

  “No. I’m going in the other direction to visit my sister.” She raised the bag she carried. “We’ll be sharing soup.”

  After good-byes, Daisy turned back to the sidewalk along Market Street and started walking toward the shop where she could replenish tea garden supplies. She noticed Betty Furhman was still in her shop, Wisps and Wicks. She was rearranging candles in her front window. All of her stock was handmade with natural scents.

  Farther down the block, Daisy passed an insurance office and a store that sold belts, purses, and travel bags.

  The next storefront was her destination. She needed to add to her stock of vinegars, olive oils, and various spices. She wouldn’t mind talking to Arden Botterill if she was still there rather than one of her clerks.

  When Daisy opened the wood door with its plate glass panes, she spotted Arden at the counter. Today she wore a two-piece red dress. Her light-brown hair had a trendy cut, chin length and layered.

  “Hi, there,” Arden said with a bright smile. “Is this business or pleasure?”

  “A little bit of both. Do you have an order sheet? I’ll check off what I need for the tea garden. Then I also want to add to my home cupboard.”

  “Sure, I do,” Arden said, leaning under the counter where she pulled out a page-length form listing all the vinegars and olive oils as well as spices that she carried.

  “I checked with Tessa before I left, so I’m certain of what we need.” Daisy quickly went down the list, filling in numbers for each item.

  “Tessa usually does this, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. But I told her I was coming down here and would take care of it. We’ve had our hands full with tour buses this week. Business finally slowed down and Tessa decided to work in the kitchen while I came here.”

  “Actually baking or preparing dough?” Arden asked, knowing a bit about how the tea garden was run.

  “A little of both. I think she was going to mix up a new salad for tomorrow. I came up with a recipe and she’s going
to try it out.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s crunchy slaw. It has coleslaw and red cabbage, shaved almonds, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds, and ramen noodles.”

  “Wow! That sounds interesting and different. I might have to stop in to try it.”

  “I’ll be using your rice vinegar for it and the toasted sesame oil. Do you have anything new for me to try?”

  Arden motioned to the rows of vinegars and olive oils. Bread cubes were piled in lined baskets and toothpicks stood in a small glass at the ready to poke into the bread cubes. A special spout on the sample bottle dropped olive oil or vinegar onto the bread cubes.

  “I have a new one that’s a blood orange olive oil. Try that first,” Arden suggested.

  Daisy did and liked it.

  “That’s great if you stir it into vegetables to roast.” Arden pointed to a jar on the spice shelf. “And then top it with this orange pepper, just enough to give it some zing. I tell mothers who come in they might get their kids to eat their veggies that way.”

  “I roast vegetables a lot,” Daisy said. “That would be a nice change.”

  “I also have new chocolate vinegar. Try a taste of that.”

  Daisy tried a bread cube with a sample of the vinegar on it. “That’s different. What do you use it in?”

  “It might sound strange, but I mix it with a little of the Tuscan oil and rub my beef roast with it. I imagine you could use it with pork too.”

  Daisy gathered up her purchases. “Okay. That will do it for me personally today. The blood orange olive oil, the orange pepper seasoning, and the chocolate vinegar. I still have the Tuscan oil.”

  “Sold,” Arden said cheerfully. “Come on over to the counter and I’ll wrap these up.”

  “When will you have the other order ready? I can have one of my servers come down and pick it up.”

  Arden shrugged. “I’ll text you. If Judy comes in this afternoon, I’ll have her deliver it to you.”

  “That sounds good,” Daisy agreed. “Will you be attending the memorial service for Hiram this evening?”

  Arden shook her head. “No. I really didn’t know him.”

  While Arden was wrapping Daisy’s purchases in navy-blue tissue paper that would keep the bottles from bumping into each other, her eyes took on an excitement Daisy hadn’t seen there before. She asked, “Did you see that the negative PR from the social actually paid off?”

  Daisy had had her share of negative PR for the tea garden, once when a murder happened there, and another time when one of her customers had died.

  Arden kept wrapping. “Two big donors stepped up for the homeless shelter. They think it’s a good cause. I have a question for you.”

  “About the shelter?” Daisy asked. She really didn’t know anything more than what the town council publicized.

  “Not exactly. It’s about Foster. I’m thinking about asking him to create the website for the fundraising, and I think the town council has decided on the name New Beginnings for the shelter.”

  New Beginnings. Daisy liked that, especially if the town could accomplish what it was endeavoring to do for the community.

  “Do you think Foster can handle it with his other commitments?” Arden asked. “We’d pay him the going rate for website development.”

  Could money be the deciding factor? Daisy knew Vi and Foster needed a new car. She and Gavin had decided they’d helped the young couple enough and they had to solve their own problems. Extra money for developing the website might give them the opportunity to do that.

  “Foster does have a lot on his plate, and it’s important to him to find time to be at home with Sammy and Vi. But he could work on the website at home, or at school between breaks or wherever he is. So it might work out. But you’ll have to ask him. If he can’t handle the time commitment, I’m sure he’ll tell you so.”

  On the other hand, might the temptation of earning money for a new car be the deciding factor?

  * * *

  That evening, Daisy and Jonas entered the fire company’s social hall. The facility was always well used. Couples rented it for wedding receptions and it was also employed for community social gatherings in the spring, in the summer, at Thanksgiving and Christmas. It also doubled as a senior center, though not in an organized way. Seniors gravitated there during the day to play cards and bingo.

  This weekend, it would house a potpie dinner during Carnival Days. Today, however, it had a different use. She and Jonas were attending the memorial service for Hiram Hershberger.

  Daisy’s gaze scanned the hall that was housing more people than she expected. Cafeteria tables lined the room and rows of chairs faced the podium.

  Daisy and Jonas sat throughout the service as a minister spoke for about twenty minutes. Most of his information about Hiram had seemed generic and not as if he had known Hiram at all.

  To Daisy’s surprise, Marshall Thompson took a place at the podium. Daisy listened to Marshall as he spoke briefly about his association with Hiram—how Hiram was a good lawyer and was passionate about defending his clients.

  After he’d finished and signaled an end to the service, Jonas leaned close to Daisy. “Marshall and other lawyers from Philadelphia went together to have this reception.”

  “Really?” she whispered.

  “Hiram didn’t have any family. Eli said he had talked to Marshall and that’s how this gathering had been decided. I noticed Eli in the back row. I think he scooted out just now. He’s probably the only person here who really cared about Hiram.”

  Those who had been listening to the eulogy were starting to disperse to the buffet line and the tables. The Women’s Auxiliary, who often served in the social hall, had set out sandwiches, salads, and sheet cakes.

  During the ensuing chatter, Daisy felt a tap on her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw Nola Horn. She’d spotted Nola’s soon-to-be ex-husband when she’d first come in. But Elliott hadn’t acknowledged Daisy. She’d nodded to him and he’d looked the other way. Divorce could be nasty in many ways.

  “Hi, Nola,” she said with a welcoming smile. “You knew Hiram?”

  “Our paths crossed. I didn’t know him well, but I felt it was appropriate to pay my respects. So did Elliott, but he hasn’t acknowledged that I’m here in the same room as he is.”

  In Daisy’s estimation, Nola looked hurt. Daisy couldn’t exactly tell if Brielle’s mother was relieved the marriage was ending or if she still loved her husband. But there was finality in Nola’s voice when she said, “It’s definitely over.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t know if sorry is the way I’m feeling, certainly regretful. I have my most regrets about Brielle, and about my mother too.”

  “Relationships can be mended.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  Jonas leaned close to Daisy and said, “I’ll go grab us food and seats. Talk as long as you want.”

  After a sigh, Nola glanced at Jonas. “You two seem to have a good relationship. The fact that he’d think about you wanting to talk to me and going to get food to take care of you means something.”

  Daisy looked at Jonas’s back as he walked toward the food table—his purposeful stride, his long legs, his broad shoulders. He looked as good in a suit as he did in jeans.

  “Yes, his caring means a lot. He has a protective streak I sometimes fight against. But I love it. And I love him.”

  “You say that with such certainty.”

  “Isn’t loving supposed to be that way?” Daisy asked, studying Nola and her lost expression.

  “I don’t know if it was ever that way between me and Elliott,” Nola confided as she sank down in a chair beside Daisy. “We bonded over the law. We had late-night discussions about everything from state law to the Constitution. We thought those similar interests were all we needed. But then I had Brielle, and Elliott felt like my taking care of Brielle took away from us. So I interviewed housekeepers
and I hired a nanny. And look what’s happened.”

  People milled about but Daisy kept her focus on Nola, suspecting she was thinking about her relationships with Brielle and Glorie. “You can change whatever you do going forward.”

  “I really don’t know how you can be so certain.”

  How much did Daisy want to share? Whatever might help Nola. “I can be certain because I had issues with my mother for years. I never really knew what the basic problem was. I knew she seemed to care more about my sister than me. I was always close to my dad and my Aunt Iris. Then when my daughter had a baby and went through postpartum depression, I learned my mother had gone through it too. It was a secret she had kept for all those years. My mom’s year of postpartum depression came between her and me because she didn’t bond with me. It was much different years ago than it is now. Doctors can diagnose postpartum depression now and help. Women are more aware.”

  “So what’s happening now between you and your mom?” Nola asked.

  “We’re rebuilding our relationship. We really are. We’re closer than we’ve ever been. So you have to believe that that can happen with Brielle and your mother too.”

  Nola gazed at the empty podium and the rows of chairs. “Any advice on how to start talking to my mom and Brielle?”

  “Be honest. Tell them both what you’re feeling. Tell them what you want for the future for all of you. That’s all you can do, Nola. The rest will be up to them.”

  Nola ducked her head for a moment, and Daisy wondered if the woman’s eyes had grown misty. When Brielle’s mother lifted her head, she looked at Daisy. Her voice was thick when she spoke. “Can we be friends?”

  That surprised Daisy and she had hesitated a second simply because of her surprise.

  Nola went on, “I don’t have any women friends here. I’ve never had many women friends. Maybe I’ve always been too competitive. But I like the way you relate to the women around you. I just thought maybe—” She waved her hand to dismiss her words. “Forget I said anything.”

  “I won’t forget, Nola,” Daisy assured her. “I would never turn away a friend. Sure, we can be friends.”