“I believe that might be true,” Daisy said without giving anything away. After all, the fact that Eli was dating Miriam Yoder was a secret. Still, in Willow Creek, secrets didn’t stay secrets very long.
Marshall ate the cookie and smiled. “I think the class action suit against the clinic is going forward.”
“Do you know the lawyer who is taking it on?” Daisy asked.
“Someone from Philadelphia. On the other hand, I’ve heard that many of the clinic’s clients want to sue the person responsible for the mishap. The problem is—nobody knows who that person is.”
“I understand Troy Richter is out of town,” she commented, simply wanting to see what Marshall’s response would be.
“Not just out of town. He’s out of the country.”
“And Hiram was the only other one who knew who caused the malfunction?”
“Supposedly, but that’s hard to believe. Accidents like that don’t happen in a vacuum. There had to be somebody else around when it occurred.”
Turning the information she’d learned over in her mind, she offered, “You don’t think it could have been a real accident like the refrigeration unit malfunctioned or there was an electrical surge or something? I don’t know how those things work.”
After Marshall took a swallow of iced tea, he shook his head. “Not from what I understand. Someone made a mistake with the temperature setting. Someone is responsible. But I’m not sure that someone had anything to do with Hiram getting killed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Take this class action suit, for example.” He picked up the scone and waved it at her. “Everybody’s discussing Emory Wagner’s argument with Hiram, and the fact that he had a motive.”
“Hiram was defending the clinic that destroyed Emory’s dreams,” she reminded Marshall.
“That could be true,” the lawyer agreed. “But on the other hand, think of all the clients Hiram has had over the years. He’s won lawsuits and he’s lost them. He’s drawn up wills, living wills, durable powers of attorney, maybe against relatives’ wishes. I remember a client he took on who had a DUI. Hiram somehow got him off on a technicality. He’s protected one heir against another in a contested will. The list goes on and on.”
“Are you saying the police are never going to solve this?”
“I’m saying that unless they find very able-bodied clues, unless something particular leads them in one main direction, they’re going to be floundering. You know what happens when they flounder and the mayor comes down hard on the chief of police.”
She considered the chief of police and how he thought. He had a gruff no-nonsense, get-it-done attitude. “I know what happens. They focus on one main suspect who has a motive, means, and opportunity.”
“Exactly.”
“And why are you telling me all this?” she asked, concerned about his answer.
Marshall finished his scone. After he swallowed, he took another long swig of his iced tea. “Let’s just say I’d like to see this one solved. The right way. Hiram and I weren’t friends, but we were working colleagues. We respected each other. We even knew a little bit about each other’s lives.”
Marshall was a compassionate, understanding lawyer. She’d seen that aspect of his personality many times. “I can understand that. If anything happened to anyone I worked with, I’d want to see the culprit caught. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Oh, Daisy,” he said with a crooked smile. “When I work, I sit in my office most of the day and don’t see anyone but my receptionist. I go to court now and then but I’m like a hunter with one objective in mind. I do my job. I do my part, and then I go back to my office where I work some more.”
“And you do very fine work,” Daisy pointed out.
He nodded in recognition of her compliment. “Thank you. The point I’m trying to make is the fact that I don’t see or talk to many people. I have clients and they are my focus. However, you are different.”
Daisy took a deep breath, suspecting where this was headed. “Different how?” she asked warily.
“Your tea garden is one of the centers of Willow Creek for gossip and chatter. Everybody knows that. You go from table to table serving, listening, watching.”
“Not on purpose,” she mumbled.
He chuckled. “Certainly, it’s on purpose. You come to work each day with a sunny disposition intending to make people’s lives better with your baked goods, with your tea, and with your personality. You choose servers and helpers who do the same thing. All in all, it makes for lively conversation, confidences exchanged, and secrets exposed. I’ve sat in your tearoom and listened to all of that. So I know it’s true.”
“You think I’ll hear something important.”
“Of course, I do, because you always do. You run down a lead better than any detective I know.”
That was a compliment she’d never intended to earn. “You do realize I don’t intend to put my life in danger again. That’s happened too many times. I have too much to live for—daughters, a grandchild, and somebody I care about very much.”
“So don’t put your life in danger. Don’t track down a lead. But do listen, use your radar, pick up those bits of conversation that could be meaningful and important. I know you can do this, Daisy. You’ve done it many times before. All I’m saying is pay attention to every scrap of information, and then hand it over to whatever detective you trust the most who will do the best thing with it.”
“I trust both Detective Rappaport and Zeke Willet.”
“There you go. All you have to do is convince them that what you tell them is important enough to pay attention to. That’s all I’m asking.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You make finding Hiram’s killer sound very simple.”
“Not at all. But I’m counting on you to pick up a few of the most important puzzle pieces, and then hand them over to a detective so he can solve the crime.”
After Daisy studied Marshall for a good long moment, she shook her head. She studied him again and he tilted his head with a supplicant expression.
“All right,” she said in acquiescence. “For you, I will listen. I will watch and I’ll use my intuition. But that’s it. You might have to step in and press a detective to get done what you think needs to be done. Is it a deal?”
Marshall extended his hand to her. “It’s a deal.”
She shook his hand, knowing she was probably committing to more than she wanted to.
* * *
Daisy didn’t know what to expect when she walked into Gallagher’s Garden Corner after formal tea service that afternoon. Since she and Camellia didn’t always get along well, Daisy was a bit anxious as she stopped in at the nursery to say hello to her. Supposedly Camellia was helping her mom and dad today.
In mid-June Gallagher’s Garden Corner was as busy as busy could be. Not only residents of Willow Creek bought flowers here. Her parents had such a nice selection of flowers, bushes, and trees that surrounding communities came to the Garden Corner so residents could fill their gardens and pathways with beautiful posies. Annuals like petunias, geraniums, zinnias, and snapdragons rose from six-packs on tables both outside and inside the facility. Customers also wandered in and out of the greenhouses.
Daisy found her mom and Camellia watering plants in one of those greenhouses. Camellia had always cared about hair, makeup, and the latest styles while Daisy had been more of a tomboy. Daisy noticed, however, that Camellia was letting her brunette bob that had always been in a chic shorter cut, grow out more. Now it reached her shoulders. She was wearing white jeans and a celery-colored crop top. The outfit was more appropriate for a day of sailing than a day working with plants and potting soil.
Daisy had always felt that her mom favored Camellia. For years she hadn’t known why she’d felt that way. Finally her mom had come to terms with the postpartum depression she’d experienced the first year after Daisy was born. She’d confided that she and Daisy had never bo
nded well. Daisy’s dad and her Aunt Iris had taken over and cared for Daisy. During that eventful year, the groundwork had been laid for future turmoil.
Now that Daisy understood what had happened, she and her mother were coming to a better understanding. Her mother was supportive and tried to reach out to her so they could cement the relationship that had now become one of understanding and trust. Daisy didn’t know, however, if Camellia knew the whole story about their mom, her postpartum depression, and the distance she’d always felt with Daisy because of it.
Camellia had never been married. She had majored in marketing and had PR skills up the kazoo, but she never seemed to solidly fit into a relationship. Three months was about how long she dated one man.
Although they were very different, Daisy loved her sister and wished they were closer. Last Thanksgiving, when Camellia had visited, she’d been dating. Robert had come along with her, and Daisy wondered if he was along now.
After a hug and a kiss on the cheek, Daisy asked her sister, “Did Robert come with you?”
As soon as the question sailed out of Daisy’s mouth, she saw her mom, who was standing behind Camellia, shake her head. That meant Daisy shouldn’t have asked.
Camellia looked up at her, her brown eyes narrowing. “We broke up. Didn’t Mom tell you?”
Daisy shook her head as her mother came up to stand beside Camellia. To Camellia, Rose said, “I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell everyone.”
“I don’t care,” Camellia responded with an off-handed shrug. “We weren’t suited for each other. It just took six months to figure that out.”
Daisy said sincerely, “I’m sorry.”
Camellia blew off her sympathy. “No reason to be sorry. I meet a lot of men in my profession. Someday I’ll check all the boxes on a man and we’ll click.”
Daisy wasn’t so sure about that. Camellia was beautiful, no doubt. But she wasn’t the easiest woman to get to know. She portrayed a strong exterior but Daisy knew her sister was vulnerable underneath. You didn’t grow up with someone without knowing that.
Their conversation drifted in less personal directions for a few minutes, Camellia explaining she had to be in New York by Monday evening. She also mentioned that she was thinking about buying an RV, taking vacation time, and traveling a bit.
That was a huge surprise. Camellia was not the camping type. But an RV with running water and electricity you could plug into, let alone a TV hanging on the wall, would be something Camellia might contemplate.
A woman in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and well-worn sneakers came into the greenhouse and motioned to Daisy’s mom. She called, “Rose, I need your opinion about something. My azalea bushes didn’t winter well. I was thinking about pulling them out and just putting in forsythia instead.”
“I’m coming, Pearl. I don’t know if you want forsythia in place of azaleas. Let’s go look at what other offerings we have.”
Daisy’s mom gave her a look that asked if she and Camellia would be all right together.
Daisy nodded. “We’re good. I’m going to pick out marigolds to take home to put in the garden. The bunnies might stay away from my plants that way.”
Camellia asked, “Marigolds are those little yellow flowers with brown centers, right? They’re not very pretty.”
“They can be,” Daisy said lightly. “And in the garden, it’s the smell that keeps the bunnies at bay. But I like to put them in pots with my other flowers too. Do you want to help me pick some out?”
“Sure,” Camellia said. But she didn’t look particularly enthusiastic about the idea.
They went to the table with many varieties of marigolds. Camellia pointed to yellow ones that looked more like little daises. “Those are pretty.”
“They show up well in pots, too. I’ll take a flat of them along with some of those vanilla puffy ones.”
“Vanilla?”
“That’s what they’re called because they’re almost white.”
Camellia shook her head. “I never paid attention when Mom planted all those flowers in the yard. But you did.”
“I did, and I still enjoy gardening.”
Camellia went to fetch one of the carts used to transport flowers to the checkout desk. Daisy laid two flats of marigolds on the cart.
Camellia looked out over the expanse of tables with flowers as well as standing balls of bushes and trees. “Every time I’ve come here lately, one thought keeps running around in my head.”
As far as Daisy knew, Camellia hadn’t been at the Garden Corner since last summer when she’d visited for a weekend. Nevertheless, she listened.
“Mom and Dad should be thinking about retiring, not selling more bushes and flowers. Dad shouldn’t be lifting all those plants and Mom shouldn’t either. I saw him this morning carting a tree ball. A tree ball! He’s too old for that.”
Daisy wasn’t exactly sure what to say. She knew her dad had considered selling the nursery but had decided against it. Daisy posed a question. “How would you feel if Mom and Dad went to work out at a gym every morning?”
“That would be fine. There would be trainers there to tell them what they could do and what they couldn’t do.”
An argument with Camellia was not something Daisy wanted to tackle today. Yet she felt she needed to defend their parents’ choices. “Don’t you think years of experience tell Mom and Dad what they can and can’t do? Dad knows his back gives him trouble now and then. When it does, he has Cliff handle the tree balls.” Cliff had been working beside her dad for the last few years. He was a family man in his forties who seemed to enjoy the nursery as much as her father.
“You merely see what you want to see,” Camellia said. “When I’m here, I have a better perspective.”
“When you’re here, you don’t realize what happens on a day-to-day basis. You don’t realize how happy the nursery makes Mom and Dad.”
In spite of herself, Daisy could feel a real argument coming on. She could be patient with Camellia for a certain amount of time, but Cammie in the end always had a way of pushing her buttons.
A woman Daisy didn’t recognize was peering over the boxes and trays of plants. Daisy was about to move so she could round the table when the woman, who was nicely dressed in a pale blue pair of slacks and a T-shirt, asked her, “You’re Daisy Swanson, aren’t you?”
As Camellia looked on curiously, Daisy admitted that yes, that’s who she was.
The woman extended her hand. “I’m Marla Diff-endorff. I recognized you from the news clip.”
“You mean the social gathering for the homeless shelter? I served tea and goodies from Daisy’s Tea Garden.”
“Yes, you did. But your photo has been in the newspaper before too—interviews with that reporter Trevor Lundquist after a murder has been solved.”
“Once or twice,” Daisy acknowledged, fudging a bit.
“Are you looking into Hiram’s unexpected death?”
If most people had asked, Daisy would have said no she wasn’t and turned away. But there was something in this woman’s expression, in her sparkling hazel eyes, that told Daisy she was invested in Daisy’s answer.
Instead of answering, Daisy asked, “Did you know Hiram?”
Marla ducked her head for a moment and then raised her chin. Her eyes were moist. “I dated him about a year ago. A rumor is making the rounds that an overdose of insulin might have been what killed him. I know for sure that it would have.”
“I don’t understand,” Daisy said. She knew a high dose of insulin could kill anybody.
“Hiram had problems with hypoglycemia. If anybody knew that, Hiram’s death could have been premeditated.”
As Daisy thought about it, she knew that Marla was correct. If the killer knew hypoglycemia plagued Hiram, he or she would have known the insulin would surely kill him.
“Have you spoken to the police about this?”
Marla shook her head. “I didn’t know if I should. I didn’t know if they’d just laugh at me. You know,
ex-girlfriend thinks she has some information that could matter. I certainly don’t want to be in the spotlight.”
“You really need to tell the police about this,” Daisy insisted. “If you don’t want to go in personally, call the main number and ask for Zeke Willet. I know he’ll be interested in hearing what you have to say. He’ll take down the information and do what he should with it.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m sure. This could be important information to the investigation.”
Marla reached out and squeezed Daisy’s arm. “Thank you. I’m so glad I saw you here today. Your encouragement was just what I needed.”
After Marla picked up a flat of marigolds, she waved good-bye and went toward the checkout desk.
Already Daisy could see Camellia’s disapproving frown. “You’re not going to get involved in another investigation, are you?”
Daisy picked up a flat of the French vanilla marigolds and put them on her cart. Then she looked up at her sister. “No, I am not going to get involved.”
As she wheeled the cart to the checkout counter, she wondered if she’d just lied to her sister.
* * *
On Saturday morning, Daisy felt disappointment as she baked brownies with Tessa in the tea garden kitchen. She told Tessa, “Camellia doesn’t want to meet me and Jonas at the carnival. She said she just wants to spend her time with Mom and Dad.”
“Maybe she does,” Tessa advised.
“Maybe. But I wanted her to get to know Jonas better without tons of family around.”
“There will be time for that,” Tessa said with confidence that made Daisy smile.
Cora Sue, with her bottle-red topknot bobbing, hurried into the kitchen. “Marshall Thompson is here. He ordered chocolate espresso cookies and orange pekoe tea. I served him but he said he’d like to talk to you. I’ll tell him you’ll be out.”
It was unusual for Marshall to stop in at the tea garden two days in a row. He sat in the spillover tearoom with its window seat. Cora Sue had given him the table by the diamond-cut glass window.
Marshall was usually very staid and well groomed. But right now, he had chocolate espresso cookie crumbs around his mouth. Daisy couldn’t help but smile.
Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea Page 11
