“He can’t just come over to the tea garden?” Daisy had asked.
“He doesn’t want to do that, Daisy. There are more people there and he’s in my back room. He says he was at the police station and now he wants to talk to you.”
Daisy’s mind had swept around and around thinking of all the reasons Eli might want to speak with her. Had he been cleared?
Daisy had said, “I’ll be there in about ten minutes when I’m on my break. If he can’t wait, then he’ll just have to come over here.”
She hadn’t heard from Rachel again so she’d assumed ten minutes had been okay.
A long-striding bay gelding clomped down the street, pulling a wagon with two teenage boys. One of them tipped his hat to her. She recognized him as the son of her neighbor. She smiled and waved and continued across the street.
When Daisy entered Rachel’s shop, she noticed tourists looking around at the materials and trims. Three were standing at the checkout desk holding items they wanted to purchase. Rachel was there and pointed Daisy to the back room. Daisy knew her way because she’d had discussions with Rachel there before. It was a storage room that often held the quilting supplies that Rachel’s quilting circle needed. Daisy had joined the circle at times when she could. The small baby quilt topper she’d started wasn’t nearly finished. Her stitches compared to the other women’s in the group were irregular, too big, and definitely of poorer quality. She always thought she could make time to work on it, but she never did.
Making her way around the tourists, she passed the powder room and saw the door to the storage room was open. Eli was standing there, his hat in his hand, looking nervous.
She stepped inside and he motioned for her to close the door. She looked him straight in the eyes and decided she trusted him enough to do that.
“Miriam talked to me and convinced me to go to the police station,” he started, running his fingers around the brim of his straw hat.
“Rachel told me you went, but she didn’t tell me why you were there.”
“First off, I had nothing to do with the murder of Hiram. I told Detective Willet that, and I think he believes me now.”
When Zeke kept a poker face, it was hard to know what he believed, but she didn’t burst Eli’s bubble.
“I told him other things, though, other things that I hope made him believe me.”
“Other things that had to do with the protest?” she guessed.
He nodded, looking forlorn. “I was paid to protest against the homeless shelter.”
“Paid by the other protestor I saw you with?” she asked.
“I didn’t tell the police who paid me. I believe in trust.”
Almost exasperated with him, she leaned against the shelving, trying to decide what was the best thing to say. “I understand that you believe in trust, Eli, but what happens when you trust the wrong person? What happens when you trust someone who gets you into trouble, especially trouble with the police?”
The look he gave her was one that she’d seen on her own daughters’ faces when she’d scolded them. He looked unhappy and he shifted from one work boot to the other.
She softened her tone. “I saw who you were paid by. I just don’t know his name. But I’m sure I could pick him out on the TV footage.”
“Please, Mrs. Swanson, don’t do that. He handed me the money but he is not the one who paid us.”
“Who is?”
“I can’t tell you! She thought—” He cut off his words and his lips thinned as he scowled at what he’d given her.
“She what?” Daisy asked, pressing hard.
“She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she was doing good. She thought the newspaper would do a story.” He stopped again. “She thought bad publicity could be good publicity.”
Something Arden Botterill had said nudged at Daisy’s memory. The day when Daisy had picked out the spices, Arden had said to her that negative PR had paid off.
“You don’t have to tell me who paid you. I think I know. I’ll find out on my own.”
“Mrs. Swanson, I don’t want to cause new trouble for anyone. I just want to go back to my family and my district and start a good life with Miriam. I need money to start a business, and for us to get married. I thought taking that money for protesting was an easy way to do it.”
“You told the police all this?”
“I did.”
She considered something else. “Now you’ll have an inheritance from Hiram to get you started.”
“I will, but . . . I spoke with the bishop. I’m only going to take what I need to build a house for me and Miriam and to buy the bare essentials to start my business. The rest will go into a community fund in my district. There’s always someone who needs something.”
Daisy could see the sincerity in Eli’s eyes. She knew what he was telling her was the truth.
“I wish you well, Eli. Thank you for telling me all this. I hope you’re right that the police no longer suspect you. Jonas and I found someone who might be able to give the detectives a good lead to take them to exactly who killed Hiram.”
Last evening Zeke had called after she, Jonas, and Felix had taken Thelma to the station. He’d said they’d put a patrol officer outside of Thelma’s house for a couple of days and definitely talk to Joyce. Beyond that, Thelma would be on her own. Jonas had told her he’d help her put in a security system. She’d accepted his offer.
The rest was up to Zeke and Detective Rappaport.
Except for Arden. Daisy was going to confront the shopkeeper now!
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I did nothing illegal,” Arden Botterill claimed.
With fifteen minutes still left from her hour break, Daisy had gone straight to Vinegar and Spice. The store was empty but for Arden. Daisy had walked straight up to the counter. “Eli told me he was paid by someone who paid all the protestors.”
“And he named me?” Arden asked looking surprised.
“No, he didn’t name you. But he didn’t have to. He said bad publicity could be good publicity. And where could he have gotten that? You said the same to me.”
“Lots of people use those terms.”
“You thought by using that kind of coverage you would get us on TV and more exposure for the homeless shelter.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong? The police were called to the scene. That costs the town money. They could charge you. Maybe you had good intentions, but what do you think might have happened if those protestors with hot tempers had met people on the other side with hot tempers?”
Arden brushed Daisy’s concern away with her hands. “Sometimes I think you pay too much attention to Amish values. Everything isn’t black and white. There are shades of gray too, and sometimes you have to do what’s good for the greater good. The greater good is getting that homeless shelter built. Fundraising isn’t easy, Daisy. You’re naïve when it comes to that. You think the good citizens of Willow Creek are just going to empty their accounts and safes and give thousands of dollars to this fine, fine benefit? Guess again. Somebody has to give them a reason to empty those pockets. Somehow the word has to get out about what we’re even doing. Image is everything. What better image to show than to have nasty people protest against good people? There were a lot of Amish in that crowd on tape, and that was good for us too.”
“Arden, I think you should rethink your publicity campaign and, if you can’t, maybe you should resign from doing it.”
“And just who else will volunteer unpaid?”
Daisy studied Arden as if she hadn’t seen her before, as if all their previous encounters hadn’t been friendly, as if Arden had never understood what this community meant and what it was about.
The Amish and English had worked hard to live together in and around Willow Creek, respecting each other. There was no room for division. Any division that came up had to be settled, had to be mediated, had to be ended, not provoked. Before she sa
id something to Arden that she shouldn’t, before her indignation took over, she knew the best thing for her to do was leave. That’s what she did.
Without another word to Arden, she turned and left the shop.
* * *
That evening Daisy and Jonas were admiring the tomato and pepper plants in her garden. She explained what had happened with Eli and Arden.
“It’s probably good you walked away.” After he examined a tomato on a plant, he said, “I talked to Zeke today.”
“About the murder?”
“He told me this is the last day of protection for Thelma. I volunteered to sit in my car in front of her place tonight. He doesn’t want her to run away again and wants to question her more. He feels she might know something that she doesn’t think she knows.”
“About the clinic or about Hiram?”
“He’s just trying to follow up every lead. There is something else he told me. He’s connecting clients of Hiram’s who also had contact with the clinic. That could come up with unique matches for suspects. But it’s going to take time.”
“In other words, he’s thinking out of the box.”
“Or, he’s doing what some algorithms on computers do—find matches when you don’t think there are any.”
“I was thinking of going out of the box a little myself.”
“How?” he asked warily.
“Maybe Zeke or Rappaport don’t know enough about any of the suspects to put clues together. They know what questions they want to ask, and that’s what they ask. Sometimes they get the same answers over and over again. Maybe a round-about way that they don’t have time for might be better.”
Jonas carefully put his hand underneath another tomato, studied it, and looked back at Daisy. “If you’re telling me all this, then you’re thinking about doing something.”
“Nothing dangerous . . . at least no more dangerous than going into Piper’s shop to buy a bike. I’d like to dig into Piper’s background a little and there’s a way to do that. I know Lawrence’s wife Jeanette at least in passing. I could stop in and ask her how Piper’s doing, mother to mother.”
Felix, who had been snuffling around the ground in the garden for anything unusual or maybe even edible, came back to Daisy and dropped down at her feet. She lowered herself to her knees to pet him. This wasn’t just a quick pet but a long petting session. He lifted his head so she could rub under his chin, then he rolled over on his side so she could rub his belly. At one point, he even had two paws up in the air and seemed to sigh with pleasure.
“You’re spoiling him,” Jonas warned.
“I’m not. I’m just giving him a little love. Men pet differently than women.”
Jonas chuckled. “I guess they do. Felix has never seemed in doggy heaven when I pet him, or brush him, or groom him.”
“I’ll have to give you lessons,” she joked.
“It’s that mother’s touch you have,” Jonas said, serious now. “If you and Piper’s mom relate, I don’t know what you’ll find out.”
“Neither do I. But if we suspect Piper at all and we still think it was a woman who used the stun gun on me, then this visit won’t be wasted.”
“Do you want to take Felix with you?”
“I don’t think I’ll need Felix. Not with Jeanette.”
* * *
However, when Daisy found herself sitting in Jeanette’s living room the following afternoon on her break, she was suddenly nervous. Maybe she should have brought along Felix. After all, he was a buffer.
Jeanette was a tall woman like Piper, but she was rail thin. Her flowered blouse with buttons down the front seemed to hang off her shoulders. Her white slacks looked as if they had a designer cut but they were roomy, not tight like the style now. Daisy had called ahead because she knew some people didn’t like surprise visits. Jeanette had been pleasant, even eager to talk about Piper. She’d told Daisy she had bought a raspberry pie from the farmers’ market and they could have that with tea.
The Bishops’ living room, like their Cape Cod house, was old school. Set off the foyer, it had double windows on two sides of the room. Bookshelves stood between both sets of windows. And to Daisy’s surprise, two gray tabby cats were asleep on the bookshelves between the books. She smiled as she studied the milk glass lamps on mahogany side tables with marble tops. As Daisy sank in to a paisley armchair, she admired the table next to her.
“I see you admire the tables,” Jeannette said.
“They’re beautiful.”
“I inherited those from my mother. I think bringing the past into a house is a good way to keep memories alive.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Daisy agreed.
“I wish things weren’t so complicated for young people now. We didn’t have very much when Lawrence and I started out, but we could make do. We were able to save a little from each paycheck so we could buy our first house. Now I think the problem is that young people want everything all at once rather than in stages.”
It was time Daisy asked the questions that she wanted answers to. “Do you think Piper’s like that, wanting everything at once?”
“I think Piper’s view of life has been somewhat limited. All she ever wanted was a husband and a family. Lawrence and I have a good marriage. She saw that and she wanted something like it. But every marriage is different. . . every couple is different.”
“Do you think Piper is disappointed in her marriage?”
“I don’t know. I do know it’s Emory’s fault that they can’t get pregnant, but that’s part of for better or for worse. Piper was my miracle after two miscarriages. We have tried to give her everything, but we can’t fix this. And I don’t think a lawyer filing a class action suit will fix it either. Hiram Hershberger just made things worse.”
“Did you know Hiram?”
“Just as a lawyer, nothing deeper than that. Lawrence and I used him for our wills. Emory’s father had more dealings with him. He used Hiram in a lawsuit against a neighbor. Unfortunately, the neighbor won. The cases Hiram won were all publicized well. The cases he lost weren’t. That’s the way he spun his career. Really good lawyers don’t have a spin. They just do the work.”
Daisy supposed that was mostly true. Jeanette had just given her something to look into—a lawsuit between Emory’s father and a neighbor.
* * *
That evening after the tea garden closed, Daisy sat in the office there, her computer screen glowing in front of her. Jazzi had left the tea garden with Brielle after their shift. They were going to spend the evening at Glorie’s, pulling weeds in her garden. As far as Daisy knew, Glorie, Brielle, and Nola hadn’t made a decisive decision yet on what they were going to do for the future. They were all thinking about it.
Eerie quiet surrounded Daisy with no activity in the tearoom or kitchen. She experienced an unexpected shiver up her neck, but that wasn’t because she was afraid to be there alone. The shiver was warning her that what she was about to do might have consequences.
Daisy had learned a thing or two about exploring public records. Some of those strategies she’d learned on her own by simply searching, delving into public state websites, following links. Other means of searching Jonas had taught her. After all, as a detective he’d had to be facile at it.
Daisy found the page for recorded lawsuits in Pennsylvania. Since she didn’t know what year Emory’s father had filed a lawsuit against a neighbor, she searched for his name. The search engine found the name in short order and Daisy read over the narrative quickly.
Hiram had indeed lost the suit. The case seemed to be fairly cut and dried. The neighbor had had the right to erect his fence. Emory Wagner, Senior didn’t have the right to tell him to take it down. Daisy wondered why Hiram had even taken the case. The lawsuit didn’t seem to have much to do with the rage it took to commit murder. Then again, it was the only lawsuit she knew anything about with reference to Hiram, other than the Hope Clinic’s.
Feeling as if she was tilting at windmills
, she decided to keep tilting. The next name she searched was Hiram Hershberger, lawyer of record. This could take a while but she was determined to find at least part of the puzzle necessary to take her to the next clue or to lead the police to the next clue.
Did she know more than the detectives did? No, of course not. But she might have talked to more people than they had who weren’t direct suspects. She might have discovered information on her trip to the clinic or talking to Thelma or speaking with Eli or even Rachel.
Page after page, Daisy read until her eyes were tired, her shoulders ached, and she was ready for a dinner with Jonas and a relaxing evening. She was almost ready to give up. Almost. Still scrolling down the page of lawsuits, she spotted something. She read through the information. It seemed serious enough that it could be a passion-filled motive for murder.
She thought about calling Zeke. What if she was wrong? What if there was nothing to her theory? What if she looked like a fool? What if he simply gave her another lecture about the foolhardiness of investigating on her own?
Wouldn’t it be better to have ammunition? Wouldn’t it be better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission? Her “follow the rules” tendencies nudged her conscience. Still, what if she was right?
After a call to someone involved in a lawsuit that settled the truth in Daisy’s mind, she made another call to the person she suspected murdered Hiram.
* * *
The floodlight at the back of the Victorian had switched on at dusk. Daisy passed a motion detector light in the parking area. Standing there with a flashlight, she wondered where Jonas was. He, of course, wouldn’t be using a flashlight.
Daisy suspected he had texted Zeke, but she didn’t know what the results of that had been. She could only hope. She’d decided to do this without Zeke’s initial assistance but with Jonas backing her up.
She didn’t think she was in danger as she was merely looking for corroborating information. Her phone in her culottes pocket would be recording the conversation. And Jonas would be a witness.
Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea Page 24
