Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

“Maybe that brooch had nothing to do with Rowan.”

  “Do you know where it came from?”

  “I don’t.”

  When he gave her a side-eye, she said, “Honestly, I don’t.”

  “How about the tennis bracelet of amethysts and diamonds that was torn from Margaret’s wrist?”

  “Torn from her wrist?”

  “It lay under her on the floor.”

  “I might have seen it when she wore it. Not that day. I think it was the first time we got together to discuss tea. It was beautiful.”

  “That bracelet Rowan did buy for her. It makes me wonder if he thought he was competing with someone. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Or just competing. Maybe he wanted his bracelet to be more important to her than that brooch was.”

  Zeke pointed to her. “Exactly. You follow things quickly.”

  Since Zeke seemed more receptive than sometimes, she asked, “Do you have more than one suspect?”

  His expression froze and she wondered if he’d learned that as a cop or if he’d always hid his thoughts and feelings. Though, according to Jonas, he’d been a different person when they’d been friends. Finally he revealed, “We’re tracing backgrounds on a few people.”

  “And you can’t tell me who they are.”

  “No, I can’t tell you who they are.”

  “It always leaks out,” she reminded him.

  “Perhaps, but those leaks won’t come from me.”

  The receptive side of Zeke wasn’t all that receptive, but it was better than his gruff limited measure on conversation. So she decided to be “friendly,” then go for the question she wanted the answer to the most.

  “I can get you honey for your tea if you’d like it,” she offered.

  “Sweeten me up? I doubt it.”

  After he took a few sips from the mug, she thought this was the best time to ask her question. “Can you tell me why you’re so angry with Jonas? I know you’re upset because you don’t think he protected Brenda, but Jonas was hurt too that night. He was shot and he didn’t know if his shoulder would ever be the same. So why blame Jonas?”

  Looking as if he wasn’t going to answer, his face became hard. Then he started talking. “Jonas has a savior complex. A hero complex. He thinks he can handle everything . . . handle everybody. But he can’t. So don’t let him tell you he can keep you safe. That’s an impossible feat. Safety is an illusion that can be shattered with a long-nose rifle, crosshairs, and a laser light.”

  Standing without taking another sip of his tea, Zeke said, “Since you can’t give me information about what I needed to know, I’m out of here. But it was a good break. Now I’ll be more awake while I sit in my office going through notes, interviews, and suspects.”

  He crossed to the door of her office. “Remember what I said, Daisy. Jonas can’t protect you. Sometimes nobody can.”

  As Zeke left, she understood that part of their conversation had been about Zeke himself.

  * * *

  Back at the counter, Daisy was surprised when Russ Windom, the retired teacher Iris was dating, approached her. He usually took a seat and whoever served him told Iris he was there. If her aunt had time, they had a little chat. But today he looked as if he had something particular on his mind. Apparently, he didn’t need conversation with Iris but with Daisy.

  “Hi, Russ,” she said cheerfully. He was around Iris’s age. His hair was gray with a high receding hairline. He adjusted his titanium black glasses and she’d learned by now that that meant he was nervous. Nervous talking to her?

  She didn’t have any customers begging for her attention, and if Russ was nervous, she wanted to put him out of his misery. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes. I’m not quite sure how to bring this up.”

  “You want me and not Iris?”

  “I do. And this isn’t about your food here or anything like that. In fact, I don’t know if you can do anything about it, but I thought I’d ask.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I’ve seen you talking with Rowan Vaughn.”

  Daisy gave Russ her full attention. “Yes. I know him. Jonas is working on the set at the Little Theater and the tea garden served tea at Margaret’s.”

  “Yes, Iris told me what happened. From what I understand, the Little Theater is going to go ahead with the production.”

  Daisy hoped they were going to go ahead with the production if they could get their act together, so to speak. “Yes, they are going ahead. I stopped in at a rehearsal, matter of fact.”

  Shifting from one brown loafer to the other, and plucking down the sleeve of his camel sweater, Russ finally told her his issue. “Businesses can take a sponsorship role in the program for the play. I was told individual persons can too . . . that there are different layers of sponsorship for the theater.”

  “That’s right. The tea garden took a business sponsorship.”

  “I’d like you to tell Vaughn that expecting five hundred dollars from individual residents of Willow Creek is a little much, don’t you think?”

  Daisy knew the business sponsorships were one thousand dollars. She’d assumed the average citizen could donate whatever amount they wanted, but she must have been wrong. “Five hundred dollars is steep for an individual sponsorship.”

  “Exactly. I can’t do that. When I called the number for the sponsorships, someone named Tamlyn answered. She told me it was five hundred dollars or my name wouldn’t go in the program. Vaughn does want this theater to succeed, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. The money would go into the endowment fund so the endowment can go on producing more money to run the theater. Is there a reason you’re speaking to me about it?”

  With a nod, Russ went on. “This Tamlyn that I spoke with, she said she couldn’t do anything about it. But I thought maybe if you talked to Mr. Vaughn, he’d understand how ridiculous that amount is for the average person in town. I understand if he wants levels of sponsorship, but the least he could do is come up with different levels, something like a gold sponsorship, a silver sponsorship, a copper sponsorship. Don’t you think that would be a good idea in the long run to generate more money?”

  The idea was a good one. “I think you’re right. I’m not sure how Rowan sees it, but I’d be glad to give him a call.”

  Russ looked relieved. He gave her a smile and asked, “Should I place my order here or go sit at a table?”

  Daisy beckoned to Cora Sue. “Cora Sue will take your order and serve you. I’ll call Rowan before I forget.”

  Minutes later in her office, she brought up Rowan Vaughn’s contact information for his cell phone and tapped on his name. He answered on the second ring.

  “Daisy? Have you learned anything about the investigation?”

  “No, Rowan, I’m sorry. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling about the sponsorships for the play and the theater.”

  “Oh, those,” he said with some disdain. “Tamlyn’s taking care of them. I really can’t be bothered with that now.”

  “I understand how you’re feeling, Rowan, but you do want to make the theater an ongoing success in Willow Creek, don’t you?”

  He seemed distracted for a moment, but then he sighed. “Yes, of course I do. I’ve sunk enough money into it.”

  Daisy really hadn’t expected this half-hearted response from him. “For it to be a success, you really need to include the whole community. One of my customers suggested you have different levels of sponsorship. The lowest level can’t be five hundred dollars. It’s just too much even if tickets included four plays a year. A working person in Willow Creek just doesn’t have that kind of money to put out.”

  “What would you suggest? Twenty-five-dollar sponsorships?” Rowan scoffed.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Sure, you can try to encourage big donations, court wealthier donors who would like to see their names in the program. But think how many residents you might draw in for twenty-five dollar
s. They might even buy a few tickets and suggest their friends come with them. You have to make this a community venture for it to succeed.”

  Rowan was a businessman and he should know this. But he didn’t seem to. Maybe a developer who bought and sold properties was only interested in the big picture, not the small one.

  It seemed to take a long time for Rowan to think about it. Then he said, “The Lancaster TV station was going to cover the opening. In fact, they’re interviewing me about it tomorrow. I could mention levels of sponsorship and see how it flies. If Tamlyn would get a lot of response, then we could go with it permanently.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Russ Windom is the one who thought about it and approached me. So if you see him, you might want to thank him. I’ll tell him you’re going to put his plan into effect.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Daisy could hear the fatigue in Rowan’s voice. “I know this seems like a bother and this production might not even be something you want to continue with, but if you consider it as a memorial to Margaret, it might mean a lot more.”

  Suddenly a woman’s voice came from somewhere nearby. Was that Glenda?

  “I know you’re right, Daisy, and I’ll put your plan in action. But I need to go now.”

  “Of course.”

  As Rowan ended the call, Daisy thought about Glenda being there with him. Just where was “there”?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Since Daisy intended to take care of her grandson whenever she could, she’d assembled a sleep and play crib in her bedroom for him. The following day, he was sleeping on his back while a colorful mobile with cats and dogs and bunnies hung above him. Since he’d fallen asleep, Daisy found she couldn’t stay still.

  Vi was at her doctor’s appointment. Daisy had wanted to go with her. Foster had wanted to go with her. But Vi had insisted she was going alone. She didn’t want anyone to persuade her to do something she didn’t want to do. This would be a discussion for her and her doctor.

  Daisy had an app on her phone that connected her to the nanny cam and monitor that watched over Sammy in the bedroom. After taking one last look at him, brushing her fingers over his arms, which were kept warm in a mint-green terry onesie, she took the bottle that he’d finished to the kitchen. At least feeding him with a supplemental bottle was going well.

  After putting together a chicken and rice casserole for supper, Daisy was headed back to her bedroom when she spied someone passing outside the living room window. She realized Vi was back. She didn’t know what to hope for. She just wanted her older daughter happy again, filled with the joy a new baby could bring.

  When Vi came in, she looked as if she’d been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen and her nose was red too. Daisy didn’t hesitate to put her arms around her, hugging Vi’s down jacket until she felt Vi underneath. She held on until Vi began to move away.

  Daisy was quick to assure her, “Sammy’s asleep.”

  Vi unzipped her jacket, looking for a moment as if she were lost.

  Daisy took her arm and tugged her over to the sofa. She didn’t push or cajole. She waited until Vi took off her jacket and then began to talk.

  “I was so confused, Mom. For a while, I wished you or Foster had been with me for the appointment. But then I realized I had to do what’s best for Sammy, no matter how I feel about it.”

  “That’s a decision you’re going to have to make often as he grows.”

  “I imagine so. Dr. Geisler suggested an antidepressant she thinks will help me. There are several to try. She believes I’ve given Sammy a good start with breastfeeding, but now I’ll have to stop. The medicine could contaminate my breast milk. She says she thinks it will take two or three weeks for the antidepressant to kick in. In the meantime, she gave me the name of a counselor she wants me to see, and she wants me to continue to go to the mommy group. She insists I have to talk about my feelings in a safe place in order to work through them. She gave me samples of the drug but she sent a prescription in to the pharmacy too. I’m hoping Foster can pick it up on his way home.”

  Daisy hung her arm around Vi’s shoulders and squeezed. “Are you okay with what you’ve decided?”

  After biting her lower lip, Vi nodded. “Yes. If I feel like I’m spiraling downward, she wants me to take a break. But that’s not always possible.”

  “You can always call me. If I can’t come, Aunt Iris or Gram will.”

  She watched Vi sort through the idea for a moment and frown. “I don’t want to tell Gram about any of this.”

  Certainly, Daisy could understand. Her mom had a way of showing disapproval that could hurt. Still . . . “Vi, postpartum depression has been kept in the dark for so very long. The only way the sun’s going to shine on it is if you talk about it. You know Gram. She might not understand at first, but eventually we’ll make her see that you’re doing what you need to do.”

  Vi turned to Daisy as her eyes filled with tears again. “Sometimes I feel like a little kid—confused, not sure what I’m doing hour to hour. Is that motherhood?”

  With a gentle voice, Daisy assured her daughter, “It can be. Parenting is like any other relationship that you want to grow. Each day you’re building on it with your child. You’re getting to know him and he’s getting to know you. You’re going to make mistakes, but hopefully there are ways to correct them . . . and family and friends who will help you do that. You’ve made a good first step here, Vi. Honestly, you have.”

  Turning to her mom, Vi hugged Daisy and held on tight.

  Vi had just let go of Daisy and gone into the bedroom to blow her nose and check on Sammy when Daisy’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Taking it from her jeans, she saw that Rowan Vaughn was calling.

  She hoped he wasn’t going to try to persuade her to look into further information about Margaret and who might have killed her. But she had the feeling he wasn’t going to let this go.

  “Rowan. Hi. I—”

  He cut her off. “Daisy, I’m at the police station. I’ve been here for hours. I have a lawyer but I want to talk to you.”

  Daisy still hadn’t eliminated Rowan as a suspect. “Why do you want to meet with me?”

  “We need to have a private conversation. If they ever let me out of here, I’ll be tied up the rest of the day with business. Can we meet tomorrow?”

  What Daisy had in mind for today meant she really had to assist at the tea garden tomorrow. “If we meet tomorrow, it will have to be a short meeting over my lunch hour.”

  “That’s fine. Can you come to the house? I don’t really want my business to be broadcast to the public, and anything we’d say at the tea garden could be overheard. Plus, it’s just as well if no one sees us together.”

  Why ever not? Daisy wondered. But she didn’t ask it aloud. “Will Tamlyn be there?”

  “Are you really worried about being alone with me?” he grumbled.

  She told him the truth. “I would prefer to know someone else was there.”

  After a heavy sigh, he agreed. “Fine. Yes, she’ll be there. I need someone to take care of the house, and she does a fine job of it. But she’ll be in the kitchen. I don’t want her to overhear our conversation.”

  In addition to using Tamlyn as a chaperone, she would tell Iris where she was going. If she was late returning, Iris would know to contact Jonas or the authorities.

  “All right, Rowan, how about one o’clock? That’s usually a good time for me to duck out of the tea garden.”

  “One o’clock it is. I’ll see you then.”

  When Daisy ended the call, she wondered what she’d just gotten herself into.

  * * *

  Daisy was on the way to Rowan’s house the following day when Tessa called her. It was Daisy’s lunch break and she wondered if something was wrong. The morning had been busy at the tea garden, and she and Tessa hadn’t had a moment to talk. That wasn’t unusual.

  Daisy answered through her car’s bluetooth. “Hi, Tessa. What’s up?”

&
nbsp; “I didn’t know if you were coming back this afternoon.”

  “I am. I’m hoping this only takes about half an hour. In fact, Rowan didn’t sound as if he had much time for me, though he’s the one who asked for the meeting.”

  “I wanted to let you know that Cade can’t come to Thanksgiving dinner. He has other plans. But . . .” Tessa let her voice trail into a pause.

  “But?” Daisy repeated.

  “Trevor Lundquist asked me out a couple of days ago. We went to dinner last night and had a really good time. Would you mind if I ask him to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Daisy considered Trevor sitting at a table with her family. He seemed to be able to fit in anywhere and could always make conversation. “Asking Trevor to Thanksgiving dinner is fine with one stipulation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He can’t ask us any questions about the murder.” Tessa laughed. “I might have to muzzle him if he starts, but I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him you’re the hostess and you’re the one handing out the invitations. He has to comply.”

  Daisy smiled. “Thank you. Anything else?”

  “No, we’re good. I have to whip up another batch of the fall fruit salad. Do you think I should use the peach yogurt or the strawberry?”

  “The peach is a hit. I’d stick with that.”

  “Got it. I hope your meeting with Rowan is productive.”

  After Daisy said good-bye, she considered Rowan Vaughn and what she knew about him. He was a businessman and he traveled. However, from the bits of information she’d garnered about his apartments, he wasn’t a detail person. He delegated and maybe didn’t look over what the people he hired did to execute his orders. Had he delegated something that went terribly wrong? Was he as innocent as he claimed?

  Daisy would get another chance to find out.

  On Rowan’s doorstep Daisy rang the bell. Moments later, Tamlyn opened the door. Her eyes were wide and she kept her voice low as she said to Daisy, “Mr. Vaughn is in an awful mood. I’m just telling you so you can be prepared.”

  “I’m as prepared as I can be,” Daisy assured the housekeeper. “I understand you’ll be in the kitchen.”