Murder with Clotted Cream

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Yes, I will. But just so you know, there’s a button on the wall near his desk. All you have to do is press that and it rings in the kitchen. If you press it and you need anything, I’ll come running.”

  For Tamlyn to say that, Rowan really must be in a state. “Good to know.”

  As Tamlyn showed her to Rowan’s office, they passed the room that used to be Margaret’s den. Some husbands and wives shared the same office. On the other hand, she supposed working was easier if a person could close the door.

  Daisy stood in the doorway and unzipped her fleece jacket, studying Rowan, who was bent over a printout on his desk. He looked wiped out with furrows across his brow cutting deep. His hair was a bit disheveled as if he’d run his fingers through it recently. He even had beard stubble that said he hadn’t shaved in a day or so. Where she usually had seen him in a suit, today he wore jeans and a flannel shirt. Very unlike Rowan as far as she knew.

  Either hearing Tamlyn or sensing Daisy’s presence, he looked up. He waved to the chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Daisy.” His voice held a world of weariness.

  “What’s going on?”

  After closing his eyes for a moment, Rowan leaned back in his high desk chair. “That Detective Willet grilled me as if I were a Mafia boss. I couldn’t figure out why he was doing it. Yes, I know the husband is always the first suspect, but then after an hour or so, we got to the point.”

  Daisy put her purse on the floor and waited for further explanation.

  “Detective Willet found out that I consulted a divorce lawyer. Between that and the insurance money that I possibly could collect, I’m their number one suspect.”

  Opening a drawer, he took out a book with a leather cover. When he laid it on the desk, she could see that it was a Bible. He laid his hand on it. “I swear to you, Daisy, I did not kill Margaret.”

  She didn’t know enough about Rowan to know exactly what his faith was, or if a Bible really meant something to him. So she did the only thing she could do. She asked questions. “Why were you consulting a divorce lawyer? That usually means a marriage is splitting up. Was that the case with you and Margaret?”

  Rowan looked down at the Bible and then at his other hand, which still bore his wedding ring. With a pained expression he disclosed, “Margaret was never forthright with me. There was a gap in her history before I met her, and she wouldn’t fill it in.”

  If Rowan had been the love of Margaret’s life, why wouldn’t she confide in him? “You never met any friends of Margaret’s from that time period?”

  He rocked his chair and it creaked. “Not a one. Sometimes I had the feeling her secrecy had something to do with her family’s religion.”

  Margaret’s family religion had been strict. Even Vanna would attest to that. “Do you think she was hiding something terrible?”

  With vehemence, he pushed the Bible away. “I don’t know about that. I suppose Margaret could have been capable of something terrible. But who defines terrible anyway? More than that, I sensed she had guilt about things she’d done. She’d just make a comment here or there, maybe under her breath or to herself, but she wouldn’t confide in me. Isn’t that what marriage is all about—being able to confide in each other and tell your deepest, darkest secrets?”

  Exactly what Daisy had considered. She responded, “As you know, I was married, and we shared a lot. I don’t think either of us had any secrets from the other. But I do know that we probably had deep feelings that we didn’t always share. Me about my family and Ryan about my inability to have more children after Vi. We came together in adopting Jazzi, but that didn’t mean we shared all our thoughts and feelings. So I don’t know if I can really answer your question.”

  She usually didn’t share anything so personal with a practical stranger, but she was trying to bore down to her gut feelings about Rowan and whether he could have murdered Margaret. She couldn’t seem to go deep enough to find that answer.

  Nevertheless, she did have an idea. “Does Margaret still have anything packed away that might have been from her younger years?”

  He easily admitted, “I haven’t looked through all of her things yet. It’s just too painful. There might be a box or two in the attic.”

  “That might be a place to start if you really want to have answers.”

  “You might be right.” He looked a little calmer than he had when she’d walked in. “I can look for answers. But you have a reputation for finding answers. Please, can you find some answers about Margaret? Find out what got her killed and who did it.”

  Daisy jumped in immediately. “Rowan, I can’t interfere in the police investigation.”

  “So don’t interfere. Skirt around the edges. From what I understand, you know how to find the personal tidbits and I think that’s what we need here. If the police are just looking at me, they’re not going to find the murderer and I could end up in jail!”

  She knew Detective Rappaport and Detective Willet were good detectives, but would they settle on that one person? It had happened in the past. It could happen again.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she told Rowan, knowing that Jonas and her family probably weren’t going to be too happy about that.

  When Tamlyn appeared out of nowhere, Daisy wondered if Rowan had rung the bell alerting her that he needed her. After they said their good-byes, Daisy followed Tamlyn along the hall to the foyer. Once there, though, she stopped. Daisy was going to be honest with Tamlyn because she sensed a genuineness about the housekeeper.

  “Tamlyn, did you care for Margaret?”

  Tamlyn’s eyes widened and she went a little pale. Daisy considered this the moment of truth. She thought she’d be able to tell if Tamlyn lied.

  After a hesitation when her eyes turned down, she stared at her flats, then gazed at Daisy. “She was my employer. I cared for her in that way. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

  “But as a person, she wasn’t your cup of tea, so to speak?”

  Tamlyn shook her head. “She had a way . . .” Tamlyn started. Then she flitted her hand through the air as if she couldn’t quite explain it. “She had a way of shutting people out. Once in a while, a glimmer came through. I knew she liked how I took care of the house. She cared that I didn’t have any family. On the other hand, she could shut me out with a glance. She could give me a look that made me realize she didn’t want me in the room. Mrs. Vaughn wanted to be alone a lot of the time.”

  “I know you had nothing to do with the murder, and so do the police. You were bustling around the table when the murder happened. But because you were working here, I would think something you know might help figure out who wanted to hurt Mrs. Vaughn. Did Mrs. Vaughn ever speak about her past?”

  “Not to me. She didn’t confide in me,” Tamlyn explained. “But when she was with her friends, she told many stories about when she was acting. They were funny stories about missed lines, missed cues, falling over her own feet. The others would laugh and she would brush it away. She entertained them. That’s the only time I saw her really smile. You know, one of those genuine smiles and even a laugh.”

  “So acting had made her happy.”

  “I think so. One time she told me that being a housekeeper was honest work and I should be proud of it. I never expected that coming from her.” Tamlyn waved to the whole house in general. “Look what she had. How would she even know what housekeeping felt like?”

  “Unless maybe she’d done it?” Daisy asked.

  “She mentioned waitressing, but never housekeeping. I guess a waitress would feel the same way. It is honest work. Most jobs that pay the bills are honest work.”

  Could that have been what Margaret thought? Had she carried values from her past into her adulthood? Or at the other end of the spectrum, had she had regrets of something she had done to earn a living? That would take some digging.

  Tamlyn looked toward the hall where they’d come from. Daisy knew what she was thinking. “I won’t keep you much longer, but
I’m going to try to help Mr. Vaughn by finding another suspect.”

  “Won’t the police do that?”

  “We hope so. But if they want to mount evidence just against him, they might not look at other possibilities.”

  “That’s terrible,” Tamlyn said, as if she’d never thought of that.

  That was the innocence Daisy saw in her. Tamlyn looked at the world through eyes that considered things the way she thought they should be. She probably believed in fairy tales too.

  “Do you remember the amethyst and diamond brooch that Mrs. Vaughn wore?”

  “Sure, I remember,” Tamlyn admitted. “It sparkled in the sunlight. That purple was so deep and dark. And when she wore it, she touched it as if it meant a lot to her. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do know what you mean. My husband gave me a strand of pearls. Whenever I wore them and whenever I wear them now, I touch them and think about him. Did Mrs. Vaughn ever explain where she got the brooch?”

  “She never did. I didn’t ask her personal questions. She would have snapped, or maybe even fired me. I didn’t want her to do that.”

  “How about the amethyst and diamond bracelet she wore? Did she wear that often?”

  “Not as often as that pin. When she dressed up, she wore both. One time she told me that it caught on things if she wasn’t careful, you know, like the lace tablecloth or gloves. I’m pretty sure Mr. Vaughn gave it to her. That bracelet . . .” Tamlyn suddenly closed her mouth and didn’t say more.

  “Go ahead. You can be honest with me.”

  “I think that bracelet was just a piece of jewelry to Mrs. Vaughn. But the brooch, that meant something special.”

  And someone had spilled clotted cream all over that brooch. There was symbolism in that, and maybe even something personal.

  Where had the brooch come from?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Making pumpkin pies the night before Thanksgiving was a tradition among Daisy and her girls. Tonight, Tessa had joined them too. She’d insisted she’d put together her vegetable casserole in the morning and bring it along to dinner. Tonight, she’d help roll pie dough.

  They’d closed the tea garden early today, and tomorrow it would be closed too. Everyone deserved a holiday with their families. What had really thrilled Daisy was that Vi had come over to join them. It didn’t seem to be a chore for her tonight. She looked as if she wanted to mix up the filling for the pies. They weren’t ready for filling yet, so Vi was pulling the recipes out of the binder Daisy kept in the pantry. They were going to roll shells for three pumpkin pies first. In the meantime, Jazzi would be experimenting with a flourless chocolate cake.

  When the doorbell rang, Daisy guessed Jonas had arrived. He was bringing over the table and chairs so they could set them up. She’d told him to drive Elijah’s truck up to the sidewalk near the house. The ground was frozen over and the tire tracks wouldn’t hurt it. Elijah was an Amish friend of Jonas’s who often helped at the store and also supplied some of the furniture.

  After she rushed to the door, she threw it open and there was Jonas with a smile on his face. “Ready for another table and six more chairs?”

  “Ready for something else first,” she teased.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he brought her close and kissed her. “Is that what you had in mind?”

  “You read my thoughts.”

  “Not always an easy feat,” he joked.

  She rapped him on the shoulder and took a step back. “Tessa and I will help you bring it all in.”

  He frowned. “That’s not necessary.”

  “We want to help. After we do, maybe you could go to the garage and bring in the box I set outside the garage door that has the flour, sugar, and canned goods in it. When I got home, Vi was coming down the stairs from the apartment and I just wanted to concentrate on her, not worry about carrying everything inside. And we needed to make pies.”

  “Will do.”

  Tessa joined Daisy at the door. “Where are Marjoram and Pepper? You won’t want them to get out.”

  “They’re upstairs in Jazzi’s room, away from all the noise and bustle. They hate that their peaceful home is disrupted,” she said with a grin. “But I’m sure tomorrow when they smell the turkey, they’ll come down and greet everyone. Just call to Jazzi to go up and close her bedroom door. Then we’ll be sure they’re safe.”

  Daisy could hear Tessa call to Jazzi as she went outside to help Jonas.

  It didn’t take long to carry everything inside. Daisy showed Jonas where she wanted the table in her living room. It wouldn’t be far from her dining area, and conversations could roll around both tables with ease.

  Once Jonas had set the boards in the table, he went outside to pick up the supplies at the garage.

  “This is a beauty,” Tessa said, running her hand over the grained wood.

  “Jonas told me it’s walnut with a dark chestnut finish. It is gorgeous.”

  “Someday I dream about owning an old house with a dining room where I could use a table like this,” Tessa mused.

  “My guess is you don’t want an open concept floor plan like I have here.”

  “I prefer nooks and crannies and separate rooms.”

  Daisy realized Tessa had put a lot of thought into this and maybe dreams too. “Do you imagine sharing that house with someone?”

  “Maybe.” After she trailed her fingers over the table again, she admitted, “I’m a little nervous about Trevor coming tomorrow.”

  “Why nervous?” Daisy asked. “You said dinner out went well.”

  “I know. And he was nice enough when he did that interview with me in January after the murder investigation. I guess I never thought about dating him.”

  “You don’t have to jump in with both feet,” Daisy said. “You could just dabble with one toe.”

  Tessa laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Are you going to set the tables tonight?”

  “No, I’d better not. I have two felines who might decide they’d like to be the centerpieces. I’ll wait until tomorrow about an hour before everyone is going to arrive. Hopefully, the fur kids will be taking their evening naps.”

  Jonas brought in the carton where Daisy had put extra supplies that she’d purchased to bring home from the tea garden.

  After Jonas kicked shut the door with his foot, he asked, “Kitchen island?”

  “Put it on the counter,” she directed. “That way we can roll out the dough on the island.”

  Jonas headed that way, but turned back to her to say, “You are going to give me something to do other than rolling out pie dough. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be very good at it.”

  “I have two food processors,” she assured him. “You can help me keep those going.”

  At the kitchen counter, he called, “Deal.”

  Tessa leaned close to Daisy. “You and Jonas seem to be doing well.”

  “I’m afraid to talk about it,” Daisy admitted. “I’m afraid I’ll jinx it.”

  Jazzi and Vi stood at the stand mixer, mixing the chocolate mousse filling for the cake, when Daisy moved to the counter to unpack her carton. She’d ordered twenty pounds of extra flour—one tenpounder to use and the other to fill up her canister—as well as five pounds of sugar, two large cans of pumpkin, and three jars of Emma Zook’s tart cherry pie filling. With all of them helping, they might have time to make the cherry pies too.

  However, as she lifted the first bag of flour out of the box, she realized there was a hole in the bottom of the bag, and flour started sifting out into the carton. She made a frustrated sound. Sidling around her girls, she picked up the canister and brought it to the carton. There she poured the flour into it. After she finished with that, she picked up the second bag and the same thing happened. All right, one bag could be a fluke. Two bags was no fluke.

  Jazzi had turned off the mixer. Tessa was talking to Daisy’s daughters about the cake and what containers would be best to bake it in. Daisy was concentrating on the
other elements in the box. When she picked up a jar of cherry pie filling, she couldn’t believe what was in front of her eyes. The glass had a crack along one side of the jar. Every jar did.

  Trying to keep her mind from reeling, she turned to the island, where Jonas was assembling one of the food processors. “Jonas, did something happen to this box?”

  He tilted his head with a perplexed expression. “What do you mean—did something happen to it? I just picked it up off the bench outside of the garage and brought it inside.”

  “You didn’t drop it?”

  The little quake in her voice must have alerted him that something was wrong. Quickly he crossed to her. “Why do you think I dropped it?”

  “The flour bags . . .” She picked up one bag. “And the sugar,” she murmured, “have torn sacks. The jars of cherry pie filling are cracked.”

  Jonas stared at all the elements in the box as if she were telling him they were on fire. With a gruff sound, he said, “I didn’t look in the box before I carried it in.”

  “If you had looked, I don’t think you would have seen anything. The sacks were set up so that nothing escaped as long as they were in the carton. And the cracks in the jars are on the sides. You couldn’t have seen those either.”

  By now Vi, Jazzi, and Tessa were listening in. Finally Tessa said what everyone else might have been thinking. “Somebody sabotaged your ingredients. How could that have happened?”

  Considering how she’d taken the ingredients from the pantry at the tea garden, how she’d packed them in the carton, and then . . .

  Leaning against the counter, Daisy sighed. “I set the carton outside the back kitchen door of the tea garden. Then I went back inside for my purse. I was the only one there. When I was in the office, pulling my purse from the drawer, my phone rang. I answered it because the caller ID was a client. She was explaining to me exactly what she wanted at her tea, and I took notes. Then I left those on my desk, retrieved my purse, went outside, and picked up the carton. I loaded it in my car and drove home. That’s the only place anyone could have tampered with it.”

  “I don’t like what that means,” Jonas muttered.