After Daisy exited the train on a busy Thursday, she didn’t let the people or the city distract her. It would have been so easy to people-watch, to take a walk and shop, to stop at a bistro for a latte and a croissant. But she wasn’t in New York on a pleasure trip, and she intended to head home as soon as she could.
She’d brought enough cash to take as many cab rides as necessary. Fares could be expensive. Her money was hidden in a zipper compartment in her fanny pack, which was buckled close to her body. She wore it under her jacket, zippered up to her neck to keep her warm . . . and also to protect her identification, credit card, and cash. She was no fool when it came to New York City. She’d read about all the touristy things a tourist shouldn’t do. She’d read about the safety measures a tourist should take.
She hailed a cab that dropped her off at an intersection a quarter block from the town house. She didn’t ask the cabbie to wait because she might want to explore a bit. Her main fear was that no one would be home. However, if no one was, she could try to talk to neighbors.
Daisy walked along West 11th Street, finding a row of single-family town houses. Trees bare of leaves now lined the sidewalk. She reached the address she’d memorized and remembered the description of this particular town house. It was built in 1899, a Greek Revival. It was nineteen feet wide with antique brick. Ironwork graced the windows and outer border of the property. When she’d looked up the address on Zillow for more details, she’d read that hardwood flooring inside was cherry. She also knew there were three bedrooms and three baths. Cherrywood paneling also adorned the kitchen. One of the town house’s best features, in her mind, was the five working fireplaces. The master suite with a bathroom was on the top floor and it had its own marble-encased gas fireplace. The town house also had a finished basement.
She couldn’t imagine anyone buying this town house with its estimated price tag. The price per square foot was over $2500. The price per square foot in Willow Creek could run between $100 and $150. Yes, there was that much difference.
Daisy’s heart thumped hard. If it weren’t so cold out, she’d probably be sweating. As it was, she was hot, even in thirty-two-degree weather. She climbed up the eight steps to the covered entrance trimmed in white. A ceramic pot with a decorative spiral evergreen stood in the corner of the porch.
After Daisy rang the bell, the intercom crackled and a male voice asked, “Who’s there?”
Daisy should have suspected she would have to identify herself before making contact. “My name is Daisy Swanson. I own a tea garden in Willow Creek, Pennsylvania. I’d like to talk to the homeowner, if that’s possible.”
The silent pause stretched her nerves even more taut.
Finally, the man said, “I need to see ID before I talk to you.”
“No problem,” she agreed, her voice a bit squeaky.
Not two minutes later, a tall man possibly in his late forties opened the door. He wore designer label slacks, a navy cashmere sweater with a cream oxford shirt beneath. His hair was professionally styled, short on the sides and longer on the top. Daisy had readied her driver’s license and held it out for him to see.
“What do you want?” he asked haughtily.
She decided honesty was the only way she’d capture any information. “A friend of mine in Willow Creek was killed and I’m investigating her background. This was the address she used on her income taxes for a year six years ago. Can you tell me if you knew Margaret Vaughn?”
He was already shaking his head before she finished. “I just bought this town house four years ago, so I have no idea who you’re talking about. I moved here from Connecticut for business reasons.”
“She also went by the name Luna Larkin.”
His lips twitched ironically. “A stage name?”
“Yes. She was an actress.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t recognize that name either.”
“Can you tell me who you bought this house from?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I bought it from a bank. I don’t know what the story was behind it. I didn’t care because I got it at a discount. I liked it on first sight and that was it.”
This trip might have turned into a wild goose chase, but she wasn’t finished trying to succeed. “Can you tell me if your neighbors are friendly?”
“You mean, will they give you any information? It’s possible. I don’t know them well, but my neighbor two houses down always says hello when he sees me. He owns a Scottish terrier, and I see him walking up and down the street quite a bit. You could try him.”
“From the real estate records, I found out that your name is Charles Martz. Is that correct?”
“You did do some investigation. I’ve kept my name and number off of most public records.”
“I have a daughter who’s computer savvy.”
Mr. Martz nodded as if he understood that. But he didn’t give Daisy any additional information. She thanked him and he closed the door. She heard it lock.
A few minutes later, she was walking along the sidewalk to two town houses down. She went up similar steps and rang another bell. This time, there was no intercom. A man, much older than Charles Martz, opened the door and smiled. His face was lined with wrinkles and a few age spots dotted his broad nose. Wispy gray hair grew above his ears, but the rest of his head was bald.
A dog barked from another room, then came running into the foyer. It was a cute little black Scottish terrier. Hopping out onto the stoop, it automatically sniffed up and down Daisy’s pant legs. She knew it probably smelled cats.
“Well, you’ve got Topknot’s seal of approval,” the man noted.
She noticed the dog’s topknot and smiled. “Is he safe for me to pet?”
“He loves to be petted. Go ahead.”
Daisy let the dog smell her hand that she’d ungloved, and then she scratched the fur around his ears. Afterward, she ran her hand down his back. He yipped at her and then jumped up and down around her legs.
“All right now, Topknot . . .” The man patted his leg. “Come on. Back inside. We’ll go for a walk later. Let me find out what the lady wants.” The man closed the door on Topknot.
Daisy went through her introduction, then asked his name. She mentioned that his neighbor recommended that she talk to him.
“Why, I’m surprised. Charles isn’t talkative on a good day.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Timothy Aberdeen. I gather you’re looking for information of some type.”
“I am.” She told him why.
“Oh, my goodness. I’ve lived here for fifteen years now. Let me think about this. Charles’s town house was in a bit of an upheaval the past five years. Six years ago, a man named Conrad Eldridge lived there. He’d lived there for quite some time and, if I remember correctly, a woman named Luna Larkin worked for him. In fact, she not only worked for him. She took care of him for about a year. You see, Conrad was an actor . . . very popular in the sixties. However, he tired of the LA lifestyle and left a hit series to move to New York. Once, he was well-known for his extravagant parties.”
“But his health declined?”
“Yes, it did. Miss Larkin had met him at the strip club where she was working.”
“As a stripper?” Daisy asked, starting to put all the pieces together . . . at least some of them.
“Yes. They connected on some level, as people often do. It wasn’t a romantic relationship from what I understand. After all, Conrad was so much older than she was. He helped her get bit parts so she could stop stripping.”
“You said his health declined. Did he have a disease of some kind?”
“He did,” Timothy said with a nod. “It was an aggressive form of Parkinson’s disease and he became reclusive. She cared for him and he paid her well.”
“Did Miss Larkin care for him until he died?”
“Yes, she did. News travels fast, especially about people who once had a large audience. Everybody wants to know every little detail. I heard that she inherited jewelry t
hat had belonged to his mother, as well as a substantial financial gift.”
Daisy finally felt as if she was getting somewhere. She smiled and couldn’t help beaming at Timothy. “This information helps me so much. I don’t know if it will have any relevance to the investigation, but I hope it does.”
“You say you own a tea garden in Pennsylvania?”
“I do. My aunt and I run it together.”
“What’s your favorite kind of tea?” His hazel eyes twinkled as he asked.
“I’d have to say that oolong is my favorite.”
“A woman after my own heart. I’d ask you in for a cuppa, but I doubt if you’d accept. Am I right?”
She liked this man and felt he was an old-school gentleman. “If the weather was nicer, I’d sit out here on your stoop and have a cup with you. I don’t think I should come inside. But it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m going to catch a train back to Willow Creek and try to do something with the information you gave me.” She took a business card from her pocket. “How about if you hold on to this and, if you remember anything else, could you give me a call?”
“Certainly. And if you have more questions, feel free to call me.”
Taking her phone from her pocket, she tapped in his number as he gave it to her. After they said their good-byes and Daisy walked down the street to hail a cab, she wished she had gone inside and had tea with Timothy. It might have been a very interesting experience.
Chapter Twenty
All Daisy wanted to do when she returned home from New York was crash. Jazzi was staying overnight with a friend, but Daisy felt the need to check on Vi and Sammy. She didn’t want to miss anything with Vi that, if watchful, she could catch. Preventing her daughter from going into a downward spiral was her main objective. Hence, texts during the day and company when Vi needed it.
So as she drove up the road to the garage and pulled inside, she noticed Iris’s car. A short visit could reassure her all was well.
A half hour later, she’d convinced herself that Vi was doing much better. Her daughter wore a smile more than she didn’t . . . and it was genuine. After Foster came home, Iris and Daisy decided to leave. All Daisy could think about was a warm bath and bed.
As soon as Iris exited the garage with Daisy, she said, “Do you mind if I come over to the house for a bit? There’s something I want to talk to you about . . . something I should have talked to you about before now.”
Whatever did Iris have on her mind? Daisy had no idea. Iris walked beside Daisy to the house. After Daisy unlocked the door, she deactivated the security alarm. Inside, she turned on the wagon-wheel ceiling light, and both Marjoram and Pepper blinked at her from the sofa where they’d pulled the afghan from the back and nestled in it.
Daisy and Iris removed their jackets. Daisy took her aunt’s as well as hers to the closet and hung both of them inside. Her aunt looked so serious Daisy didn’t know what to think.
“A cup of tea?” she asked her aunt.
Iris responded with a bit of a smile. “Always.”
Crossing to the kitchen, Daisy pulled out a tin of Earl Grey. She knew her aunt liked it, especially in the evening. They knew each other so well. They always had. Daisy could remember many cups of tea with her aunt as she was growing up when she confided things she wouldn’t confide in anyone else, not even her dad.
Taking a plate of whoopie pies from the refrigerator, with their chocolate cookie outside and their cream cheese whipped center, she set them on the table while the tea brewed. Iris came over to the island and pulled out a stool.
Her aunt took her tea with a spoonful of honey. Daisy plucked the jar of wildflower honey from the cupboard and set it on the table. There were no pretensions between her and her aunt. Iris would spoon it out from the jar and be happy doing it.
At the cupboard again, Daisy found an antique aqua iridescent gilt pedestal teacup and saucer. For her aunt, she chose a vintage Royal Albert teacup and saucer with tea roses in yellow painted on the cup and dish. She and her aunt appreciated porcelain and china, colors and textures, gilt and silver. Maybe Daisy was just postponing the inevitable, but there was no reason they couldn’t have a calming snack while they talked.
Daisy took her seat and pushed the honey jar toward her aunt. “I’ve had many serious conversations at this island. Your demeanor and tone of voice suggest this might be one of them.”
“It is serious,” her aunt confessed as she opened the jar of honey, dipped a spoon inside, and then slid it into her cup of tea. She stirred absently.
Daisy had chosen a slice of lemon to use with her tea. She squeezed the slice with her fingers, wiped them on a napkin, and waited.
“I should have brought this up with you a long time ago. Actually, your mother should have talked to you about it.”
Daisy felt her brow crinkle. “Is this a family secret?”
“I’m not sure you can call it a secret, but it’s something we all went through together.”
Puzzled again, Daisy shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Iris took a sip of her tea as if she needed a fortifying drink, then set down the teacup. “It’s about time you do understand. Tell me why you think that you and I might have a closer relationship than you and your mother.”
“I told Mom the night of Vi’s wedding reception that I was closer to you for a reason. You don’t criticize everything I do.”
“Sometimes Rose only sees what she wants to see. I believe she’s jealous of our relationship and she takes it out on you.”
“I’ve tried to get closer to Mom since that night, but it’s not easy.”
“No, it isn’t,” her aunt said. “Let me tell you why.”
Daisy tried to brace herself because she had no idea what was coming.
Her aunt bit her lower lip and started. “When your mother had Camellia, it was as if God’s blessings shone down on all of us. She was an easy baby. She napped, she smiled, she slept at night fairly early on. Your mother even took her to the garden center in one of those swaddling carriers, and she worked alongside your dad. It was almost as if their life hadn’t been interrupted except to have been made better.”
Daisy wanted to jump in. She wanted to ask if she had been a problem baby. She wanted to ask so many questions. Instead she let her aunt go on.
“When you were born, something different happened with Rose. From the moment she brought you home from the hospital, she was upset. She had more sleep deprivation, which was common in a new mom and now a mom of two. But I could tell she didn’t attach to you as she had with Camellia. I don’t know the underlying reasons—if it was your mother’s psychological makeup or if it was hormones or if it was having two children to care for instead of one. Not as much was known about postpartum depression back then. Mostly it was ignored. It was called baby blues. There was an attitude even among professionals that said, Pick yourself up and move on. The chemicals in the brain don’t always respond to pep talks as you could well see with Violet. Your dad and I stepped in to take care of you because your mother seemed incapable of it. In that first year of your life when your mother couldn’t get her bearings, it affected all of us.”
Daisy felt numb and cold and almost bereft. She didn’t know what to say. Her mother hadn’t bonded with her and that’s what had led to their guarded relationship all these years later? That numb feeling started to melt away when she realized how grateful she was that Vi had the support system she had and a doctor who could help her. Vi was bonding with Sammy now, and he’d never have the desolation of feeling he was never close to his mom.
Tears came to Daisy’s eyes and she blinked them away. There was nothing to cry about. The past was in the past, and all they could do was go on from here. She took her aunt’s hand. “Thank you for telling me, and thank you along with Dad for always making me feel loved.”
Iris shook Daisy’s hand gently. “Your mother loves you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve always thought her person
ality simply clashed with mine,” Daisy said.
“And it probably does,” Iris agreed. “I think she tried to overcompensate for what she didn’t feel that first year.”
“She does like to hover.”
Aunt Iris smiled. “Yes, she does. She does that with everyone, only more so with you. It’s her way of taking care of you. If you look at it that way, your relationship with her might be better. I think she has mellowed since Sammy was born.”
“Maybe,” Daisy agreed. “On the other hand, maybe she’s just been quiet because problems with Vi have brought her past back. Do you think she’ll ever talk to me about it?”
“There’s no way to know. But I felt you finally needed to understand your roots.”
Apparently, every family had its secrets. Maybe now she could stop blaming her own shortcomings for the way her mom reacted to her. Maybe now Daisy could see her mother in a new light . . . and just love her.
* * *
Daisy needed time to explore a particular site on the Internet on Friday evening. All day, that’s all she could think about. But she’d just arrived home with Jazzi, and supper loomed on the horizon along with feeding Pepper and Marjoram. She was about to do that when the doorbell rang. Checking her phone and the app on it, she saw that it was her mother. Had she been at Vi’s and something was wrong?
Hurrying to the door, she let her mother inside. “Hi, Mom. This is a surprise. Were you over at Violet’s?”
Her mother came in and her gaze scanned the downstairs. “No, I wasn’t at Violet’s. Is Jazzi around?”
“She’s upstairs working on a research project. Do you want me to call her?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
Puzzled, Daisy said, “Let me take your coat. Would you like to join us for supper? Are you alone? Did Dad have something to do tonight?” Her parents usually did everything together.
“Your father’s at home. I told him . . . I told him I needed to talk to you . . . alone.”
Warning signals clanged in Daisy’s head. Her first thought was—what had she done wrong now? Her mom wasn’t acting like her usual self. If she had something to criticize Daisy for, usually her back was straight, her demeanor authoritarian. Now she looked smaller, older, maybe even defeated.
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