Daisy and Cora Sue exchanged a look. If Harriet could be blunt, then Daisy could be too. “They’re trying to figure out who killed your son.”
“Maybe so. But some of the questions they ask have nothing to do with me, and I didn’t know the answers. Derek had a life before I had my stroke, and I didn’t know much about it. Even after I moved in with him, we kept our lives separate. That’s just the way we lived. When I tell the detective that, he looks at me as if I’m crazy.”
“Detective Rappaport might just be trying to get a rise out of you,” Daisy pointed out. “He feels he can elicit information that way.”
“Do you know the detective well?” Harriet asked, narrowing her eyes.
“More than I’d like,” Daisy said wryly. “My aunt and I were involved in a murder at the tea garden, and since then Detective Rappaport and I have crossed swords at times.”
Harriet gave Daisy a more penetrating look. “So you’re not just a pretty face with long blond hair and blue eyes.”
Daisy almost laughed out loud. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”
Harriet pointed a finger at her. “I suspect everyone, especially men, underestimate you.”
“That’s true,” Daisy agreed.
“Do you know what that detective asked me?” Harriet asked huffily.
“What?” Daisy countered, wondering if she’d be shocked.
“He had the nerve to ask me if I could do the stairs if I wanted to. Can you imagine?”
Was it possible that Detective Rappaport suspected Harriet of murdering her son? What could ever give him that idea?
“Do you have children?” Harriet asked Daisy.
“I do. I have two daughters. One’s in college and one is still in high school.”
Harriet shook her head. “I imagine daughters are twice the trouble as sons—makeup, hair, highlights, and clothes. What those young women wear now is disgraceful.”
It was obvious that Harriet had strong opinions about everything.
Derek’s mother said to Cora Sue, “Why don’t you go into my kitchen and grab one of those cakes. There are three of them there.”
“Do you like tea?” Daisy asked. “I can make us all a cup.”
“That would be lovely. My daughter-in-law doesn’t care much for tea, so she doesn’t think to make it for me. And of course, my sons never think of tea.” She said in a lower voice, “At least, Derek never did.”
Daisy remembered how Derek had drunk lots of tea. Did he just not care that his mother might like it? Had he been oblivious to her needs? Is that why Detective Rappaport thought Harriet might have something to do with the murder?
Chapter Seven
As soon as Foster’s brother Ben pushed open the door to the tea garden on Monday morning and stepped inside, Daisy predicted trouble was brewing. Ben could see his brother at home, so why come to the tea garden? One reason—privacy so other family members couldn’t overhear.
Ben was about twelve and his eyes were usually sparkling and animated, his walk full of energy. However, today he looked around for Foster, spotted him in the spillover tea room, and crossed to him faster than Daisy could blink. She knew Foster would be upset that Ben was interrupting him while he was working. Foster had a sense of responsibility two miles wide that spilled over into work and his relationships with his family. Daisy didn’t want to interfere. But as she stood at the sales counter, she could hear their raised voices. She knew Foster’s voice, and Ben’s younger voice was distinguishable.
She peeked around the corner into the room and saw Ben and Foster were in the corner by the bay window. There was only one table filled with four customers, but it was obvious that those customers were listening because they kept looking toward the two young men. Daisy truly didn’t want to intervene, but she couldn’t let the Cranshaws’ personal situation affect the guests who came to the tea garden for calm and quiet. Arguments just weren’t good for business.
She bit her lower lip, debating whether to act or not. Aunt Iris, Cora Sue, and Karina were easily handling the main tea room. If anything, Daisy should help Tessa in the kitchen with baking and prep.
She heard Ben say very loudly, “No.”
As Foster shushed his brother, she decided to break up their conversation.
However, she’d only taken one step forward when Ben, looking miserable, brushed past her and headed for the door. He was gone before she could say his name. At the same time, her four guests in the spillover room rose from their table to leave. On their way out, they told Daisy how much they’d enjoyed their tea service. She was glad they were satisfied, but her mind was on Foster.
She smiled and said everything she should to them including, “Feel free to stop in anytime.” She handed them each a coupon for a free scone. She kept the coupons in her apron pocket just in case she needed one. After they’d left, she caught sight of Foster who was now staring out the bay window. She doubted he was seeing anything.
Instead of going to Foster, she caught sight of Ben lingering on the sidewalk to the left of the tea garden. Foster hadn’t been telling her anything about his moods, and Ben just might.
She signaled to her aunt Iris who was at the kitchen doorway that she was going outside for a few minutes. Iris nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.
Daisy quickly looked left as the tea garden door closed behind her. Ben was still there, staring at something in his hand.
She hurried past the colorful potted planters filled with pansies that decorated the porch, ran down the steps, and swerved to her left. When Ben saw her, he looked as if he was going to walk away.
She called to him. “Ben! Ben Cranshaw. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She and the twelve-year-old had had a few conversations. She didn’t know him well, but she did know that he looked up to Foster. If he was arguing with his older brother, then something was wrong. He looked unhappy as he shifted his billed cap on his head and stared down at his sneakers.
Daisy motioned around to the garden side of the Victorian where no one was sitting. It was still a little chilly for outdoor service, though some residents of Willow Creek requested it. Ben looked like he didn’t care where they sat.
He took the white wrought iron chair at a small table and still didn’t look up at her.
“Ben, I’m worried about your brother.”
Ben’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Why?”
“Because he seems different the past week. He appears to be distracted, and he won’t tell me what’s distracting him. He won’t even tell Detective Rappaport where he was at a certain time. That could get him into real trouble.”
She thought she had to be honest with Ben to coax out any information he might have. Her next step, if she couldn’t get anything out of Ben or Foster, was to go to their dad.
At first Gavin hadn’t wanted Foster to work at Daisy’s Tea Garden. He thought it was beneath his son and that he should be concentrating on his studies. But Foster wanted to earn money to become more independent. He believed he was too old for all the rules his father demanded. So they’d come to an agreement. Foster paid room and board but could come and go as he wished. Daisy thought the arrangement had been working out. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“What did you have in your hand when you were standing on the sidewalk? I saw you had it when you were talking to Foster too.”
Ben pulled a crumpled cocktail napkin from his jacket pocket and laid it in front of Daisy on the table.
Curious, she slowly opened it. It had come from Bases, Willow Creek’s sports bar, which was a singles’ hangout, especially at Happy Hour.
“Foster dropped that in the kitchen when he came in last night. He came in late, but he wouldn’t say where he’d been. That’s not like him.”
Both she and Ben knew that Foster wasn’t twenty-one yet, the legal drinking age in Pennsylvania.
“Do you think Foster has a fake ID?”
Ben shook his head. “When he was getting a shower this morning, I went through his
wallet.”
“Ben, you should have just asked him.”
“The way he’s been acting, I knew he wouldn’t tell me the truth. When I asked him about it in there just now, he said of course he doesn’t have a fake ID. There’s no of course about it. I know kids my age who have fake IDs. So if he had one, he’d want that for drinking liquor, right?”
Daisy suspected Ben’s conclusion was probably true. “Did you see him when he got home last night?”
“I did. I talked to him. I made up the excuse that I wanted to borrow one of his binders for a school project.”
“Had Foster been drinking?”
“I don’t think so. After Mom died, Dad did drink, even in front of us. And we saw the symptoms of that—slurred speech, sweating, the smell of alcohol. If he’d been to Bases, he always smelled like smoke when he came home because he’d been in one of their private rooms playing poker.”
“He told you this?”
“After he got back on his feet, after he realized he needed us as much as we needed him, he told us he’d just go in there and drink and play poker until he couldn’t think about Mom. I get it. Foster got it. But Foster just won’t get real with me now. I don’t want to have to snoop. I want him to just tell me what’s going on. I don’t want to worry he’s drinking and driving.”
“Maybe Foster has a romantic dilemma and thinks you wouldn’t understand.”
“You mean like breaking up with Vi? He’d better not do that.”
Daisy smiled. “See what I mean? I think we’d better let Foster figure out on his own whatever’s troubling him. The best thing for you to do is just be available to listen. Try to be helpful to him, not critical. Sometimes when someone annoys us, we tend to criticize everything they do. That’s not the way to get them to open up.”
“So I should just listen,” Ben acknowledged.
“Yes, just listen if the two of you talk. If you just listen, something might spill out. Don’t jump on it, but just let Foster explain slowly. Think you can do that?”
“I guess I can.” But Ben didn’t sound as if it would do any good.
“Okay, Ben, I’ll tell you what. You do that, and I’ll approach Foster and see if I can get anything else out of him.”
“Will you let me know if you do?”
Being truthful, Daisy said, “That depends on what’s troubling him. But if I can, I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” Ben admitted. “So you won’t be able to call me.”
She could see how much that bothered him. She patted his arm. “That’s okay, Ben. Call me at the tea garden, and I promise I’ll tell you if I’ve learned anything.”
Ben stood. “Thanks, Mrs. Swanson. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t want to go to Dad.”
“You still might have to. I might have to.”
Ben nodded. “Dad will be upset if we go to him.”
Daisy knew Foster would be beyond upset too.
* * *
It was late in the day when the busloads of tourists stopped arriving. Daisy saw Foster busing tables in the yellow spillover room. The customers had emptied out except for two tables in the main tea room. Now was as good a time as any to talk with him.
As Daisy approached him, Foster frowned. She must have had an I’m-going-to-have-a-word-with-you look on her face, and he could read her quite well. He kept silent as he loaded a teacup and saucer onto a tray.
She walked up to the table and asked, “Can I talk to you, Foster?”
He set down the tray as if he knew he couldn’t evade her. “You saw my brother here this morning. I’m sorry we argued in the tea garden. That won’t happen again.”
“Siblings argue. I’m not concerned about that, Foster. But I am concerned about what Ben told me.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Daisy added dishes with crumbs on them to Foster’s tray.
“He told me you came in really late last night and you dropped a cocktail napkin from Bases.”
“He tried to blackmail me this morning. If I didn’t tell him why I went to Bases, he’d go to Dad.”
“He still might. He’s worried. He said you didn’t answer your cell phone last night, and if you’re going to be out late you tell everyone that. Why was last night so different?” Her motherly instincts were kicking in, and she was going to eventually get to the bottom of what was bothering Foster.
“I just had some things to think about,” he explained.
“And you had to stay out late to do that? When Ben found the cocktail napkin, I think he was worried that you’d been drinking and driving.”
Foster stopped loading the tray and turned to face Daisy. “At home, it’s hard to think with Dad, my brother, and my sister. I needed quiet.”
“And the bar was quieter?” Usually a TV was blasting, and chatter could be loud among the customers.
“I guess I mean I needed time to myself. There was a replay of a game on the TV. I had soda water with lemon. I just needed time alone.” His words were almost pleading.
“Is this about work? Are you considering taking another job?”
“Absolutely not. I like what I do here.”
He seemed sincere about that, and suddenly Daisy wondered if he was thinking of breaking up with Vi. Trouble in Paradise could cause this kind of angst. Should she ask if this was about Vi? Should she try to dip her finger in the pool of teenage romance? She knew how heartbreaking it could be. She knew how every missed call and offhand remark could be misconstrued. A breakup at this stage of their relationship wouldn’t be uncommon. They were separated by distance, though Vi would be coming home for the summer.
However, maybe Vi had a job she wanted to take elsewhere and Foster didn’t want her to. Daisy didn’t want her to, either, if that was the problem, but she wouldn’t stop her. She couldn’t stop her if she wanted Vi to fly with her own wings. That also meant she couldn’t interfere in her daughter’s relationship with Foster. She absolutely had to stay out of it. She hadn’t talked to Vi for a week. She usually let Vi call her. But Vi hadn’t called. This time maybe Daisy would have to create the opportunity to speak to her daughter.
In the meantime, she told Foster, “If you ever need to talk . . . about anything, you can come to me. You know that, don’t you?”
Foster nodded. “You’ve been good to me, Mrs. Swanson, and treated me with respect. I don’t want anything to change that.”
Daisy wondered why Foster had reverted to the Mrs. Swanson title again, but she wouldn’t point it out now. She simply said, “Nothing could change that, Foster.”
But as she left Foster busing the table, she considered what could possibly change the way she thought of Foster. The only thing she could think of was him being involved in a murder!
* * *
The volunteer fire company in Willow Creek had long ago built a community social hall that was attached to the engine house. The social hall was used for everything imaginable, from Spring Fling dances to wedding receptions to private parties and other social events by businesses in the community. Today the hall was being used for a chamber of commerce breakfast.
Daisy stood in the short line at the buffet table with her aunt Iris. The meeting always started early in the morning, around seven o’clock, so business owners could get back to their work environments. This occasion was nothing fancy, but the chamber of commerce president Bridie Stoltzfus had asked Daisy to provide scones, muffins, and her brown sugar biscuits.
Daisy knew that Bridie didn’t want anything too refined. Still she’d used a white tablecloth over a long table, put a bouquet of flowers in one of her tall teapots in the center of the table, and down the center she placed a quilted runner Rachel had sewn. Daisy displayed the scones, muffins, and biscuits on tiered dishes. The hot water urn would serve anyone who wanted tea. She had provided a wooden box of selected quality tea bags. There was, of course, a coffee urn for the coffee drinkers. Instead of the teacups Daisy would have preferred,
insulated cups bought at the local discount store served the day.
Aunt Iris chose a biscuit, put it on her paper plate, then slathered it with the raspberry jam that they used at the tea garden. “I wonder if Bridie ever thought about having a meeting in the evening instead of the early morning. We might get a whole different bunch of store owners and business operators, don’t you think?”
“You can make the suggestion,” Daisy assured her aunt.
“Bridie won’t listen. She always thinks she knows what’s best.”
Daisy tried to hide a smile. Bridie, white haired, petite, with huge blue glasses and running suits in a variety of colors, ran the chamber of commerce like a ring master. She did rarely accept suggestions, but she was a good organizer. When something needed to be done, she was sure to see it through. But Bridie and Daisy’s aunt had clashed on more than one occasion because they both belonged to the same social women’s group at the local church. There Bridie didn’t run the show but had a hard time letting go of being boss.
“When’s Bridie’s term up?” Daisy asked, though she knew very well when it was.
“In August,” her aunt answered airily.
“You could run for chamber of commerce president.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her aunt looked astonished that Daisy would even think of such a thing.
“You organize very well. How difficult would it be to run a meeting once a month?”
“It’s not just meetings once a month,” her aunt protested. “There are the weekends we have special events to coax more tourists to drive through Willow Creek. Then there are the Christmas decorations around town, whether or not a stoplight needs to be retimed, and just the general business of keeping records.”
“The mayor makes decisions on some of that.”
“That’s true, but Bridie is good at what she does.”
Daisy smiled at her aunt’s concession. Though she might cross swords with Bridie at times, Aunt Iris respected the woman.
Suddenly, Daisy felt a hand on her shoulder. The gentle firm grip was one she had come to know. It was Jonas.
Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches Page 8