Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches

by Karen Rose Smith

  That brought up a lot of questions. Who did Derek leave his estate to? Maybe no one knew yet.

  The line behind them had grown longer again. Daisy gave her condolences to Bradley and his wife Lauren, and then she and Tessa went to find a seat. As they did, she noticed a woman come in who didn’t speak to any of the family members. She looked to be in her thirties, well dressed in a yellow linen dress with a jacket and spiked heels. She took a place in line and waited until it was her turn to gaze down at the picture on top of the casket. Suddenly, she frowned and turned away. Without giving condolences to the family, she left the funeral home.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Daisy said to Tessa. After she rose to her feet, she went to the vestibule. No one was at the guest book, so she took a look but didn’t see a woman’s signature in the last four entries. Interesting. The stranger hadn’t signed the guest book either.

  On her way back to her seat with Tessa, Daisy spotted Clementine who was sitting at the end of the side aisle. She was tapping something into her phone. Since the seat beside her was vacant, Daisy slipped into it.

  Clementine turned to her and smiled. “Hi. I thought I might see you here.”

  “Since Derek recently visited the tea garden, it seemed the proper thing to do.”

  Clementine grimaced. “So you’re one of those.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “One of those women who do the proper thing. I never could do that.”

  “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to, or I wish I could rebel against propriety. The way I was raised has stuck.”

  Clementine vehemently shook her head. “Nonsense. I was raised to be the proper Southern girl, and look what happened to me. I turned into a journalist digging up secrets.”

  Daisy kept her voice low. “Have you discovered any secrets?”

  Clementine shook her head again. “I’m reaching all dead ends. How about you?”

  “I learned Harriet has a sister.”

  “Yeah, I wonder what the story is behind that.”

  “We might never know. Do you know who the woman was who walked away from the casket without greeting the family?”

  “Oh, yes, I know who that was. That was Miranda Senft. Didn’t you ever watch Derek’s cooking show?”

  “I was in Florida then, working, raising the girls after Ryan died. I didn’t have time for cooking and cable shows. Was Miranda part of that?”

  “Miranda had been Derek’s co-host on his cable show. She traveled with him everywhere.”

  “Why didn’t she offer sympathy to his family? They must have been close.”

  “I don’t know. Miranda won’t talk to me. I tried after she left the show. She wouldn’t talk to me then, and she won’t talk to me now. She either hangs up or shuts the door in my face.”

  “Shuts the door? Where does she live?”

  “Near Lancaster. When she and Derek were an item, that was convenient for them.”

  Daisy wondered if Miranda Senft would shut the door on her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daisy and Tessa didn’t attend the graveside service. Tessa went back to the tea garden while Daisy stopped in at Woods. For some reason, she just needed to see Jonas. She told Tessa she wouldn’t be long, and she wouldn’t be. But in some ways, Jonas had become her touchstone, her balance, a perspective when hers was skewed. Right now, she felt it was skewed.

  Jonas’s store had a unique flair that she usually appreciated. Huge cubicle shelves lined one side of the store. In each of those cubicles stood a ladder-back chair, each in a different color or finish—lemon, robin’s egg blue, distressed green. The wood furniture in the rest of the store—cherry, dark walnut, and pine—always shone with a glossy finish. Not only had their crafting been done carefully, but they were kept polished. She passed pedestal tables, library tables, occasional tables, which stood along the other side of the room. Armoires, chests, and highboys were the most beautiful Daisy had ever seen. All of the furniture was handcrafted by local craftsmen including Jonas. Elijah, who sometimes clerked at the shop, was one of the major contributors. Daisy could see that Jonas wasn’t at the counter at the rear of the store, but rather his store manager, Tony Fitch, was. Tony was in his thirties. He was a bachelor and lived in an apartment in a row house back on Hickory Street. He had blond, almost white hair and a smile that could help sell furniture to someone who might not need it.

  He greeted Daisy. “Hi, Mrs. Swanson. Are you looking for Jonas?”

  “I am. Is he here?”

  “In the back. He was sanding a set of bookshelves.”

  “Thanks,” Daisy said as she opened the back door that led into the workshop.

  Jonas was crouched down, sanding the inside of the lowest shelf. He was wearing goggles and a tool belt, and she had to smile. Whether he was dressed as a woodworker or a detective, he made her heart do a flip.

  He must have heard her footsteps because he pushed the goggles to the top of his head and stood. “This is a surprise.” He checked his watch. “Is the funeral over already?”

  “Tessa and I didn’t go to the graveside service.”

  “Any particular reason?” Jonas asked with a cock of his head.

  “I was . . . I was . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Setting the sander on top of the bookshelves, he came closer to her. “You what?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I should have just gone back to the tea garden.”

  His expression was kind when he pressed, “You came here for a reason. What was it?”

  “I don’t like funeral homes,” she blurted out.

  Still studying her carefully, he said, “Most people don’t.”

  She fluttered her hand as if it could catch her thoughts and make sense of them. “Something just got to me today. Maybe it was the flowers. There was an arrangement there with lilies that was so much like the one Ryan’s colleagues had sent. It just threw me back.”

  “Not just the bouquet, I imagine, but the scent too.”

  She nodded. “I really can’t stand the smell of lilies anymore. There were several bouquets with them.”

  “At Ryan’s funeral or at Derek’s?”

  “At Ryan’s,” she said softly.

  Jonas lifted his goggles to the top of his head and came even closer, close enough that she could see the dusting of sanded wood on his forearm. “And you came here because . . .”

  Taking a deep breath, she admitted, “Because I needed you to bring me back to the present. I don’t want to be stuck in the past.”

  Jonas put his arms around her and hugged her. That was exactly what she needed. They stood there for a while just holding each other.

  When she leaned away, he asked, “Did you learn anything while you were there?”

  Daisy summed up new facts. She told Jonas about Harriet’s sister June, about what Clementine had said, about the woman, Miranda, who hadn’t stayed.

  “Do you think she came out of curiosity?”

  “I don’t know. Her face was . . . hard. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Think about it. I’d be glad to go with you if you’d like.”

  “Do you want to get involved?”

  “Rappaport uses me as a confidant sometimes, so I’m aware of what’s happening, whether I want to be or not. But if you decide you’re searching for clues, I’ll help you.”

  She smiled up at him and felt the connection she’d felt from the first time she’d talked with him.

  “I’m glad you stopped in. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m driving to Philadelphia over the weekend, and I’d like you to come with me and meet my friends. They’re having a barbecue.”

  “I’d love to come,” she said immediately, knowing it was true.

  “Will it be a problem with Jazzi grounded?”

  “No. She can stay with Aunt Iris or my parents.”

  “Great. I’ll reserve two rooms at a B and B I like.”r />
  Two rooms. Although that’s what he said, she wondered if he might have a romantic time in mind. Was she ready for that? She wasn’t sure, but she did know she wanted to spend more time with Jonas Groft. And if romance wove a spell around her while they were in Philadelphia, she just might give in to it.

  * * *

  When the morning rush slowed the following day, Daisy mixed up a second pan of rum raisin rice pudding and slid it into the oven. She always had to be careful that the water didn’t splash up into the pudding. It was more like custard really. She used Carolina rice, golden raisins, eggs, sugar, and milk. The important fact about it was knowing when to take it out of the oven. She, Tessa, and her aunt knew exactly what consistency it was supposed to be.

  Daisy signaled to Tessa. “I set the timer for the rice pudding. I’m going to see if Iris needs help at the counter.”

  With Tessa’s nod, Daisy exited the kitchen and crossed into the green tea room. She was taken aback with what she saw there. Detective Rappaport was sitting at a table near the window where he could see outside as well as inside. His mouth was full of a chocolate whoopee pie, and a glass of iced tea sat beside his dish. Daisy had seen Iris come into the kitchen for the tea but hadn’t thought much of it.

  Iris met Daisy in the middle of the room. “He said he came to talk to you. I told him you were busy. When he said he’d wait, I offered him a whoopee pie. He agreed to iced herbal peach tea. Seems he’s on the road to enjoying tea.”

  Daisy almost smiled. But then the thought struck her that Detective Rappaport had not come to the tea garden for a whoopee pie. She would bet money on it.

  There were only a few customers at tables. She told her aunt, “If you can handle the counter, I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Better you than me,” Iris said. Her aunt Iris had had run-ins with Rappaport, too, and she didn’t particularly want to spend time with him.

  Going to the detective’s table, Daisy pulled out the chair around the corner from his and sat.

  He was licking the creamy filling from his fingers after eating the last of his whoopee pie.

  “That was great,” he pronounced as if he hadn’t expected it to be.

  That surprised her. But Morris Rappaport didn’t seem like a man who enjoyed adventure . . . or even new foods. “You never had one before?”

  “Nope. Never felt the urge to try one. But I’ve got to admit, I’m thinking about taking a few of them along.”

  “You’ll have to come in on a morning when we have the chocolate ones filled with a peanut butter cream instead of vanilla cream.”

  He pointed his fingers at her. “You do know the way to a man’s heart.”

  “No,” Daisy said, “just his stomach.”

  The detective actually smiled.

  “Did you come today to keep your eye on us, or ask us more questions?”

  He shook his head. “Sometimes I just like to observe human behavior.”

  “Which humans?”

  He shook his finger at her. “You’re way too smart, and that’s one reason why I don’t really have my eye on you and your aunt. I’ve dealt with the two of you before, and my gut tells me you wouldn’t do something so stupid as to kill Derek Schumacher.”

  “I caught a glimpse of you at the funeral. Did you find anything out while you watched the grieving family?”

  Rappaport stayed silent.

  “Are you seriously considering anybody on my staff as a suspect who killed Derek?”

  “Truth be told, I’m not finished looking into backgrounds yet. I’m curious about Cora Sue and her connection to Schumacher.”

  Daisy knew for the most part she should keep her mouth shut, but maybe if Rappaport understood the connection, he’d see Cora Sue differently.

  “Cora Sue knows Harriet Schumacher through her aunt. Her aunt lived close to Harriet in her old neighborhood. My guess is that Cora Sue ran into Derek over the years too.”

  The detective gave her a penetrating look. “You’re not usually so forthcoming. Why now?”

  “Because I thought if you knew Cora Sue’s history with the Schumachers, you’d understand it wasn’t unusual for her to stop Derek and scold him.”

  “Even if he’s a celebrity?”

  “I don’t think that meant much to Cora Sue. Besides the fact that he hasn’t been a celebrity for a while.”

  “He still got paid for appearances, big money too. Even as a food critic he acted as a chef at pop-up restaurants and made the owners big money. So his celebrity really isn’t in question.”

  “What is?” Daisy asked.

  “Everybody’s motives for wanting him dead. You wouldn’t believe how many people there are who had a grudge against him. And, no, I’m not going to tell you who they are. Let’s just say, I need help with this investigation and I’m going to get it.”

  She easily remembered what Jonas had told her. “Is Zeke Willet going to partner with you?”

  “So Jonas told you.”

  “He told me that he and Zeke used to be friends.”

  “And?” Rappaport prompted.

  This was when she kept her mouth shut. “No, Detective, I’m not telling you anything else. If you want to know you’ll have to ask Mr. Willet or Jonas. But while we’re on the subject of suspects, what about Foster?”

  Rappaport took a few gulps of his iced tea and then set down the glass. “Not bad,” he said. “I added sugar.”

  “It’s better for you without the sugar. What about Foster?”

  Rappaport sighed and sat back in his chair. “I don’t know. That kid is hiding something, but he won’t spill it. I’m keeping my eye on him. I know his schedule. I know when he’s here if I want to talk to him.”

  “How do you know his schedule?”

  “Because of my great investigative skills,” Rappaport said. Then he did smile. “Mrs. Swanson, you’re too naïve. I just asked him.”

  Was she naïve? She didn’t think so. Maybe her fault was that she did like to trust the people she cared about. She’d always thought she could trust Foster, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Fifteen minutes later, Detective Rappaport left after buying six whoopee pies. Daisy was ringing up a customer when her phone played its tuba sound, and she slipped it from her pocket to check the screen. Violet was calling. She could just let it go to voice mail, but she hated to do that when one of her kids needed to talk to her.

  Her aunt Iris was at a nearby table, and she caught her eye. When Iris came over, Daisy said, “Mr. Clemson would like two dozen Snickerdoodles. Do you think you could box them for him? Vi’s calling and I think I’d better take it.”

  Iris nodded and Daisy accepted the call. It was unusual for Vi to call her at this time of day. She usually called in the evening when they were both free. Maybe it had something to do with Jazzi. Maybe Jazzi was confiding in her sister when she wasn’t confiding in Daisy.

  “What’s up, honey?” Daisy asked. “I thought you had class all morning on Thursday.”

  Silence met that statement, but then Vi said, “I’m coming home this weekend because I need to talk to you.”

  Daisy’s heart lurched. So she was honest with her daughter. “I’m supposed to go to Philadelphia with Jonas. Can it wait until next weekend?”

  “It really can’t, Mom. I need to talk to you this weekend.” Her daughter’s voice broke.

  “What’s wrong, Vi?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about anything now, okay? I’ll be home tomorrow. I’ll text you when I’m almost home.”

  Daisy wanted to say, No texting while you’re driving. But Vi knew that. Instead, Daisy asked, “Are you driving home yourself... no carpooling?”

  “No carpooling this weekend.”

  Daisy wondered if there was a message in that. Was her daughter breaking up with Foster? Is that what this was about? But as she did most of the time, she knew she had to wait to see what Violet wanted to talk about. What was so important that she had to do it this weekend?
>
  * * *

  As Daisy walked toward Woods when she took a short break that afternoon, she felt Jonas would understand about this weekend. She’d been looking forward to it, and she’d have to make that clear. Spring was in the air, and that made the task of telling him she couldn’t go even more difficult. Everything was budding, maybe even beginning to bloom. Just like their romance. And now . . .

  It was just one weekend. They could go another time.

  Elijah greeted Daisy when she walked into Woods. She could see he was noting measurements on a legal pad. In deference to spring, he’d switched from his black hat to a straw one. However, he still wore his long-sleeve blue shirt with black suspenders and pants. Jonas was on the phone at the sales counter in the rear of the store.

  “How are you, Elijah?” Daisy asked.

  “I’m gut,” he answered with a smile. “The kinner are liking this warmer weather. They can be outdoors more and not just for chores.”

  Daisy nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve decided no matter how busy we are, I need to step outside at least three times a day and just breathe.”

  “That is a gut idea, certain sure.” Elijah motioned to Jonas. “He’s talking to a man about reclaimed wood. We have more orders than we can finish for tables and islands.”

  “That’s because you and Jonas do such a marvelous job.”

  Elijah blushed a little. Some Amish thought it was prideful to accept compliments, and Elijah was one of them. But she knew it didn’t hurt to say what was the truth.

  “You’ll need a waiting list,” she teased.

  “That we will, and maybe we need to hire another woodworker here on site to help Jonas.”

  Jonas ended his call and crossed the showroom to Daisy. “This is a surprise.”

  Although she was glad to see him, she didn’t want him to think this was a social visit. “I have something to talk to you about.”

  He looked puzzled. “Would you like to go into the workshop?”

  “That would be good.”

  Once in the workshop, Jonas motioned Daisy to his office. It was just a cubicle in the corner of the room, walled off with a door with plate glass. He left the door open now as they went inside. There was hardly room for the two of them because his desk took up space, but they managed. She stood by the computer station and he stood by the printer.