Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches

by Karen Rose Smith

  “What was that?” Cora Sue asked.

  “He said I was too hard for flowers.”

  That statement just hung in the air, causing tension in the room and awkwardness that wasn’t there before.

  Daisy felt as if she had to step in. “It’s possible he meant that you were strong, not hard.”

  Harriet shrugged. “Maybe.”

  They talked about the antique marble-top tables until June returned with a teapot and two mugs on a tray. Under her arm, she’d wedged a box. She set the mugs on the table beside Cora Sue and Daisy and then poured the hot water into them. When she held out the box with teabags, Daisy chose a country peach.

  She didn’t know what had happened between the two sisters, but they actually seemed close now, as if thirty-five years apart hadn’t happened. Daisy suddenly wondered if Derek could have been June’s child and she gave him to Harriet to raise, promising no contact. But why? What could that possibly have to do with Derek’s murder?

  Daisy knew she wasn’t going to collect much information if she tried to coax particularly personal information from the sisters.

  June fixed Harriet another cup of tea. As she handed the cup and saucer to her sister, she said, “For some reason, tea brings comfort. I suppose that’s why you and your aunt opened the tea garden.”

  “Yes, it was. And we need that comfort now. All kinds of gossip about what killed Derek is circulating around town. It’s affected our business.”

  “I imagine,” Harriet said. “That’s not fair.”

  “Fair or not, that’s what’s happening,” Cora Sue agreed. “So we want to try to figure out who might have hurt Derek. If the case is resolved, there shouldn’t be any more gossip.”

  “How are you going to figure it out?” June wanted to know.

  “I guess we’ll start where we have the most information. There’s a reporter from Atlanta, Clementine Hankey, who was doing a story on Derek. She asked me questions, which also gave me information. Can you tell me anything about Derek’s show and his co-host?”

  “Sure, I can,” Harriet said. “His show started right here in Lancaster. Derek and a friend from culinary school, Miranda Senft, started out with a home base. Sometimes they would invite cooks from other states to come here and cook with them. Then the audience would vote on whose dish was best. After that first year, Miranda and Derek traveled to other states and cooked with home cooks from those areas. It made for lots of laughter, good times, and audience appreciation.”

  Daisy nodded. “I can see that it would. That sounds like a fun show.”

  “The ratings were terrific,” Harriet added. “Derek was making money hand over fist. He even had a line of cookware on a home shopping channel. That’s when he bought this big house.”

  “What happened next?” Cora Sue asked.

  “Yes, what happened next?” June asked too. Apparently, she and Harriet hadn’t caught up to this level yet.

  Harriet took a few sips of tea. “I’m not sure how to put this because I don’t know exactly what happened. As I said, Derek was making money, not just from the show and his product line but from appearances too. Then suddenly, I watched the show one week and Miranda was gone. Somebody named Birgit took her place. The truth is—Miranda was a class act. She was a serious cook and could be funny at times. She and Derek played off of each other well. Birgit was a tall blonde. Derek’s ratings started tanking, and then the network wouldn’t renew his contract.”

  “Is that when he began his blog and became a food critic?” Daisy asked.

  “That’s exactly when. He didn’t even take much time to think about it. I guess anybody can build a blog. As a celebrity chef, he already had lots of followers. He started visiting restaurants, tasting other chefs’ food, then he would comment on it. I have to admit, his attitude about food seemed to change.”

  “What do you mean?” Daisy prompted.

  “Once upon a time, and you could see it on his show, he enjoyed every bite of dinner, no matter if he cooked it or another chef cooked it. The experience of eating was just as important as the food. Suddenly, as a food critic, that was no longer true. He ate critically, as if he was tearing apart every recipe in his mind. If it didn’t meet his standards, then he gave it a harsh review.”

  “Whatever happened to Birgit?” Daisy imagined Birgit could be one of the keys to this puzzle.

  “I really don’t know,” Harriet concluded. She exchanged a look with her sister. “Derek and I weren’t close. You might as well know that. I thought as an adult he’d found his place and maybe we would become closer. But his success drove him, and the more successful he became, the more he became distant. He had lots of friends. I wasn’t necessary.” Harriet shook her head.

  June patted her hand. “But Derek took you in after your stroke. He made a place for you, and he looked after you.”

  “Looked after is the way I’d put it,” Harriet agreed with sadness in her eyes and her voice. “He was doing his duty. Lauren was the one I’d call if I needed groceries or a driver for a doctor’s appointment . . . or just some company. Lauren and Bradley’s little girl is a joy. I liked having Chrissy around. After my rehab experience, Lauren would bring her over and the two of us would play with blocks. That would help my hand-and-eye coordination. Three-year-olds are just the cutest.” Harriet seemed to be looking back and remembering her sons at that age.

  June said softly, “Children give us hope that a new generation will treat the world more kindly than we did.”

  Daisy supposed that was true. Vi and Jazzi had given her hope after Ryan died. Ryan had often said, “No matter what happens, keep on truckin’.” That’s what they’d all done . . . one day at a time.

  * * *

  When Daisy’s front door opened, she was in the kitchen with Jazzi. It was almost nine o’clock. Vi had told her not to wait supper, so she hadn’t. But she had brought home a selection of baked goods, as well as two quarts of potato and leek soup. Vi often said she wasn’t hungry when she got home, but then she would rummage in the refrigerator for something to eat.

  Daisy gave Jazzi a thumbs-up sign as she went to the living room to greet her daughter. However, she stopped mid-stride when she realized Vi wasn’t alone. Foster was with her. How were they going to have a conversation about whatever Vi wanted to talk about with Foster here? Maybe he just came to say hello and was going to leave again.

  Foster said formally, “Hello, Mrs. Swanson,” and set Vi’s duffel at the base of the stairs.

  They were back to Mrs. Swanson again. That gave her an uh-oh feeling.

  Daisy stepped forward to hug Vi, and Vi hugged her back tightly with a low mumbled, “Hi, Mom.”

  Daisy stepped back when Jazzi came into the room to hug her sister. Vi hugged Jazzi, but it was a shorter hug. Then she stepped away from Jazzi and closer to Foster.

  Violet had highlighted her medium brown hair with lighter streaks. She was wearing a maroon lipstick and her cheeks were rosy. In spite of her T-shirt and jeans, she looked beautiful.

  Yet her expression warned Daisy that she wouldn’t like the news that was coming. She was dropping classes? Maybe she’d flunked a class. Some subjects like physics she simply didn’t like. All of it rolled through Daisy’s mind so fast she hardly caught what Violet was saying.

  “Mom, can we sit down? I really want to talk to you about something.”

  Daisy’s gaze flickered to Foster. “With Foster here?”

  “Yes, with Foster here.” Vi held on to his hand as if it were a lifeline.

  Vi and Foster went to the love seat while Daisy and Jazzi sat on the sofa. Jazzi wasn’t saying a word, just watching the couple. Daisy focused on them too . . . especially their sober expressions.

  Foster patted Vi’s hand, and Vi took a big bolstering breath. “Mom, I’m pregnant, and Foster and I are going to get married as soon as possible.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daisy was absolutely speechless. From the expression on Jazzi’s face, Dais
y could tell she was shocked too.

  Pregnant. Violet was pregnant.

  She wanted to get married.

  Daisy felt as if she’d had a fall and all the breath had been knocked out of her. Was this the absolute last thing a mother wanted for her child?

  No, no, no. No one had died. Some of her breath came back.

  Recovering first, Jazzi blurted out, “You can’t get married, because you’re both in school!”

  Even in her shocked state, Daisy could see Violet squeeze Foster’s hand even tighter.

  Daisy realized why when Violet insisted, “I’m going to quit school. If I get a job, then Foster and I can find a place to live.”

  Her daughter looked happy and hopeful, and Daisy didn’t believe either emotion would last.

  Quickly Foster claimed, “I’ll take on more and more computer work as well as working at Daisy’s. If I can’t earn enough that way while going to college, then I’ll quit school for the time being and return later.”

  It was a toss-up whether Daisy wanted to cry or yell. Yet from experience she knew neither would do any good. She needed facts.

  Finding her words again and trying to keep her voice calm, she asked Vi, “How far along are you, honey?”

  “Six weeks. I told Foster two weeks ago when I asked him to come to Lehigh midweek.”

  Again, Foster took the next part of the explanation. “That was the week of the murder. Now I can give Detective Rappaport an alibi.”

  Daisy wasn’t sure what to address or how to do it without alienating this young couple. She might even need outside advice. “You’ve both known about this for a little while. I need time to absorb everything you’ve told me. Then I want to talk about it. Can you both come to dinner on Sunday?”

  After the couple exchanged another look, Vi answered, “We can come. I came home this weekend to talk about our plans with Foster and with you.”

  Jazzi shook her head. “I can’t believe you did this. How could you be so stupid . . . so careless?”

  Daisy had had the “talk” with both of the girls. At about eight, they’d talked about where babies came from. At twelve, they’d discussed birth control. She had gotten them books for their age levels to read about the subject. Her daughters hadn’t been hesitant to ask her questions. She thought they were good.

  But Violet’s answer told her why they weren’t.

  “You don’t understand, Jazzi. Wait until you fall in love with someone you can’t see all the time. Every minute is precious. Only once. We only forgot once.”

  “Well, I’m going to wait until I’m married,” Jazzi almost shouted back. “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  In a perfect world, Daisy thought.

  Vi shot back, “Grow up, Jazzi. When you start dating, you’ll understand.”

  Daisy knew she had to be the tempering force no matter what her own feelings were on the subject, no matter her own past history. She held up her hand and waved it. “This is why I want to wait until Sunday to discuss everything. I want you two to think about what you’re going to do, what you want to do, what’s most practical to do. Jazzi, I want you to try and understand the way Violet’s feeling right now.”

  Jazzi crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going up to my room. Seeing Violet’s point of view isn’t going to do either of us any good.” She crossed the living room and ran up the stairs.

  Foster looked up at Daisy. “Mrs. Swanson—”

  “It’s Daisy,” she said softly.

  “I didn’t think I should call you that since I caused this.”

  Violet took his arm. “You did not. We were both there.”

  Again, Daisy stopped the flow of the argument with her hand. “Foster, you’re still my employee, and you’re a young man who I like very much. I understand you want to do the honorable thing. That’s one of the reasons I like you. But you need to think about it.”

  “We’ve thought about it for over two weeks, Mom.”

  “Two weeks is a blip in your lifetime.”

  Foster turned to Violet and gently touched her cheek. “I’d better go. I’ll see you tomorrow at the tea garden, right? And we’ll go out to dinner tomorrow night and talk.”

  At Vi’s nod, Daisy became hopeful. Maybe she could talk some sense into Vi after Foster left.

  Violet walked Foster to the door and gave him a long kiss.

  Daisy wasn’t a voyeur, at least not yet. She went to the kitchen to make tea. Chamomile. It was probably the only thing that would calm her down right now. She’d also warm up the soup. Maybe Vi would open up more over a light meal. This was her older daughter, the daughter she’d always been able to talk sense to. Violet had only ever cared about her studies and going to college. More than once, when a new boy had asked her out, she’d said she wasn’t going to get serious because she had a future to think about.

  A future that might now include Foster and a baby. A baby. Daisy had to smile at the thought. She’d be a grandmother. Alarm set in. Or maybe more than a grandmother.

  Daisy heard the front door close and the beep when Violet set the alarm. Then she heard Violet’s footsteps as she wandered into the kitchen. She had that just-kissed look and was smiling. Young love. Daisy hated to put a damper on it, but reality was reality.

  She motioned to the island where she’d set the scones and two bowls for the warming soup. “I have the pot on for tea. I thought you might want a snack.”

  “I’m not really hungry, Mom, but tea sounds good.”

  “Nausea?” Daisy asked.

  Vi looked surprised that Daisy had caught on so quickly. “It comes and goes all day. I thought a woman was only supposed to be sick in the morning.”

  “Each woman is different. Sit down and we can talk.”

  But Vi was already shaking her head. “Oh no. You’re not going to try to brainwash me while Foster’s not here.”

  “I would never try to brainwash you. Why do you think I would do that now?”

  “Because you think you know what’s best. Foster and I have to make our own decisions. I won’t talk to you about my pregnancy without Foster being here.”

  That was a shutdown on conversation if Daisy had ever heard one. But she had to acquiesce. This wasn’t the time to push Violet away.

  “Fine,” Daisy said. “We won’t talk about the pregnancy. Can we talk about your finals and classes and when you’ll be coming home?”

  To Daisy’s relief, Vi took a seat at the island. “Sure. We can talk about that.”

  Daisy was certain that Violet and even Foster didn’t understand the import of what they wanted to do. All of their lives were going to be changed forever.

  * * *

  Daisy pulled a scone pan from the oven at the tea garden on Saturday and burned herself as she set it on the counter. The problem was—she was totally rattled. Going to the pantry, she reached for the bottle of aloe vera gel. At the sink, she dripped it over the side of her hand.

  Tessa came to take a peek. “It doesn’t look too bad. Do you need a bandage?”

  “No. It’s simply one of those slashes we all get.”

  More than anything, Daisy wanted to talk to her aunt Iris or to Tessa about Vi’s pregnancy. She couldn’t do it here because Foster, Vi, and Jazzi were all working. Mostly silent, but working. She hadn’t slept much last night, thinking about Vi being pregnant and what her daughter and Foster wanted to do. She also thought about Jazzi’s response to Vi’s news. Daisy was surprised that Jazzi hadn’t been more supportive of Violet. Did that have something to do with the fact that she’d felt abandoned when Violet had left for college? Her two girls had always been close, but Violet had started on her adult life and Jazzi hadn’t.

  “Daisy?”

  Daisy heard Tessa call her name, and she glanced at her friend knowing she’d missed something.

  “Where did you go? I asked you if you ate breakfast this morning.”

  “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry.”

  Tessa narrowed
her eyes and scanned Daisy up and down. “It’s a slow morning again and we need to talk. We have plenty of help here today. Let’s go up to my apartment and have a cup of tea.”

  Was she ready to do this? Did she really want to spill family problems to Tessa at this early stage before they figured anything out? Still . . . She and Tessa had been best friends since high school. She easily remembered how they’d helped each other with problems . . . from deciding on a prom dress to solving murder cases.

  Daisy’s hands went to her back waist and she untied her apron.

  Tessa wore a colorful smock and she said, “I’m just going to leave this on. I haven’t gotten it full of flour or cinnamon yet, but the day is young.”

  After telling Eva they’d be in Tessa’s apartment, they went out the back door and over to the entrance to Tessa’s place.

  Tessa unlocked her door and turned off the alarm system. They climbed the interior stairway to the apartment on the second and third floor of the Victorian. As they reached the apartment, Daisy realized all over again how Bohemian Tessa’s taste was, not only in dress but in her decorations and furnishings too. Her kidney-shaped sofa had a shawl stretched along its back in colors from red to blue to orange and wine. The fabric on the sofa was patterned with diamonds and chevrons in the same colors as the shawl. In front of the sofa, there was a little coffee table covered with a scarf in bright colors. A bunch of lavender stood in a vase on the table along with a wooden candlestick that held a candle. Tessa’s platform rocker had wooden arms and a burnt orange fabric covering. Multicolored scarf valences in burnt orange, red, and yellow were draped over the rods in the front windows.

  Tessa was a reader as well as an artist. The bookshelves along one wall proved it. An antique corner shelf held small knickknacks, and prints framed in walnut, pine, and distressed wood decorated her walls. Tessa had carried the colorful theme into her bedroom where a crazy quilt with patches from velvet to gingham to stripes acted as the main focal point of the room.

  When Daisy and her aunt had redone this upstairs kitchen, they’d replaced the old cabinets with birch ones. Tessa had picked out the backsplash, which was a multicolored blue tile. Ceramic crocks in turquoise, yellow, and orange held flour, granulated white sugar, and brown sugar. One also held her utensils.