Murder with Lemon Tea Cakes

by Karen Rose Smith

  At her silent defiance, Cade said, “I suppose Iris needs you in the kitchen. I won’t hold you up. Take care of yourself, Daisy.”

  She’d hardly gotten “You too” out of her mouth when he turned and left. She might have just damaged a longtime friendship. Then again, what kind of friendship was it if Cade didn’t have faith in her?

  * * *

  Usually Daisy enjoyed dinner at her mom and dad’s. However, when she and Jazzi had arrived this evening—

  She learned her sister had dropped in for a surprise visit!

  As Daisy and Jazzi entered the kitchen, Camellia saw her, broke into a wide smile, and came over to hug them both. But Aunt Iris, who was standing at the counter mixing dressing for the chopped cabbage in a bowl beside her, wore a deep frown.

  Over the years, Daisy had felt the rivalry between her mother and her aunt. It had probably stemmed from childhood. Daisy wasn’t sure because the two of them never talked about it. Yet Daisy could always feel the push-pull tension between them.

  She could especially feel and understand the tension because of her relationship with her own sister. As Daisy had grown up, she’d done it in the shadow of Camellia. She had loved her sister dearly, but Camellia was everything she wasn’t. Daisy had been somewhat of a tomboy, not caring much about her appearance. On the other hand, Camellia had cared about hair and makeup and the latest styles. She wore her brunette bob in a chic cut. She’d always been chic. She’d always been outgoing and more popular than Daisy. In college, well, Camellia had majored in marketing. What more was there to say? She had PR skills up the kazoo. She’d never been married and seemed to flit from one relationship to the next without much concern.

  But Daisy did love her, even if they were as different as night and day. The problem, if there was one, was that she’d always felt her mother favored Camellia. She was sure it wasn’t intentional. Camellia was the firstborn and had gotten lots of attention because she was so cute . . . and so accomplished. That’s probably why Daisy and her Aunt Iris had gravitated toward each other.

  When all of them got together, there were vibes in the air that even Jazzi and Vi could feel. Her daughters had often asked her about it. She’d tried to explain, but that wasn’t easy. How did you admit you’d always felt lesser than with your mom? How could she confess that, yes, she’d always been slightly envious of Camellia? All she could do was keep reassuring her own daughters that she loved each of them equally, that they were both beautiful and accomplished, that one didn’t deserve more attention than the other. That’s what she and Ryan had always tried to do. Had they succeeded? She wasn’t sure about that. Would Jazzi be searching for her birth parents if they had?

  That was a bomb she’d been intending to drop today at dinner. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  After she hugged Camellia, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I drove down for a pop-in visit. I have a ton of comp time because of working overtime. I do miss you all. Phone calls aren’t the same. Mom, you really have to learn to Skype like Daisy and I do.”

  She and Camellia tried to video conference at least every few weeks. New York and Willow Creek weren’t that far apart. Yet sometimes New York seemed a world away.

  Her mother waved Camellia’s Skype suggestion away. “I don’t need to know all that tech stuff. I do just fine on the phone.”

  Her mother usually used a landline because she was always afraid the conversation would be cut off on a cell phone. And it was true that some areas of Willow Creek had spotty reception, even with the best carrier. On the other hand, when her mother held a preconceived idea, there wasn’t much anyone could do about it.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Rose said now as she pointed to the platter of ham. “Jazzi, will you go call your grandfather, please?”

  Daisy knew her dad was probably settled in front of the TV, already engrossed in a football game. He enjoyed those in the fall whenever the nursery was closed. After Thanksgiving, Gallagher’s Garden Corner would be open later on Saturdays as well as offer Sunday hours. His free time would be cut considerably. Her father was usually the buffer against the women’s tensions. She hoped that would be true tonight too, because already she felt something brewing between her aunt and her mother. It was in a look, in an expression, in a nod. You didn’t live around this all your life and not be able to tell.

  Jazzi brought her grandfather from the living room, and he smiled at them. “You all look so pretty today. Must be the fall air.”

  Jazzi just shook her head. “Granddad, that’s lame.”

  “Maybe it’s lame but it’s true.”

  Daisy noticed her dad’s sandy-brown hair was mostly gray now. His part had inched back over the past five to ten years. He had a long face, high cheekbones, and blue eyes. He kept himself in shape with his work at the nursery—lugging tree balls, carrying shrubs, and working outside a good part of the year.

  He took his seat at the rectangular maple table and motioned for them all to do the same. “Look at this spread your mom and your aunt put on. We have much to be thankful for. I just wish Vi were here to share it too.”

  As they all held hands and her father offered the blessing, Daisy stole a look at Iris. She was concerned about her. The past few days, the lines around her aunt’s eyes and her mouth seemed to cut even deeper than they usually did.

  After they began passing the food, Camellia took a slice of ham and said, “Mom’s been catching me up. There’s quite a lot going on in Willow Creek, and you all seem to be in the middle of it.”

  That wasn’t the conversation opener Daisy had hoped for. Before she could turn the topic to something else, her mother said, “Yes. All of it’s a shame and so unnecessary. If Iris hadn’t gotten involved with a married man—”

  “Mom!” Daisy exclaimed.

  Even Jazzi looked a bit shocked that her grandmother had brought it up.

  Daisy’s father said in a warning tone, “Now, Rose . . .”

  “It’s true,” Rose continued. “No good can come from something like that.”

  Her mother was a by-the-rules kind of person and most of the time was rigid in her thinking. She kept her ash-blond hair permed but in a short, manageable cut. She precisely applied lotion to her face every night and makeup with sunscreen every morning. For her, right was right and wrong was wrong. Usually the whole family accepted her mother’s precise attitudes, but Daisy saw that the expression on Aunt Iris’s face said she wasn’t going to let Rose Gallagher’s opinion stand this time.

  Daisy tried to intervene. “Mom, Harvey’s divorce was in the works. Soon, those final papers were going to be signed. He and his wife hadn’t been together for a long time.”

  “A long time? Do you mean years or months? Because months could mean they were involved in a rift that could be mended again. Isn’t that true, Sean? Anything between two people can be solved if both partners work at it. Iris got involved and maybe interfered.”

  Suddenly, Iris stood and threw her napkin onto the table. “I didn’t interfere. Harvey and his wife were finished, and the fact that you brought this up again makes me wonder if you weren’t a tad jealous that a man was interested in me—a rich, suave, sophisticated man.” At that, her aunt left the table and went into the living room.

  Beseechingly, Jazzi gave Daisy a “What are you going to do about it?” look.

  Daisy marshaled assertive forces she’d developed over the years. “Mom, that was uncalled for, and I think you should apologize.”

  “My daughter telling me what to do?” Rose asked with raised brows. “I won’t apologize for the truth.”

  With a shake of her head, Daisy pushed her chair back and crossed to the living room, where her aunt stood at the bay window, staring outside.

  She wrapped her arm around her. “Aunt Iris, I’m so sorry for all that. You know it’s not true.”

  “But what if it is?” Iris responded weakly. “What if I was the reason for Harvey and his wife not getting back together again?�
��

  “From what I’ve heard and what I’ve seen, they had more problems than could ever be solved. The important thing you have to know is that you’re not at fault here. You weren’t the cause of Harvey’s murder. You didn’t do anything to hurt him.”

  “But as your mother keeps reminding me, I dragged you into this by being involved with him.”

  “I don’t feel dragged. Things happen in our lives that make them complicated.”

  Camellia had come into the room now too. She crossed over to Iris and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry I brought the whole thing up, Aunt Iris. I had no idea Mom would act like that. I think maybe she’s just worried about all of you, and that’s why she reacted the way she did.”

  “She’s not going to apologize, you know,” Iris said. “She believes what she believes.”

  Daisy took her aunt’s hand. “Come on. We have a delicious meal to eat, and we’re going to enjoy it,” she said with more determination than belief.

  Once they were in the kitchen and seated around the table again, Rose didn’t meet Iris’s eyes. Daisy addressed her mother. “Mom, Iris and I have had enough questions and enough badgering about everything that’s happened.”

  “I didn’t badger,” her mother insisted.

  “Maybe not. But we just don’t want to talk about it. There’s no merit in it. So can we just enjoy dinner and listen to Camellia’s stories about her escapades at the winery? I’m sure she has adventures to tell us about.” Camellia’s work often took her into New York City.

  Now her father gave Daisy a knowing look. That look said that he understood both of his daughters. He understood that Daisy thought she lived a boring life and Camellia an exciting one. It said he understood the differences between the two girls and he appreciated them. Daisy had never felt “lesser than” in her dad’s eyes.

  As they ate ham and passed the green beans and scalloped potatoes, Camellia talked about new wines being developed, the plays she’d seen, the actors she’d spotted, the Halloween decorations in the city that never slept. Daisy thought they were over the hump tonight and that they could just enjoy each other’s company. As her mother brought warm apple cobbler, topped with vanilla ice cream, to the table in dessert dishes, Daisy filled coffee cups.

  She’d just settled beside Jazzi again, when Jazzi said, “I have some news.”

  Daisy’s heart sped up. She had been planning to mention Jazzi’s search for her birth parents, but it seemed Jazzi wanted to do it herself.

  “What news, honey?” Rose asked with real interest.

  Jazzi’s gaze met Daisy’s for a couple of seconds. Daisy knew all she could do was to stand by Jazzi and support her, trying to keep her own heartache from showing.

  “I’m searching for my birth parents.”

  Rose’s gaze targeted Daisy. “And you approve of this?”

  “It’s not a matter of approving, Mom. If this is something Jazzi needs to do, then I’ll help her any way I can.”

  But Rose wasn’t buying it. “Jazzi, do you know what this is going to do to your mother? She’s raised you all these years, and now you just want to go find another mother?”

  Daisy’s father jumped in. “Rose, that’s not what this is about. Is it, Jazzi?” he asked gently.

  Jazzi’s eyes were already misty. “No, Granddad. I just feel like there’s a big hole in my history. I want to know about that hole. I know Mom loves me. I’m not looking for another mother. But I want to search for my origins.”

  Finally, Camellia joined in the discussion. “You know, don’t you, Jazzi, that this could get complicated, that your birth mother might not want anything to do with a daughter she gave up.”

  “There’s no point borrowing trouble,” Daisy interjected. “We’ll just take this one step at a time.”

  “How are you going about it?” Camellia asked. She was a go-getter and a planner and always wanted all of her ducks in a row.

  “Mom? How are we going to do it . . . to learn more, I mean?” Jazzi’s eyes were beseeching. She needed an answer.

  Daisy had one. “I’m thinking about asking help from Jonas Groft. Once upon a time, he was a detective in Philadelphia.”

  “I’ve heard good things about his store—Woods,” her father said, obviously trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  “You know this Jonas Groft because he’s a store owner too?” her mother asked.

  “Yes, that’s right. He stops in for tea and scones now and then.”

  “Good,” her father said. “He sounds like a viable resource.” He patted Jazzi’s hand. “Whatever happens and whatever you learn, just know that we love you.”

  “Thank you, Granddad,” Jazzi said.

  Thank you, Dad. Daisy didn’t say it out loud, but she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Daisy had quickly discovered the press could be bothersome. She’d been screening her calls since the murder, and so had her Aunt Iris. She understood the curiosity. After all, she and Iris were reopening the tea garden after a murder had been committed there. That was sensational news. But that morning, as she drove into the tea garden’s back parking lot—both her van and Iris’s car had been released by the police—she really hadn’t expected eight different news outlets to bombard her.

  Parking in the back was probably mistake number one. Professionally dressed anchors with microphones and cameras surrounded her. She couldn’t even get out of the van. So this was what happened when you ignored their calls.

  She was about to pick up her cell phone to call the police to see if there was anything they could do, when there was a rap on her driver’s side window and she spotted Jonas. Not only Jonas; he was accompanied by a tall burly man built like a linebacker with a full beard hiding most of his face.

  Daisy managed to open her van’s door a few inches.

  “Come on,” Jonas said. “We’ll get you inside.”

  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to go inside, but she had a business to run.

  “Iris and Tessa?” she asked.

  “In the tea garden already,” Jonas said. “They’re fine. They’re cooking up a storm. Let’s get you in there too.”

  She grabbed her purse, pushed her door open a little further, and stepped down onto the asphalt.

  The crowd of reporters surged in closer.

  Jonas directed, “Back,” in an authoritarian voice. “If you don’t want to be prosecuted for causing a public disturbance, get back.”

  The reporters didn’t move far, but they did move enough that Daisy could exit her van. Jonas closed the door. He and the other man practically surrounded her—at least it seemed that way. They had very long arms.

  She caught sight of Trevor Lundquist, who shouted, “Remember our deal.”

  Another reporter asked, “What deal was that?”

  Daisy tried to ignore the questions, tried not to be unnerved by Jonas’s strong arm around her shoulders, tried to remember that her life had once been normal.

  Once inside the tea garden, Jonas shut the back door to the kitchen. “You know, once you open your doors for business, you can’t prevent the reporters from coming in.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Daisy admitted. “I can’t postpone the inevitable. How did you come to be here?”

  “When I drove in to Woods this morning, I saw them crawling all over the back of your property, probably looking for signs that the murder had happened or the police had forgotten to take something away. I knew you were going to have trouble. I called Howie. He’s an old friend and a retired cop.”

  Howie? This man did not look like a Howie. She extended her hand to him. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I would have gotten out without you.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” Howie said. “Jonas suggested I stick around here after your tea garden opens.”

  “And be my security guard?” she asked with a weak smile. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “No problem, m
a’am. That’s what I do now, security.”

  “Then I insist on paying you.”

  Howie and Jonas exchanged a look. “If you insist, ma’am. But I’ll only charge you half my rates since Jonas is a good friend.”

  “Do you really think you can keep this under control when we open?”

  “Between the two of us, we can,” Jonas said. “I’ll handle the front door, and Howie will handle the garden entrance. We’ll just make sure everything stays calm in here and no one causes a ruckus.”

  “You have your own shop to run,” she said to Jonas.

  “I do, and I have a clerk who knows full well how to sell furniture. Just say thank you, Daisy, and you can get on with your day.”

  He’d used her first name as if that were the most natural thing in the world to do. She didn’t know if he’d ever called her by name before. It was one of those things—until you knew a person well, you didn’t really use their name. Names had power. Names conveyed meaning.

  She was probably totally losing her mind.

  Iris called from behind the counter, “The last scones are coming out of the oven. We just have to brew the tea.”

  “Can I offer you gentlemen a cinnamon swirl scone before the real fun starts?” Daisy asked them.

  “Tips are good,” Howie said with a grin. “Starting the day with one is even better than waiting till the end of the day to get one. And I gotta admit, Mrs. Swanson, I’m not a tea drinker.”

  “I think I can rustle up a cup of coffee for you if you don’t tell anybody.”

  He nodded. “Deal.”

  That’s how Jonas and Howie ended up in her office, eating scones and drinking coffee while she, Tessa, and Iris prepared to open the tea garden. She wanted to ask questions of Jonas and his friend to find out exactly why they would do this for her, but there wasn’t time for that right now.

  Donning her yellow apron with the huge daisy printed on the bib, she filled the cases with scones, apple bread, lemon tea cakes, chocolate chip as well as oatmeal cookies, and buttermilk biscuits. By the time she’d checked the electric water kettles and added infusers to teapots so they were ready for brewing, she’d taken several deep breaths and hoped for the best. She was about to head to the front door to open it when Jonas appeared by her side.