“So Harvey could have hidden something.” Jonas got the conversation back on track.
“I suppose he could have.”
“The question is,” Daisy interrupted, “did the intruder find what he or she was looking for?”
Jonas shook his head and picked up one of the lemon tea cakes. “Isn’t that the million-dollar question?”
Chapter Fourteen
Saturdays in October were busy tourist days at the tea garden. Fall in Pennsylvania was a beautiful time with the leaves turning. Tour buses that stopped in historic Gettysburg also came through Lancaster County. They would park in Willow Creek’s public lot, and sightseers would stroll up and down the streets, stopping in at the shops. Many came to the tea garden for refreshment or to give their feet a rest.
One busload had come and gone, and Daisy believed they’d handled the service fairly well. However, a group of senior couples came in immediately afterward. There were eight in all. Apparently, they’d driven down from Carlisle for the day—at least that’s what one of the women had told Daisy when she’d placed her order.
Tessa brewed the tea, and Eva readied the individual orders, while Cora Sue handled sales at the counter. Iris carried tea and baked goods to the tables and served each person. But unlike her usual precise attention to detail, she somehow mixed up the orders. Not just two of them, but four or five. They were all scrambled. The next thing Daisy knew, a cup of tea had spilled at that table, and their customer looked horrified as she dabbed at her skirt.
“If this is the kind of service we’re going to get, we might as well go to the donut shop up the road,” a matronly woman with a white hair-sprayed hairdo grumbled.
“Or the fast-food place at the edge of town,” the man with her added.
Iris was red-faced, looking ashamed, trying to clean up the mess and straighten out the orders. Daisy felt sorry for her aunt, who’d gone through so much lately. Because of all the stress, Iris just wasn’t thinking as straight as she usually did, and Daisy knew what she had to do.
She plucked out coupons she kept under the counter for just this purpose and went over to the table. The woman who’d had tea spilled on her glared at her. “Are you the manager?”
“My aunt and I are the owners. This is my aunt, Iris Albright, and my name is Daisy Swanson. I’m sorry there’s been a spill and mix-up here.” She handed each person at the table a coupon. “The next time you’re in the area and stop in, you can use that for a free service of tea. But, right now, I want to make sure you all have what you want. Let me go through your orders again, and I’ll even add a free scone for each of you to make up for what happened here. If you send me the bill for your skirt, I’d be glad to pay for the dry cleaning.”
With Daisy’s apologizing manner and her determination to make her customers happy, all the bluster went out of the woman. She stopped dabbing at her skirt and laid the napkin on the table. “We certainly can’t complain about any of that. Can we take the scones along? We can nibble on them later.”
“Of course, you can. How about chocolate raspberry scones?”
“They sound delicious,” one of the women said.
Iris had retreated to the office, and that wasn’t like her either. Normally she would have helped Daisy straighten everything out.
After Daisy went to the baked goods counter for the scones and took them to the table, she also made sure her customers had refills on their tea and were happily sipping, drinking, and chatting by the time she went back to the kitchen.
When Daisy saw Tessa had moved to the counter in case anyone new came in, she knew Tessa was sensitive to the situation and realized Daisy needed to talk to her aunt privately. Her aunt was standing by the office window, peering out. Daisy doubted she was seeing anything out there.
“I’m sorry,” her aunt said when Daisy entered the office.
Daisy went over to the window with her aunt, her elbow touching Iris’s. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Anyone can mix up an order.”
“But I don’t usually do that. I’m just not . . . myself.”
“Of course, you’re not. You lost a man who was soon to be your fiancé. The police have been grilling you, and they even accused you of messing up your own place. Who would be themselves? I think you should take a few days off.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself with that messed-up bungalow, or even at your mother’s, if I stayed there. This is a busy time of year for them with the holidays coming—garlands and hay bales, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations, trees to plant before winter sets in. I’d just be in the way. Besides, with the extra customers, you need my help here.”
“I always need your help. But I think I found someone to hire. His references panned out. He could cover for you while you’re gone. I can take over the baking or just buy apple streusels from Emma Stoltz this week. This time of year, apple is a favorite anyway.”
Iris seemed to consider what she’d said. “When do you think this person can start?”
“I have his phone number. Let me give him a call. Maybe he can even come in this afternoon, and we can see how he works out. Then you can take the next few days off.”
Iris blew out a big breath. “Call him, but I only need a day. I’ll go out driving tomorrow, maybe up to Caledonia to see the leaves turning. But if this person you want to hire is busy, can’t come in, or doesn’t work out, I’ll get my head on straight. I promise.”
Daisy knew her aunt composing herself wasn’t a matter of determination. It might be a matter of time. She went to the desk and picked up the phone to call Foster.
When Foster arrived promptly at three, he was dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. That was perfect, as far as Daisy was concerned. He’d passed the wardrobe test, and now onto others.
He immediately came to Daisy and said, “I understand this is a test run. What would you like me to do first?”
Eagerness would chalk up points for him too.
“Let’s meet the rest of the staff, and then you can brew us a cup of tea.”
When Daisy introduced Foster to Aunt Iris, he shook her hand. “I hope to learn from you. Running a business, any business, isn’t easy.”
Iris smiled at him, and Daisy could tell her aunt already liked him.
“You’ll see every aspect of business while you’re here, if you last,” Daisy assured him. “You’ll watch us buy from distributers and tea suppliers and learn the nuts and bolts of serving the public. I hope you’re ready for that because sometimes they’re as hard to handle as two-year-olds.”
Foster smiled. “I have a younger brother and sister, so I can certainly relate to that. I also know that people don’t like to feel they’re being handled, so I try not to do that.”
Daisy herself hated to be “handled” and knew he was right. Whenever she went into an establishment and felt she was being manipulated or sold a bill of goods she didn’t want, she simply wanted to leave.
Tessa was working in the kitchen with Eva. When Daisy introduced Foster to them, Tessa’s hands were wrist-deep in dough for scones.
He said, “It’s good to meet you both. Those look like cinnamon scones.”
Tessa’s brows arched. “At least you know one of your spices.”
His face reddened a little. “I hope I know more than one, but cinnamon is my favorite. It reminds me of Mom baking Christmas cookies.”
“So your mom bakes?” Daisy asked.
“We lost her two years ago,” Foster explained, sadness in his eyes. “She caught a virus, and it went to her heart.”
“I’m so sorry, Foster,” Daisy said immediately. Tessa, Eva, and Iris said the same.
Afterward, never one to stand on formality or to hold back, Tessa asked, “How’s your dad coping?”
Foster shrugged. “He’s doing okay. He never complains. Sometimes I wish he would. I think he holds it all inside. I don’t want him to have a heart attack or something.”
“It’s hard to lose a life partner
or a parent,” Daisy empathized. “When my husband died, I didn’t know how I was going to raise my two girls. But, somehow, that parental love kicks in and shows you the way. Children can be a lifeline.”
“I think that’s what we are for Dad,” Foster said. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I told you all that. I don’t usually talk about it.”
“Like your dad?” Tessa asked. “The strong silent type?”
“Touché,” Foster said. “Now show me where your tea is. What kind do you want me to brew?”
“How about black tea?” Daisy suggested and showed him the tea cupboard.
He whistled low. “Wow, you do have teas.”
Daisy showed him the shelf with the black tea and where the bags and labels were located for those customers who wanted to buy loose tea. Foster took a canister of black tea and went to the kitchen counter. Teapots were lined up on shelves along one wall. He chose one that would brew six cups, and Daisy was impressed. Not just anybody knew a two-cup from a six-cup pot.
Aunt Iris went to the counter as the bell above the door rang and she had customers to help. Foster scooped tea into the infuser—just the right amount, Daisy noted. Then he let the hot water from the urn gently wash over the tea into the pot. After he was finished, he set it on the counter and set the nearby timer for five minutes. He nodded to the scones that Tessa was cutting into sections.
“I’m not much of a baker, but Franco’s Pizza is on my résumé. I learned to toss a good one, so I could probably learn whatever you want to teach me about scones too.”
“I think you’re angling for more than a service position,” Daisy teased.
“I’m taking business courses at college. Who knows, you might want to hire me to do your books or manage your supplies or something other than service. In two years when I graduate, I want to be ready for the business world.”
Daisy imagined he would be.
Still waiting for the timer to go off, he asked Daisy, “Have you ventured into social media?”
“I tweet, but I really don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been at it about six months and only have two hundred followers.”
“I bet I could get you more followers. What else are you doing?”
“Tessa set up a website for us, but we didn’t get a whole lot of traffic until . . . lately.”
“Do you check it daily and respond to comments?”
“I don’t pay much attention to it,” Daisy admitted.
“We can bring it up and see what’s happening while you sip a cup of tea. You really ought to have a page on Trends.”
“Trends?” Tessa asked, her brows raised.
“Yeah. It’s a whole new social network. It’s not just for chatting and telling what you had for supper or posting a picture of it. There are groups for businesses and how to make them popular. Tea is really on an upswing. Set up a page on Trends. You’ll have more customers, more discussions, more visits to your website.”
“Is it hard to do?” Daisy asked.
“I know how to do it,” Foster said with a sly smile.
She shook her finger at him. “You are angling for more than a service position.”
When Foster pronounced the tea perfectly brewed, he asked how each of them wanted it. Tessa took a little milk for herself, and Daisy added a dab of honey. Aunt Iris liked a touch of lemon, and Eva took hers straight.
After their first sips, they all nodded at Foster.
“You passed,” Daisy said. “If you can carry a tray with two teapots and six cups and saucers, you’re hired,” she proclaimed with a grin. Then she looked at her aunt. “And you can take a vacation.”
“I’ll drive to Caledonia tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t mind working on Sunday? That’s your usual day off.”
Daisy liked to spend the day going to church, then making brunch for Jazzi and hanging out with her. But she knew her aunt needed this day off. “I don’t mind.”
An influx of customers suddenly swept into the store. That’s the way it went sometimes.
Foster settled right in, coordinating with Tessa and Eva and serving with Aunt Iris. Daisy and Cora Sue took orders at the counter and passed them along to Tessa. They all worked together well, as if they’d been doing it for a long time.
It was almost closing time when Foster took out his phone and studied something on the screen. Daisy had gone to the refrigerator to check on the supplies for the next day.
He brought his phone to her. “I want you to see something.”
When Daisy glanced at his phone, she noticed he’d brought up the tea garden website. “There are comments from this week,” he said. “You ought to read them.”
To Daisy’s surprise, few of the comments had to do with what had happened there, the sensationalism about it, or the reporters being present. The comments were mostly about slow service.
“This isn’t good,” she murmured. “A tea garden has to be a haven, a place for discussion, a place of comfort. Customers can’t be comfortable if they’re disgruntled because they have to wait for service.”
“You ought to tell them that. You should comment there too.”
“How honest should I be?”
“Just be positive. Tell them you’re getting more help, and they should come in and try you again.”
“All right. I’ll do that now. Thanks, Foster. Let me know if you find anybody else who wants a part-time position. But they have to be as motivated as you.”
“I’ll check around,” he said. “I can always put a notice up on the bulletin board at the Student Memorial Center.”
Daisy considered where else she could get help. “I often buy supplies from a farmers market. Some of the stand owners might know of someone who wants to work part-time too.”
“This all happened fast didn’t it . . . with Mr. Fitz’s murder,” Foster said.
“Yes, it did. I never expected business to boom because of something like this.”
“Something good from something bad. My brother and sister and I are closer since Mom died. That’s one good thing that came from something bad. You have to look really hard sometimes, but if you do, you can find it.”
Daisy liked Foster. She liked him a lot. She hoped his association with the tea garden would be good for everyone.
* * *
The following day, Daisy missed her aunt at the tea garden, but she had to admit, Foster did a terrific job. He knew how to serve. He knew how to brew tea. He knew how to make the customers feel comfortable. She couldn’t have asked for more. He was definitely a keeper, and she’d be willing to work around his schedule at school. He had done so well today that soon she might put him in charge of the afternoon tea sit-down service. She was seriously thinking about paying his hourly wage for off-site work too—setting up a page on Trends, for example, and monitoring it. That and the comments on the website. If he could do that, his help would take a burden from her. With the increased customer base, she could afford to pay him.
A little worrisome voice in her head reminded her—that’s if you keep growing your customer base.
So true, she reflected.
Jazzi had decided to come in with her today to help, and she seemed to like Foster too. Win-win all around. Jazzi’s attitude had improved a hundredfold since she’d revealed the search for her birth parents. Daisy just hoped Jonas was getting somewhere.
At five o’clock, Foster had left for the day, and Tessa was on her way out when Daisy’s phone in her pocket played. Seeing her Aunt Iris’s ID, she answered the call. “How was your day?”
“The leaves were beautiful on the drive up to Caledonia, and I think the day away really helped. But now—”
“Now what?”
“Detective Rappaport called me this morning to tell me I can go back to my house. They finished there. So I came home to this mess I need to straighten up. Do you and Jazzi want to come over? We can order a pizza.”
Daisy called to Jazzi, who was wiping down the counters in the kitchen. “How
about pizza for supper over at Aunt Iris’s?”
“That’s okay with me.”
After telling her aunt they’d be over shortly, she ended the call. She also grabbed a container of a cleaner that could help wipe up fingerprint dust. The service had left it when they’d finished cleaning up the tea garden.
When Daisy and Jazzi arrived at her aunt’s, they went inside. Daisy saw that Iris had made a little headway. Even though the sofa cushions were ripped open, she’d put them back on the sofa and laid a crocheted afghan on top to hide the torn fabric. She’d been working on placing books back on the bookshelves when they arrived. But there was a mess with rags and fingerprint dust.
“I’m not sure what to keep and what to throw away,” Iris said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have to get a new sofa for sure, and possibly a recliner too. Look at that tear in the seat and in the back.”
Daisy took off her sweater coat and opened the door to the small closet just inside the door. But there she noticed all Iris’s coats were on the floor, the pockets turned inside out.
“I can hang those back up,” Jazzi said.
They worked for an hour, straightening, replacing, wiping, washing, and sympathizing. Finally, Jazzi said, “I’m starved, Mom. Can we order that pizza?”
“Sure, honey. The number’s on the fridge. Do you want to call?”
“Half plain and half with pepperoni?” she asked the two older women.
“Yep,” Daisy said. “No broccoli tonight.”
“Get an order of wings too,” her aunt said. “We’ll really live it up.”
Daisy laughed, and it felt good to do it. It had been a long, tough week.
Iris glanced around the living room, which was beginning to resemble its former orderliness. “Franco’s usually delivers promptly. Why don’t I brew tea to go with the pizza?”
After Jazzi placed the call to Franco’s, she wandered over to Aunt Iris’s bookshelves and pulled down a volume.
“You have three Nancy Drew mysteries here that look really old. Are they first editions?”
“I bought them with my own money when they came out. I waited with bated breath at the department store, eager for the next volume, sort of like the way you waited for the next Harry Potter. What kind of tea would you like, honey?”
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