Daisy recognized the customer who had just come in. It was Dutch Pickel from Dutch’s Deli down the other side of the street. He wasn’t a tall man, about five-eight. His hair was white blond and ran in a ring around his balding head. His mustache was the same light blond. He moved in quick jerky movements that said he was a busy man. He hadn’t even worn a coat to run over to the tea garden . . . just a sweater and jeans.
He said to her, “How about a cinnamon scone and Darjeeling?”
“Take a seat. I’ll bring it right over.” She liked to keep up good relations with the other shopkeepers. She and Dutch didn’t compete against each other. He sold sandwiches and hoagies, both hot and cold. She carried soup and he didn’t. He sold basic salads where Tessa created specialty ones for the tea garden. He sold chips and sweet and sour pickles made by a local Amish man. She sold tea and her menu revolved around the types of tea and baked goods.
Five minutes later, she brought him his scone and tea. He pulled the scone in front of him, tore off a bite, and popped it into his mouth. He sighed. “This is good. I don’t know how you keep coming up with different recipes, but I like them all.” He sighed again.
“Busy day?” she asked.
“I wish it were busier. I hope the Quilt Lovers Weekend gets us some attention from those new offices in Lancaster. We’re not so far away that they couldn’t stop here for a sandwich and a scone, right?”
“Not so far away,” she agreed, “for a lunchtime jaunt, and if they want a change of scene. The Quilt Lovers Weekend committee met today and we’re hoping the ads that we did place pay off.”
“I wish I could have helped with the promotion, but I just couldn’t afford the added expenses right now. I’m really trying to save for retirement.”
“I understand. Running any business is tough these days. We’re hoping the cross promotions will pay off for all the shopkeepers.”
“I have posters up already, and I’m inserting flyers in every customer’s bag. I’m hoping every tourist who comes into town will grab lunch at my deli, so the least I can do is help any way I can.” Dutch looked up at Daisy. “You know, I think I’ll take another scone. Do you have any more left?”
Looking over at the case, Daisy saw there were a few more on the daily special tray. “I’ll get you one. More tea?”
But Dutch waved his hand over the cup of tea. “No, I’m fine. Maybe I’ll take that scone to go.”
It had only taken Daisy a minute to package up the scone for Dutch when the door dinged again. She thought they might have an early closing, but not today.
As she carried the bag with the scone to Dutch’s table, she saw who had just walked in. Cade Bankert. She and Cade had gone to high school together. He was a real estate agent who had sold her and her aunt the house for the tea garden and also her property where she had refurbished the barn. She’d gone out with Cade a few months before. He hadn’t followed up with another date, and then she and Jonas had seemed to grow closer.
When Daisy brought Dutch’s scone, she laid his bill on the table. Standing, he picked it up and went to the counter where Aunt Iris was at the register.
“Are you serving the competition now?” Cade asked Daisy.
“Dutch isn’t really competition. Actually, we help each other. We were just talking about cross-promoting the Quilt Lovers Weekend.”
“I can only hope that weekend will bring in clients for me, too. I have more time on my hands than usual with the market slowing down over the winter. Keep your ear out if anybody wants a property in the area.”
“I certainly will. You know I’d send them to you if anyone asks.”
Cade had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a smile that helped him win clients and sell houses. He gave her one of those smiles now. “We small-town businesses have to stick together.”
“Yes, we do.”
Tessa came out from the kitchen and was at the counter talking with Dutch and Aunt Iris. Cade noticed her and asked, “Is Tessa upset about what happened to Reese?”
She and Cade and Tessa had all been classmates together and had remained friends. So it was quite in keeping for Cade to ask.
“She was shaken up, that’s for sure. She went with him to urgent care.”
“I heard he had stitches from the assault.”
Daisy just nodded. “That’s true. He seems okay today, though. I just wish we really knew what the assault was all about.”
“You mean, what the intruder wanted to steal?”
Daisy wasn’t sure that was exactly what she meant, but she didn’t say anything differently to Cade.
Cade studied her for a few seconds and then asked, “Do you find Reese to be a closemouthed kind of guy?”
Daisy thought about it. She hadn’t known Reese long or well. “He readily states his opinion.” She remembered their committee meetings.
“Oh, I don’t mean in general,” Cade said. “I mean about himself and his past.”
She considered that, and then admitted, “I don’t know anything about him or his past, really. Tessa hasn’t mentioned it either, and that did seem unusual since she’s dating the man. Would you like a cup of tea and a snack?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Cade said. “You know my favorite, orange pekoe, and one of those cinnamon scones if you have any left. I heard through the grapevine they were a hit today.”
She laughed. “Let’s hope they’ll be a hit the next time we make them too.” She motioned to the mostly empty tables. “Have a seat. I’ll brew the tea and be right there.”
Once she brought Cade his tea and scone, he motioned to the chair across from him. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“For you I do.”
He took a bite of the scone, then picked up the cup with the tea and took a whiff. “Just what I need at the end of a winter day.” He set it down again without taking a sip. “I know better than to try it before it cools a little.” He glanced at Tessa again, who was now cleaning out the case of baked goods. “I know Tessa’s an artist and all, but Reese doesn’t really seem like her type.”
“What do you think her type is?”
“I don’t know. Someone with a bit more pizzazz than Reese. I mean, he doesn’t even dress like one of those artist types—all in black.”
Daisy couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean because he wears flannel shirts and jeans he can’t be an artist type?”
Cade shrugged. “He’s indecisive, too, and I can’t see Tessa liking that in a man.”
“Indecisive about what?”
“Reese came to me in the fall looking at properties to buy, but nothing seemed to suit and he couldn’t commit. I took him around to about five different properties. He didn’t want to go ahead with loan pre-approval, which seemed odd if he really wanted to buy a house.” Now Cade did take a sip of the tea and peered at her over his cup. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself.”
After another bite of scone, Cade surprised her by asking, “Are you dating Jonas Groft?”
She wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that, but she decided to be as truthful as she could be. “We’ve spent some time together, including New Year’s Eve.”
“But?” Cade asked, prompting her.
“But . . . I haven’t heard from him since, so I don’t really know where we stand.”
Cade looked serious as he commented, “Then you’re not dating exclusively.”
She admitted, “We haven’t discussed it.”
A small smile played over Cade’s lips. “Then how would you like to have lunch with me? You don’t have to call it a date. We can meet at Sarah Jane’s Diner.”
Old high school classmates, business owners in the same town, and friends. That’s what she considered Cade to be. “It would have to be a day we don’t serve afternoon tea. The tea garden needs all hands on deck those days. But I’d like to have lunch with you.”
Cade gave a nod and smiled again. “I’ll cal
l you.”
How often did a man say he was going to call and then not call?
But this was Cade. If a lunch with him was meant to be, then it would be.
* * *
On Friday evening, Daisy was free. Since Violet was going out to dinner with Foster tonight, and Jazzi had gone home from school with a friend to work on a debate team preparation, Daisy decided to visit Levi and Rachel Fisher’s farm.
After going home to change and give her two felines attention, she ate a light supper while Marjoram, a dark tortie, and Pepper, a black cat with a white chest, enjoyed theirs. They gave her thank-you affection around her ankles, then settled on a rug in the living room to wash themselves. As Daisy set the alarm, Pepper meowed a good-bye. Marjoram just blinked at her, her golden eyes narrowing as if telling Daisy not to stay out too late.
Fifteen minutes later, Daisy drove down a slushy lane and pulled into the parking area behind the Fisher house. Visits here reminded her so much of her childhood days.
She’d rambled through the cornstalks with Rachel. They’d laid on their backs in sweet grass, imagining pictures in the clouds. Although Rachel Esh had dressed differently than Daisy had, although their lifestyles were very different, they’d become fast friends.
Rachel’s family didn’t have electricity. They hung their wash on a clothesline that reached from the house to the barn. And they traveled in a horse and buggy. However, despite all that, Daisy’s family’s values and the Eshes’ values seemed to be very much alike. Hard work was a core tenet. Daisy’s parents had taught her that while running their nursery. Rachel’s parents had taught her that while running their farm. Where Rachel’s faith was strong, so was Daisy’s. Daisy had loved visiting the Esh farm because Rachel’s family was boisterous—she’d had four brothers and two sisters. Daisy had appreciated the deep family bonds and sought to be part of them. When Rachel had married Levi Fisher, Daisy had realized her friend would continue to nourish all the bonds in her life.
Now as Daisy knocked on the back door that led into the Fishers’ mudroom, she considered the Amish way of life. Rachel’s oldest brother and his wife lived and farmed on the Esh property, the farm next door. In this house, Levi’s maam—his grandmother—lived with him, Rachel, and their children.
The back door swung open and Rachel wore a broad smile. “It’s so gut to see you. Come in. Have dessert with us. Some shoofly pie and tea.”
“I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Don’t be silly.” Rachel took Daisy’s arm and led her into the kitchen, which was warm with delicious smells. A gas light shone overhead. There were smiles all around the table from Rachel and Levi’s three children—who ranged from sixteen to twenty—and Levi’s maam.
It looked as if the children had just finished up their dessert. Levi stood and nodded to Daisy. “We’ll busy ourselves in the living room.” He looked to his wife. “You visit.” He patted his stomach. “I already had two pieces of shoofly pie.”
Levi’s maam, whose name was Mary, nodded approvingly. “Ya. You’ll need it when you have to start shoveling snow again. I heard it’s coming and my bones agree.”
Maam was already cutting Daisy a slice of shoofly pie. She scooped a generous dollop of whipped cream onto the top.
Rachel brought a teakettle from the gas stove to the table. Taking a teacup and saucer from a beautifully fashioned handmade hutch in the corner, she set it on the table and poured Daisy tea. “I have a whole stack of potholders that Maam made that you can sell in your shop.”
“They’ll go fast when the tourists start coming in,” Daisy assured her.
“I’ll have placemats, too,” Mary said. “Maybe even sets. I still have three weeks.”
“Do what you can,” Daisy advised her. “But don’t wear yourself out.”
Mary helped any way she could on the farm but she also spelled Rachel at the shop now and then. She was still active and vibrant and didn’t show her years. She wore her gray hair the same way Rachel did, parted down the center and pulled back tightly on both sides under her kapp.
While Levi and the children sat in the living room, Daisy, Mary, and Rachel caught up on what was happening on the farm and at the tea garden.
“Your parents are enjoying Florida, ain’t so?” Rachel asked.
“They are, but I think they miss Willow Creek, too. Dad’s enjoying the pool. Mom wants him to join a gym when they get back so he can swim if he’d like. But he says he doesn’t have time for that back here.”
“A swim in a pool isn’t quite like our dips in the pond, are they?” Rachel asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
“No, not at all. I think about those days when the tea garden gets really busy. Life seemed so much simpler.”
“Was it?” Mary asked. “Or did it just seem so because you were children?”
Mary imparted wisdom and Daisy knew Rachel went to her for advice. Daisy wished she could go to her own mother that way more often, but Aunt Iris was easier to speak to, discuss with, hash out problems with. Her mother was more judgmental. Maybe that’s why she admired Mary so. She didn’t judge.
Daisy dug into her shoofly pie. The sweet gooey dessert with the luscious whipped cream on top was just what she needed with a cup of tea to fortify her for the weekend. She didn’t know what would happen when Jazzi’s birth mother arrived on Sunday for an overnight visit.
Talk in the Fishers’ kitchen soon turned to the committee meeting that Rachel had attended with Daisy. “Plans seem to be going smoothly for the Quilt Lovers Weekend, but Mr. Masemer just didn’t seem quite himself,” Rachel observed.
So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. “I think someone breaking into the gallery really shook him. Tessa told me the doctor checked him out thoroughly. But that doesn’t mean he’s not having ill effects.”
Levi had wandered back into the kitchen, gone to the cupboard, and pulled out a glass. Then he filled it with water. “Mr. Masemer is lucky he wasn’t hurt worse.”
“I think he knows that,” Daisy agreed. “Maybe that’s what’s shaking him up, too, that he could have been hurt more seriously. He didn’t want the doctors to stitch him up. Tessa said he kept arguing that he just needed a bandage. But the doctor on duty convinced him he needed stitches.”
Levi took a few sips of his water, and then he set his glass on the counter. “Mr. Masemer can be difficult at times.”
Daisy looked from Levi to Rachel to Mary. “Difficult? I didn’t know you’d had dealings with him.”
“Not usually,” Levi answered. “He wanted to buy my grootmother’s Album quilt, but we didn’t want to sell it.”
“So one of the quilts he has on display is yours?”
“It belonged to Levi’s great-grandmother,” Rachel explained. “It not only holds memories but history. We want to hand it down to our oldest daughter.”
“I can understand that,” Daisy responded.
Levi shook his head. “Mr. Masemer didn’t want to take no for an answer. I bet he came here three times to try to convince us.”
“But?” Daisy prompted.
“Levi convinced him,” Mary said. “He could put it on display to hopefully draw tourists into his gallery. But he had to be very careful with it, protect it, and bring it back in as good a condition as we gave it to him.”
“And Reese agreed?”
“Ya, he did. He had to agree if he wanted to show it in his gallery,” Rachel said.
Daisy wondered if Reese was simply like that in business or in his personal life, too. Would he take no for an answer?
“I can only imagine the hours and hours that are put into Album quilts. I’d like to learn to quilt but I don’t know if I have the time,” Daisy admitted.
Levi went back into the living room with the children.
Rachel said, “Quilting shouldn’t be about finishing. It’s about putting your heart into each stitch and just relaxing and doing your best in that moment.”
Daisy thought about that. “I still hav
e dresses and slacks from when the girls were little. I’d love to sew those into a quilt.”
“Then you must come to the store on a quilting day,” Rachel said, not for the first time.
“I’ll seriously think about it.”
“How are your girls?”
“They’re good. Vi is enjoying college, I can tell. She’s coming home more often than she thought she would, to date Foster as well as to see me. But that’s okay. As long as her mind stays on her studies, I’m okay with her having a beau.”
“And Jazzi?” Mary asked.
Both women knew about Jazzi’s search for her birth mother.
“She’s excited about Portia coming to visit us again. I’d like to encourage her excitement but I don’t want her to be disappointed. The fact that Portia hasn’t seen her since October might mean she’s not ready to have Jazzi in her life. I don’t know if Jazzi can accept that. We’ve talked about it some but Jazzi’s still very idealistic. I think she expects us all to be one big happy family at some point.”
“It is possible,” Mary said, “if it’s what everyone wants.”
But was it what everyone wanted?
Suddenly Daisy’s phone played from her pocket, making a tuba sound. A little embarrassed, she waved her hand at it, knowing phones ringing weren’t common in an Amish household. Amish businesses might have a phone, but many families used phones with answering machines in sheds that served more than one family. “I’ll just let it go to voice mail,” Daisy said.
But Rachel shook her head. “Nonsense. Even Amish teenagers during their rumspringa have cell phones now.”
Rumspringa was a time in an Amish teenager’s life when he or she decided whether or not they wanted to join the church and remain Amish. They got to taste the English world, including driving cars, attending parties, stretching their wings.
“I can take it outside,” Daisy offered.
But Mary said, “See who’s calling, then decide what you want to do.”
Murder with Cinnamon Scones Page 4