Daisy felt herself blush a little.
Jonas cleared his throat. “How about that booth in the back?”
“So you need a bit of privacy?” Sarah Jane asked with a sly smile.
“Actually we do,” Daisy answered. “Besides lunch, we’d like to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”
Sarah Jane pointed to her chest. “You want to talk to me?”
“Whenever you have a few minutes,” Daisy reiterated.
“I’ll have Mary get you seated and give you menus and take your order. Then I’ll leave my post and come and join you.”
Sarah Jane’s eyes were questioning but Daisy didn’t say any more and neither did Jonas. They walked back to the booth and greeted Evelyn when she came to them. They both ordered the shepherd’s pie since that was the daily special. It must have been already prepared and ready to serve because their waitress brought them their servings along with cole slaw and applesauce. The shepherd’s pie with its ground beef, carrots, and peas topped with mashed potatoes looked delicious.
“I should make this at home,” Daisy concluded.
“It looks like a lot of work.”
“It is a lot of work. But the end result . . .” She sighed.
“On the other hand,” Jonas offered, “why go to the trouble of making it when you can buy it here and take it home.”
Daisy laughed. “Do you do that often?”
“I’ve been told that fast food won’t help me live a longer life,” he said with almost a straight face.
“But I’m sure shepherd’s pie will,” Daisy joked with a grin.
Jonas’s eyes lingered on her face. “You’re looking better.”
Jonas wasn’t a flatterer and Daisy felt self-conscious, so she handled the compliment lightly. She ran her hand through her hair to fluff it. “Must be the new ’do.”
“I mean it, Daisy. That day the killer knocked you down the steps, you had me worried.”
“We don’t know that’s who it was,” Daisy reminded him in a low voice.
Suddenly Sarah Jane was standing at their booth. “You two look intense.”
Daisy leaned against the booth back and so did Jonas. They’d practically been nose to nose while they were talking. That close, Daisy thought of other things to do with Jonas instead of talking. She moved over to give Sarah Jane space to sit on the booth beside her.
The restaurant owner sat and asked, “So you have questions for me? How intriguing. What about?”
Jonas motioned to Daisy, letting her take the lead.
“I’m trying to help Tessa,” Daisy explained.
“Help her how?” Sarah Jane inquired.
“By gathering information to give the police so they don’t think she’s a suspect.”
“But she was dating Reese Masemer, wasn’t she?” Sarah Jane asked.
“She was dating him. I believe she was falling in love with him or was already in love. She didn’t have anything to do with what happened to him.”
“I’ve known Tessa Miller for years. She’s a good girl,” Sarah Jane decided. “How can I help?”
“We have a description of someone who might be important to the case,” Daisy explained. “So many customers come into your diner, out-of-towners as well as locals.”
“They certainly do and I try to greet everyone. What’s the description?”
“Do you remember anyone in a hoodie? If the hoodie dropped back he had a buzz cut.”
“Hmmm,” Sarah Jane said. “A couple of teenagers who come in here could fit that description. How old is this male?”
“Not a teenager,” Jonas filled in. “I’d say in his early fifties.”
“We don’t have many tourists in January, though I’m hoping we do for the Quilt Lovers Weekend. I believe I’d remember a man who looked like that.”
Daisy was disappointed and that disappointment must have shown on her face. Sarah Jane bumped her arm with her own. “Don’t look so crestfallen. I’m not the only one who serves food in town. Think about it for a minute. If this man is connected to a crime, would he want to come in here and sit down and have dinner? Probably not.”
“So you’re suggesting he’d go to a fast-food restaurant?” Jonas asked.
“Possibly. Or he’d grab a sandwich and a bag of chips.”
“At Dutch’s Deli. That makes sense.” Daisy squeezed Sarah Jane’s arm. “Thank you.” Then Daisy’s gaze met Jonas’s.
He gave a small, resigned shrug. “Next stop—Dutch’s Deli.”
Daisy was glad she and Dutch had spoken not so long ago. That made her feel more comfortable approaching him. Although Jonas might not be a hundred percent behind her on her quest, she could tell he felt no hesitation. But then he’d been a detective. He was used to questioning suspects and finding murderers. The ironic thing was he didn’t want to do that anymore. Should she keep dragging him into this? On the other hand, this was Jonas. If he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t.
A half hour later, as they walked into the deli, Daisy nudged Jonas’s arm. “Thank you for coming here with me.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get another conk on the head,” he said acerbically, but then opened the door for her.
The inside of Dutch’s looked like any deli. There was a counter across the back and a case beneath it filled with all sorts of meats and cheeses, a few salads, and a tray of sandwiches already made up to go. Tables with chrome bases and Formica tops were scattered all around the room. The metal chairs at each table were red. On the wall Dutch had hung a board with specials. The list showcased the sandwiches he could make and prices for catering trays that he would create. On the edge of the counter sat a carousel with several kinds of potato chips. Martin’s and Utz seemed to be the most popular brands. Utz potato chips were made in Hanover and Martin’s were made in Thomasville, near York.
Daisy realized that she and Jonas didn’t need any food, but it didn’t seem right to come in here asking questions without buying something. Dutch himself was at the counter and he looked up with recognition.
“Hi, Dutch,” she said.
“I heard you were hurt,” he said. “A concussion and a shoulder problem?”
Willow Creek was small, the community of merchants even smaller. News traveled fast.
“I’m on the mend. I put in a half day today and hopefully a whole day tomorrow. I want to take cheese home for Jazzi and me. We like it for snacks. How about a pound of sharp white American, a pound of Colby, and a half pound of sharp cheddar, the orange one.”
“Coming right up,” Dutch responded, reaching into the case for the block of sharp white American.
As he was weighing the cheese, Jonas nodded to her. She might as well get started. “Dutch, do you mind if I ask you about something?”
He glanced up at her. “About . . . ?”
“You might have heard Tessa is under suspicion for Reese’s murder. I’m gathering a bit of information.”
He shrugged as if none of it mattered to him. “Go ahead and ask.”
“You usually run the register yourself, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t trust anybody else. Anybody can make a sandwich but not just anybody can handle the money. That’s why I’m here three-quarters of my life. Why?”
“We’re trying to find out the identity of someone. He’s in his early fifties, wears a hoodie, and has a buzz cut. He had an argument with Reese and we’d like to find him. Can you tell me if he was in here?”
Dutch began wrapping the cheese as he thought about her question. “You know, I think he was.”
“Do you remember anything more about him?”
“There’s a reason I remember him. He placed an unusual order. He wanted a bologna and Swiss sandwich with dill pickles and hot peppers on a kaiser roll, along with potato salad to go. He asked for a double order of both. I told him that salad should be refrigerated. He said he had a cooler.”
Daisy thought about the cooler idea. That meant maybe he’d driven a g
ood distance. “Did he mention where he’d come from?”
“Yeah,” Dutch responded. “He said he came from Pittsburgh and the traffic was terrible. I have his credit card charge receipt but that won’t do you any good because now they just show the last four numbers of the account.”
“No, it won’t,” Jonas agreed. “But the police might be able to find out more.”
Daisy leaned close to Jonas. “I’m going to call Rappaport.” Then she moved across the room and did just that.
Chapter Thirteen
“Would you like to come in?” Daisy asked Jonas as he walked her to the door.
“How about a rain check on that? I really need to get back to the store.”
“Of course, you do. Stores don’t run themselves. Thank you so much for going with me today.”
“I’d say anytime,” he responded with a small smile, “but I don’t want to encourage you. The police will figure this out. No matter what impression he gives us, Detective Rappaport is a good cop. I know he’s looking at Tessa, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t looking elsewhere, too.”
“Where else is there to look?” Daisy asked.
“Possibly the guy with the hoodie. Rappaport has more contacts than you do. He can also access any video cameras businesses use. He’ll figure this out.”
“But what if the murderer comes after Tessa for some reason, maybe because she knows something?”
“You’re going to accuse me of being patronizing, I know you are. But let me ask you this question. Do you have anything to do when you go back into the house?”
“Do you mean besides think?”
“Exactly. I know only being able to use one arm is tough but isn’t there a movie you’d like to watch, something you can stream on your iPad, recipes you’d like to create?”
“I’ll consider all those after I’m inside and resting like everybody wants me to do. I know you’re not being patronizing. You just want me to recover. So do I. I have beef cubes in there. I can put them in the slow cooker and make beef barley soup. Not much chopping involved.”
“Do you need me to pick you up in the morning?”
“No, I’ll let Aunt Iris do that. I’m going to try working without the sling tomorrow. If that goes well, then I can start driving myself.”
“I should have known you always have a plan B.”
“Not always,” she admitted. If she came to care for Jonas seriously, there would be no plan B involved.
He gave her a hug. “Go on in. I want to make sure you’re safely inside before I leave.”
She didn’t argue with him. With a murderer on the loose and her one arm in a sling, feeling secure because Jonas was watching out for her was a good thing.
As soon as she stepped inside and turned off the alarm, Pepper jumped down off the bench under the window and wrapped around her ankles.
“I missed you, too.” Daisy picked up her tuxedo feline in one arm, careful not to drop her. Marjoram, who stayed on the bench, stood, stretched, and yawned.
“Were you two listening to our conversation through the window?”
Pepper tilted her head and gave a soft meow.
Daisy laughed. “I’m glad one of you will admit it. How about a treat? After you enjoy that, you can keep me company in the kitchen while I put on supper.”
The word “treat” made Marjoram’s golden eyes sparkle even more. She jumped down from the bench and ran into the kitchen, fully expecting Daisy to follow.
Daisy put Pepper on the floor, then swung her jacket off and laid it over a chair. Going into the kitchen, she took the cats’ treats from a cupboard and dropped a few into each of their dishes. When she thought about making soup in the slow cooker, she’d forgotten she’d have to lift the slow cooker from the bottom shelf of her cupboard. Not a great idea. She’d just wait a while and then start the soup on top of the stove.
Considering what Jonas had advised her to do, she decided to stream a movie on her laptop. It would be easier to watch on there than on her iPad.
After she changed into a comfy sweat suit and settled on the sofa, Marjoram jumped up on the back. Pepper stood at her stockinged feet, rubbed against them, rounded in a few circles, and then settled.
Daisy booted up the laptop. But before she decided on a movie to watch, she considered everything Dutch had told her. The man in the hoodie had come from Pittsburgh.
Taking a chance on a long shot, she decided to google “Reese Masemer” and “Pittsburgh.” The requisite links for Pittsburgh attractions popped up. It was hard to search these days without somebody trying to sell you something. She skipped down below the ads and, to her surprise, she found several links.
What she discovered amazed her. Apparently, Reese had had a whole different life before he’d moved to Willow Creek.
* * *
At the tea garden the next morning, Daisy’s shoulder hurt a little by eleven. However, she’d done well during the breakfast service and she’d insisted on baking the lemon tea cakes herself. The breakfast rush, as it was in January, was over. There was a sweet lull before the lunch crowd came in.
As if Jonas knew that, he came in the door ready to work on her shelves. He was wearing a tool belt and had his toolbox with him too. She couldn’t help but gaze at him in a new light. She wondered if he knew how sexy he was.
He set down the toolbox at the closet door. “I have to bring in the brackets, then I can get started.”
While Jonas did that, Daisy brought lemon tea cakes to one of the customers and Cora Sue poured the tea. Her staff was watching over her and she was grateful for that.
Jonas had been working for about a half hour when Daisy started for the closet, eager to tell him what she’d found out about Reese. But before she’d passed the sales counter, Gavin Cranshaw entered the tea garden and he didn’t look happy. Foster was in the kitchen, watching the pot of soup they’d made for lunch. She’d decided her beef barley soup was worth a try on the customers.
But she didn’t even have a chance to call to Foster because his father came right up to her. “Can I talk with you for a few minutes?”
Cora Sue and Iris gave a nod that they’d cover for her.
The spillover room was set up for afternoon tea, but she led Gavin in there anyway. It wasn’t as if they’d mess up one of the tablecloths. He didn’t even look as if he wanted to sit down.
She did, hoping he would. “Is something wrong?” She motioned to the seat across from her, inviting him to sit.
He didn’t look as if he wanted to, but he pulled out a chair and lowered himself onto it. “I understand that you took my son to the Smokey Palace with you. I just found out from one of Foster’s friends that he was there. I haven’t talked to Foster yet because I wanted to talk to you first and give you fair warning. I think he should quit his job here because the tea garden is a bad influence.”
Apparently, Iris or Cora Sue had told Foster his father was here because he appeared at the table looking as if smoke might come out of his ears. “I am not quitting my job here.”
“She had no right taking you to the Smokey Palace.”
Foster looked dumbfounded. He glared at his dad and asked, “What do you think goes on at college? Believe me, there are more than electronic cigarettes there.”
Gavin began to sputter and didn’t look as if he knew what to say.
Foster went on, “And it wasn’t the first time I was at the Smokey Palace. I’m the one who had a contact there who could help Daisy. So don’t go blaming her. For your information, I don’t smoke e-cigs, but I have friends who do and sometimes I meet them there.”
“You don’t tell your friends it’s bad for them?” Gavin wanted to know.
“Do you tell your friends who still smoke that that’s bad for them? They should know, don’t you think? It’s not like we live in the dark ages before the Internet.”
“But if you go there with them, you’re condoning what they’re doing,” his father protested.
“If I g
o there with them, and I don’t smoke, I’m making a statement. Your way isn’t always the best way.”
Daisy really didn’t want to interfere or get involved in a family squabble. She felt protective of Foster but she also understood where Gavin was coming from.
“Foster,” she warned gently.
Not accepting her warning, he shook his head at her and addressed his dad again. “If you don’t stop interfering in my life when I’m simply trying to make a life, I’ll stop commuting, get more financial aid somehow, and move into the dorm or get an apartment with friends. Mom would be proud of my accomplishments, not constantly criticizing me. In fact tonight, I’ll stay with a friend.”
Gavin looked hurt, and Daisy didn’t know what to do for father and son. She said, “Maybe you should talk about this when you both calm down a bit.”
Not listening, Gavin spoke right over her. “If you feel that way then maybe you should think about moving into the dorm. If it’s not too much trouble, text me tonight so I know you’re safe.” And with that, Gavin stood and without looking at either of them, left the tea garden.
Daisy stood too and put her hand on Foster’s shoulder. “Foster, I’m sorry.”
His brow was creased and his eyes were troubled. “I’m fine. This has been a long time coming.”
“I understand your dad’s side of it because I’m a parent too. We spend ninety-nine percent of our lives worrying about our kids.”
Foster wasn’t listening any more than his dad had. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions. He can’t control my life.” Foster’s voice had risen and he suddenly realized it. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Misunderstandings happen between parents and kids. But you need to have a serious discussion with your dad. Don’t let a chasm form between you.”
“It’s already there,” Foster confided morosely.
“Don’t let that gap become deeper and wider, Foster. Stay with a friend tonight if you must, but then talk to your father soon. Promise me you will.”
Foster stared out the window, then brought his gaze back to her. “All right. But I don’t think it’s going to make a difference. He doesn’t understand me.”
Murder with Cinnamon Scones Page 16