Daisy scanned the crowd that was still gathered under the tents and around them. “I guess everyone has buttons that circumstances can push. But what about a homeless shelter pushed Eli’s?”
“Maybe it has something to do with his fence jumping,” Jonas said with a shrug.
“Maybe. But I’m wondering if Rachel is right that Hiram influenced Eli to leave his Amish community.”
* * *
Two hours later, as Jonas drove Daisy home, they talked about what had happened. Daisy was still shocked that protestors had invaded their gathering.
Jonas didn’t seem quite as surprised.
“Strong feelings on both sides cause cracks in the community,” he reminded her. “One side apparently felt they had to take power into their own hands and make raucous noise to be heard.”
“Everyone’s free to speak at town council meetings,” she said. “A few voices dissented there, but not so violently. The council listened to their concerns, but they thought the homeless shelter was something the community needed. Last winter they found a camp of homeless men in one of the fields. In a field, Jonas. No one should have to sleep in a field in freezing weather.”
Jonas reached over to her and took her hand. “One of the farmers I know let a few men use his barn on the coldest nights last winter, but somehow they felt safer in the fields than they did in the barn. I don’t understand it. When I was on the streets in Philadelphia, I didn’t understand a lot of things. The question is—will they stay in the shelter? That’s a valid question. Willow Creek Police Department’s not big enough to patrol all the fields along with the streets. These days there are no easy answers, but I have to think building the homeless shelter and providing meals will help.”
“I want to think we’re a caring community. Do you think the police will arrest Eli?”
“Hiram Hershberger has a reputation for getting people off.”
“He could probably say that Eli was just practicing his first amendment right of free speech.”
“I suppose,” Jonas agreed. “But the camouflage mask and the boots could lean toward terrorist threats. We’ll see what develops. The town council can’t let intimidation stop the project if they really believe in it.”
They were both quiet on the remainder of the drive. They’d taken Daisy’s work van to the tea garden to park it in the back lot, and Jonas had driven her home, stopping in front of the generous detached double-car garage. Daisy hadn’t finished the second floor of the garage when it was built. After she discovered that Vi was pregnant and that she and Foster were getting married, Daisy had made the decision to have the second floor of the garage finished into an apartment where the couple could live rent-free the first year. They needed help to start their life together, and Daisy wanted to give that help if she could.
At the garage, she glanced toward her home that had once been a barn. After they climbed out of Jonas’s SUV and stood in front of the garage, they gazed toward the house. Daisy focused on the multi-paned window that had once been a hay hatch where hay bales had been lifted in and out of the barn. That was Jazzi’s room and a light glowed there. A smaller window above that one let daylight into the attic space. A floodlight at the peak of the roof hadn’t flashed on yet and Daisy could catch a glimpse of blue plaid curtains that draped Jazzi’s window.
The second floor had been divided into two bedrooms with a bath. Before Vi had gone to college, it had suited her daughters perfectly. Now Jazzi had the second floor to herself. Her whitewashed furniture and blue-and-white spread were very different from what was now the guest room, which had a more contemporary design with sleek-lined walnut furniture and a dark green spread and curtains.
Jonas reached for Daisy’s hand, and she liked that this man, who was somewhat quiet when he didn’t want to share his feelings, was affectionate and showed her how much he cared. As she peered up at the white-trimmed windows and dormers, she thought about Ryan’s insurance money that had made this new life in Willow Creek possible. She’d always be grateful he’d been her husband, and Vi and Jazzi’s father. She’d always remember the marriage they had had. But now she could imagine possibly sharing this house with Jonas someday.
Since she lived in a rural area, rather than a neighborhood, and she’d been a widow with two teenage girls, she’d had a security system installed. She unlocked the door and then punched in the security code to turn off the alarm.
Jonas followed her in the wide front door. There was a stairway to the rear of the living room that led upstairs. A huge wagon-wheel chandelier lit up the area which was open to a dining area and kitchen. The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace near the dining area gave a cozy feeling to the room in summer, winter, fall, and spring.
When Jonas glanced toward the upstairs, Daisy had to smile. Her two cats had started down the steps to greet them. Jonas waited for the duo to arrive. Marjoram, the tortoise shell with unique markings, came right to Jonas and sat on his foot. One side of her face was mottled in tan, brown, and black. The other side was completely dark brown. Colors ranging from orange to cream spotted her back and flanks while her chest was a creamy tan and rust. Looking up at Jonas, she gave a small meow.
“I never know if you want me to pick you up,” he said conversationally.
She gave another meow and stayed put.
“If I’m reading your sign language right, that’s a yes. So here we go.” He stooped and picked her up, holding her loosely in his arms.
Daisy knew Marjoram was a squiggler. She didn’t like to be held long, but Jonas knew that too. Daisy’s tuxedo cat, Pepper, came over to her and wound in a figure eight around her ankles.
“I like your greeting but I know what it means,” she said to the feline. “Did Jazzi feed you?”
Just then Jazzi jogged down the stairs. She would be a senior in high school when school began again and would have to make many decisions about her life. Jazzi’s road had been complicated over the last three years. Adopted, she’d gone on a search for her birth mother. Jonas had helped her, which had solidified a bond between them.
Daisy watched Jazzi’s thick black glossy hair swing across her shoulders. It was straight without a wave and Jazzi had bemoaned that fact until she figured out how to make her hair work for her. Her latest style perfectly framed her oval face with her high cheekbones and cute nose. She was wearing a blue-and-white striped T-shirt and denim shorts.
Looking straight at Jonas and Daisy, she asked, “Are we going to cook out?”
“We can,” Daisy answered. “It’s a beautiful day for it. I just happen to have burgers pattied and ready to go. I brought home potato salad from the tea garden yesterday, and we can make a lettuce salad too if you want.”
Jazzi approached them and scooped up Pepper. “I want. I’d like to go over my list of colleges with you—the ones I want to go see before I decide if I want to apply to them or not.”
“That sounds like the perfect thing to do on an early June evening. We can look at the calendar and see when we can get away.”
“I’m available to chauffer too,” Jonas said.
“Road trips,” Jazzi decided with a grin.
Within an hour, burgers sizzled on a plate on the picnic table. Jonas had melted cheese on a few and Daisy had sliced tomatoes to pile onto the burgers. Ketchup, bread-and-butter pickles that her Aunt Iris had made, and fresh lettuce grown in their own garden were available too. They’d had a warm spring and the tomato and pepper plants that Daisy had planted were growing strong.
Daisy had brought home chocolate espresso cookies that she’d made at the tea garden. By the time Jonas was on his second one, he suggested, “I could make coffee to go with these. I think I had enough tea this afternoon to float in it.”
Daisy laughed. “A cup of coffee does sound good.” She had one of those coffee makers that used pods because she drank more tea than coffee and rarely needed more than one cup at a time.
“I can make three cups,” Jazzi said. “I’ll bring them o
ut then we can talk about colleges.”
“Thank you, honey,” Daisy said with a smile.
As Jazzi entered the house through the sliding glass door, Jonas remarked, “My guess is that Jazzi’s already thinking about when she goes away to college. She’s going to miss the life she has now.”
“I know I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Daisy admitted. “I’m certainly going to miss her.”
“Let’s sit on the glider,” Jonas suggested.
Daisy and Jonas’s romantic relationship had experienced a bumpy voyage. After a tempestuous few months, Jonas had created the glider for the two of them as an apology. The seats had heart-shaped backs, and they often sat on them, looking up at the stars and thinking about the future they could have. They sank down onto the glider now while the sun was dropping lower on the horizon. Orange and pink shot through the clouds.
As Jonas took Daisy’s hand, she asked him, “Had you ever met Piper and Emory before today?”
“No, I hadn’t. But I talked with Emory a while after they told us what happened with the clinic. I think he went at Hiram like that at the social because he feels guilty.”
“Guilty? He didn’t have anything to do with what happened at the clinic, did he?” Daisy asked, amazed.
“Oh, not guilty in that way. But Emory is the one who’s holding them back from getting pregnant because of a low sperm count. That’s why they went the in vitro route.”
“That is so hard,” Daisy said. “I researched it. It wouldn’t have helped me and Ryan because I couldn’t carry another child. But when we were considering adoption, we went to a couples’ group. Many of them had considered in vitro, but it’s so expensive. Not that adoption isn’t, but one cycle of in vitro might not work.”
“That’s it exactly,” Jonas said. “Emory and Piper used all of their savings and borrowed heavily from Piper’s dad. They also took out a line of credit. Emory wants to become involved in the class action suit against the clinic to recoup their money. Piper doesn’t think it’s such a great idea. So now on top of what happened, that’s causing tension between them.”
“I really liked Piper,” Daisy said. “I was thinking maybe I should invite her and Emory and Vi and Foster to dinner. They’re both young couples starting out in marriage. It could be advantageous for them to talk.”
“It might be,” Jonas agreed.
Daisy snuggled against Jonas’s shoulder, happy where she was . . . happy where they were in their relationship. She and Jonas might have to have another discussion sometime about whether he wanted a child of his own, or if either of them wanted to consider adoption. That was a whole universe that they hadn’t taken seriously enough yet.
For now, though, she was just happy to be sitting beside him, having him push the glider back and forth, hoping Piper and Emory would do whatever was best for their future.
CHAPTER THREE
Daisy had just served tea and scones to a table of four women late Monday morning when the bell for the tea garden dinged and the front door opened. She was surprised to see Hiram Hershberger. Another gentleman was with him who was dressed in an expensive outfit for a summer day. The gray suit looked tailored to fit him. The white shirt seemed starched and the tie was expertly knotted.
When Daisy crossed to Hiram, he tipped his straw hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Swanson. I enjoyed your tea at the social gathering yesterday. At least it was social for a while. This is my friend Troy Richter.”
Today Hiram was dressed in a short-sleeved aqua dress shirt, open at the collar. On top of that, he wore a chocolate colored vest that matched his slacks.
Hiram reached up to his hat and took it off.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said to Hiram. Then she turned to Troy Richter. “It’s nice to meet you.”
When Hiram leaned closer to her, she caught a whiff of strong cologne. In a conspiratorial voice, he said, “We’d like privacy if you can manage it . . . and definitely iced orange pekoe tea.”
Daisy understood that the two men were going to discuss business. She wondered if Mr. Richter was a client of Hiram’s. She wished she could ask Hiram a few questions about Eli Lapp, but that wouldn’t be professional for either of them. Glancing over vacant tables, she led them into the spillover tearoom. Hiram scanned both rooms as if he was memorizing every detail.
Daisy and her Aunt Iris had bought the old Victorian after a bakery had existed on the first floor. From the start, they’d considered the fact that they wanted men to feel comfortable at the tea garden as well as women. They’d decorated the main tearoom with glass-top wood tables and mismatched antique oak hand-carved chairs. White and yellow bud vases with fresh lavender, in season now, adorned each table, and the walls had been painted light green. Daisy believed the color green promoted calming qualities, just as tea could.
Leading Hiram and Mr. Richter, she remembered when she and her aunt had planned the connecting room for spillover traffic. On specified days, she and her staff served afternoon tea with all its courses in that area. In her estimation, the spillover room reflected the best qualities of the Victorian with its bay window, window seats, crown molding, and diamond-cut glass windows. The walls in the room were the palest yellow and the tables were white. Each chair wore a cushion in blue, green, and yellow pinstripes. She motioned to a table for two in the corner near the window. At present, no one else occupied the room.
After the men were seated, Hiram, referring to his order for orange pekoe tea, told her, “I’ve appreciated orange pekoe ever since my visit to Sri Lanka. I found out there is no orange in orange pekoe tea. In fact, it’s a grade of black tea.”
“It is,” Daisy confirmed. “The grading system for orange pekoe ranges from Orange Pekoe to Super Finest Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe.”
“I learned that,” Hiram acknowledged. “The leaf appearance determines the grade, right?”
“Yes, it does,” Daisy said with a smile because Hiram was well informed. From what Daisy had heard yesterday, she surmised that Hiram Hershberger was never low key. He’d apparently experienced many travels, and he brandished his lifestyle now with flair in front of the community he’d abandoned. Apparently he was proud of what he’d accomplished and didn’t intend to hide it, no matter who was watching.
“Would you like to see menus?” she asked both men.
“No need,” Hiram told her as Troy Richter remained quiet. “I’m sure Troy trusts me when I say your baked goods are excellent. Bring him a selection, please. I’d like a cup of your cucumber avocado soup and those little chicken salad sandwiches if you have them. I’ll sneak a cookie from Troy’s selection.”
“How about chocolate espresso cookies and mini lemon tarts?”
“That sounds perfect.” Hiram winked at Troy as if to say, I’ve got this covered.
Troy Richter didn’t look as if he were interested in what they were going to eat or drink. Daisy decided that wasn’t her problem.
Richter, she thought to herself. Richter. She’d heard the name before, but she wasn’t exactly sure where. She shouldn’t even be trying to guess. Hiram’s business was none of her concern.
However, as soon as she passed the sales counter in the main tearoom, Tessa, who was manning the sales desk, crooked her finger at Daisy.
Tessa Miller was Daisy’s age. They’d gone to school together. Tessa lived on the second floor of the tea garden and was Daisy’s best friend. She was a painter as well as Daisy’s kitchen manager. Always dressing like an artiste, she wore colorful tops and skirts. Instead of a chef’s coat, she wore a smock. Today it was patterned in lime green and yellow.
Tessa had French braided her caramel-colored hair to keep it in line, and her braid swung over her shoulder as she leaned toward Daisy. Her brown eyes were alight with curiosity. “Isn’t that Troy Richter with Hiram Hershberger?”
“Do you know him?” Daisy kept her voice low. Tessa, along with everybody else in town it seemed, had heard what had happened yesterday at the
social for the homeless shelter. She hadn’t been there, but it appeared she knew Hiram and the man with him on sight.
“Troy Richter is the CEO of the Hope Clinic.”
Whoa. That’s where she’d heard the name. Hiram was defending the clinic against a class action lawsuit. Had they come into the tea garden to discuss that? Wouldn’t they meet in Hiram’s office?
As if Tessa had read her thoughts, she said, “I understand Hiram often takes his clients to restaurants and coffee shops in York, Lancaster, and Philadelphia to discuss cases. As flamboyant as he is, I think he likes to be seen.”
“He asked for a private table,” Daisy remarked. “Maybe today he wants to be seen and not heard.”
Tessa surreptitiously peeked into the spillover tearoom. “That’s possible. Troy Richter looks as if he swallowed a strawberry whole,” Tessa commented.
“I imagine the Hope Clinic has more than one problem,” Daisy noted. “There could be a multitude of lawsuits, or a major class action suit.” Daisy’s attention suddenly swerved to the baked goods case and the order Hiram had requested. “Are you going back to the kitchen?”
“I am since that busload from this morning has departed. I was checking inventory. The case is almost empty. What do you need?”
She told Tessa what she’d promised the men.
“That’s easy enough. I just made more of the chocolate espresso cookies. The tarts are in the walk-in. The cucumber soup is ready. I’ll put together chicken salad and watercress sandwiches real quick.”
“Sounds good. I’ll watch the counter if you want to arrange the tier. They also ordered two orange pekoe iced teas.”
“I’ll have Cora Sue bring it all over.”
“I’d like to take the tier to them myself,” Daisy said.
Tessa’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re just hoping you’ll overhear something.”
Daisy wagged her finger at Tessa.
Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea Page 3