“I suppose it depends on how much they want to stay together.”
“If they can make decisions together,” Jonas added.
“Decisions about babies aren’t easy.” Daisy had often spoken to Jonas about what she and Ryan had gone through—the guilt, the worry, their attempts to try to forge a future.
“If only we all had crystal balls,” she said.
“Or if we thought like the Amish that everything works according to God’s plan and will work out in the end,” Jonas reminded her.
“Do you believe that?” Daisy asked, looking up at him, hoping in their future.
“I’m still trying to decide,” he answered. “How about you?”
“I don’t believe that as intensely as the Amish do. I feel what we do ourselves has a lot to do with God’s plan.”
“You go to church every Sunday,” Jonas said. “Do you mind if I ask what you pray for?”
She didn’t hesitate to answer. “I pray that my family, all of it, will stay healthy and they can meet everything that comes their way with grace and fortitude. I know life isn’t easy. It’s been easier for me than a lot of other people. Working at the tea garden, I hear so many stories. I see what our elderly customers are going through. I understand when cancer hits one member of the family, it affects the whole family. Ryan’s battle with it taught me that. I watch couples like Piper and Emory and Vi and Foster struggling, trying to make enough income to raise a family, attempting to make decisions that won’t benefit just one of them, but the whole unit.”
“You’ve taught your girls well.” There was admiration in Jonas’s voice.
“I’ve tried.”
They were gazing into each other’s eyes when Daisy’s phone played its tuba sound. It was sitting on the coffee table, and Daisy spotted Trevor’s picture come up on the screen.
“I can let it go to voice mail,” she told Jonas.
“He might have found out more information about Hiram’s death. If you want to take it, I’m okay with that.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re as interested as I am.”
He grimaced. “I’ll never admit to that.”
“Hi, Daisy,” Trevor said when she answered.
“Did you find out anything?” She knew he’d tell her if he did. They had a sort of a deal that had originated with one of her first murder investigations.
“The police found a witness.”
She jumped on that. “A witness who recognized who went into Hiram’s office?”
“Not exactly. The witness saw someone come from Hiram’s office wearing a hoodie with one of those pollution masks and a baseball cap under the hoodie.”
“So the detectives really aren’t any further ahead.”
“You could look at it that way,” Trevor decided. “I think they’re talking again to all the protestors. But anybody could have bought one of those masks somewhere, and hoodies are available everywhere as are baseball caps,” he said with a bit of cynicism.
“So what’s the bottom line?” she wanted to know.
“The bottom line is that they’re paying special attention to Eli Lapp.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning after Daisy had refreshed each bud vase with a pink rose on every table in the yellow tearoom, she received an unusual phone call from Brielle Horn’s mom. “Can you make time to meet with me?” Nola asked.
Today Brielle had come to work as a server. Right now she was helping Jazzi brew tea.
This was an unusual request from Nola Horn. Daisy had had a few sessions with Brielle’s mom, but not everyday contact. “Is there a problem with Brielle working today?” Brielle had told Daisy that Mrs. Green, Glorie’s friend, would be staying with her grandmother.
“No, no problem. I know she’s working at the tea garden today. That’s why I’d like to request that you come to my house.”
This sounded important . . . maybe to Brielle and maybe to her grandmother too.
Over her lunch break, Daisy told her staff she had to run an errand but she’d be back within the hour. She hoped that would be true. June days were busy with tourists and bus tours and she didn’t want to let her staff down.
Daisy had never been to Brielle’s true home. She’d heard a lot about it. She’d gotten the impression that it was a mansion of sorts with a maid’s suite and so many rooms a girl could get lost in . . . and feel lonely in. The house was in the country, though much of Willow Creek could be considered rural and country.
Daisy drove to the address Nola had given her and pulled into the long driveway. The edifice had an impressive entrance with a huge double door and palladium windows that rose high into the second story under a gable. There were two sharp roof pitches, both with more decorative windows. The triple-car garage had its own peaked roof and was set sideways on the lot and attached to the house. The house was all brick and Daisy guessed it was at least five thousand square feet.
Daisy took the walkway around the garage to the front door and noticed the security lights set into the ground along the manicured landscaping. Decorative spiral pines stood on either side of the stately entrance.
She climbed the two steps and rang the doorbell. A gong reverberated inside.
Daisy had taken off her apron at the tea garden and was dressed as she always was for work. Today she wore a comfortable pair of yellow cotton slacks and a yellow-and-white pin-striped blouse with cap sleeves. She wasn’t sure why she thought of her appearance now except that every time she’d seen Brielle’s mother, Nola had been dressed to the hilt, including spiked heels and professional suits. However, now when the woman opened the door, she looked much different than she had the last time Daisy had seen her.
Nola was in her mid-forties but today she looked older. She was wearing wrinkled off-white yoga pants that were loose around her ankles. The full blouse she wore with it had been buttoned incorrectly. She was thin. Daisy had noticed that before and she’d thought of her as skinny. Instead of her brown hair caught in a perfect bun at the nape of her neck as Daisy had seen her in the past, the strands hung down loose and stringy. Her hazel eyes were red around the edges as was her small nose that looked as if it had been wiped many times. She was bare-footed too. Previously, Daisy had noticed Nola’s shoes had red soles on them which meant a very high price. Now her toenails weren’t even manicured nor were her fingernails.
Daisy was suddenly concerned about the woman. “Are you okay?”
Nola stepped back deeper into the two-story foyer. Right away Daisy noticed the cool air-conditioned temperature, the hardwood floors that gleamed, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that let in so much natural light.
“Come into the kitchen,” Nola invited. “We can have a cup of tea if you’d like.”
“That would be fine.” Daisy followed Nola through the two-story great room where a three-sided glass fireplace shared its warmth with the great room and the kitchen. When Daisy looked up, she saw a second floor catwalk that led to the upstairs bedrooms. Columns held it up. The house was as quiet as a tomb . . . and cold as one too.
Her clogs echoed on the wood floors as she and Nola walked into the kitchen. Daisy looked around and thought what a joy it would be to cook here. There was a double oven, gas stove, and a huge island for plenty of prep space. The ceramic tile flooring was neutral as were the granite countertops. The backsplash looked like Carrara marble. White custom cabinets lined the walls. The black handles represented a newer trend in kitchen design. The eat-in area where Nola gestured for Daisy to sit had a view of rolling farmland and a forest of pines. Puffy white clouds swagged across the blue sky above the treetops. Although the rest of the house was in pristine condition as far as Daisy could see, papers of some sort were spread all over part of the prep counter near the stove.
Nola quickly pushed them all together into a pile as if she were ashamed to have them there.
After silently pulling a copper teapot from a cupboard and filling it with water from the pot filler over
the stove, she set it on a burner. She flipped on the burner, then opened the glass-fronted cupboard and pulled out teacups and saucers translucent enough to see through. After she set them on the table, Daisy noted that they were Lenox, one of the vintage patterns from the nineteen seventies. It was beautiful off-white china with white and yellow flowers on the rim and platinum trim on the outside and center rims. The teacup had the flowers circling the cup with a platinum rim on that too. Brookdale had been one of those patterns that a woman might register for at a fine jewelry store. She knew because Rose Gallagher had taken her and her sister Camellia to flea markets and pointed out the fine china. The china displays had always fascinated her mom . . . and Daisy too.
Her mother used to say, “Someday your dad is going to buy me a set of this china.” He hadn’t bought her Brookdale but something similar. Daisy remembered her dad had bought her mom that china on their fifteenth anniversary and her mother had been proud. She used it now for family dinners. When Daisy needed extra china, Rose lent it to her. It was a mother-daughter thing.
“The china is beautiful,” Daisy commented to at least start small talk.
“I bought it in a consignment shop when I was first married,” Nola commented but her voice broke a bit.
They were quiet until the teapot whistled on the stove and Nola switched off the burner. Crossing to another cupboard, she pulled out a cut-glass dish with an assortment of teabags and brought them to the table. “I’m sorry I don’t have brewed tea. I never take the time. My mother used to, though.”
At that, Daisy thought Nola’s eyes misted over. Mother-daughter relationships could be very complicated.
To cut the tension, Daisy said, “You have a favorite of mine—country peach.”
“Do you take sugar? I’m sorry I don’t have any cream or lemon.”
“No need for those. The peach tea itself is fine.”
Daisy dunked her teabag into her cup and pulled it up and down, hoping the process of brewing would help Nola relax.
Nola chose a tea bag labeled cranberry. As she dipped it, her tea turned a beautiful shade of pinkish red. She’d also brought teabag holders and now they both settled their teabags on them.
“It will need a minute until it cools down,” Nola said. “I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”
“I won’t. While it’s cooling, why don’t you tell me why you wanted to see me?”
“Elliott and I are getting a divorce.”
Even though Brielle had suspected that might happen, Daisy hadn’t known if it would. Both Nola and her husband were lawyers and they had a joint practice, besides having a marriage.
“It’s been a long time coming.” Nola stared into her cup as if she was looking into the past. “Brielle doesn’t know yet. I don’t want to lose her along with my husband. I’m not sure what to do.”
“How can I help?” Daisy asked softly.
Nola picked up her teacup and held it with both hands. “I’d like you to make sure Brielle and Jazzi have plenty of time together so Brielle has somebody she can talk to. I’m open to her talking to you too because I’m afraid she won’t discuss the divorce with me.”
“You don’t know that. Brielle is expressive. She doesn’t usually hold back her feelings.”
“She doesn’t with you. She does with me and her dad. I have something else on my mind too. I want Brielle to go to college, but I’m afraid she’s going to want to stay in Willow Creek with my mom. I can see no reason to keep this house unless my mother would move in with me. I’ve asked her before and she said she wouldn’t. Do you have any advice? Brielle and my mom respect you, so I guess I do too.”
Daisy took a tentative sip of her tea. “Have you asked your mom again to move in?”
“She doesn’t know about this either.”
Daisy wasn’t sure she should give Nola any advice. This was her private business and Daisy had no business intruding. “Are you sure you want me to tell you what I think?”
Nola set her teacup on her saucer with a decided click. “I’d welcome advice from somebody other than my financial advisor.”
Nola probably paid him well for his advice. “You can’t make all the decisions on your own when they involve other people because you have no idea how they’re feeling unless you ask them. Do you think this is the time to make big decisions . . . like selling the house?”
“Probably not. But financially I really don’t have any choice.”
After studying Nola with her woebegone expression, Daisy decided to tell her what she thought. “My advice, if I have any, is to spend time with both Brielle and Glorie. See them separately and together. That could give you all direction.”
“Do you really think so?” Nola sounded as if she wanted to be pumped up with more hope.
“I do. I won’t say anything to Brielle until you speak with her, I promise you that.”
Nola picked up her teacup once more. “I can see why Brielle likes being with you and Jazzi. I wish I could have provided that for her.”
“Maybe you still can. Don’t jump to the biggest decision you have to make. Try making the small ones first.”
“Thank you,” Nola said.
“Anytime,” Daisy agreed.
Nola even smiled a little. “Maybe you’ll have to teach me how to brew a real cup of tea.”
* * *
When Daisy walked into Jonas’s store—Woods—after she left the tea garden for the day, she realized his shop was a bevy of activity. She would be attending a concert in the park with Jonas tonight. She’d stopped in to make plans . . . and merely because she wanted to see him.
Jonas’s store carried handcrafted furniture that he and others in the area created. She felt the store was always perfectly arranged. Huge high cubicles lined one side. The star of each cubicle was a ladder-back chair, each in a different color or finish, from blue to yellow to green to cherry and walnut. She felt any piece in the store—pine, oak, or aspen and always finished with a glossy shine—would fit into any house or apartment. However today, along with the pedestal library tables, the armoires and highboys, other pieces of furniture were clustered around—islands of reclaimed wood with quartz tops, reclaimed wood bookcases, side tables in reclaimed wood, distressed with blue, green, or white paint.
The store was absolutely packed with furniture. Daisy suspected Jonas’s workshop behind the store also held new islands, tables, and hutches. There had been so much interest in the reclaimed furniture pieces that Jonas had set into the front window over the past few months, that he and Elijah Beiler had decided to undertake a special event. It was going to be located in a barn on Elijah’s property. Elijah was a farmer who also handcrafted furniture. When his boys could take over farming details, he helped Jonas in the store. Elijah Beiler was a kind man, Amish, and true to his beliefs. Jonas liked being around him and so did Daisy. She hoped this endeavor of theirs was going to be a success.
To her surprise, Eli Lapp was in the store, covering one of the granite-tops with bubble wrap. She imagined each piece of furniture had to be wrapped and handled carefully while it was moved to Elijah’s barn. The barn hadn’t been ready before now to house all the pieces. After all, Elijah ran a working farm. But now was the time to move tagged and priced furniture there.
She knew Jonas had said Eli apprenticed with him sometimes. She just hadn’t expected to see him today.
Jonas wore black jeans, low boots, and a wine-colored Henley short-sleeved shirt. Even his neck looked strong. His black chest hair peeked out over the buttons of the Henley. His forehead was creased with lines as he spoke with Eli. She couldn’t help but look him up and down and admire everything about Jonas. He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned, spotted her, and smiled.
She crossed the store to where he and Eli were working. Today Eli was dressed in a blue shirt and black broadcloth pants. No suspenders though.
After she said hello to Eli and he greeted her in return, she said, “Everything here is gorgeous. I
could fill my house with these tables and chairs and hutches. In fact, Jazzi is looking for a bookcase for her room. She’s tired of moving piles of books from one place on the floor to another.”
Eli raised his head to look at her. “Jonas has bookshelves in the workroom. They’re fine.”
“I imagine they are. I’ll check them out before I leave.”
Jonas playfully bumped her arm with his. “If Jazzi needs a bookshelf, I can easily make her one. You don’t have to buy it.”
Eli stared at Jonas. “That’s no way to make money.”
“Maybe not,” Jonas agreed. “But I like to give my work to the people I love.”
Daisy had never heard Jonas use the love word in public before. Her heart skipped happy beats.
As if he seemed a bit embarrassed that he had said the word aloud, Jonas changed the subject. “Eli and I were just discussing why he’s against the homeless shelter.”
“I’d like to hear about that too,” Daisy suggested.
After Eli wrapped packing tape around the bubble wrap, he straightened and studied her as if to see if she meant her comment.
He must have decided that she did because he said, “Even though I left the Amish community, I still share some of the beliefs I learned as a child.”
“What beliefs?” Daisy asked, curious what this would have to do with the homeless shelter.
“I believe families in the community should help their own before they become homeless, like Hiram helped me.”
In a sense, she agreed with Eli. Still, she asked, “What if the family doesn’t help? What if banks won’t extend the grace period for a mortgage when a person’s out of work? What if employers lay off employees without notice? What if families are already strapped and can’t provide for another person?”
Eli was already shaking his head. “There is always enough food for everyone if we share. There’s enough room in the smallest house if someone stays in a sleeping bag overnight. This town spending so much money on a shelter is wasteful.”
This was a con against the shelter that Daisy hadn’t heard before. Curious, she asked, “Did Hiram agree with you?”
Murder with Orange Pekoe Tea Page 6