Murder with Lemon Tea Cakes Page 11

  Daisy had a feeling that Jonas’s contacts in law enforcement kept him informed. “I thought about closing the tea garden in the morning, but I really can’t afford to do that. Tessa is going to try to run it along with my part-time help. If they get into a bind, she’s going to call me. I just want to be there for Aunt Iris. I doubt there will be anybody there she knows. It’s not as if she’d become part of Harvey’s social circle.”

  “And I imagine women in that crowd wouldn’t be kind to outsiders,” Jonas said perceptively.

  “You know the crowd?” Daisy asked.

  “I know the type. I’ve dealt with some society debutantes and matrons. They’re a closed circle, and they don’t like to let anybody else in.”

  “Do you think Willow Creek society is like that?”

  “I guess I’m making a judgment, and I shouldn’t. But whether you’re born to money or come into it later in life, I think it changes aspects of your personality. When people have money, they have a cushion. That cushion can make them comfortable and enable them to do things normal people can’t. Wealth is also a safeguard against bad things that happen. The rich can hire the best lawyers, engage private nurses, enjoy advantages regular people don’t have. And they know that, so it gives them a superior attitude. At least that’s been my experience.”

  Daisy wondered if that experience had come from Jonas’s work or from his personal life. Thinking about everything Jonas had said, she realized Harvey had seemed to have a kindness about him. Though Monica did not.

  “I’m not sure we can judge all society matrons based on Monica, but you never know. I don’t like to have preconceptions,” Daisy admitted.

  She poured cups of tea for the two of them. “No lemon, sugar, or cream?” she asked.

  “You remembered.”

  Yes, she did. She remembered almost everything Jonas had said to her. She also remembered that he didn’t carry an umbrella in the rain or wear an overcoat in winter.

  Something about Jonas encouraged her to sit and talk to him, and to ask him a question or two for Jazzi’s sake.

  As they munched on blond brownies, she studied him once more. “If I wanted to find someone, how hard would it be?”

  He finished one brownie and started on another. After he wiped his fingers on a napkin, he took a few swigs of tea.

  “Good tea,” he said.

  She nodded, adding a bit of sugar to hers.

  “Do you want to find someone who has to do with the investigation?”

  “Oh, no. This is personal.”

  His gaze met hers. “I have computer skills I learned on the job as well as in investigative training.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I can pay you.”

  At that Jonas scowled. His brow crinkled, and the lines around his mouth cut deep. “No payment necessary. What do you need?” His worried expression told her he cared if she was in trouble.

  “Jazzi’s been out of sorts for the past month. I thought it was because Violet went to college and she missed her. But it wasn’t that. I found out a few days ago exactly what it was.”

  She debated how to explain in the easiest and quickest way. “When Violet was two, Ryan and I decided we wanted another child. The problem was I’d had a miscarriage about a year after we had Violet. That miscarriage caused a uterine tear. It was highly unlikely I would carry a baby to term again.”

  “Oh, Daisy, I’m so sorry.”

  She could see that he was, and a lot of people were. She tried to remove herself from difficult memories as she said softly, “When a woman receives that diagnosis, her world is devastated if she wants to have more children. I was devastated. I had always thought I’d have a brood of five or six. But with that diagnosis, I’d known better, and so had my husband. We went through a rough patch in our marriage, as we let the news settle in. But eventually we turned to each other and decided if we wanted more children, we’d adopt.”

  As she told Jonas this, she tried to keep the emotion out of her voice. However, although it was out of her voice, it must have shown in her eyes. Without warning, a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

  To her surprise, Jonas caught it.

  The world stood still for those few seconds when his fingertip grazed her skin and they gazed at each other with an understanding that would bond two people who had lost something important, someone important.

  She tore her gaze from his and looked down at her teacup, searching for answers there. Since she didn’t know how to read tea leaves, she didn’t find any.

  Daisy said, “All I know about Jazzi’s birth mother is that her first name is Portia.” After taking a deep breath, she explained, “The lawyer we used for the adoption was located in Florida. That’s where we were living then. Since Jazzi told me she wanted to search, I looked him up online, but I can’t find anything recent about him. Nothing current popped up.”

  “That’s something I can easily check out,” Jonas assured her, leaning back in his chair. “I still have access to databases you wouldn’t. The truth is, though, if the adoption is closed, the lawyer won’t be able to tell us anything. But finding him would be a start. What’s his name?”

  “His name is Glenn Reeves.”

  “All right. Florida and the name give me a place to start. This is the first Jazzi talked about searching for her birth parents?”

  “Yes. She registered on one of those sites that connects adoptees with birth families, hoping her birth mother or father would see her statistics and info there and contact her. That’s always the hope.”

  Jonas turned his teacup in a circle, and she knew something was bothering him. What?

  “If the mother or father or both don’t want to be found, this won’t be a positive experience for Jazzi. Does she realize that?”

  “Does she realize how hurtful it will be? She can’t possibly, and I don’t think she’ll listen if I try to tell her. My sister brought up the same point. Jazzi insists she just wants answers. Yet I know if she finds a birth parent, she’ll want to build a relationship. That’s just the way she is.”

  “Is that the way you are?”

  “Are you asking me if it’s a learned behavior?”

  “My guess is that it is. If she’s around a caring, loving woman who builds relationships, she’ll be like that too.”

  Their gazes connected again, and Daisy felt a frisson of excitement in the way Jonas was looking at her.

  Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I’ll check this out and let you know what I find.”

  “Do you want a few brownies to take along?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Tea and baked goods for an information trade?”

  She gave a shrug and a nod.

  He chuckled and held out his hand for a shake. “It’s a deal.”

  Daisy gave her hand to Jonas, feeling as if they were shaking on more than a business deal. A bond had formed between them. Daisy didn’t know how she felt about that . . . at all.

  * * *

  Early Monday morning, Daisy made a stop on her way to the tea garden, wondering if today would be as hectic as yesterday. She wanted to pick up a few local supplies. The small market that offered products from farms in the area was one of Daisy’s favorite places to shop. Apples, of course, were the popular produce item right now—from Honey Crisp to Stayman to Red and Golden Delicious, to Gala and Rome. She had suppliers from whom she bought produce, but she often liked to pick out her own.

  Ruth Zook, a Mennonite woman managing the market, made divine products. Her homemade jam was the best, and Daisy used it at the tea garden. She picked up several jars—raspberry, strawberry, and peach. She also pointed to a basket of Stayman apples, which would be good in everything from apple tarts to applesauce. Ruth nodded that she’d ready them.

  After telling Ruth she was going to take a quick look around, she headed to the potato section and found white sweet potatoes. She could whip up something, from sweet potato pie to sweet potato crisp. Whi
te sweet potatoes had a more delicate taste and were less fibrous than the orange variety. When she began poking a few into a plastic bag, she glanced across the top of the stand to the other side and spotted a friend of her aunt’s, Edith Campbell. Edith played cards with Iris once a month. They’d been canasta buddies for years. In her fifties, Edith was still a math teacher at the local high school. She’d apparently decided to stop at the market before her day began.

  Edith caught sight of Daisy at about the same time Daisy caught sight of her. Iris’s friend smiled and waved and came around the stand to Daisy’s side.

  “What a mess you’ve got at the tea garden,” Edith said.

  Daisy didn’t know if Edith meant the crime scene or the whole situation. “We’re getting back on track.”

  “I told Iris no good would come of her dating a man whose divorce wasn’t even final,” Edith maintained.

  That wasn’t something Daisy wanted to discuss. She wouldn’t gossip about her aunt.

  But Edith apparently didn’t catch her quick frown. “What kind of example is that for his children . . . or for yours, for that matter?”

  “Violet and Jazzi just want Aunt Iris to be happy. They only considered whether Harvey was a nice man or not.”

  “Nice? I didn’t know him, so I don’t know about that, but as far as being a good father—”

  Daisy wouldn’t gossip about her aunt, but if Edith had information about Harvey, she’d be willing to listen to that. “Harvey wasn’t a good father?”

  “I taught his son and daughter,” Edith explained. “They had their problems then, and they have their problems now. Harvey gave them too much. He and his wife argued constantly and weren’t consistent with the kids. Marlene and Daniel both felt entitled to good grades simply because their father was rich and could give them whatever they wanted. They didn’t think they had to earn them. Marlene has already been married twice, and she isn’t twenty-five. Daniel has been charged with a DUI, and he can’t hold a job. From what I understand, neither of them think a lot of their father. With him cutting them out of his will, who knows what could happen.”

  “Do you believe they’re capable of murder?” That’s what Edith seemed to be implying.

  Edith shrugged. “I’ve seen it all, Daisy. Kids who are perfectly normal one minute and snap the next. Even in Willow Creek we have bullying. We have kids doing drugs. Not so long ago, one of the sophomore boys was caught bringing a switchblade to school. If you’re asking me if they’re capable of such a heinous deed, I can’t rightly say. But I don’t think we can rule it out, either. When spoiled kids get angry, they don’t care who they hurt.”

  That might be true. But Daisy simply couldn’t imagine a son or daughter murdering their father.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Harvey Fitz’s funeral drew even more people than his twenty-fifth store celebration had.

  Fountain of Life Cemetery sat atop a rolling hill surrounded by pines and sycamores. The Fitz gravesite was large, with six-foot-tall monuments for Harvey’s grandparents. An angel memorial almost as tall marked his parents’ graves. Expecting a crowd, the cemetery director had ordered four canopies to be set up surrounding the grave site, with as many chairs as could fit under each one. Mourners had parked along the lane leading to different sections of the cemetery, and the surrounding area was filled with cars. Security guards, obvious in their suits and with Bluetooth equipment at their ears, made certain no reporters disrupted the service.

  Daisy, her mom, and her aunt had driven there together. Her mom had insisted on coming to support her sister. They knew to arrive early and found chairs under one of the canopies. A loudspeaker system had been set up near a podium at the open grave site. Daisy had never seen a funeral quite like this. She spotted many people she knew, not only customers coming into the tea garden but Harvey’s store staff as well as his almost ex-wife and his children. Detective Rappaport stood on the edge of the crowd, watching all with interest.

  Fortunately, the October day held the hint of Indian summer. A cool breeze fanned Daisy’s cheeks, but she hardly noticed as she caught sight of Cade under another canopy. There was no room around her or she would have waved to him and invited him to sit with them. Their last encounter had ended with tension, and that bothered her.

  Putting those thoughts aside, she concentrated on Harvey’s minister as he took his position at the podium and began speaking. The reverend talked mostly about Harvey’s dedication to the community and the tradition of quality goods and services he’d carried on that had begun with his grandfather. He concluded with a sermonette about reward in the next life for good deeds done in this one, as well as Bible verses with a few words about each.

  At the conclusion of the service, he motioned to the casket and the array of flowers that surrounded it, and asked everyone present to be respectful and line up quietly to pay their last respects. Daisy watched Monica and her children walk slowly up to the casket. Each pulled a red rose from the cascade that lay on top.

  Daisy began to rise to her feet, but her aunt pulled on her arm. “I want to wait until most of the crowd has gone through.”

  Reseating herself, Daisy understood. Her aunt didn’t want anyone to make comments about her.

  As she glanced around, Daisy spied Bennett Topper standing by one of the canopy supports. Impeccably dressed as always in a black suit and taupe shirt and tie, with a kerchief that matched his shirt in his jacket pocket, he looked pained to be there, as if he too was waiting for the crowd to disperse.

  Daisy patted her aunt’s hand. “I’m going to speak to Harvey’s store manager. I’ll be right back.”

  After Iris nodded her consent, Daisy approached Bennett. When he saw her coming, he gave her a weak smile.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she told him. “Harvey must have depended on you.”

  “Thank you for saying so. The past week has been the hardest of my life.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “The police haven’t made it any easier,” he said with a sigh. “I know they’re only doing their job, but they’ve questioned all of Harvey’s employees more than once.”

  “They’re trying to get to the bottom of what happened.”

  Bennett’s eyes strayed to Iris. “How is your aunt holding up? I know Harvey enjoyed the time he spent with her.”

  “She’s taking his death hard.”

  Together they watched the line that circled Harvey’s casket as it lengthened. Monica and her children stayed right near the head of the casket, though, as if they couldn’t bear to leave it.

  Bennett wrinkled his nose. “She’s such a hypocrite.” Suddenly he turned away from those paying their respects as if the sight of Monica disgusted him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that I think your tea garden is one of the best things to happen to Willow Creek in decades. The little bake shop that was there before had a nice following, but it didn’t appeal to the residents of Willow Creek the same way your tea garden does.”

  “That’s good to know, especially since you’re involved in a downtown business. You probably hear what my customers think after they’ve left Daisy’s.”

  “We do. Often, they’ll be carrying bags with your cookies or scones or even munching on them when they come in the store, which is a no-no, as you know. No food or drink in our store, not unless we’re serving it.”

  She gave him a smile of understanding.

  He went on, “It’s not only your products that they enjoy. They enjoy the tea garden atmosphere. It seems as if it’s become a real community gathering place. That’s the best way to sell any product. Word gets around.”

  “I think word is getting around,” she agreed. “Business this week has been phenomenal. But this hasn’t been the way I wanted success to happen.”

  “I certainly understand that. Harvey’s store is the same way. Men’s Trends has had an increase in traffic ever since he was murdered. But we certainly can’t turn business away, can we?”

>   “No, we can’t. How long have you been in the retail business?”

  “I’ve worked in menswear boutiques ever since I was fresh out of high school and learning the ropes. My first position was a job in New York. But I’ve been with Harvey for fifteen years.”

  Daisy was ready to ask a few more questions when she saw Bennett frown. He was looking toward the casket at Harvey’s son, Daniel.

  Daniel wasn’t standing at the casket, not anymore. He was weaving through the crowd. But the way he was weaving was a little odd. He looked shaky. He looked drunk.

  Bennett shook his head and muttered, “I’m afraid to think what that boy has done. How could he come to his father’s funeral drunk?”

  “We don’t know for sure that’s what’s wrong,” Daisy offered. Maybe Daniel was overcome with loss.

  “If it isn’t booze, then it’s weed or molly . . . or something worse. And it’s the worse that concerns me the most. What if he was under the influence when he had an argument with his father? What if he met his father in the tea garden that night?”

  “You don’t believe he’s the one who killed Harvey, do you?” The idea that a son could do that still shocked Daisy.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to think that. But I got the impression the police have put him on a short suspect list, just as they have your aunt.” He looked embarrassed for saying it. “I’m sorry. That seems to be common knowledge as patrons gossip in the store and the detective asks more questions.”

  “Aunt Iris didn’t have anything to do with Harvey’s death. She believed she was going to marry him.”

  “I hope she’s soon cleared of all suspicion.”

  Daisy hoped so too. With Bennett’s comments, though, Daisy wondered if the entire town of Willow Creek believed her aunt was guilty.

  Chapter Ten

  After Daisy left her conversation with Bennett, she returned to her aunt’s side.

  Iris said, “We might as well join the line. I really can’t stand to be here much longer.”

  Daisy’s mother said, “We can just leave.”

  But Iris shook her head. “No. I have to pay my final respects.”