Murder with Lemon Tea Cakes Read online

  Daisy nodded that she understood; then she climbed out of his car and closed the door. After she went inside, she saw the gray sedan pull away. Was she glad Marshall had gone along? Or because Marshall had gone along, had she set up an adversarial relationship with Rappaport? It was so hard to know the right thing to do.

  As Daisy glanced around the tea garden’s two rooms, she was glad they’d called in help. Aunt Iris was serving tea to her afternoon tea appointments. She was scurrying through the room, carrying a three-tiered dish of sandwiches, cookies, and scones to a table on the left in the yellow room. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

  In the green room, where they served their customers daily, every table was filled, even at this hour of the afternoon. Were tourists plentiful this year? They’d come to stay in the surrounding area and just decided to stop in for tea? There was a reason for all this business, and she had to find out what it was. It couldn’t just be because of the news reports.

  It was almost an hour later when Daisy had a few minutes to take Iris aside. They went into her office and Daisy filled her in on the “interview.”

  “I don’t know where he got the idea that Harvey was going to sell his store and invest in an expansion of Daisy’s.”

  Iris sat in front of the desk and twisted her hands in her lap. That was never a good sign. Either she was nervous or thinking way too much.

  Daisy was totally surprised when her aunt said, “Harvey and I did talk about him investing in Daisy’s. We talked about expanding too. But only in a hypothetical way and not until after we were married.”

  “You never mentioned this to me.”

  “Maybe I thought I would jinx it. Maybe I thought I would jinx the whole idea of marrying Harvey. I mean, after all, he wasn’t divorced yet. Even if he gave me a ring, we would have had to wait until the divorce came through.”

  “When you and Harvey discussed expanding the tea garden, was it coming out of your relationship? I mean, was it just a dream the two of you had together? Or is it possible that someone else might know about it?” Somehow Rappaport had found out about it.

  “We were just thinking about things we might want to do in the future. His store took up a gargantuan amount of his time. Some weeks he put in eighty hours. He was in control of everything. He had to oversee everything. Going forward, I don’t think he wanted that. If he would invest in Daisy’s, we would be managing it. If we went to a chain or franchise idea, he could hire a business manager. It was just a project for the two of us. Of course, you were included, but you know what I mean. It was a brainchild we wanted to develop. But it wasn’t real yet.”

  “It might have been more real than you think, Aunt Iris. Maybe it wasn’t so hypothetical to Harvey. Maybe he confided in someone and asked a few questions of his banker, of an attorney, of even a financial adviser.”

  “What if he did?”

  “Well, apparently he did or Detective Rappaport wouldn’t know about it.”

  There was a knock at the back door of the kitchen. Their suppliers often came to that door because they could enter the kitchen directly from the parking lot.

  When Daisy answered the knock, she found Angus Bedford, their tea supplier.

  He brought in the bags of tea and lined them up on the counter. “I have a new blend for you. It combines pineapple and peach. I’ve been told it’s sublime.”

  Angus was a big man, maybe six foot two, with a full beard and heavy black glasses that his big nose held up easily. He always wore black. He wasn’t Amish but seemed to believe a lot of what the Amish believed. Sublime just wasn’t a word he usually used.

  “Did you taste this one?” she asked with a smile.

  “I did. I even liked it. I liked it iced. I liked it with a touch of honey. I liked it with some additional lemon. I tried it several different ways, and you can too before you serve it. It tastes versatile to me.”

  “Glad for the hints.”

  “It might be pretty popular with the new crowd.”

  “New crowd?”

  Angus moved over to the doorway and into the green room. “I heard your business has picked up since Harvey Fitz’s murder.”

  “It has,” Daisy said with a sigh, still not liking the idea.

  Angus could obviously see that. “You have a pure heart, Mrs. Daisy, and you don’t want someone’s misfortune to be your gain. But maybe you should just latch onto the idea and go with it.”

  Before she could protest, he went on, “Daisy’s Tea Garden is getting media attention because of the murder. The tea garden is mentioned anytime the murder is cited on the news and on the Internet.”

  “The Internet,” Daisy murmured. She hadn’t thought much about that. Whenever she did think about the Internet, Jazzi’s adoption site came to mind.

  “You do know there are tea bloggers,” Angus said.

  Yes, she knew there were tea bloggers—all different kinds. Some touted the taste of a particular tea. Others talked more about the process—the tradition of brewing tea the correct way. Many others delved into the health benefits.

  Angus continued, “Every one of those bloggers are connecting to your tea garden website because they think you’re famous now. If I were you, I’d check the number of page views you’ve received since the murder. Check your comments section. Check how many more followers you have. That could be where a lot of your new business is coming from, and you should be aware of it as a good manager.”

  As a good manager. Right now, she wasn’t sure she was managing anything properly.

  Chapter Twelve

  At almost six PM, Daisy was ready to close. She was removing her apron, ready to look over the menu for the following day, when Jonas came in.

  He looked as if he’d had a busy day too and needed dinner.

  “I have a bowl of beef barley soup left,” she said. “Are you interested?”

  “You’re determined to keep me away from a fast-food burger, aren’t you?”

  “I am. It’s my civic duty,” she teased.

  “How about orange pekoe tea to go with that?”

  “Coming right up.” She went to the door and flipped the sign to CLOSED before she crossed to the kitchen.

  Minutes later, after Daisy brought the soup to Jonas in a white ironstone bowl and the tea in a black cast-iron teapot, she sat across from him and slipped off her shoes.

  He must have heard them clatter to the floor because he looked under the table. “Rough day?”

  “A draining day.”

  “Is Jazzi around?”

  “No. She had a meeting after school. I have to pick her up in half an hour.”

  “I wanted to give you a progress report.”

  She felt her shoulders tense, and he must have seen that.

  “I don’t have much to report,” he assured her quickly. “I’m still searching public records for Jazzi’s birth. You and your husband named her, which makes the search more difficult. Not impossible, just more difficult.”

  He stirred his soup, letting the steam rise so it would cool off. “I’m also trying to trace down your lawyer’s records. I expect to have more luck with that, but that’s where I am. Have you told Jazzi I’m looking into it?”

  “Yes, I have. She’s pleased. I told her your background, so she also realizes you know what you’re doing.”

  He dipped his spoon into the soup bowl. “It’s not a matter of knowing what I’m doing as much as knowing what databases to use in order to search. But it’s tedious, Daisy. What I haven’t told you is that your lawyer died.”

  She blinked. “Then how are you going to find the records?”

  “I found information on him in the Florida newspaper. There was an ad about private adoptions. It listed his secretary’s name, so I’m trying to track her down. I’ll get something. It’s just going to take time.”

  “I’ll tell Jazzi that, though teenagers aren’t the most patient beings on earth.”

  He took a spoonful of soup, blew on it, then ate
it. “This is good. I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything you make is good.”

  The compliment felt nice. Ever since Ryan had died, she’d kept her guard up around men. It had been her way of protecting her love for Ryan, keeping her grief private, not giving off any signals so that a man would get the wrong idea. But with Jonas, she didn’t feel a need to have that guard in place.

  So when he asked, “How was the funeral?” she felt comfortable discussing it with him.

  “It was an ordinary funeral,” she began. “If you don’t count the security keeping the reporters out. Harvey’s wife gave Aunt Iris scathing looks, but his daughter actually came up to us and talked. She told Aunt Iris that she’d been good for Harvey. I think it made Iris feel a little better. Marlene also mentioned that her dad had brought her one of his coin books. He told her he wanted her to have it, that he wanted them to make a new start.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “What’s even more interesting is that Detective Rappaport called me down to the police station again. That’s where I was this afternoon.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. Marshall Thompson went with me. I was glad he did. Detective Rappaport is proposing the theory that Aunt Iris and I colluded to kill Harvey.”

  Jonas laid his spoon down, sat back, and just stared at her. “You are not serious.”

  “Oh, I’m very serious. I’m not exactly sure what to do. Do I just sit back and let him suspect me?”

  Jonas took another spoonful of soup, then poured a mug of tea. “Maybe I should talk to him.”

  “About me?”

  “No, not about you. Not directly anyway. As a former cop, maybe I can get a sense of the investigation because Rappaport might be more open with me. I wouldn’t mention your name. Maybe he’ll tell me what his next move is.”

  “I suppose that would be all right. He scares me, almost as much as Marshall does.”

  “Marshall? He acts tough, but he’s an old softie.”

  “An expensive softie.”

  Jonas nodded, “That’s because he’s good. Did he cut his rate for you?”

  “Yes, he did. Thank you. That was your doing.”

  Jonas finished his bowl of soup and then sipped at the mug of tea. “Has business still been on an upswing?”

  “It has, and I think I know why. Bloggers who write about tea have gotten hold of this story. When they mention the murder, they mention the tea garden or vice versa. I checked on my phone and our website for page views, and they’ve ratcheted up by about a thousand in the past few days. But this isn’t the way I want the tea garden’s name to get around.”

  Looking thoughtful, Jonas rubbed his thumb along the handle of the teapot; then he motioned to his mug. “If you really want to garner more business, you need to attack your social media following while the iron’s hot, so to speak. Or while the teapot’s hot. You should make a podcast on how to brew tea correctly and put it on YouTube and your website.”

  When Daisy wrinkled up her nose as if the thought made her cringe, Jonas laughed. “You don’t want all that attention?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Just because you don’t want to do it, doesn’t mean you can’t have Tessa do it, or even your Aunt Iris.”

  “Jazzi would probably love to be on camera, but I’m not going there. It’s possible Tessa might want to. You really think that would bring us more customers?”

  “It could, especially if your YouTube video goes viral.”

  “And how would I make that happen?”

  “You know how you can make that happen—give a tour of your garden where the murder took place.”

  “Jonas! I would never do that.”

  He reached across the table as if he were going to pat her hand, but his fingertips didn’t quite reach hers, and he pulled his hand back. “I didn’t think you would. So just stick to brewing tea, and I’m sure you’ll attract loyal followers. But, Daisy, this tea garden is named after you, so you’re really the one who should do the video. And you might want to enlist Jazzi’s help. Teenagers are great at shooting videos. Their smartphones have made them experts.”

  As she thought about it, he took a last swallow of tea and set down his mug. Then he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. And I have to tally the day’s receipts at Woods and close up. I’ll let you know if anything turns up in my searches. I promise I’ll keep you informed.”

  She stood now too. “I’ll take your idea about making a video seriously, and not only for business’s sake. It’s something Jazzi and I can do together. Maybe we can get closer again.”

  He didn’t ask why she and Jazzi had grown apart, and she didn’t volunteer the information. Maybe because she still did have her guard up. Maybe because she didn’t want to confide in Jonas too much. If she did, they’d be starting a friendship, and she didn’t know if mere friendship was all she wanted from Jonas Groft.

  * * *

  The following morning, Iris and Daisy were mixing cookie dough when Joachim Adler delivered produce at the kitchen’s back door. Daisy peered into the plastic bins of lettuce, broccoli, yellow and purple cauliflower, leeks, carrots, and celery, and gave him a wide smile.

  “It all looks good, Joachim.”

  He had a heavy beard and sideburns that showed mostly gray. He repositioned his felt hat and said, “You know mine’s the best.”

  “I sure do. I wouldn’t buy it otherwise.”

  “The bill will be coming next week for September. In the New Year, I’ll be sending out e-mails as bills instead of using the post office.”

  “Stepping into the tech age?”

  “What choice do I have? My daughter says it’s the only way to keep the business efficient.”

  Daisy again said, “Thank you” and waved as he exited the kitchen. Then she and Eva started wrapping the produce to store it. She heard the front bell ring but didn’t pay any attention. Tessa was manning the front counter until Cora Sue arrived.

  Tessa called to Daisy, “Can you come out front?”

  Daisy hoped a reporter hadn’t barged in.

  When she approached the counter, she spotted a young man talking to Tessa. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He could be a reporter, though she imagined he could also be a blogger. Anybody could be a blogger.

  The young man, who was wind-tossed with russet brown hair and rimless glasses, immediately held his hand out to Daisy. “Foster Cranshaw. You’re Mrs. Swanson?”

  “I am. You wanted to see me?”

  “I’d like to know if you’re hiring any help.”

  Daisy and Tessa exchanged a glance. They were both sizing up Foster Cranshaw. Yes, they’d seriously thought about hiring temporary help, but did he fit the bill? Daisy decided she wouldn’t know unless she asked him a few interview-type questions.

  She was honest with him. “With everything that has happened, we do have more customers. I don’t know if we’ll keep them, so I’m thinking about hiring more temporary help. But anybody who works here needs to be familiar with types of teas and how they’re brewed. Granted, we can teach you what you need to know, but it’s better if you have a basic foundation. Do you have any experience with tea?”

  His smile was boyishly engaging. “You’re thinking I’m one of those college kids who go to Starbucks and order a latté. Yeah, I do that sometimes. But my mom had a pure appreciation for tea. She had a whole cupboard designated just for it, everything from cans of tea to bags of loose tea to tea bags. She even had those little metal tea balls, infusers, and filters. I helped her make her tea since I was about ten.”

  “Do you drink tea?”

  “I do now and then. I’m not a connoisseur, but I know the difference between white tea, black tea, and green tea. And tisanes too.”

  Again Tessa and Daisy exchanged a look. “Are you in school?” Daisy asked.

  “I’m a sophomore at Millersville. Many of my classes are in the evening or online.
I can even work your afternoon tea shift if you need help then. And I’d be available all day on Saturdays and Sundays.”

  His schedule sounded flexible to work around, and they really could use the help.

  Foster gave her another ingratiating grin. “The holidays will be coming up before you know it. I’m sure you’ll need even more help then.”

  “Your hours could fluctuate,” she warned him. “I might need you twenty hours one week and forty the next.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have any other commitments. Between school and this job, that would be it. I can be focused and single-minded when I need to be.”

  That brought her around to the necessary component of this interview. “Do you have a résumé and references?”

  Foster pulled a thumb drive from his windbreaker pocket. “Here you go,” he said. “Everything you need is on there. I gave you three references and their numbers, but if you need more, I have more.”

  “I’ll examine the information tonight, and I’ll be in touch with you, one way or the other.”

  “One way or the other?” he asked. “Jobs I’ve applied for and didn’t get . . .” He trailed off. “Those employers never contact me.”

  “I’ll let you know. I promise.”

  Foster took a look around the tea garden again, seeming to note the tables of men and women having conversations. He spotted the vintage china displayed on shelves on the walls. His gaze lingered on the knitted tea cozies that were handcrafted by residents of Willow Creek and were for sale.

  “I know what happened here,” he said, “and I don’t care. I think it would be a great place to work.”

  Did her customers feel the same way he did? Or would the new customers come back a second or third time? She saw repeat faces, but it was hard to keep track.

  “I’ll be giving you a call, Foster. Thanks for dropping in. How about a cup of tea before you go back out again? Pick your pleasure.”

  He looked delighted at the idea, and she had the feeling he didn’t have extra money for baked goods or cups of tea. He checked the board with the specials.

  “The pineapple ginger green tea sounds good.”

  “And I imagine you might like oatmeal cookies?” Daisy asked.