Murder with Cucumber Sandwiches Read online

  “Can’t you give the people you hire more responsibility? Sean said even his temp employees would work more hours.”

  Rose’s face, already with high color, reddened more. “You just don’t understand what running a business is like.”

  Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “I think I do. Daisy’s Tea Garden is a business.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s very different from the nursery. I can understand Sean needing an escape for a day or two. But a whole week?”

  “He’s only going upstate,” Iris pointed out. “It’s not as if he’ll be that far away.”

  “Well, he’s not going to drive back here to take care of a special order or to clear the network if the computer goes down.”

  Daisy was about to enter the office to intervene, but she stopped when her aunt said, “Maybe you should give Sean freedom to do what he wants. Maybe you’d both be happier that way.”

  Daisy expected an explosion . . . but it didn’t come. Instead, her mother pushed the office door open and said to Daisy, “I’ll see you this weekend.”

  Daisy was going to try to follow her and catch her, to find out why she was really upset. But her mother gave her no chance to do that. Rose rushed through the tea room, swiftly passing Jonas as he strode in.

  He was over six feet, lean and perceptive. A scar marred his cheek but only made his face more interesting. With silver at the temples of his black hair, he represented a picture of what a detective on TV or in the movies might look like. But his years as a detective in Philadelphia had been very real rather than pretend. He, too, had come to Willow Creek for a fresh start.

  When Jonas arched a questioning brow at Daisy, she felt world-tilting attraction for him that could take over her dreams and desires if she let it. His green eyes sometimes seemed to see straight through to her heart, and she was hard pressed to deny her growing feelings for him.

  He must have seen her frustration or maybe her fatigue from a full day of waiting on customers. On the other hand, perhaps he recognized her worry about the food critic and the argument between Aunt Iris and her mother. He came up to Daisy and asked, “Would you like to take a break? You can come to my workshop and see the reclaimed wood island I just finished.”

  Could she? “I should talk to Aunt Iris first. She might be upset. She and Mom had a disagreement.”

  “If she is upset, she might need to calm down a bit before she wants to talk.”

  Jonas was probably right. “Do I need my jacket?”

  “Haven’t you been out since you came in this morning? It’s warm for March.”

  “No. I didn’t take time for lunch either.”

  “Do you want to take along soup? I don’t think you’ll need your jacket.”

  She pulled the bow from the tie of her apron at her back waist. She liked the Tea Garden’s aprons with their huge daisies and DAISY’S TEA GARDEN printed on the front. But she’d rather just walk around in her normal clothes—a pair of navy slacks and a pale blue, boat-neck top. “I’ll just tell Aunt Iris I’m leaving.”

  Five minutes later, they were walking to Jonas’s shop, which was located behind his store. “I told Aunt Iris we’d talk when I get back. She’ll have time to gather her thoughts, and I’ll be fortified with fresh air and soup.”

  Jonas raised the bag she’d handed him. “This feels heavier than soup for one.”

  “That’s because it’s soup for two with pecan tarts thrown in.”

  He smiled. “You just want to make sure I eat healthy snacks.”

  “I do. Sometimes I think you’re addicted to fast food.”

  He cut her an amused sideways glance. “Not addicted. It’s just more convenient than cooking. But I know you don’t fall into that trap.”

  “It would be easy to order pizza every night,” Daisy admitted. “But I’ve always wanted to teach Violet and Jazzi the right way to eat. Maybe it’s the dietician in me.”

  “Dietician?” Jonas asked. “Have you mentioned that before?”

  Daisy took in a huge breath of fresh spring air. “I guess I haven’t. It’s no secret. It just never came up.”

  “Where did you work?”

  “I was a dietician at a hospital. I also gave workshops on nutrition and saw patients that general practitioners diagnosed with diabetes. Nutrition has always been important to me, and I’ve taught Violet and Jazzi why.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to spend more time together so I can learn details about you.”

  “Same here,” she said. It had taken Jonas a while to tell her his background and why he’d come to Willow Creek.

  Jonas held the door open to his shop so Daisy could precede him inside. They both waved to Elijah, an Amish craftsman, who also built furniture for Woods.

  Jonas guided Daisy through the showroom and out a back door that led to his workshop area and office. It always smelled like fresh-sawed wood back here. Jonas had an excellent ventilation system, so only a touch of the scent of stain was evident. Since his office in the far corner was small, he motioned to a card table with two folding chairs in the work area. They’d shared lunch here many times over the past few months.

  As Jonas pulled two bottles of water from the small fridge, Daisy unpacked the soup containers. “It’s chicken soup today,” she said.

  “One of my favorites.”

  “They’re all one of your favorites,” she joked.

  Their gazes met as he sat across from her, and Daisy felt that fluttering in her stomach that wasn’t from hunger for lunch.

  Jonas Groft was an enigma to her sometimes. He could be reserved, yet he could also be compassionate and a good communicator. She imagined his years as a detective made him wary and not too trusting. Also, what had happened between him and his partner had been a trust issue that seemed like betrayal. Unwise for partners, they’d been having an affair. Without telling Jonas, Brenda had had her IUD removed and had gotten pregnant. They’d argued and gone to their shift, lots of tension between them. While investigating a murder suspect that night, they’d been ambushed. Brenda had been killed and Jonas injured.

  When he’d told Daisy about it, she’d seen how fresh the trauma still was even though he didn’t want to believe that. However, lately he’d been more open with her, smiled more, seemed to take joy in their dates. Kissing Jonas was one of the utmost pleasures in her life.

  Opening his soup container, he asked, “Do you want to tell me why your mom was in such a tizzy when she left?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but it seems my dad is planning a fishing trip. My mom doesn’t want him to go, but Aunt Iris encouraged him to go. Aunt Iris thinks my mom needs to give him some space. I don’t know why that is, and that worries me a little.”

  When Jonas didn’t say anything but dipped his spoon into his soup, Daisy asked, “Do you have an opinion about it?”

  “It’s probably not a good idea for me to give an opinion.”

  “I want you to be honest with me,” Daisy prompted.

  “What do you think?”

  Jonas seemed to go into detective mode. “Does your father often go away like this?”

  “No, hardly ever. He fished when Cammie and I were kids, but he usually did that on family outings when we went camping.”

  Jonas tasted the soup and gave her a wink and a smile. After he savored his spoonful of chicken, broth, carrots, and peas, he asked, “So going away without your mother isn’t usual?”

  Opening her own container of soup, Daisy just stared at it a moment. “No, and leaving her to handle the business alone during a busy time of year isn’t usual either.”

  Jonas dipped his spoon into the bowl again. “Then I’d say your father’s probably going away to think about something. Maybe he just needs quiet time to make decisions.”

  When Daisy considered that conclusion, her mind took flight. What if her dad had health problems he hadn’t revealed? What if the nursery was in financial trouble?

  Knowing Daisy and her dad were close, Jonas
held up his hand like a stop sign. “Don’t think of everything that could be wrong. The reason for this trip could be simple—your dad needs a break. Wait until he tells you what’s going on. Then if you have to worry, there will be plenty of time to do it.”

  Daisy just gazed at Jonas’s face, at the lines that said he’d experienced life in hard ways. She liked the way his black hair fell over his brow in a slight wave, and that he didn’t care if it was perfectly styled. She liked the way his green eyes got all deep and mysterious when he was thinking about kissing her. They were that way now.

  She laid her spoon on the table. Jonas got up and walked around the table to her chair. He held out his hand and she took it, standing. Then he kissed her, and she felt her knees wobble and her heart race.

  When they came up for air, he said, “I just couldn’t wait to do that.”

  “I’m glad you couldn’t.”

  He fingered the strand of her blond hair at the end of her ponytail. Then he cleared his throat. “Let’s finish that soup and then I’ll show you the reclaimed wood island.”

  They were both trying to maintain control of their relationship and everything else that was happening between them.

  But sometimes control was highly overrated.

  Chapter Two

  On Tuesday evening, Daisy dug her fingers into the bowl of ground ham and pork to form meatballs. After she rounded one, she placed it on the cookie sheet where she’d already formed three rows. Jonas was coming over for supper tonight. He liked ham balls over rice with sweet and sour sauce, and so did Jazzi. It was a meal Daisy could make in an hour, which was an advantage after a busy day at the tea garden. She’d invited Vi and Foster, but they were driving to Harrisburg for dinner with Foster’s friends.

  Daisy expected Jonas any minute. She smiled when she thought about him . . . when she thought about them. She was careful when thinking about what could be in store with their future, but being with Jonas filled a void in her life. With him, she felt as if she were more than a mother, more than a business owner, more than a widow.

  Daisy glanced through the dining area—where a floor-to-ceiling fireplace was a focal point—into the living room where Jazzi was stretched out on the sofa. A huge wagon wheel chandelier lit the area. Jazzi had earbuds in her ears, a notebook and pen in her hand, and Pepper—their black tuxedo cat—stretched across her lap on the blue, green, and cream plaid sofa. Marjoram, a tortoiseshell kitty with unique markings, kept them both company by lying on the blue, green, and rust-braided rugs woven by a local Amish woman.

  Jazzi’s phone sat charging on the dock on the kitchen counter. Daisy had just shifted the tray of ham balls into the oven and closed the oven door, when her daughter’s phone played a favorite pop tune. Jazzi obviously didn’t hear it, and Daisy glanced at it to see who was calling.

  Portia Smith Harding’s face stared back at her from the screen. Portia was Jazzi’s birth mother. Quickly disengaging the phone from its charger, she hurried into Jazzi and tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s Portia.” She spoke loudly enough that Jazzi could hear her even with her earbuds in.

  Jazzi pulled the neon green buds from her ears and eagerly took the phone, accepting the call. Thanks, Mom, she mouthed before she answered.

  Daisy would have liked to have stayed and listened in, but of course, she couldn’t do that. She could only hope Jazzi would fill her in on the phone call afterward. Up until now, Jazzi had been open about what she thought and felt concerning Portia. Daisy hoped that would continue.

  In the next few minutes, Daisy started Carolina rice on her stovetop. After she’d turned down the heat to let it cook for twenty minutes, she took a saucepan from the cupboard. It was probably a little early to make the sweet and sour sauce, but it could simmer. Should she text Jonas to see if he was on his way?

  She convinced herself that wasn’t necessary. She could keep everything warm if he was late. The rice might be a little mushy, the green beans overcooked, but it would all be edible.

  She’d mixed the sauce and let it thicken, when the low buzz of Jazzi’s voice in the living room ended. She was smiling as she came into the kitchen and approached Daisy, who was standing at the counter and reaching for a bowl in an upper knotty pine cupboard.

  “Good conversation?” Daisy asked.

  “Exceptional.” Jazzi’s brown eyes sparkled, and her voice held a bit of excitement.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I sure do because this could affect you too.”

  Daisy’s pulse raced, but she told herself to calm down. It could simply be that Portia was coming for another visit. “Do you want to sit at the island to talk? I could make us tea.”

  “Let’s sit. But no tea.”

  Daisy had to smile at that. Tea was her passion, as well as her aunt Iris’s. Jazzi appreciated it now and then but not daily.

  The aroma of the ham balls and the tangy sweetness of the sauce wafted through the first floor. She waited for Jazzi to tell her what was going on. From experience, she knew that pushing her daughter didn’t coax out information any faster. Patience was always best when dealing with Vi and Jazzi . . . with Jonas, too, for that matter.

  Jazzi seemed to be bubbling with happiness over whatever Portia had told her. She released a tortoiseshell clip that was holding her straight black hair on top of her head. Then she pulled her hair up, collecting each strand, and fastened it again. “Portia’s going away with her husband soon. He has a business trip, and he’s taking her along.”

  “That sounds nice,” Daisy commented. “Where are they going?”

  “His meetings are in New York State. They’re staying at some kind of big resort.”

  “That sounds like it would be a vacation for her.”

  Jazzi’s eyes flashed with happiness. “It might be, but there’s something even more important about it.”

  “What’s that?” Daisy asked the question nonchalantly as if the answer didn’t matter at all.

  “Portia’s going to tell Colton about me. She’s counting on alone time with him, and she’ll have a chance to explain everything. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Would that be wonderful? Daisy wondered.

  Portia hadn’t yet told her husband about Jazzi. In fact, when Jazzi’s biological mother had visited Willow Creek for the weekend, she’d told him she was visiting friends. Lies never worked in a relationship, especially not in a marriage. Daisy knew Portia had been under stress ever since she’d met Jazzi this past fall because she had to keep her daughter a secret.

  What to say to Jazzi so she could keep a bit of perspective. “You have your hopes up about this, don’t you?”

  Jazzi flounced from the stool at the island and practically danced around the kitchen. “How can I not? This will be great. Everybody will know about me. I’ll have a half brother and half sister.”

  Daisy did not want to rain on Jazzi’s parade. However, her job as a mom was to make sure her daughter could see all sides.

  She motioned for Jazzi to sit again and Jazzi reluctantly did. Daisy began with, “First of all, Portia could back down from doing this if she gets scared, if her husband’s too busy, if she doesn’t feel the time is right.”

  “At least she’s considering it, and if not on the trip, then soon. I’m sure of it.”

  “You need to think about something else too,” Daisy said.

  Now Jazzi looked wary. “What?”

  “It depends on how Portia’s husband takes the news. That’s going to determine your relationship with her.”

  Seeming actually puzzled, Jazzi shook her head. “I don’t understand. Once he knows, he knows. Then we can do everything out in the open—the phone calls, video conferencing, and visits.”

  To just be hopeful for Jazzi or to give her a dose of reality? “But what if he doesn’t want her to visit? What if he doesn’t want to accept the fact that she had a child, gave you up for adoption, and never told him about any of it?”

  Jazzi’s face f
ell, but then she looked angry. “I won’t believe that. I think that’s what you want to happen. That way, you don’t have to deal with Portia. You can still be my mom.” Jazzi paused, then added rebelliously, “But you’ll never be my biological mom.”

  Daisy froze . . . hurt. That’s what she got for trying to help Jazzi stay realistic.

  When Pepper moseyed into the kitchen and meowed, Jazzi took the opportunity to push her stool back and stand. “I’m going upstairs to work on homework. You can call me when dinner’s ready.”

  “Jazzi, wait.”

  “There’s nothing more to talk about, Mom. What I want and what you want are two different things. I’ll just be glad when Portia’s trip is over and you can see that I’m right.”

  Contrary to what Jazzi thought, Daisy hoped her daughter would be right.

  * * *

  On Monday morning, Cora Sue’s bottle-red hair was pulled high on her head in a topknot, and it wiggled a little as she licked her index finger. Bubbly any day of the week, today she appeared to be filled with enthusiasm with Daisy’s menu that she was going to serve for afternoon tea service.

  Cora Sue popped the last bit of the small sandwich into her mouth. “These pimento and cucumber sandwiches on pumpernickel are delicious. If our service is a hit today, I think you should repeat these sandwiches tomorrow together with the cheesy cauliflower soup. The food critic will think he’s died and gone to heaven.”

  Foster, who had tasted the sandwiches with Cora Sue, nodded. “Definitely. That pimento spread’s a winner. Do you think you should add fresh arugula?”

  Daisy looked at Cora Sue, and her server gave a nod. “We could try it with and without today and see what your customers say.”

  Foster bobbed his head again. “That’s a great idea.”

  Foster wore an apron with the daisy on the front

  just as the rest of the servers. He didn’t complain about it either. With his black slacks and white shirt open at the collar, she suspected he was a draw with some of her younger customers. She knew he was certainly a draw with her daughter.