Murder with Cinnamon Scones Page 3

  “Hi, Russ,” Daisy said genially. “What would you like today?”

  “How about a cup of lemon crunch tea and one of those cinnamon scones?”

  “Coming right up,” Tessa said, and she was headed back into the kitchen. But Russ stopped her.

  “I heard you two were questioned by the police last night.”

  Daisy and Tessa exchanged a look, and almost with resignation, Tessa said, “We were.”

  “What happened?”

  They certainly didn’t want to add to the gossip, but Daisy knew one way or another, what had happened would leak out. Still, she kept her response simple. “Apparently, someone tried to break into Revelations.”

  While they’d been talking to Russ, the door had dinged and now Chloie, Reese’s assistant at the gallery, stood beside him at the counter.

  Chloie was a twenty-seven-year-old bleached blonde who was model-tall. Almost belligerently, she said, “Reese was a hero. He beat off the intruder, and the man fled. Who else do you know who would do that kind of thing?”

  Daisy knew one person who would—Jonas Groft—but then with his police training, no one would blink an eye at that.

  However, the fact that Chloie was calling Reese a hero was a bit of a stretch.

  “Do the police know what the thief wanted to steal?” Russ asked. “A night deposit or an artist’s piece in the gallery?”

  Again Chloie was the one who answered. “The detective on the case thinks the intruder was after an antique quilt. It’s quite valuable, and it was on display. That really only makes sense. After all, lots of the pieces in the gallery are new artists who don’t bring in much income.” Chloie shot Tessa a look, and Daisy could see Tessa glare back. Tessa obviously didn’t like Reese’s assistant, who knew how to push Tessa’s buttons. Daisy had heard either from Tessa or gossip at a Chamber of Commerce meeting that Chloie had worked in a museum in Philadelphia right out of college and her knowledge of art was invaluable to Reese. She’d been working for him over a year now.

  Although tension was thick between Tessa and Chloie, Daisy knew Tessa probably had a question she wanted to ask yet wouldn’t, so Daisy asked it for her. “How is Reese?”

  “That cut on his head was nasty and needed stitches. But don’t worry. He’ll be at the committee meeting here this afternoon. He’s all gung-ho for Quilt Lovers Weekend. This bump on the road won’t slow him down. In fact, just to keep up his energy, I thought I’d buy him some of those cinnamon scones he likes so much. How about a half dozen?”

  Daisy watched Tessa try not to react. She was sure her friend was remembering their excursion to the gallery last night and leaving the scones on Reese’s desk.

  Apparently, Tessa couldn’t help herself because she jumped into the conversation. “I suppose Reese ate the scones I took him last night.”

  Chloie’s face clouded. “Maybe. But if he didn’t, they’re stale this morning and he could use some fresh ones.”

  The timer in the kitchen beeped and Tessa said, “I’m just taking a tray out of the oven now. I’ll put the package together for you to give to Reese. They’ll still be warm.” With that she hurried into the kitchen.

  Chloie looked after her, her hazel eyes shooting sharp little daggers. Daisy had the feeling that if Chloie had her way, Tessa wouldn’t even touch the scones. Daisy said to Russ, “Have a seat and I’ll bring you your tea and a warm scone.”

  He smiled at her. “You know coming here every morning has added some structure to my life since I retired. I always find a smile or two here and it’s a great way to start the day.”

  Comments like that always warmed Daisy’s heart. “I’m glad you’re a part of our tea-sipping family.”

  As Russ walked away, Chloie mumbled, “I don’t know what Reese sees in Tessa’s scones. It seems to me a chocolate muffin would put a bigger smile on his face.”

  “It must be the secret ingredient Tessa puts in the scones,” Daisy said. “I’ll be right back with them in a minute.”

  When she entered the kitchen, she saw that Eva Connor, her dishwasher and girl Friday, was spooning tea into an infuser inside a porcelain pot for Russ. “Ready soon,” she said. “I’ll brew it for five minutes, then bring it out.”

  Daisy nodded.

  Tessa had arranged the six scones in one of their boxes made for half a dozen. She was writing on a sheet of paper torn from the pad on the refrigerator where they often jotted down their to-do lists. She folded the paper, put it into the box on top of the scones, and then shut the lid. She inserted the box in a waxy bag.

  “Did you include more than scones?” Daisy asked with a smile.

  “You bet I did. I refrained from writing on the piece of paper, ‘You should fire Chloie.’ Instead I just wrote, ‘Thinking of you,’ and added a little heart with my name.”

  “You should probably have a talk with Reese about Chloie,” Daisy said in a low voice. “Especially if she bothers you so much.”

  “We haven’t been dating long enough,” Tessa said. “I don’t want to seem clingy and possessive.”

  “You’re not clingy and possessive. You’re not the type.”

  “Then why am I jealous?” Tessa whispered.

  “Because you don’t know where you stand. When I’ve seen Chloie and Reese together, she might flirt with him sometimes, but I haven’t seen him flirt back. Talk to Reese and leave Chloie out of it. Just have a chat about where your relationship stands.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  Daisy merely lifted her brow.

  “I’ll see him tonight and maybe we’ll talk about it, but for right now . . .” Slipping on a latex glove, she plucked a warm scone from the cookie sheet and set it on a china plate that was painted with pink and blue roses with a gold trim.

  “Here’s Russ’s scone. He’s the kind of customer I like to serve. I’ll take the box out to Chloie. It will give me satisfaction to hand it to her knowing there’s a love note inside, and she doesn’t know it’s there.”

  Daisy’s eyes met Eva’s and they both just shook their heads. Tessa could see for herself how Reese was feeling when he attended the committee meeting this afternoon.

  * * *

  The committee planning Quilt Lovers Weekend had decided to have their next meeting around three PM in the tea garden’s spillover room. Three o’clock was a slow time for most businesses, especially in January. During the week in winter, the shops in Willow Creek were usually open until five.

  The committee wandered in, one by one. Daisy first brewed tea for Amelia Wiseman, who owned the Covered Bridge Bed-and-Breakfast, not far from Daisy’s barn home. Daisy greeted Amelia herself and brewed her a pot of China white tea with a touch of cranberry and rosebuds.

  As Daisy brought the pot to Amelia, who was sitting at a large table by the bay window, Amelia said, “I hope Quilt Lovers Weekend really brings in the customers. We’ve been especially slow this year.”

  Amelia, in her mid-forties, wore her dark brown hair layered around her face in a straight cut. She’d inherited the bed-and-breakfast from her parents. She and her husband, Phillip, poured their energy into the Colonial almost-mansion that had been in the family for generations.

  “Have you done as much advertising as you usually do?” Daisy asked.

  “I have, but advertising that reaches the right audience is getting more and more difficult.”

  Just then Foster Cranshaw approached the table with a three-tiered plate of goodies for all of the members of the committee to enjoy. He set it down with a smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Wiseman.”

  “Hello, Foster,” she said pleasantly. “How are your studies?”

  “Getting back into the groove after the holidays.”

  Amelia said, “Keep those grades up even though you enjoy brewing tea. Everyone now should have two or three career backups.”

  Daisy decided to share her good fortune in hiring Foster. “Amelia, do you have a social media page?”

  “Goodness no,” Am
elia said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  Glancing at Foster, hoping he knew what she was thinking, he gave a little nod and Daisy realized he did. “I didn’t know anything about it either, at least not more than what the girls do on there. But Foster set up a business page for me, and we’re getting more Likes every day. That means those are people who want to know about Daisy’s Tea Garden. You could do the same thing for the bed-and-breakfast . . . and maybe set up a website. That could help business.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” Amelia murmured.

  “Foster makes a great virtual assistant. He keeps track of the pages for me and posts things for me. He keeps a time sheet so I can pay him an hourly wage for what he does.” She wouldn’t expect Foster to give his services free to Amelia.

  The bed-and-breakfast owner studied Foster and then Daisy. “Let me look at my bottom line for the month. If Phillip says I can afford you, we can start out small and maybe get a page set up before Quilt Lovers Weekend. Do you have time for that?”

  “I can make time. As you said, it’s good to have one or more backup careers,” Foster said.

  They all laughed.

  Daisy heard the ding of the front doorbell and Reese Masemer walked in along with Rachel Fisher from Quilts and Notions. They stopped at the counter where Iris chatted with them. She was learning what tea they liked to drink during their meeting. She noticed Reese took a step or two toward the kitchen, realizing Tessa was there. Reese and Tessa talked for a few moments, and then he headed Daisy’s way along with Rachel.

  As they were all seated at the table, Rachel and Amelia avoided the obvious conversation about what had happened to Reese the night before. Instead they enjoyed the cookies on the table, the scones with clotted cream, the mini smoked salmon sandwiches. After Aunt Iris brought Rachel a Japanese sencha green tea that tasted of almonds and coconut and a rooibos tea blended with cinnamon and blackberry for Reese, talk turned to the promotion plans for the Quilt Lovers Weekend. The four of them had been the only ones in their Chamber of Commerce group to volunteer to coordinate the weekend.

  Reese opened his electronic tablet and studied a list on it. He nodded to Daisy. “So you’ve placed ads on quilting sites and in quilting newsletters, correct?”

  “I actually had Foster research quilting sites and check out which ones had the most traffic. He’s put comments on their blogs and taken ads. I think they’ll be hitting a good audience there.”

  Reese nodded. “And, Amelia, you’re going to display hand-fashioned quilts from this area on all the beds in the bed-and-breakfast? Is that correct?”

  “We surely are. We’re also going to display two that are in a raffle over the staircase railings.”

  Next Reese looked at Rachel. “That display should help you.”

  “I’m sure it will. We’ll begin selling the raffle tickets a week before. So will the other participating businesses.” The strings of Rachel’s kapp floated down over her black apron. Today her dress was a dark royal blue. Her blond hair was pulled away from her face into a bun under her kapp.

  Her blue eyes sparkled with helpfulness as she further explained, “I’ve already made out the schedule for our shop. We’ll have local women actually working on quilts on Friday and Saturday. Customers can bring their questions and even their problems for us to solve. Amelia and Daisy, along with Jonas Groft at Woods and a few of the gift shops, will offer our hand-quilted potholders, placemats, and smaller wall hangings for sale. Everyone seems eager to be involved. They just didn’t want to plan the weekend.”

  “Or put their money into the pot for ads or any expenses we might have,” Reese said. “I admire the three of you for doing that. I think in the long run you’ll get it back fourfold.”

  “As long as the weather cooperates,” Amelia decided. “A sudden snowstorm could derail all of our plans.”

  “God willing, the weather will be gut, ain’t so?” Rachel said. “It wonders me how everything usually works out.”

  Living in Willow Creek, Daisy was used to the Pennsylvania Dutch phrasing and manner of speaking. Amish children learned Pennsylvania Dutch before English. Rachel and Levi were New Order Amish. Their district had their own school, separate from the public school. Amish didn’t believe in advanced learning because that could be prideful. However, they found trades that suited their talents, including owning a business like Quilts and Notions.

  Suddenly a sound came from Reese’s flannel shirt pocket, like a low buzzing. “I have my phone on vibrate. Let me see who this is. If it’s not important, I’ll let it go to voice mail.”

  Pulling the phone from his pocket, he checked the screen. When he frowned and a concerned look came into his eyes, Daisy knew he was going to take the call.

  “Please excuse me a few minutes,” he said, standing. “I have to take this.” Then he went to the far side of the tea room to have a bit of privacy. He turned his back to them and kept his voice low.

  Daisy wondered if an important client of Reese’s was calling. Could it be the police with more questions? Or could it be someone who had something to do with what had happened to Reese? Daisy still doubted his story about what had happened last night. If he cared about Tessa, would he confide in her?

  Maybe after he and Tessa talked, Daisy could find out.

  Chapter Three

  After the committee for the Quilt Lovers Weekend left, Daisy and Iris enjoyed a cup of tea. Daisy filled her aunt in on everything that had been discussed. In the main tea room, Tessa, Foster, and Cora Sue were serving end-of-the-day customers.

  Glancing toward Tessa, Daisy told Iris, “After the initial part of the meeting when Reese went down his list, he seemed distracted.”

  “Maybe he was distracted by Tessa,” Iris suggested. “You know when people are in love, they can’t think of anything but each other.”

  “That’s possible,” Daisy said. “But it didn’t seem like a happy distraction. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Sure, I do. More like something was on his mind. The break-in?”

  “Possibly. I just wonder if he’s as serious about Tessa as she is about him.”

  “You can’t protect the world, honey,” Iris said, patting Daisy’s hand.

  “I know,” Daisy agreed with a smile. “Maybe we can just serve the whole world tea.”

  As Iris chuckled and took another sip of her orange pekoe, Foster came into the room and approached their table. “I have a favor to ask,” he said to Daisy when he reached them.

  Iris started to rise to her feet. “I’ll let you two have some privacy.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not necessary, Iris, really. I talked to Vi on my break,” he said. “I know you don’t have many more nights with her before she goes back to college on Monday. But she and I—” He stopped. “We haven’t had much time to ourselves this week with my classes starting up and my hours here.”

  “Do you want to cut your hours?” Iris asked.

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. But I just wondered—do you mind if Violet and I go out tomorrow night? The indie bookstore is having an indie musician play. I thought it would be a nice change of pace for both of us.”

  “You don’t have to ask my permission to take Violet out,” Daisy said. “You’re both over eighteen.”

  “I know, but it’s a little sticky dating the boss’s daughter.”

  Daisy laughed. “I hadn’t quite thought of it like that.”

  “And I know you miss her when she’s gone, and she and Jazzi like to spend time together, and we kind of all know each other here since we work together.”

  “I suppose we do,” Daisy agreed, liking Foster more and more each day. “I don’t mind if you and Vi go out, as long as that’s what she wants to do.”

  Foster looked greatly relieved. “I just wanted to check it out with you. I’ll call her as soon as we close.”

  The bell on the front entrance dinged and Foster looked over his shoulder. “I’d better get back in there
and help Tessa. Thanks, Mrs. Swanson.”

  “He’s a nice boy,” Iris said. “It’s just a shame he and Vi are so young. What are the chances it will last?”

  “What are the chances any relationship will last?” Daisy found herself asking.

  “You haven’t seen Jonas since New Year’s Eve, have you?” Aunt Iris asked with a probing look.

  “No, I haven’t. We’ve both been busy.”

  “Have you spoken to him since then?”

  Daisy shook her head.

  “Texted?” Iris questioned.

  Daisy shook her head again.

  Iris gave a little nod. “I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  “I see two people with a lot of stuff they’re using to protect themselves. Why don’t you call him?”

  “Because he might not want to talk to me.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “What an excuse. That sounds like one of your mother’s directives from when you were a teenager. Don’t make the first move. Don’t unsettle anybody in any way.”

  Daisy’s mom and her aunt didn’t always get along. They loved each other but, in many ways, Iris was much more forward-looking, much more open-minded. Daisy supposed that rules and regulations as well as values that her mother had instilled in her sometimes got in her way. But she didn’t want to talk about that. “Have you talked to Mom this week?”

  “She and your dad seemed to be enjoying themselves in Tampa. They needed a vacation, but I’m sure they’ll be glad to get home next week.”

  The front door chime dinged again and Iris and Daisy exchanged a look. Iris said, “I suppose we’d better start inventorying the case and the refrigerator. Apple bread for a special tomorrow?”

  “That sounds good.” Daisy pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. She and Iris carried their cups and saucers into the main tea room. Seeing them there, Foster said, “I’ll take those for you,” gathered their cups and saucers, and carried them to the kitchen.