CHAPTER SEVEN
Daisy preferred to shop locally in Willow Creek whenever she could to support community businesses. But this evening she and Jazzi were outfitting her younger daughter for college. For that, Daisy preferred going to a big-box store in Lancaster.
As they traversed the aisles choosing a set of towels, a travel cosmetic bag, hair products, and hand wash, Jazzi checked the list she’d made on her phone. She was wearing a denim shorts overall outfit tonight with a white crop-top tee. Her long black hair, sleek and glossy, fell down her back. Daisy thought she looked too young to be setting off for college.
Diverting the conversation from what they were doing, suddenly Jazzi asked, “Why did you go down to the police station this morning?”
“How did you hear about that?”
Jazzi’s expression was mischievous. “Word gets around. One of the customers at the Rainbow Flamingo saw your car parked in the police lot. That cat decal on your back window is a giveaway.”
Daisy really shouldn’t have been surprised. Willow Creek was a small town with many gossips . . . or, as they would defend themselves—concerned citizens. “Willow Creek doesn’t need cameras on the streets.”
Jazzi laughed. Then she sobered. “Was it about someone trying to break into Jonas’s SUV?”
“No. Detective Rappaport needed my help with something.”
“Something like . . .” Jazzi’s voice trailed off.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Daisy hoped her daughter would accept that because she wanted to respect Morris’s wishes.
Picking up a pack of sticky notes at the end of the aisle, Jazzi dropped them into the basket. “Does this concern the investigation about the victim found in the creek?”
Daisy should have guessed Jazzi would probe until she found the answer she wanted. “It could.”
“Mom, come on. Spill it.”
Her mind circling the information it held, Daisy considered what she should say and what she shouldn’t. She had to give Jazzi something, or her daughter would keep poking at her or find answers somewhere she shouldn’t.
“Jazzi, I’m really not supposed to talk about what went on at the police station this morning.”
“I understand if you can’t give me definite details. But you know as well I do that people and officers were milling around the station while you were there. Word will get out about what was happening there.”
Jazzi’s reasoning was mostly correct. The word was probably already out that Beth Ann Kohler had been at the police station this morning. Still . . .
Choosing her words with care, Daisy continued pushing the cart, her voice low. “A witness was at the police station with the detectives. She was so upset she couldn’t tell them anything they needed to know.”
“Was this a relative of the person who was killed?”
Unfortunately, Jazzi had deductive reasoning skills.
Daisy didn’t answer.
“So, Detective Rappaport brought you in to calm her down?” Jazzi probed.
“That’s about it. By the time I left, she was able to answer their questions. I took along tea and cookies.”
“Of course, you did,” Jazzi said with a wry smile. “So, Detective Rappaport is going to call you a consultant now?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to call me,” Daisy admitted.
After Daisy pushed their basket into the next aisle, Jazzi slipped her phone into her crossover bag. However, the subject they’d been conversing about wasn’t closed for Jazzi because she asked, “Did you tell Jonas the details?”
“I told him who the victim was and why I went to the police station.”
“But you didn’t say what you talked about.”
“No. Jonas knows Detective Rappaport counts on me so he didn’t poke like you are.”
“Jonas has a lot of trust in you just to let it go like that.”
“He knows I’ll tell him when the time is right.”
“In spite of Detective Rappaport?”
“Yes, in spite of Detective Rappaport.”
“He trusts you, and you trust him,” Jazzi decided, looking pensive.
This was an important teaching moment, and Daisy didn’t take it lightly. “I do. I couldn’t marry Jonas if I didn’t trust him as well as love him.”
As if Jazzi accepted that and didn’t need more, her daughter checked over their basket. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go shop for my bridesmaid dress. There are a few shops at the outlet down the road that might have something we both like.”
“Do you have a particular color in mind?” Daisy wondered what her daughter was thinking and what had prompted the desire to shop tonight.
“I’m not sure. Aunt Iris’s dress is yellow, Gram’s dress is sort of mauve, Vi’s is lilac colored. Tessa’s dress is a swirl of pastel roses. Do you know what Aunt Cammie is wearing?”
Daisy’s sister had informed her with a text and a photo the style and color of her dress. “Aunt Cammie’s dress is pale green.”
“That doesn’t leave me much choice, does it? I’m sorry I waited so long.”
Daisy stepped away from the cart and crossed to her daughter, laying her hands on Jazzi’s shoulders. “There’s no color code or theme or whatever. All we have to do is find something you like. I don’t even know what the guys are wearing. Jonas said it will surprise me.”
“No tuxedos?” Jazzi seemed perplexed.
“Nope. The July evening is too hot for jackets. I want everyone to be comfortable and enjoy themselves. . . including you.”
With her lips quirking in a smile, Jazzi nodded.
Five minutes later, as Daisy and Jazzi were checking out, Daisy’s phone rang. Thank goodness the tuba noise didn’t sound too loud from her pocket. Still, customers around her turned and stared.
Jazzi motioned her outside. “I’ll wheel out the cart. Take your call.”
As Daisy checked her phone and spotted Beth Ann Kohler’s name on the ID, she hurriedly stepped on the pad to open the electronic doors and walked outside. Moving to the right, away from foot traffic, she answered the call. “Hello, Beth Ann.”
“Hi, Daisy. I want to thank you for talking to me at the police station. It was easier talking to you than to them.”
Daisy guessed Beth Ann meant the detectives. “I understand how upset you were. You were in shock. What can I do for you?”
“Can you meet with me to talk again?”
Daisy’s mind played possible scenarios for the request. “Sure, I can. My daughter and I are shopping for . . .” Daisy stopped. She was fairly certain Beth Ann wouldn’t want to hear about her wedding plans.
Beth Ann was waiting. Maybe she didn’t want to push Daisy to meet.
Daisy said, “Why don’t you come to the tea garden tomorrow when it’s convenient for you. I’m sure we can find a quiet spot to talk and have tea.”
Beth Ann was quick to jump on the suggestion. “That will work for me.” Her voice became thick with sadness. “I have arrangements to make. And I’m not exactly sure how long all of it will take.”
Understanding the gamut of tasks that had to be accomplished when a loved one died, Daisy gripped her phone tighter. “Simply come in and ask any of the servers where I am. They’ll guide you to me.”
Daisy just hoped she’d know what direction to take with Beth Ann and their conversation.
* * *
The following morning at 10 a.m. Cora Sue Bauer poked her head into Daisy’s office. Around fifty years old, Cora Sue was a dependable full-time server at the tea garden. Her shade of red hair was helped by chemicals, and their customers liked her bubbly personality. Her royal-blue T-shirt and indigo slacks under the yellow apron with the daisy logo made her look like a colorful bird. Daisy wasn’t sure why that description had occurred to her today.
“Beth Ann Kohler is here to see you,” Cora Sue said.
Daisy hadn’t given her staff any details about Beth Ann, simply told them a woman named Beth Ann Kohler would be coming in to talk with her.
Daisy asked Cora Sue, “Are there many customers on the patio?” It was a warm, sunny morning, and the atmosphere would be perfect there for a quiet talk.
“No one is there now. The morning breakfast crowd all left,” Cora Sue said.
“I’ll take Beth Ann out there. Can you bring us hot chocolate tea and rhubarb muffins?” Daisy was already on her feet. She didn’t want Beth Ann to get jittery and change her mind about talking.
“Sure thing,” Cora Sue assured Daisy and went to prepare the servings.
A few minutes later, Daisy and Beth Ann were seated out on the patio at one of the round tables. The light wind lifted the canvas edge on the yellow-and-white-striped umbrella, rustling it. Some of the herbs along the patio were still wet with morning dew. With a pale-blue sky and cottony white clouds above the umbrella, Daisy hoped Beth Ann could relax as they talked. She was dressed today in a navy-and-white-patterned flared skirt and a white blouse. The outfit was casual but suitable for the serious errands she had to run.
To help the woman feel comfortable, Daisy asked, “How did the rest of your interview go?”
“It was okay. I tried to answer Detective Rappaport’s questions the best I could.”
“That’s all he could ask for.”
Her encouragement seemed to prod Beth Ann to go on. “I basically told the detective what I told you. He was interested in the laptop . . . if it was work-related or personal. That kind of thing. But I couldn’t sleep at all last night.”
The side door of the tea garden opened, and Cora Sue brought out a tray with tea in a pink-and-gold-trimmed teapot, sparkling sugar in a cut-glass bowl, and the muffins. She set two Royal Copenhagen blue-flowered braided cups and saucers to the side of their glass plates. Then she quickly left, knowing Daisy wanted privacy.
Beth Ann looked nervous as she poured a cup of tea and sprinkled a little sugar in her cup, stirring it around. She picked up her teacup. It shook in her hand, and she set it back down again. The cup clinked against the saucer.
She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to break down again, and that’s why I came to you. I don’t know if what I remembered will be of any good to the detectives or not, and I didn’t want to go to them and start something I couldn’t finish.”
Daisy made eye contact with Beth Ann, blue eyes on brown ones. “You can tell me anything.”
Beth Ann nodded, tried again to take a sip of her tea, and this time succeeded. “The detective said something about a possible connection to something that happened twenty years ago?” she asked.
Daisy wasn’t surprised Morris had talked to Beth Ann about that. “It’s possible. Henry’s burner phone number is the same number that was on Trevor Lundquist’s ID when his tip came in about a twenty-year-old murder.”
“One of the reasons I couldn’t sleep last night,” Beth Ann explained, “was my mind was going in circles, yet in all directions, too. Do you know what I mean?”
“I certainly do.”
“As I was having trouble sleeping,” Beth Ann mused, “I remembered Henry always had trouble sleeping. Even from when I first met him.”
That was interesting, but Daisy wasn’t sure why Beth Ann might consider that fact important. “Do you mean he woke up often?”
Beth Ann pushed her hair away from her cheek. “Not exactly. The problem was nightmares. He wouldn’t wake up screaming or anything like that. He’d simply awaken suddenly. I could feel his body go rigid and jerk, and that would wake me up, too.”
“Did you ask him about the nightmares?”
“I did. But he always brushed them off. He just said he woke from anxiety because of work. He was thinking about his patients and that type of thing. But you know, the more I thought about it, I began to believe that waking up like that was more like a panic attack than a nightmare. He’d go all pale. He would take in deep breaths. He never talked about what he dreamed.”
Trying to be tactful, yet find out information that would help the investigation, Daisy asked a personal question. “Would you say you and Henry had a close marriage?”
Without hesitation, Beth Ann nodded. “We did. We shared most things. But he wouldn’t talk about this. And you know what else?”
“What?”
“He would never talk about his teenage years. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
Henry Kohler’s teenage years would have been twenty years ago. This wasn’t anything that detectives could do anything about, but it was another link. Trevor would think it was important.
“Besides the detective, Trevor Lundquist, the reporter, is looking into what happened to Henry,” Daisy mentioned.
“I listened to his podcast last night. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Yet, if he gets answers, I suppose it could be good.”
“Do you mind if I tell him about what you just told me?”
Beth Ann shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Do you know anything about storage units that contained old chests that were up for auction?” Daisy asked.
Looking puzzled, Beth Ann shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
Since that seemed to be a dead end, Daisy turned in another direction. Detective Rappaport had asked Beth Ann about the laptop, and she was going to ask, too. “Do you know what Henry kept on his laptop that was stolen?”
“It was his personal one. Mostly he had saved old photos on it that he’d scanned. I thought he was keeping a history of his family. He was evasive about that, too. He’d just say they were photos of his friends.”
“His friends now, or his friends back then?”
“Maybe some of both. I’m not sure.”
The rhubarb muffins were warm from the oven. Beth Ann picked up hers and broke it in half. There were soft chunks of rhubarb and walnuts in a fluffy dough. Daisy mirrored Beth Ann’s actions, knowing that often helped connect with a person. She’d studied and read some body language books. It was a fascinating field. She didn’t know nearly enough about it, but she had picked up some tips. They ate their muffins in silence until Beth Ann looked nervous again.
Daisy didn’t jump on her reaction. She just waited and took another sip of her tea.
There were crumbs on Beth Ann’s plate, and she pushed them around with her fork. Daisy waited until she made a circular pattern with them, and then she asked, “Is something else bothering you?”
Looking up, Beth Ann nodded. “Yes, it is. Again, I didn’t go to the police because I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble. I didn’t want to say something that wasn’t true.”
“Run it by me, and we’ll go over it together.”
Fingering the handle on her teacup, Beth Ann looked lost in thought. “The detective asked me a lot of questions, and most of them I didn’t have an answer to. But I did remember something, and I can answer one of his questions.”
“What was the question?”
“He asked me if anyone wanted to hurt Henry.”
Daisy’s heart rate picked up, and she considered that Beth Ann could be giving her a real clue. “You said you don’t want to get anyone in trouble?”
“No, I don’t. But one of Henry’s patients at the physical therapy center was particularly upset with him.”
“Was this recently?”
“He’d been a patient for a long while. His name is Callum Abernathy.”
“And he was a patient of Henry’s?”
“Yes. He was in a roofing accident, and he broke his leg. It was a bad break. Because of confidentiality, Henry couldn’t tell me much. But because of what happened at the center, he did.”
Daisy leaned forward a little. “What happened?”
“Like I said, Callum Abernathy had to have surgery, and I think he broke his leg in two places. He expected to be as good as new after his physical therapy sessions.”
“I know about physical therapy,” Daisy empathized. “My fiancé was injured, and he had to go through it more than once. It can be difficult and painful.”
“Yes, it was for this Mr. Abernathy. He wanted to be pain-free and do everything he did before. But, of course, that wasn’t possible. Although he could walk without a cane, he was still in pain. Two months after he started physical therapy, he had a really loud fight with Henry at the PT facility.”
“When was this?”
“It was the week before Henry died . . .” Beth Ann’s voice seemed to stick in her throat. “Before Henry was murdered.”
“What can you tell me about Callum Abernathy?”
“Not much. I saw him once while I waited for Henry after work and his car had to be worked on. Callum was a big, hefty man, and he looked dangerous.”
Daisy knew looking dangerous wasn’t the same thing as being dangerous. And a loud fight, a verbal fight, didn’t necessarily mean the man had murder on his mind. Of course, it was hard to tell anybody’s motives, or their mental state for that matter.
She understood Beth Ann didn’t want to go through the whole interview process with the detectives all over again. But this was something she should tell them.
“Did you sign a statement yet about what you told the police?” That was a requirement.
“No, I’m supposed to stop in and do that. I was just going to wait awhile.”
In the most reassuring voice Daisy could muster, she said, “I think you need to ask to talk to Zeke Willet or Morris Rappaport when you go in to sign your statement. You can tell them about Henry’s nightmares or not. I don’t know if they’d be interested. But they will be interested in Callum Abernathy.”
After that bit of advice, Beth Ann seemed to relax. Daisy had the feeling that this meeting with Beth Ann was a practice run for Beth Ann for when she did talk to the detectives again. Daisy knew they would be going back to her whether she went in, signed her statement, and had another interview, or if she merely signed her statement and left. Beth Ann was a source and a suspect, whether she realized it or not. The detectives were determined to glean anything from her that would help them solve this case. Daisy realized how involved she herself was now.
She and Beth Ann talked about Willow Creek. Daisy explained how she’d gone to college, fallen in love, and then lived in Florida before she’d moved back a few years ago. Sharing easily now, Beth Ann told Daisy about her online associates degree in medical coding. She was happy working at the dental practice, where she’d been hired a few years ago.
“Henry and I lived in a little two-room apartment and managed to save most of our earnings so we could buy our house. Neither of us has family anymore. A few months ago, Henry and I started thinking about having kids.” Her eyes misted, and she turned away from Daisy. “Now that’s never going to happen.”
Two customers exited the side door of the tea garden, to-go cups of tea and baked goodies in hand. They sat at one of the tables beside Beth Ann and Daisy, looking toward them and smiling.
Beth Ann checked her watch. “I have to go. I have an appointment with Reverend Kemp to talk about a service for Henry, even though we don’t know when we’re going to have it yet.”
Daisy stood when Beth Ann did, feeling as if she wanted to give the woman a hug. But she didn’t know her well enough yet. She walked Beth Ann around the side of the tea garden to Market Street, and then she went back inside.
After glancing across the tearoom and noting that everything seemed under control, Daisy stopped in the kitchen.
Tessa gave her a knowing look. “Fruitful conversation?”
The aroma of cinnamon sugar in the snickerdoodles that were baking filled the kitchen and wafted out into the tearoom. Tessa was pouring batter with blueberries and pecans laced through it into bread tins.
“I think it was,” Daisy responded to Tessa. “I’m going to give Trevor a call if you don’t need me in here.”
“We’re good,” Tessa said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
After a nod, Daisy went into her office and closed the door. Taking her phone from her pocket, she pressed her icon for favorites and dialed Trevor.
He picked up on the first ring. “Found something?”
“Not exactly. I just spoke with Beth Ann Kohler. She ran a couple things by me. I think she’s going to talk to the police again.”
Trevor had already known about Daisy’s “help” to calm down Beth Ann, though she didn’t know his source. He’d phoned her about it last night. “Tell me,” Trevor said.
Daisy didn’t think Beth Ann would appreciate Callum Abernathy’s name going out on the airwaves with Trevor. He was a suspect the police were going to have to explore with interviews and lots and lots of questions. But she did want to run something else by Trevor. “I think I found a link that connects the two murders. I think, as you said, Henry was involved somehow.”
“Something good I can broadcast?”
“No, I don’t think this is anything you can broadcast. But it might be something to look into somehow. Beth Ann told me that Henry often had nightmares. Nothing specific about them, but he would wake up with panic attacks. He didn’t sleep well, not as long as she had known him. And when she talked to him about their teenage years, he didn’t want to discuss his.”
“And you’re thinking that when he was a teenager, he was involved in a murder.”
“If not involved, maybe he saw something or heard something. Something that kept him awake at night.”
“Hmm,” Trevor said. “I need to think about this. With the first episode about this murder, I gained followers and subscribers. I even have a sponsor interested. I’m going to keep going anyway I can.”
It was that “any way I can” philosophy that Daisy didn’t like. Maybe she could help keep Trevor on an even keel, maybe not.
“I think I’m going to head over to Amelia Wiseman’s after work to take another look at the chests,” she said.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to find something she and I couldn’t?”
“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
“Sure. I can’t meet you there, though. I have an appointment in Harrisburg. I’m looking into the forensics of the case.”
“No problem. When I do get home, I’m going to spend some more time examining the two chests at my place, too. I think Henry was your caller. His tip to you was specific. We’re missing something. I’m going to see if I can find it.”