Chapter Twenty
On Monday morning, Daisy was surprised again at the number of customers who were present as soon as the doors to the tea garden opened. Helping to serve, she overheard several conversations. Many of the new tea garden customers were moms who carpooled and stopped in at Daisy’s after they took their kids to school. She heard talk about soccer teams and parent-teacher conferences, trick or treat, and fast meals moms could serve on the run.
A busload of tourists pulled up at nine AM, filling both the green and yellow tea rooms. Vacationers were taking a bus trip through the area, viewing the leaves and the countryside in general. They’d started out in Chambersburg and were headed for King of Prussia Mall. Daisy had introduced a new orange pecan breakfast scone, and it was a hit. She was seriously considering hiring Caroline. They were getting a little backed up on the tea orders, and she didn’t want that to happen.
She and Iris brushed elbows at one point at neighboring tables. Iris gave her a wink that said she understood business was good. Daisy thought about their conversation last evening after dinner with her parents. She’d inquired about those meetings that Harvey had had in Philadelphia. Iris had shrugged and said she’d known Harvey traveled to Philadelphia. But when he’d returned to Willow Creek, he’d merely told her the meetings were about business. She didn’t know why she had assumed that they had something to do with his investments.
Now Daisy wondered if a Philadelphia investment firm took care of Harvey Fitz’s accounts. If so, did that have anything to do with his murder?
Although Daisy felt sorry for her aunt, she was glad Iris had had her experiences with Harvey. Her feelings toward him had given her a new lease on life and the ability to dream again. The loss of Harvey would take a while to get over, but Daisy was hoping her aunt would see that she had the ability to fall in love again, no matter how old she was.
By ten o’clock, another tour bus had arrived. Along with those customers, Daisy’s dad stopped in and waved her down. “Hi, honey. Got a scone for me?”
“Do you want to skip the line?” she teased.
“Actually, what I want is to unload fall planters for you that Mom sent over. She said you could use them in your garden, at least for a couple of weeks. We’re bringing in holiday arrangements, and we have to make room. Do you want me to just set them out back?”
“That would be great. I’ll arrange them when I have a chance.”
“The marigolds might last longer than the mums. The snapdragons should last longest of all. They’ll be good until we get a hard freeze.”
Seeing that all the tables had been served and no customers were calling either her or Iris over to pour refills or to fetch another scone, she said to her dad, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. In your office?”
Before Daisy dashed into her office, she made a sojourn to the front cases, grabbed scones, and took them with her.
“Tea?” she asked him.
“You’re busy. I’m fine without it. What did you need to know?”
Her dad studied her intently. Her mother said his bright blue eyes could convince her to do anything. But as far as Daisy knew, her dad only used that power for good. In jeans and a flannel shirt and wearing a ball cap that was Philadelphia Phillies all the way, he looked like many of the customers that came into her shop. But he was her dad, and she trusted anything he would tell her.
She knew he and her mom had investments. They’d had a college fund for Daisy and her sister, and now a retirement fund. She didn’t know much beyond that.
“Do you have a financial adviser?” she asked him.
“We do. Our accountant recommended ours. Are you looking?”
She shook her head. “Not right now. I have the girls’ college funds invested in no-load funds. I never felt the need for a financial adviser. After Ryan died, I just kept everything the way he’d set it up.”
“So why are you asking now?” her dad inquired.
“Is your financial adviser around here?”
“He is. He’s in Lancaster.”
“So let me ask you something. If you had double or triple the money you and Mom have, would you still go to a financial adviser around here, or would you go to Philadelphia to find one?”
“I don’t know if that depends on vicinity as much as contacts,” her dad answered.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Daisy admitted.
“Word of mouth is important in that business,” her father explained. “Friends recommend their financial advisers to other friends. A group of people who might work in the same business might go to the same financial adviser if they think he or she is doing a good job. It all depends on what a person is looking for, if he or she wants service, hand-holding, and many phone calls, in addition to investment strategies. The only way you know about those things before you settle on a financial adviser is to ask around and get valid recommendations.”
“So if I wanted someone with a good track record, who kept me informed, and gave me good tips, I might go as far as Philadelphia if that person were recommended to me.”
“Exactly.”
“So it wouldn’t seem unusual for a man like Harvey Fitz to go to Philadelphia to meet with people like that?”
“Philadelphia’s really not that far. I don’t think that would be unusual at all.”
“The police would know who his financial adviser was, right?” Daisy asked.
“Most probably. They’d also have info about his accountant and his lawyer. They probably know his doctors too. Questioning all those people is tedious and takes time. I understand you don’t like Detective Rappaport because he’s been brusque with Iris, but that doesn’t mean he’s not doing his job.”
“He won’t tell us anything,” Daisy grumbled.
“Daisy, you know he can’t. The wrong word to the wrong person and the whole investigation could blow up in his face. They’ll figure this out. You just have to give him time.”
“I’m worried about Aunt Iris. She’s under a lot of stress thinking she’s in danger.”
“Between you and the girls, and your mom and me, we’ll make sure she’s safe.”
The bell above the front door dinged, and not just because customers were leaving; actually, more were coming in. Her dad ate the last few bites of the first scone. “I’ll take the second one with me. You’d better get back to your service. Is Vi doing a good job today?”
“I think she’s just waiting until she can see Foster again. He’ll be in after lunch. But I’d better get topnotch work out of them both.”
“Violet knows the tea garden is important, and its reputation is too. She won’t let you down. I am worried about Jazzi, though. What happens if this friend of yours can’t find her birth mother? Where does that leave her?”
“Still looking and still hoping. This is new territory for me, Dad. I just have to do what I think is right.”
Suddenly, a man was standing at the door to her office. That man was Trevor Lundquist.
“Hi, Trevor,” she said cheerily. “Did you come to try my new scones?”
“Did you read your e-mail this morning?”
“I haven’t had a chance. Why?”
“Check your e-mail.”
Since she was in her office, she decided to do it on her computer rather than on her phone. Sitting in the swivel chair at her desk, she brought up her e-mail program. In her in-box, she found an e-mail from David Ruiz. Quickly reading it, she saw he’d given the tea garden a four-star review in the travel guide.
“He liked us!” she said with a punch into the air. “He calls us a charming place to spend a relaxing hour.”
“What else does he say?” her dad asked.
She frowned. “He says he would have given us five stars if we’d had more staff.”
Trevor’s brow arched. “That’s possible, isn’t it?”
“I’ve hired someone, and I’m thinking about hiring someone else.”
“If you do that, and if David comes in next year about the revised travel guide, you’ll have that problem solved. Maybe you can go from four to five stars.” Trevor was standing behind her, and she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Thank you for bringing David in.”
Trevor negated that thought by saying, “The murder brought me in.” At the door, he winked at her. “And you’re going to tell me all about it when it’s solved. I have a memory even better than an elephant’s.” Then he was gone.
“Are you beholden to him?” her father asked, sensing something in that interplay.
“We made a deal. He lived up to his end, now I have to live up to my end.”
“I hope it’s a legitimate deal.”
“Oh, it is. I just told him I’d tell him everything I know about who the killer is as soon as I know.”
“Daisy, the truth always comes to light. If the person who killed Harvey Fitz wanted something from him, or now wants something from Iris, believe me, we’ll soon find out who he or she is.”
Daisy thought that was the scariest thing her father had ever told her.
Maybe realizing that, Sean Gallagher gave her a big hug. “This will work out, Daisy Doo. The wheels are in motion. So just be careful who you talk to and what you say.” Daisy Doo was an endearing name left over from childhood that always brought a catch to Daisy’s throat.
After a kiss on the cheek, her dad said, “I’ll tell your mom you loved the planters.”
“I’ll come with you and look them over. Then you can tell her the truth.”
The truth. Did Daisy want to know the truth? What if the murderer was someone she knew? She put that thought out of her head as she followed her dad outside.
* * *
Daisy and Iris had finished with afternoon tea service and were wiping down the tables when Tessa motioned to Daisy from the main counter.
Daisy crossed to her and asked, “What’s up?”
“Tornado warning,” Tessa said in an undertone so none of their customers could hear. She pointed to the front door.
Monica Fitz sailed in, looking well put together in a red wool coat and a floppy red wool hat.
“A little overdressed for a Monday afternoon, don’t you think?” Tessa muttered.
Daisy had to smile. “Maybe she came from someplace important.”
“In Willow Creek? That would only be the country club,” Tessa answered, returning to the kitchen.
Daisy wondered if she could snag Iris and go and hide. But that was a coward’s way out. She didn’t even have time to warn her aunt what was coming before Monica was at the counter.
“Hello, Monica,” Daisy said amiably.
“I want to talk to your aunt,” Monica demanded. “Where is she?”
Daisy couldn’t very well say her Aunt Iris had gone home when she was in plain sight if Monica just looked through the doorway.
“She’s in the yellow room,” Daisy said, motioning that way.
Monica didn’t hesitate a second but marched over there. Daisy followed, her cell phone handy in her apron pocket just in case she had to call in the police or 9-1-1. Who knew with this woman?
Iris was still wiping down tables, and Monica glared at her disdainfully. “What did Harvey give you?”
Aunt Iris’s eyes widened. “Pardon me?”
“I’d like to, but your place was broken into. Somebody was looking for something. My guess is that Harvey gave you something valuable. He often did that with his paramours. Whatever he gave you should be part of his estate.”
Daisy interfered, whether she should or shouldn’t have. “I thought Harvey changed his will and his estate goes to charity.”
“I’m going to be contesting that. My lawyer insists I have a good opportunity to succeed.”
Monica was in Iris’s face again. “Did he give you a diamond necklace or ruby bracelet? Or a sheaf of his ever-present coins? I know he was trying to hide assets from me so he didn’t have to split them. That’s illegal, and if you were any part of it, you were committing a crime.”
Iris looked ready to cry, and Daisy stepped in again. “You’re making unfounded accusations. If Harvey gave my aunt anything, and that’s one very big if, it was a gift before he died and has nothing to do with you.”
“So you’re in on it too,” Monica accused.
Now Daisy was close enough to smell alcohol on the woman’s breath. She wondered just how drunk this woman was. Would she act this way normally? Was this one of the reasons Harvey had divorced her?
“You’ve been drinking,” Daisy said matter-of-factly.
“I was at lunch with friends. Of course, I’ve been drinking. Dirty martinis, if you must know.” She pointed her finger at Iris, who was still holding a tablecloth over her arm. “You’re nothing more than a glorified waitress. I can’t believe Harvey got involved with you. Making me jealous was the only reason he did it.”
“Mrs. Fitz, you’ve said enough. I think you should go,” Daisy warned her.
“And I think you should stay out of this. It’s between me and your aunt.”
From the look on Iris’s face, Daisy knew she had to get Monica out of here, or her aunt could possibly collapse. She’d had enough of all of it, and Daisy couldn’t blame her. All she had done was fall in love.
For that reason, she decided to go for Monica’s jugular. “Mrs. Fitz, maybe you should set a better example for your son so he can find a worthwhile life instead of attending happy hour.”
Monica’s mouth dropped open, and she just stared at Daisy. “You know nothing about my family.”
“I know your daughter wants to change her life, and I know that Daniel needs to change his. But he can’t do it with you as an example. He can’t do it without your support. You need to pull yourself together and figure out how you can be a role model for him. Help him stop a downward spiral. You can’t do that if you’re spiraling downward yourself.”
Monica’s face turned red, and for a moment, Daisy thought the woman might slap her. Preparing herself, she took a few steps back.
In that instant, Daisy saw Monica’s expression change, and she wondered if the woman was having a sudden insight into what Daniel’s problems were, as well as her own.
However, after that possibly insightful second, she pointed to Iris again, muttered, “I’ll see you in court,” and then spun around on her red high heels and left Daisy’s Tea Garden.
Iris looked shell-shocked and lowered herself into one of the chairs.
Daisy asked, “Can I get you something—water, tea, something stronger?”
Her aunt gave her a wan smile. “You mean like hot chocolate?”
Daisy glanced into the other room and saw that Cora Sue and Foster were serving customers and had everything under control. She sat down next to her aunt. “She looked like the Wicked Witch of the West and acted like her. Goodness knows what Harvey had to put up with. And the drinking? Maybe that day she came into the twenty-fifth celebration she was drunk too, and that’s what caused her behavior.”
Iris put a shaky hand to her forehead and rubbed it, lowered her voice, and practically whispered, “Do you think she killed Harvey? She certainly seems capable of it.”
It was quite possible that Monica, even if she’d been wearing a hat and high heels, could have scooped up the unicorn statue and walloped Harvey with it. Anyone who had just witnessed her in full witch mode would realize it.
“I think she’s capable,” Daisy agreed. “I’m wondering if we should tell Marshall about what just happened, or maybe even Detective Rappaport.”
“The detective will just think we’re trying to throw the blame on someone else,” Iris said resignedly. “But maybe we should tell Marshall so he can document it. I’ll call him. If he’s busy, I’ll leave a message.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it for you?”
“No, I’ll do it,” Iris said. “Tessa should be starting batches of cookies so we can refrigerate the dough for the morning. Maybe you can help her.”
Her aunt was right. She should help Tessa ready their baked goods for tomorrow.
She was on her way to the kitchen when she recognized the next customer who pushed open the door. It was Jonas. She realized how glad she was to see him and told herself she shouldn’t be.
As he approached the counter, she realized he looked even more somber than usual. He might be here for more than a scone and a cup of tea.
When he reached the counter, he said, “I saw Monica Fitz fly by my window. She wasn’t in here by any chance, was she?”
“Yes, she was. She had some things to say to Aunt Iris.”
“Your aunt doesn’t have to put up with her, you know. She can always get an order of protection.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Daisy said. “What can I get you?”
“How about a chocolate scone to go. I came in because I have news about Jazzi’s birth mother. How do you want to handle it?”
* * *
Two hours later, they were handling it the only way Daisy knew how. Honestly. She’d asked Jonas if he would come to the house so the two of them could talk to Jazzi there after Daisy had picked her up at choir practice. He agreed. So now here they were, and Daisy was probably as nervous as her daughter.
Sitting across the table from them, Jonas sent a gentle smile to Jazzi. “I had a break. I located the lawyer’s secretary. She had moved several times, and that’s why it’s taken this long to find her. Since your birth mother’s name, Portia, was unusual, she remembered the case. At first, she was reluctant to give me your birth mother’s last name, but we had another break there. His secretary was adopted herself. So she absolutely understands your need to know. I told her you were registered on the adoption site, and she went to it to look. When she saw it, she knew I was legitimate and you were too. When she gave me your birth mother’s last name, I wasn’t so sure we had found another lead, because it was Smith! But Joan remembered that she was nineteen, though she didn’t know any more about the case. She also doesn’t know where Glenn Reeves’s records are located. He’s the lawyer who handled the adoption,” Jonas reminded Jazzi. Then he continued, “Still, going on what she gave me, I think I’ve found your birth mother.”
Jazzi’s eyes widened, and she suddenly looked scared. Daisy put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Taking an index card from his pocket, Jonas pushed it across the table to Jazzi. “Her name is Portia Smith Harding now and she’s living in Allentown. She married six years ago, and she has two children. That’s her phone number and her address. What you want to do next is up to you.” He looked toward Daisy.
But Daisy just shook her head. She couldn’t make this decision for her daughter. She couldn’t interfere. Jazzi could resent her for a lifetime if she did.
Daisy said gently, “It is up to you, honey. It’s all up to you. You can put that number away in your jewelry box until you’re ready to think about it again, or we can contact her. You can contact her.”
Shifting on his chair, Jonas said, “There is another option. I can act as a go-between if you’d like me to contact her.”
Studying Jonas’s expression, Daisy was sure he hadn’t made that suggestion lightly. She had the feeling that he didn’t like to get involved, that he’d been too involved with sensitive matters as a cop or as a detective, and now he just wanted to live a quiet life without complications. But Daisy had brought him a complication, and now, it seemed, he was ready to help deal with it.
Jazzi looked confused and younger than her fifteen years. Pushing her chair back, she stood and just stared at the index card as if it were too hot to handle. But then she picked it up. “I have to think about this. Is it okay if I go to my room, Mom?”
“Of course, it is. I’ll bring you something to eat in a little while. Warmed up mac and cheese okay with a sandwich?”
Jazzi nodded but had a distant look in her eyes as if she didn’t really care what she ate or what Daisy brought her.
As Jazzi left the table, Jonas stood too. “I’d better go.”
Daisy walked with him through the living room to the front door. There she looked up at him, noticed again the lines around his eyes, the few around his lips, the way his hair dipped over his brow. “Thank you for doing this.”
“You might not thank me if she makes that call.”
“I know. I’m as scared as she is, maybe even more. If she makes that call, our relationship could change forever. I could lose her.”
Jonas shook his head vehemently. “No, that’s not going to happen, and don’t even think about it happening. She’ll never forget what you’ve given her for fifteen years. Your love, your support, and your caring have been priceless. Do you think she’d trade that in for a hug from her birth mother?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He shook his head again. “Trust her, Daisy. No matter how this goes, you have to trust your daughter.”
That was true, and she knew it. Finally, she confided, “Ever since Ryan died, I don’t trust as well. I worry more. I look for the other shoe to drop.”
“Loss will do that,” Jonas empathized, as if he knew. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Somehow life works out, even if we don’t think it will.”
If it had come from anybody else, Daisy would have heard that line as a platitude. Coming from Jonas, it meant a great deal. His hand on her shoulder created a warmth inside of her that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
As if he felt some kind of heat too, he dropped his hand, turned, and opened the door. But over his shoulder he said, “Give her space, Daisy. She’ll figure it out, and so will you.”
Then he was gone.
As Daisy set the house alarm, she heard his SUV leave. There was something about Jonas Groft that made her want to spend more time with him. But she felt he was fighting the idea of spending time with her. Would she ever learn why?