Daisy returned and joined me for a cup of tea herself, her huge, gray eyes wide when I filled her in on what happened all day. She shook her head in horror, hand over her mouth, when I told her about Mom and grasped my wrist when I was done, tears standing in her gaze.
“Fee, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled when she spoke. “I got a call from Rose late last night. I had to drive to Montpelier to help her.” She flushed as I frowned at her.
“Rose?” I had nothing. Who was Rose?
Daisy didn’t meet my eyes again, helping herself to another sugar cube which she popped directly in her mouth instead of her tea. “You might not remember her. She was Dad’s second wife’s daughter.”
Oh, right, Daisy’s step-sister. I thought back, tried to recall. Realized I’d never actually met her. “She moved away with your stepmom when your father divorced her, right?” We were, what, fifteen? I think the marriage lasted all of six months. Daisy hadn’t been in class much, I remembered that. And Rose was five years younger, went to a different school all together.
Come to think of it, Daisy only mentioned her occasionally. I forgot all about her in my own exodus from Reading and hadn’t heard anything about her in years. Not that Daisy needed to know that right now. “Is she okay?” I should have known better than to wonder where Daisy was all day. No way she’d have missed out on Mom’s taping unless it was important. Any blame I felt slipped away into shame I’d doubted her at all. Dad, on the other hand… which made me think about Malcolm and Siobhan Doyle and Crew’s question about what my father was up to.
I had to talk to Dad.
Daisy smiled in that brittle way that told me she was hiding something from me. “She’ll be fine,” she said. “Should I go see your mom tonight, do you think?”
I shook my head, letting her have her privacy. If Daisy needed me to know, needed my help, she’d tell me. Or I’d pry it out of her eventually. For now, if focusing on Mom was beneficial, then so be it.
“Just leave her for the night,” I said. “But I’m worried about her, Day.”
She nodded, beautiful face tight with worry. “She wants so much to make this work,” she said. “You know how hard she is on herself, Fee.”
Actually, I didn’t. “She is?” Well, I knew she was with this baking thing. Sort of. From what I figured out.
Daisy went on like she assumed I understood what she understood. “She’s been so frustrated since she retired. Feeling useless. I know it has to be hard for her.” She what? Since when? “When your father retired, well, she thought that would solve everything. But the two of them have been getting on each other’s last nerve.” She eye rolled again, laughed a little. How was it I knew nothing of this and my bestie knew everything? That faint resentment I’d felt in the fall about Mom confiding in Daisy resurfaced while she went on, oblivious. “Working for you, helping out here? I think it’s been great for both of them.” I’d been lucky to have them, that was for sure, and taking on the annex was possible, in part, knowing they’d be there to help me if I needed it. “But your mother wants this for herself. We all want something that’s ours. Especially now that John—” Daisy shut up so fast I watched horror cross her face before she carefully schooled her expression to pleasant pretend nothing happened, nothing to see here, carry on my wayward daughter.
Hell no to the nuh-uh.
She had to know I was going to ask questions. Had to. And took a blurty page from my book. “So his wife wanted a divorce?” Took me a second to realize she wasn’t talking about Mom and Dad, a shock of terror washing over me until I understood the distraction was leading back to the murder. Daisy must have overheard the conversation I’d been having with Bonnie.
I’d give her one thing, her distraction technique, while needing work, did wonders for my heart health. I felt like I’d run about ten miles at top speed the way it pounded in my chest in reaction to my fear for my mother and father.
“Supposedly Joyce was having an affair with him last year,” I said. “And the winner from last season, too.” I thought about Janet and Mom’s mention of her history with possible sabotage of other contestants. She’d been in Mom’s kitchen with Vivian. Had she done the deed? Or showed Vivian what to do?
“Sounds like at least two women in his life wanted him dead,” Daisy said, “and they’re both under one roof.”
That could get messy.
“How about the others?” Daisy sipped her tea, all innocence. I could have prodded her further about my parents, wanted to. But my traitor brain wound around the mystery of Ron Williams’s murder and shunted me sideways away from the more brutal and terrifying possibility my parents weren’t okay. And that I was the last to know. Wasn’t going there. Not tonight.
“Janet,” I ticked the woman’s name off on my index finger. “Molly, though according to Bonnie she wasn’t having an affair with Ron.” Smart girl. “That leaves Clara.” The show creator could have had a history with him. “Olivia was there. Vivian.”
Daisy sighed over her cup. “As much as we’d both like to accuse Vivian, it’s likely this has nothing to do with her.”
“Not even Mom?” I shrugged that off. “Fine, okay. But according to Mom, Janet has a history of doing nasty things to get what she wants. At least to other contestants.”
“Were she and Ron still an item?” Daisy waggled her eyebrows at me. “Getting dumped is as good a reason for murder as any.”
True enough. “I don’t know,” I said. “But that does make sense.” So hard to care when Mom’s sad face resurfaced in my mind. “Day, for the first time? I don’t feel compelled to snoop. Mom’s more important.”
She set her cup aside, gray eyes hurting for me, for Mom. While I almost reopened the question about her sudden trip to the capital. Rose. Did I have to worry about Daisy, too?
Instead, she stood, hugged me. Got her coat and quietly left. I stared glumly into my tea cup as Daisy said good night, leaving me to ponder murder, my parents and the always frustrating Crew Turner. Who, it seemed, wouldn’t be coming to visit tomorrow night. Not unless he was planning to arrest me. Right now? That might be the best option I had open to anything resembling a date with him. Some people liked handcuffs, right?
Bummed out but too tired to let it own me, I retreated to my apartment where I contemplated the white card with the block letters spelling Siobhan Doyle’s name well into the night.
***