Daisy liked Willa. She found her intelligent, experienced, compassionate, and caring. But she was still worried. She knew birth was a natural process, but Mother Nature had her quirks.
At Violet’s side now, Daisy’s attention transferred away from the murder, away from the awful sight of Margaret’s body, to what was happening in the present moment. The pain on her daughter’s face and the anticipation of seeing her first grandchild born was all that mattered. As expected, Willa was monitoring everything about the baby, from its heartbeat to its position to its journey through the birth canal.
To Daisy’s surprise, Jonas was a big help. For the next few hours he made and brought ice chips to the doorway so Daisy could have them ready for Vi. Jazzi came in, eager to help too. Using the stackable washer and dryer in the back of the garage, she made sure her mom and Willa were constantly supplied with clean towels and linens.
Jazzi tried to distract Vi by talking about anything and everything.
Foster stayed by Vi’s side for the first three hours. She clung to his hand during contractions until he lost circulation in his fingers. Daisy could see Foster was awed and unnerved by the birthing process. She was afraid Vi was holding back her reactions because Foster was there.
Taking a short break herself, Daisy went to the kitchen, where Jonas was unloading the dishwasher. She said, “It’s intense in there, and there’s no way to tell how much longer Vi will be in labor. Each time she has a contraction, Foster looks as if he’s going to faint. It will get worse before the baby’s born.”
“What’s the midwife doing for her?”
“She’s massaging her back, having her walk around the room and sit on one of those big exercise balls. Jazzi is encouraging Vi through all of it. The idea of having a midwife is for her to encourage the family to be part of the birth. But Foster is so emotionally involved, I think he’s freaking out.”
“What if I take Foster for a walk and encourage him to call Gavin?”
“That would be great. Not too long. Merely long enough so he gets some fresh air and braces a bit and lets Gavin know what’s happening.”
Jonas tenderly touched Daisy’s cheek. “And how are you?”
“As long as I don’t think, I’m fine.”
He smiled. “Not thinking is an impossibility for you.”
“It is, but thinking about the baby—if we have everything for the layette, what Vi and Foster might name him—keeps me from thinking about the scene we left at Margaret’s house.”
Jonas brought Daisy in for a hug. “You didn’t need that after what happened last time.”
“I didn’t go looking for this, Jonas.”
“No, you didn’t, and you can stay out of the police investigation.”
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his flannel shirt. “I will.” She raised her head. “I know they’re probably going to ask me more questions, but after that and I sign my statement, that’s it.”
Daisy had brought a carafe with her from Vi’s room. Stepping away from Jonas, she filled it with water. “I’m going to go back in. I’ll send Foster out. Vi is seven centimeters dilated, so birth can happen fast or it could take another couple of hours.”
Jonas nodded his understanding. “I’ll let Foster blow off steam and then we’ll be back.”
Before Daisy moved too far away, Jonas pulled her in for another long hug, then he let her go.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
He didn’t have to say the words I told you I would be. Maybe she was starting to trust him. Maybe she was beginning to believe in him.
About a half hour later when Jonas returned with Foster, Foster’s cheeks were red from the cold, but he looked steadier. He looked as if he was ready to face whatever was coming. A baby was going to change his world, and he seemed to realize that. Maybe his talk with his dad, who was pragmatic, had reinforced that fact.
Two hours later with a cry of joy of her own, Daisy watched the infant being delivered. With tears on her cheeks, she realized she was now the grandmother of Samuel Ryan Cranshaw.
They all had tears in their eyes . . . even Jonas.
* * *
Daisy would never forget the expression on Vi’s and Foster’s faces when little Sammy had been laid in Vi’s arms. Willa had stayed until Sammy had successfully breastfed and she’d given Vi other instructions. Gavin had stopped in to give his support but hadn’t stayed long. Jonas had left to take Jazzi to school and go to work. He’d only had a few hours of sleep on the couch, but he’d told Daisy he was used to that. As a detective, he caught sleep when he could. Jazzi had insisted she was fine. She’d crash tonight.
Midmorning, Daisy walked into the kitchen, little Sammy cuddled in her arms. She could lay him in the crib. Vi and Foster were sleeping. Still . . . she couldn’t stop looking at the baby and drinking him in—the little wisps of medium brown hair, his tiny button nose, his pudgy cheeks, and the definite cleft in the chin that was just like Foster’s. He was indeed a miracle.
Daisy’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Sinking down onto the sofa, she made sure her arm was propped just right with the baby at a comfortable angle. Maybe somebody at the tea garden needed something. Or maybe it was Gavin. She’d videotaped the birth and texted it to him as soon as Sammy had arrived. He’d said he’d stop in as soon as he could.
After Daisy checked the number on the screen and the caller ID, Zeke Willet’s name popped up.
“Hello?” she said tentatively, watching Sammy’s eyelids flutter.
“Mrs. Swanson, it’s Detective Willet.”
“Yes?”
“I need to ask you a few
