“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Before the detective could decide that she was being antagonistic, she explained, “My daughter had her baby last night. I’m taking care of Sammy while she and her husband sleep. We were up most of the night.”
Detective Willet seemed at a loss for words. “I see. So you don’t know when you can get away?”
Daisy really did want to cooperate. “You’re welcome to come here. I’m in the apartment above the garage on my property. I had a doorbell installed at the side garage door, but don’t bother ringing that. Just text me when you’re close and I’ll know you’re coming.”
“Are you sure that will be all right with your daughter?”
“If she’s awake and taking care of Sammy, you and I can go down to the back of the garage. It’s not a problem.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Before he’d left, Jonas had brewed a pot of coffee. With one arm, Daisy removed two mugs from the mug tree and set them on the small counter. Before Jazzi had left for school this morning, she’d gone home to feed Marjoram and Pepper and take a shower. She’d also fetched a container of blueberry scones from Daisy’s freezer.
Daisy had prepared them for an occasion just like this. After she’d set them on the table, along with two dessert plates, forks, and napkins, she heard the downstairs side door to the garage open.
Zeke Willet called up the steps. “Mrs. Swanson?”
He kept his voice to the bare minimum.
At the head of the stairs, she motioned him to come up. When he reached her, he seemed taken aback by the baby in her arms. He appeared mesmerized by the tiny blue trucks running across the receiving blanket that swaddled Sammy.
“What’s his name?” he asked hoarsely.
“Samuel Ryan Cranshaw. Samuel for Foster’s grandfather and Ryan for my husband.”
Zeke’s eyes met hers. She saw something there that was softer, gentler, and more caring than what usually manifested itself. But then he cleared his throat and became all business. “About those questions.”
She motioned to the table, went there, and sat. Then she told him, “Why don’t you pour us mugs of coffee. Creamer’s in the refrigerator if you need it.”
“I really didn’t come for—”
“I know what you came for, Detective, but I’ve been up most of the night and coffee will help keep me awake. I thought you might enjoy some too.”
His look was a tad sheepish as he went to the counter and poured the two mugs.
“A teaspoon of sugar in mine, please.” She nodded to the sugar bowl next to the coffeepot.
After he brought the mugs to the table, he kept his gaze away from the baby and began questioning her, particularly about the crime scene. But to her surprise, she couldn’t remember much. She had blanks where before there had been vivid pictures. Zeke, however, didn’t question her memory. He’d been taking his notes on an app on his phone.
Now he slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “You told Rappaport more in your first interview.”
“I guess it was fresh in my mind then.”
She rocked Sammy as if the motion could soothe her too. What was wrong with her? She didn’t forget important things. “Detective, I’m not trying to keep anything from you. I promise.”
He fleetingly touched her arm and then leaned back in his chair. “I know you’re not. You’re having a symptom of PTSD. Do you know about that?”
“I’ve read articles. Veterans who return from war have flashbacks. They have startle responses all the time. Sometimes they overreact.”
With a serious expression that aged him, he said, “It’s more complicated than that. One of the symptoms is blanks in memory. Let’s face it. You had a traumatic event and then you had another. Even though the birth of your grandson was joyous, you were up all night.”
“Are you saying after I get some sleep that I’ll remember? That might not happen for a while.”
“You’ll be helping your daughter?”
“As much as she needs me. They grow up fast, Detective Willet. Way too fast.”
Zeke looked so sad for a moment, she almost asked him what was wrong. But she didn’t know him well enough for that. His tension with Jonas affected his interactions with Daisy too.
To her surprise he suggested, “I think you should talk with Jonas. He knows how to handle witnesses with PTSD. Besides, I think there’s an element between the two of you that you and I don’t have.”
“And that is?”
“Trust. You trust him. You don’t trust me.”
She was quick to say, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don’t know you.”
“No. No, you don’t.” He abruptly stood and then pushed the chair in. He held up his hand as if telling her to stay seated. “I can see myself out. If you do remember anything else, give me a call.”
With that, the detective descended the stairs and left by the garage’s side door. His whole visit had been a bit . . . disconcerting, and she wasn’t even sure why.
Chapter Five
Rose stopped in that evening to see Vi and the baby. Daisy had made a light supper of roasted chicken pieces, fresh vegetables, and smashed potatoes. Vi had always liked them. But Vi, dressed in her robe and pajamas, hardly ate anything.
While Daisy’s mom cooed over Sammy, Vi said, “Since you’re holding and watching him, Gram, I’m going to lie down for a little.”
Daisy let Vi go to the bedroom without a word. She didn’t know what to say. Vi’s attitude wasn’t that of a joyous new mother.
Foster looked after his wife, leaned back at the small table for four, then let out a sigh. “It’s normal that she’s tired and needs rest, right?” Foster seemed to be looking for answers of his own.
“Of course,” Daisy said. “Willa was here this afternoon to examine Vi and the baby and check everything out. She insists everything’s as expected. Even the breastfeeding is going well.”
Foster looked a little embarrassed that they
