“I do. Is she grieving, or is she having regrets?”
That was a perceptive observation, the kind she’d come to expect from Jonas. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she has regrets, because their estrangement when Margaret was away wasn’t Vanna’s fault. Except for a communication or two, Vanna didn’t know where Margaret was or what she was doing. Marrying Rowan seemed to change all that.”
Jonas shifted away from the window. “From what I understand, Margaret was a fiercely independent woman. Do you really think marriage changed who she was?”
Daisy noticed the scar on the left side of Jonas’s face looked lighter today, as if it was fading into the past along with his career as a detective. Returning to the question he’d asked, she said, “Maybe it changed Margaret’s sense of security. She no longer felt alone in the world even though that aloneness was of her own making. Maybe she needed someone outside of her family to love her for who she was, not for what they wanted her to be.”
“That sounds like experience talking.”
“Perhaps. When I met Ryan at college, I was away from home. He loved me not because he had to, but because he wanted to.” Daisy was surprised those words had come out of her mouth. She and Jonas let the import of them settle over them.
“Do you believe your parents loved you because they had to love you . . . the same with your aunt Iris?”
Daisy lowered her voice. “I always felt Dad and Iris loved me, but my mom and Camellia? Sometimes I felt everything about our relationships was forced.”
Jonas leaned his head toward hers. “I’d like to delve into this conversation more, but I’m not sure this is the place. Somebody is headed our way.” Jonas circled her waist, pulling her close to him. For some reason, at that moment she felt she needed his support.
Rowan approached them, his gaze on Daisy’s. “I want to thank you for bringing all those delicious desserts.”
Desserts were much easier to talk about than murder. “It was the least I could do for Vanna. She’s been a good friend to me. Grief can be hard to navigate.”
“Yes, I suppose it can,” Rowan agreed. “She seemed touched when I gave her a brooch of Margaret’s.”
“She was. I have mementos from my husband that mean a lot to me. Memories are precious when a loved one passes. Anything that can make their smile or their voice or their look come alive again is important. I’m sure she’ll wear Margaret’s brooch often.”
Without a segue, Rowan asked, “So you will be speaking to Glenda soon?”
Daisy became annoyed that he kept checking with her about that. But if he was afraid that he would be charged with murder, she could understand why.
“If Glenda shows up at the tea garden, I’ll be sure to make time for her.”
“Thank you, Daisy. I’d better mingle with the other mourners. I do appreciate their coming and I want them to know that.”
As Rowan walked away, Daisy asked Jonas, “Can you find out more about Rowan?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is there a way you can find out if there are any lawsuits against him?”
Suddenly a voice sailed over Jonas’s shoulder. Zeke Willet looked angry. He targeted Jonas first. “You should become a PI if you want to snoop for Daisy. On the other hand, maybe Daisy should forget about background checks and concentrate on brewing tea.”
It was easy for Daisy to see that Jonas was angry. Color came to his cheekbones. She could see a temper he wasn’t letting loose. Usually he refused to be baited.
She kept her mouth shut. Better if she refused to be baited too.
Zeke pointed his finger at them both. “Stay out of my investigation.” Then he walked away, his stride angry, his expression seriously frustrated.
Jonas let out a pent-up breath. “There are times lately when I just want to shake him.”
“That’s because you still care what he thinks. It’s hard to let go of a friendship that was once good.”
“He has me wondering if it was ever good. Maybe I was deluding myself in thinking we had each other’s backs . . . that we cared about making the world a safer place. I’m not sure that’s Zeke’s purpose any-more.”
“Sometimes I think he’s lost his purpose and he’s just going through the motions,” Daisy observed.
“Morris Rappaport is wrong when he thinks Zeke and I can make peace. I can put the past in the past, but I don’t think Zeke can.”
* * *
Although Daisy wanted to check in with Violet often, she didn’t want Vi to feel she was hovering or controlling. Vi had seemed to be doing better after her talk with Willa. But Daisy was not at all sure about that.
After returning home from the funeral yesterday, Daisy had called one of their temp workers, Pam Dorsey, to see if she could spend the day helping out at the tea garden. She’d agreed to meet Iris there at five a.m. to start cinnamon rolls and other breakfast goodies. At home, Daisy prepared a baked blueberry and oatmeal casserole as well as a ham, cheese, and potato casserole to take to Vi. Jazzi sampled each before she took a walk down the lane to meet her school bus. As soon as Jazzi had left, Daisy wrapped both casseroles and inserted them in an insulated carry-all that would keep them warm.
Since Daisy usually left before Jazzi most mornings, Marjoram and Pepper seemed surprised when she was puttering around the kitchen, ready to walk over to Vi and Foster’s above-the-garage apartment. From her observation, her felines usually accompanied Jazzi down from her room upstairs after she was dressed and they settled on the deacon’s bench near the living room window. However, this morning the aromas from the kitchen must have drawn them there. Daisy was setting some of the dishes she’d used to prepare the casseroles into the dishwasher when Marjoram came over to
