“Jazzi thinks there is.” She explained what her daughter had told her.
“There’s no knowing what’s going through his mind,” Jonas admitted. “Do you think Jazzi will talk to him about it?”
“She can be forward sometimes, but in this situation, I think she’s just scared she’ll mess things up even more. And Portia really can’t intervene. Not in this.”
Jonas pointed to Daisy’s plate with the whipped cream, chocolate cake, and cherries. “How about if I feed that to you and we go back to your place and make a pot of tea?”
“I might have a bottle of wine.”
“I need to be clearheaded when Jazzi’s not in the house as chaperone, don’t you think?”
“There’s always Marjoram and Pepper,” Daisy joked.
But the smoldering look in Jonas’s eyes told her he wouldn’t be drinking too much wine tonight. He might even stick to tea. Their lives were just too complicated to take the next step.
* * *
Daisy wanted to talk to Ward Cooper privately, not within a group of people at a dress rehearsal. Sunday would go slowly waiting for Jazzi to come home. And she didn’t want to intrude on Vi, Foster, and Sammy too often. So after church, she headed for one of Rowan’s condo buildings, where Ward was staying.
She found the building easily. It was a four-story brick structure that had at one time been a warehouse. Once it had had historic value. Now, however, the brick building had been renovated. It was a square building without much adornment. She’d heard that there were two condos on each floor.
Granite steps led to a double door that opened electronically. Daisy didn’t see any sign of cameras or security, but then this was Willow Creek and security costs could be expensive. As the supermarket-type glass doors opened for her, she stepped inside to a foyer with mailboxes on either side of the corridor. They were small cubicles with a key lock and slots above each box where a postal clerk deposited mail. There were bins underneath each box, apparently for small packages.
She found the box with Ward Cooper’s name. He was in condo #302. Before she turned away, however, she noticed the name under the box beneath Cooper’s. Jasper Lazar. He was also in the play, and she wondered if maybe he was a permanent resident. There was an elevator to the left of the corridor and stairs to the right. She decided to take the stairs. Her lack of an exercise routine bothered her. She went for hikes around her property when she could, but with winter setting in, she knew she should sign up for an exercise class.
To her surprise, she really was breathless when she reached the third floor. Serving tea just wasn’t aerobic exercise, though lifting serving trays might have something to do with weight training. She easily found apartment 302 and she rang the bell. No one came to the door. She rang again. Still there was no sound from inside.
Remembering Lazar’s condo number, she headed back down the stairs to the second floor. Wandering down the hall, she found condo 201. What were the chances Jasper was home? She’d heard he’d retired from his HVAC business. In fact, he’d sold it to another heating and air-conditioning firm who had combined the two businesses, one in Lancaster and one in Willow Creek. It was all supposition on her part, but she imagined he’d received a pretty penny for the business.
She rang his doorbell and waited, studying the door that she expected to be of high quality. It wasn’t. Granted, it was an interior door and didn’t have to face the elements. On the other hand, if someone could put a foot through the door, how secure could it be even when locked?
She could hear footsteps and a moment later the door opened. Jasper looked about a decade older than her dad. In the play, he was playing a grandfather, which suited him. Right now, he had a bit of stubble along his beard line. He was wearing a green sweatshirt with a flannel shirt underneath. His navy cargo pants were heavy too. The outfit was definitely fashioned for cold weather and she wondered if he was going out.
His brows lifted and his brown eyes widened when he spotted her. “Mrs. Swanson. What are you doing here?”
“Please call me Daisy. I wondered if I might talk with you about Margaret and the play.”
“Come in,” he invited, waving his hand to motion her inside. “I’m afraid it’s cold in here. The heating unit for my condo isn’t working again, at least not the way it should. I’m an expert at that kind of thing. I should know.”
His voice sounded impatient, as if this weren’t the first time this event had occurred.
“I imagine it is frustrating to be an expert at something and then have to live with repairs of it.”
“Repairs? I only wish that were so. I’ve been calling about my lack of heat ever since the cold spell hit two weeks ago.”
“Rowan Vaughn owns this building, doesn’t he?”
Jasper gestured to the gray corduroy sofa, and she sat there while he took the black leather recliner across from her. “Yes, he does. But reaching Mr. Vaughn isn’t so easy. He has a management firm to take care of his properties. I’ve been hoping he’d stop in at rehearsals and I could talk to him there. Maybe accost him would be a better word. Isn’t it terrible that you have to make a scene sometimes in order to get anything done?”
Daisy really would rather avoid scenes if she could. She had intended to unzip her jacket, and she did so now more as an attempt to be casual with Jasper than anything else. The condo was chilly. “How long have you lived here?”
“Ever since Rowan renovated and took over the place—about two years. But there have been problems from the beginning.”
“You mean like the heat?”
“Or the air-conditioning. My guess is he had subpar systems installed. You can’t cheat on your
