“You’re probably right. You’ve had more experience with this kind of thing than I have. What if Glenda wanted Margaret out of the way? What if she’s the one who killed her?”
That question kept rolling around in Daisy’s mind as she went through the rest of the day.
Late in the day, Daisy was handling the credit card for an older woman who placed a large order once a week. Daisy had a feeling that Fiona Wilson bought as much as she could carry and stuffed her refrigerator so she didn’t have to cook. She’d said to Daisy more than once, “Your foods are healthy and that’s why I buy them.”
Daisy knew that was mostly true. No preservatives if she could help it, scratch-made for all the baked goods.
In front of her, Fiona studied her. “Are you feeling all right, darling? You’re looking a little peaked.”
Her muscles and bruises were starting to ache more. She thought of Fiona and being seventy-five or eighty and still stopping in here once a week for her food rather than going to a grocery store.
“Tell me something, Fiona,” Daisy said. “How would you feel if Willow Creek had a meals-on-wheels lunch or dinner service? Would you use it?”
“Would the food be as good as yours?”
Daisy chuckled. “I’m not sure about that. That would all have to be discussed in the planning stages. Citizens have brought it up before at the town council meeting but it’s always been thrown by the wayside.”
Fiona gave Daisy a smile. “We have a thrift store now.” She touched the scarf around her neck, a pretty fuzzy material with a taupe and blue pattern. “I bought this there. I forgot where I put my old one and had to come up with something.”
Daisy considered whether the town council could actually get a vote for meals-on-wheels and get it up and running for seniors over sixty. Maybe it could consist of good Pennsylvania Dutch food made from wholesome ingredients.
“Fiona, if you ever need food, and you find you can’t come in yourself, call in your order. I’ll make sure Jazzi or one of our servers delivers it to you. You don’t live that far away from the tea garden.”
“I moved into one of those senior apartments near the square about a year ago.”
“How do you like it?”
“I like having my independence, and I don’t have upkeep. Rent is on a sliding scale according to what I can pay. Filling out all that paperwork took a week, but I’m happy I’m there now. We ought to find a horse and buggy driver who would deliver food to people. Wouldn’t the tourists just love that?”
As Fiona took her bags of food, one in each hand, Daisy heard the bell at the tea garden door chime. She didn’t know if she was sorry or sad to see Zeke Willet come in. She knew he’d want something. He never just stopped for a visit.
Today she could tell by that determined look in his eye that he had something particular on his mind. She found it hard to believe that he was coming to her for information rather than more questions.
They would soon be closed for the day, and she knew her servers could take care of the end-of-the-day business. She waited at the sales counter.
When Zeke approached her, she asked, “Would you like to go into my office? I can fix you a cup of tea if you’d like it.”
“You are bound and determined to give a cup of tea to anyone who walks through that door, aren’t you?”
The way he made it sound, that wasn’t a good thing.
She simply responded with, “Tea calms the soul.”
His eyebrows drew together and he frowned. “And you think my soul needs calming?”
“I’ve gotten that impression.” As soon as that was out, she knew she shouldn’t have said it. But she was getting tired and she ached.
“That came out fast as if you’d been meaning to say it for a while.”
“Come on, Zeke. Have a cup of tea with me and tell me why you’re here.”
She could see that he had stopped in for a reason, and she wanted him to ask his questions and leave.
Once in her office, where she kept a smaller heated urn than the one in the kitchen, she pulled two mugs from the stack, filled them with hot water, and settled a tea bag in each.
“We’ll go for the quick version this time. This is a Fortnum and Mason’s afternoon blend.”
“I’m supposed to recognize the name?”
“Probably not. It’s good with a splash of milk.”
He turned up his nose. “I’ll try it straight, if I try it at all.”
“Do you ever not argue with someone about something?”
He dropped into the chair in front of her desk, put an elbow on her desk, and sighed. “Long night. Short on flatfoots to run down leads. I’m getting frustrated. You seem to have a broad network, maybe even broader than mine.”
“Detective Willet, I told you I’m staying out of this.”
“I hope so,” he said gruffly.
Daisy put a touch of milk into her tea, stirred, and took a sip. “What did you stop in to talk about?”
After he studied her carefully, he asked, “Do you know about the brooch that Margaret was wearing when she was murdered?”
“Yes, she wore it often. It was decorated with amethysts and diamonds.”
“Correct. And quite valuable it was too. We had a jeweler appraise it. Rowan insists that he doesn’t know where she got it. If I had a wife and she wore something like that often, I’d make it my business to know where she got it.”
“Maybe that brooch had nothing to do with Rowan.”
“Do you know where it came from?”
“I don’t.”
When he gave her a side-eye, she said, “Honestly, I don’t.”
“How about the tennis bracelet of amethysts and diamonds that was torn from Margaret’s wrist?”
“Torn from her wrist?”
“It lay under her on the floor.”
“I might have seen it when she wore it. Not that day. I think it was the first time we
