“That bracelet Rowan did buy for her. It makes me wonder if he thought he was competing with someone. Do you know what I mean?”
“Or just competing. Maybe he wanted his bracelet to be more important to her than that brooch was.”
Zeke pointed to her. “Exactly. You follow things quickly.”
Since Zeke seemed more receptive than sometimes, she asked, “Do you have more than one suspect?”
His expression froze and she wondered if he’d learned that as a cop or if he’d always hid his thoughts and feelings. Though, according to Jonas, he’d been a different person when they’d been friends. Finally he revealed, “We’re tracing backgrounds on a few people.”
“And you can’t tell me who they are.”
“No, I can’t tell you who they are.”
“It always leaks out,” she reminded him.
“Perhaps, but those leaks won’t come from me.”
The receptive side of Zeke wasn’t all that receptive, but it was better than his gruff limited measure on conversation. So she decided to be “friendly,” then go for the question she wanted the answer to the most.
“I can get you honey for your tea if you’d like it,” she offered.
“Sweeten me up? I doubt it.”
After he took a few sips from the mug, she thought this was the best time to ask her question. “Can you tell me why you’re so angry with Jonas? I know you’re upset because you don’t think he protected Brenda, but Jonas was hurt too that night. He was shot and he didn’t know if his shoulder would ever be the same. So why blame Jonas?”
Looking as if he wasn’t going to answer, his face became hard. Then he started talking. “Jonas has a savior complex. A hero complex. He thinks he can handle everything . . . handle everybody. But he can’t. So don’t let him tell you he can keep you safe. That’s an impossible feat. Safety is an illusion that can be shattered with a long-nose rifle, crosshairs, and a laser light.”
Standing without taking another sip of his tea, Zeke said, “Since you can’t give me information about what I needed to know, I’m out of here. But it was a good break. Now I’ll be more awake while I sit in my office going through notes, interviews, and suspects.”
He crossed to the door of her office. “Remember what I said, Daisy. Jonas can’t protect you. Sometimes nobody can.”
As Zeke left, she understood that part of their conversation had been about Zeke himself.
* * *
Back at the counter, Daisy was surprised when Russ Windom, the retired teacher Iris was dating, approached her. He usually took a seat and whoever served him told Iris he was there. If her aunt had time, they had a little chat. But today he looked as if he had something particular on his mind. Apparently, he didn’t need conversation with Iris but with Daisy.
“Hi, Russ,” she said cheerfully. He was around Iris’s age. His hair was gray with a high receding hairline. He adjusted his titanium black glasses and she’d learned by now that that meant he was nervous. Nervous talking to her?
She didn’t have any customers begging for her attention, and if Russ was nervous, she wanted to put him out of his misery. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes. I’m not quite sure how to bring this up.”
“You want me and not Iris?”
“I do. And this isn’t about your food here or anything like that. In fact, I don’t know if you can do anything about it, but I thought I’d ask.”
“Go ahead.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’ve seen you talking with Rowan Vaughn.”
Daisy gave Russ her full attention. “Yes. I know him. Jonas is working on the set at the Little Theater and the tea garden served tea at Margaret’s.”
“Yes, Iris told me what happened. From what I understand, the Little Theater is going to go ahead with the production.”
Daisy hoped they were going to go ahead with the production if they could get their act together, so to speak. “Yes, they are going ahead. I stopped in at a rehearsal, matter of fact.”
Shifting from one brown loafer to the other, and plucking down the sleeve of his camel sweater, Russ finally told her his issue. “Businesses can take a sponsorship role in the program for the play. I was told individual persons can too . . . that there are different layers of sponsorship for the theater.”
“That’s right. The tea garden took a business sponsorship.”
“I’d like you to tell Vaughn that expecting five hundred dollars from individual residents of Willow Creek is a little much, don’t you think?”
Daisy knew the business sponsorships were one thousand dollars. She’d assumed the average citizen could donate whatever amount they wanted, but she must have been wrong. “Five hundred dollars is steep for an individual sponsorship.”
“Exactly. I can’t do that. When I called the number for the sponsorships, someone named Tamlyn answered. She told me it was five hundred dollars or my name wouldn’t go in the program. Vaughn does want this theater to succeed, doesn’t he?”
“He does. The money would go into the endowment fund so the endowment can go on producing more money to run the theater. Is there a reason you’re speaking to me about it?”
With a nod, Russ went on. “This Tamlyn that I spoke with, she said she couldn’t do anything about it. But I thought maybe if you talked to Mr. Vaughn, he’d understand how ridiculous that amount is for the average person in town. I understand if he wants levels of sponsorship, but the least he could do is come up with different levels, something like a gold sponsorship, a silver sponsorship, a copper sponsorship. Don’t you think that would be a good idea in the long run to generate more money?”
The idea was a good one. “I think you’re right. I’m not sure how Rowan sees it, but I’d be glad to give him a call.”
Russ looked relieved. He gave her a smile and asked,
