Margaret stood, effectively dismissing Daisy. She stood also.
“I check my e-mails at least every half hour. Would you like Tamlyn to help serve?”
“If she’s willing. We’d be glad to have her.”
Margaret said, “I’ll relay that message to her. She’s probably working in the kitchen now. I’ll see you out.”
As Margaret walked Daisy to the door, Daisy couldn’t help but wonder how long the actress would reside in Willow Creek. If the theater was a success, would it keep her here? Or would her need to escape be more powerful than keeping her hand in the acting community in Willow Creek?
* * *
As Daisy walked from the rear parking lot of the tea garden to Woods, Jonas Groft’s store, an Amish buggy with a beautiful bay horse, sturdy and strong, clattered down the street. It was a closed buggy, so she couldn’t see who was inside. Her friend Rachel and her family used a horse and buggy, and Daisy had ridden in the Fishers’ buggy often. As a child she’d ridden in Rachel’s parents’ buggy, which hadn’t had the bells and whistles some of the new models sported today—like a gas heater inside or battery-run lanterns on the outside.
November had added an edge of iciness to the air that had been missing in October. Daisy raised the hood of her fleecy cat-patterned jacket and hurried along the sidewalk. At Woods, she stood outside for a minute glancing over the window display. The store had a distinctive look. In the main window an office arrangement with an oak desk, an oak captain’s chair, and a rolltop desk gleamed in the sunlight. She opened the door and stepped inside. As she always did, she glanced at the giant cubicle shelves built along one side of the store from floor to ceiling. Ladder-back chairs stood in each of the cubicles, ranging in colors from distressed blue to teal to cherrywood and a dark walnut.
As she walked down the main aisle, her glance swerved from side to side to the islands built with reclaimed wood and a granite-topped sideboard to an armoire hand carved along its arched door and a cedar chest that many young women used as hope chests. Every piece of furniture was handcrafted by local craftsmen including Jonas. Expecting to see Jonas or his manager at the sales desk to the rear of the store, she stopped short when she realized who Jonas was talking to—Detective Morris Rappaport.
The two men, both detectives aware of every sound, sight, and sensation in their immediate surroundings, glanced sideways at her and ended their conversation. Daisy wasn’t sure whether to slow down or pretend to be looking at some of the furniture.
But Jonas beckoned to her even though the detective was frowning. She wondered why. The two men had a rapport that had aided them both in solving murders. At first when Daisy had become involved in solving those murders too, Detective Rappaport had been antagonistic. Now, after four cases, they’d established a friendly rapport.
The detective’s frown eased away as he nodded to Daisy and a half smile quivered on his lips. “How are you doing, Daisy?”
“Having trouble keeping warm today. It’s nippy out there.”
Detective Rappaport seemed glad she was discussing the weather. He gave a shrug. “That’s why I’m glad I drive a car and not a horse and buggy. I don’t know how those Amish do it.”
The detective had experienced culture shock when he’d moved from Pittsburgh to Willow Creek. She still didn’t have the story behind that. By now, he’d even developed a liking for snickerdoodles and whoopie pies. He still wouldn’t sample her teas except in the iced version, but she was hopeful. “You know, don’t you, a bracing cup of hot tea could warm you up.”
He shook his finger at her. “You keep trying, don’t you?”
“One of these days I’ll come across a tea you’ll like, or else you’ll be so cold you won’t have any choice but to try one.”
“What this town needs is a coffee bar,” he grumbled.
“Detective, your big-city roots are showing. Sarah Jane’s Diner serves a good cup of coffee, and there’s always McDonald’s.”
The fifty-year-old detective gave a harrumph. “Well, I’ve got to get going. There’s a tower of paperwork on my desk. It never ends. I had to separate two football fans at Bases last night. They did some damage, and there’s always paperwork involved in that.”
“Doesn’t a patrol officer usually take care of that?” Jonas asked.
“Yeah, well, I just happened to be there watching a game too. Even when I’m not on call, I’m on call. Around Christmas, I’m taking time off.”
“What will you do with your time off?” Daisy asked.
“Going north to Raystown. I have a sort of a time share at a hunting lodge. I never use my time, though. This year I’m going to.” He gave Jonas a look. “Remember what I said.” Then he nodded to Daisy and strode out of Woods.
Jonas approached Daisy and wrapped his arms around her. After he kissed her, she smiled. “That’s what I needed. Now I’m not chilled anymore.”
“Are you taking a break from the tea garden?” he asked with a grin.
“No, I’m heading back there. I visited Margaret Vaughn to try and convince her not to cancel her tea.” Daisy briefly explained the reasons why Margaret was thinking about canceling.
“I’m enjoying working on the production set,” Jonas told her. “It certainly is different from building furniture.”
“Artistic in a different way,” Daisy offered.
“Exactly. I try to stay out of and close my ears to the squabbling I’ve heard. It doesn’t seem to be anything serious. Personally, I think that playwright, Glenda Nurmi, should have the final say. After all, she wrote the play. But Margaret Vaughn’s word seems to be law.”
Daisy nodded. “That’s what Vanna told me. We’re going ahead with the tea. Maybe sharing a beverage and food will help.”
“You want everybody to get along,” Jonas
