Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  Wade’s brows pinched together in sympathy; he was clearly feeling Pauline’s pain.

  “Would there be any paperwork on the Renoir that Theodosia could look at?” Wade asked Pauline.

  “Detective Tidwell already asked me about that this morning. So I went through Miss Drucilla’s papers and gave him everything I could find.”

  “That should help,” Wade said.

  Maybe, Theodosia thought. She hesitated a few seconds, couldn’t think of anything else to ask them, then said, “We should probably be going.” She gave a perfunctory smile.

  “It is getting awfully late,” Drayton said, following her lead.

  They all walked out into the vestibule, where Pauline said, “Just a minute. I want to show you something.”

  She threw open the double doors to the large front parlor and flipped a light switch. Instantly, the room was aglow with Christmas lights and decorations.

  “Look at this,” Pauline said, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “Look at all the Christmas lights, the flocked trees decorated with candy canes and fuzzy red cardinals, all the lovely garland twined with silk ribbon. Now it’s all just going to waste. Such a beautiful, special season and nobody will be here to enjoy it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia pulled up to her back door and let out a slow breath. Home. I’m finally home. It had been a long day and she was starting to feel exhaustion seep in. There was also a certain amount of stress that had been generated in dealing with Donny Bragg (What a conceited jerk) as well as Pauline and Wade (Poor, sad people).

  So here she was, finally, at her small cottage, which had the actual name of Hazelhurst and was tucked in between two much larger homes. Mansions, really, though truth be told she preferred her own cozy place.

  Theodosia’s home had been built in the Queen Anne style, which meant it fairly oozed character, thanks to the slightly asymmetrical design and rough cedar tiles that replicated a thatched roof. The exterior walls were brick and stucco, and there were an arched door, wooden cross gables, and the blip of a two-story turret. To complete the look, lush curls of ivy meandered up the sides of the house.

  Theodosia’s heart swelled with pride just looking at her home because she’d truly scrimped and saved to buy it. How many scones had she sold to make the down payment? How many pots of tea did she still ferry to customers to pay the mortgage? It didn’t matter. This home belonged to her and so did the Indigo Tea Shop, which was always a labor of love.

  She parked in the back alley, walked through her small garden, and opened the back door. As usual, Earl Grey was there to greet her.

  “Hello, pup!” Theodosia cried out as Earl Grey threw himself against her, then buried his head in hands that moved gently and lovingly, patting ears, neck, and muzzle. He was a magnificent dog with a faintly dappled coat (she thought of him as a Dalbrador), expressive eyes, and a fine aristocratic muzzle.

  “Sorry to be so late,” Theodosia told him.

  “Rrwwr,” said Earl Grey.

  “Good idea. Let’s go out in the backyard and see what’s shakin’.”

  While Earl Grey snuffled around the magnolias and palm trees, Theodosia checked her tiny fishpond. Yes, the fish were still there, though it was time to move them to Drayton’s pond for the winter. He had a spacious backyard filled with bonsai that wore ever-changing coiffures, and a larger, deeper fishpond that also had a bubbler.

  The phone started ringing the minute Theodosia and Earl Grey walked through the back door. She grabbed it off the hook in her kitchen and said, “Hello?”

  “Sweetheart!” came a rich baritone voice.

  “Riley!” Theodosia cried. She was thrilled to hear his voice since they hadn’t talked for a couple of days. “How are you? How’s the weather in Vermont?”

  “Starting to get cold,” Riley said. “We had a high of sixteen degrees today, but now the mercury is supposed to plunge and really hit the deep freeze.”

  “Excuse me, but sixteen degrees is already freezing cold,” Theodosia said.

  “Not when you’re from here.”

  “Remember, you’re talking to a South Carolina native.” She listened to his warm laughter and said, “How’s the arm?” Riley had been shot in the line of duty some two months ago, right before Halloween.

  “Good. Couldn’t be better.”

  “So it still hurts.”

  “Probably from the cold, yeah.”

  “Then don’t go out in the cold.”

  “You’re probably right.” Riley paused. “On a more serious note, I received an interesting phone call today.”

  Uh-oh.

  Riley waited for Theodosia to fill the silence. When she didn’t, he said, “From the boss.”

  “Detective Tidwell misses you, too?” She tried for humor but it didn’t work.

  “No, but he did enlighten me about the recent Drucilla Heyward case.”

  “Okay.”

  “Theodosia. I see you’ve gotten yourself involved in another murder.”

  “Since you’ve been missing in action, I had to fill my time with something challenging,” she said.

  “And apparently you’ve done just that, which is why Tidwell asked me to pass on a message.”

  “Now we’re playing telephone.”

  “Tidwell wants you to back off.”

  “He always says that.”

  “Theo-do-sia.” Riley said her name just the way her father used to say it when he was angry and about to take the car keys away. Oops.

  “What?” she said, still trying to project innocence.

  “You simply cannot get involved in this Drucilla Heyward case.”

  “It’s too late. I’m already involved,” Theodosia said. “Besides, Pauline, the woman who was Miss Drucilla’s personal assistant, kind of asked me to look into things. Actually, she begged me to.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear,” Riley said.

  Theodosia took a quick breath and kept going. “I know, but . . . I already talked to a couple of people. A guy named Smokey Pruitt, who does odd jobs around the neighborhood, and a neighbor by the name of Donny Bragg. They’re not exactly suspects, more like persons of interest. But I was still wondering if you could run a quick check on them.”

  “Theo, I’m in Vermont! It’s not like I’m at a desk hovering over my computer.”

  “But you have an Internet connection, right?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Can’t you do that magic law enforcement thing where you access a multitude of different databases?”

  “I’m not sure. What exactly are you asking for?”

  “It’d be helpful to know if either of these guys has an arrest record or if their prints are on file somewhere. Maybe you could dig into the AFIS or the NCIC, or maybe even the IRS or DEA sites? And there are undoubtedly a few super-secret-covert sources that a private citizen like me doesn’t know about.”

  “If you ask me, you sound fairly well versed,” Riley said, and Theodosia could detect a grudging smile in his voice.

  “Not like you are.”

  “Theo, my dear, I fear you have the instincts of a bloodhound.”

  “Is that good or bad?” she asked.

  “It simply is.”

  “Then I’ll take that as a compliment. So. Will you do it? Will you check on these two guys?”

  “Let me sleep on it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia and Earl Grey went upstairs then for the night. Soon after she’d moved in, Theodosia had converted the small upstairs into one master suite—a combination bedroom, walk-in closet, master bath, and tower reading room. It was decorated, as she liked to say, in Southern-State-of-Mind Glam. That is, Laura Ashley wallpaper, a four-poster bed, and a poufy cream-colored comforter strewn with blue-and-cr
eam toile pillows. Her mother’s old-fashioned vanity, with its desk and drawers, large circular mirror, and cushioned stool, took up one wall and was the perfect spot for Theodosia to sit and apply makeup or brush her hair. Sitting atop the vanity were Theodosia’s collectibles: a Jo Malone candle, perfume bottles, a leather-covered journal, a ceramic box decorated with two jaguars, and a large white bowl with scalloped edges that held bracelets, cuffs, a strand of pearls, and a few earrings.

  Earl Grey settled into his dog bed and rested his head against one of the built-in bolsters. Theodosia picked up a mystery by Susan Wittig Albert, ready to flop into her comfy reading chair in the adjacent tower room and enjoy a couple of chapters. Instead, she put the book back down and grabbed the guest list from her purse. Thinking, wondering, she carried it to her reading chair and sat down. Started looking at the names. Some of them were old Charleston names that she recognized, like Pinckney and Alston and Manigault. Could any of these people be involved in the death of Miss Drucilla? It hardly seemed likely. Of course, there were new names on the list to consider as well, such as Bragg and Daniels. Then there was the list she’d started, which included Julian Wolf-Knapp and Smokey Pruitt. All of these people were unknown, all of them wild cards.

  It made for interesting nighttime reading.

  8

  “I talked to Riley last night and asked him to run checks on Smokey Pruitt and Donny Bragg,” Theodosia said to Drayton. It was Tuesday morning and she was standing at the front counter, sipping a cup of English breakfast tea that Drayton had brewed for her. It was Harney & Sons Keemun black tea, not too brisk with a rich aroma.

  “Riley is willing to help out?” Drayton asked. “Lend his expertise?”

  “I think so, though he wasn’t exactly overjoyed by my request.”

  “I wonder why.” Drayton furrowed his brows and favored her with a stern gaze. Then, because he was a confirmed worrywart and clock-watcher, he glanced at his watch and said, “You realize we’ve got less than twenty minutes before we throw open our doors.”

  “I know. I’ve still got to—”

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “You hear that? Someone’s tippy-tapping at our front door already,” Drayton said.

  But Theodosia was skipping to the door with a good idea of who it might be. Then, when she peered out and saw who was standing there, she grinned and said, “It’s Miss Dimple!”

  “So bright and early,” Drayton said. Then, when their chubby seventy-something bookkeeper came toddling into the tea shop, he said again, “You’re here so bright and early.”

  Which stopped Miss Dimple in her tracks. “Am I too early?” She glanced at Theodosia. “You said eight fifteen, right?”

  “Your timing is perfect,” Theodosia said as she helped Miss Dimple off with her fuzzy brown coat and hung it on the brass coatrack. The sharp-as-a-tack Miss Dimple didn’t just tally up weekly receipts and handle their books; she also filled in as server a few days a month. Today was one of those days.

  “What do you want me to do?” Miss Dimple asked. She was plumpish and barely five feet tall, and she had a cap of pink-tinged curls. She spoke in a breathy voice and used old-fashioned phrases such as Heavens to Betsy and Bless me. She was also capable as all get-out.

  “Haley’s put up most of our Christmas decorations,” Theodosia said. “But we need to finish.” She lifted a hand and pointed to a cardboard box filled with strings of lights, silver bells, giant silk poinsettias, sparkly cardboard snowflakes, and red candles.

  “Gotcha,” Miss Dimple said. “And you’re hosting a special luncheon tea today, am I right?”

  “Our Nutcracker Tea,” Drayton said.

  Miss Dimple clapped her hands together. “I can hardly wait!”

  “Theodosia even hired some ballet students to come in and stage a mini recital,” Drayton explained. “So after we serve all our morning customers, we need to push tables five and six back against the wall so the young ladies have a little dancing space.”

  “Can’t have them pirouetting right into someone’s lap.” Miss Dimple laughed.

  Theodosia got Miss Dimple started on the table settings and decor; then she headed into the kitchen to check with Haley.

  “Okay, morning offerings,” Haley said the minute Theodosia stepped into her postage-stamp-sized kitchen. Her face was glowing pink from all the baking she’d been doing. “We’ve got pecan scones, white chocolate muffins, apple bread, and fried coffee cake.”

  “What on earth . . . ?” Theodosia began.

  “It’s an old-fashioned recipe—actually my great-granny’s—where you do coffee cake on top of the stove in a covered cast-iron frying pan. That way it’s kind of half-baked, half-fried, though now that I think about it, half-baked doesn’t sound so good.”

  “But the fried part does sound interesting,” Theodosia said as she glanced at the stove. Yup, there were indeed two covered frying pans sitting atop glowing burners.

  “They’re regular cinnamon-and-sugar coffee cakes,” Haley assured her. “But the name is fun, so I think our guests will get a kick out of it.”

  “I know they will.”

  Anytime Haley baked or cooked something slightly out of the ordinary, it tended to be a huge hit. Case in point, Haley’s cat-head biscuits, French Huguenot tortes, and her famous gougères or cheese puffs. These items set the Indigo Tea Shop apart from the drive-through coffee and tea places that served cookie-cutter goodies that weren’t even baked on premises.

  “And it looks as if you’ve started prepping today’s luncheon? Are you going to need some help?”

  “I’m on it,” Haley said. “And I’m okay as of right now.”

  It was back to work for Theodosia then, as she and Miss Dimple welcomed guests for morning tea, seated them, took orders, and then ferried out the steeping teapots along with baked goodies and the accompanying Devonshire cream, lemon curd, and jam.

  By ten o’clock the tea room was completely filled (hopefully with happy guests) and Theodosia paused for a breather at the counter. It was also a chance to inhale the heady aroma that surrounded Drayton like some kind of wonderful aromatherapy treatment.

  “Is that one of our spiced teas you’re brewing?” she asked. Earlier, they’d printed up a list—a kind of tea menu—of holiday teas that included cinnamon spice, cranberry blend, spiced plum, peaches and ginger, citrus hibiscus, and a few more.

  Drayton’s fingers grazed the top of a yellow Chinese-style teapot. “This one’s our Winter Spice house blend. And FYI, that tea list we put together is pure genius. Our customers have been ordering selections like crazy.”

  Theodosia tapped a finger against the counter. “What about that other list?” she asked.

  “Ah, you’re referring to the guest list we picked up last night? I’ve been perusing it whenever I have a bit of free time.”

  “Several of the people on the list are executive directors of various local charities,” Theodosia said.

  “I’m acquainted with most of them,” Drayton said. “And I have to say . . . their reputations are impeccable. Not a murderer in the bunch.”

  Theodosia favored him with a thin smile. “What about art thievery?”

  Drayton shook his head. “Doubtful.”

  “Well, somebody killed Miss Drucilla and stole that painting.”

  “It’s a tough one,” Drayton agreed.

  By eleven fifteen, most of their morning customers had cleared out, probably off to do last-minute holiday shopping or explore the various outdoor Christmas markets. So Theodosia ran into her office, grabbed a second box of decorations, and hauled it out to the tea room.

  “More decor?” Miss Dimple asked when she spotted the box.

  Theodosia pulled out a twenty-inch-high bright red wooden nutcracker and held it up with a flourish.

  “A nutcracker soldier, how absolutely perfect,” Miss Dimple cri
ed. “Drayton,” she called out. “Did you see this?”

  “Adorable,” he said, barely looking up.

  “I was wondering how you’d decorate for a Nutcracker Tea and now I can see you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Theodosia said. “White linen tablecloths with pink place mats, pink candles . . .”

  “And pink china,” Miss Dimple said. “Maybe the Royal Albert Rose Confetti?”

  “Perfect.” Theodosia dug into the box and pulled out a roll of pink netting and a bag of faux-pearl necklaces. “We’ll tie pink netting on the backs of chairs, the pearl necklaces get strewn on the tabletops, and somewhere—here they are—these small glass ornaments should be placed at each setting as favors.”

  “But these adorable nutcrackers are the centerpiece for sure. And you said something about ballet dancers coming in to perform?”

  “Three of them from the Grand Jeté Ballet School. Dancing to the music of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite.”

  Miss Dimple nodded her approval. “I can see it’s going to be a perfect holiday tea.”

  While Miss Dimple set the tables and primped the tea room, Theodosia hauled out more gift items to display on her highboys. She’d just arranged a row of bright red mugs and several tea cozies—a knit panda, a knit snowman, a mouse, and a quilted floral snuffie—when her cell phone rang. She grabbed it out of her apron pocket and said, “Hello?”

  “Well, I did some digging. Actually, computer investigating. And your buddy Smokey has indeed run afoul of the law,” Riley said.

  Theodosia was suddenly all ears. Thrilled that Riley had actually done some checking and called her back.

  “So Smokey’s got an arrest record? What for?”

  “Stole a car,” Riley said.

  “Wow. Recently?”

  “When he was eighteen.”

  “Oh.” Theodosia thought for a minute. “That had to be a while ago.”

  “Twenty-two years to be exact.”

  “So that’s it? That’s the full extent of Smokey’s brush with the law?”