Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “Yes, I did,” Daniels said.

  “You manage a company that runs the numbers on charities?” Theodosia said.

  “I see you’re quite well-informed,” Daniels said. He took a sip of wine—a stall tactic?—then added, “The name of my company is Doing the Good.”

  “That’s such a cute name,” Delaine said.

  “We run analytics on nonprofit organizations,” Daniels continued. “We determine how much money they’re able to raise, then weigh that amount against their operating costs and what they actually spend on charitable works.”

  “So there’s a kind of magic number where a charity is sustainable and also benefits the community?” Theodosia asked. “Or I guess what they might call their constituents?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Daniels said with a broad smile.

  “So, basically, you helped Miss Drucilla invest her money wisely,” Theodosia said.

  “With so many different scams going on, there need to be some safeguards,” Daniels said.

  “And you’re one of them,” Theodosia said.

  “We like to think so.”

  “I’m curious. Did your advice ever extend to Miss Drucilla’s art collection?” Theodosia asked.

  Daniels’s brows pinched together. “I don’t know the first thing about fine art, even though I do liaison with a number of local arts organizations. But I understand that Miss Drucilla had a genuine feel for collecting. She not only knew what she liked. She knew when a work might appreciate in value.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Delaine said, batting her lashes at Daniels for about the fifty-seventh time.

  Theodosia nodded. She didn’t think much of Sawyer Daniels. He projected a kind of phony I’m-smarter-than-you attitude that made her wonder what Miss Drucilla had seen in him. Did Daniels give his clients a bunch of mumbo jumbo, or was he just the new breed of money guy? Probably, when Daniels presented Miss Drucilla with all her giving options, all neat and tidy on a fancy spreadsheet, she’d been duly impressed. Maybe Daniels was diligent and good at his job. Or maybe he was just a fast talker who was proficient at Excel.

  As the chime sounded for the audience to take their seats, Delaine gave Daniels a kiss on the cheek and bid him goodbye.

  “Hope to see you again real soon,” Delaine said as they walked away.

  “You don’t think he’s a little old for you?” Theodosia asked as they entered the semidark theater.

  “These days, age is totally irrelevant,” Delaine said. “People can be old souls or they can be young at heart.” Then she giggled. “Of course, if we’re talking about old family money, that’s entirely different. Nothing makes a girl’s heart go pitty-pat like old Charleston money.”

  “From what I’ve observed, most old Charleston families hang on to their old Charleston money rather carefully.”

  “Yes,” Delaine said, frowning. “That does present a problem.”

  They settled into blue velvet seats that were located in the center section, twenty rows back from the stage.

  “Not too bad,” Delaine observed.

  “Are you kidding? This is great,” Theodosia said. Now that she was here, now that the orchestra was tuning up and the ballet was about to begin, she was suddenly looking forward to it.

  “Oh my goodness.” Delaine nudged Theodosia’s shoulder. “Take a look at where Sawyer Daniels is sitting.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Delaine gave a nod. “Over there. Best seats in the house.”

  Theodosia scanned the theater and found Sawyer Daniels sitting in one of the box seats just above and to the right of the stage. Prime seats to be sure.

  “Such wonderful tickets he has,” Delaine cooed. “I really must get to know the man better.”

  Then the lights dimmed and the music started. From there it was a whirlwind of ballet dancers, lovely music, prima ballerinas, and fabulous choruses.

  Halfway through the first act, Delaine clutched Theodosia’s hand and said, “Don’t you just adore a tragic love story?”

  “I do,” Theodosia whispered back, “as long as it’s not too tragic.”

  But the ballet was beautifully done and Theodosia had a surprisingly good time, which meant she didn’t get home until well after eleven o’clock.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Theodosia walked in, Earl Grey was curled up in front of the fireplace (on his downstairs doggy bed), waiting for her.

  “How are you doing?” Theodosia asked when he lifted his head and gazed at her sleepy eyed. “Did Mrs. Barry take you for a walk tonight?” Mrs. Barry was Earl Grey’s doggy day care lady. A retired schoolteacher, she stopped by most afternoons (and some evenings) to take Earl Grey out for a walk.

  “Rrowr,” Earl Grey said, getting up, then shifting to a stretched-out downward-dog pose.

  “Okay, you go ahead and finish your yoga. Then we’ll go outside and have ourselves a good sniff.”

  Theodosia glanced around her living room as Earl Grey slowly composed himself. She’d left her Christmas tree lights on and they lent a warm, cheery glow. Theodosia was proud of her home decor—loved the exposed beams, the Aubusson carpet, the mixture of French and English furniture, much of which she’d had re-covered in chintz. There was also a mirrored cocktail table, an enormous sweetgrass basket filled with magazines, catalogs, and newspapers, and a vintage tea trolley that she used as a sideboard for cocktails when she entertained.

  The mantel above her fireplace held a row of silver mint julep cups, all antique, though she figured that adding a row of greens, probably some blue spruce, and some mini lights would make her place look all the more Christmassy.

  Theodosia changed her shoes, but kept her fuzzy shrug on as she walked Earl Grey around the block. And was glad for the warmth the jacket offered because it really had turned chilly. Trees shuddered in the stiff breeze; dry leaves tumbled down the middle of quiet streets that were lit by old-fashioned wrought iron lamps. Theodosia’s neighborhood was an amalgam of mansions and cottages with the occasional Charleston single house thrown in for good measure. But it was all lovely and elegant and historic with palmetto trees fronting stately, well-preserved homes, many of which were painted in a French palette of cream, pink, and eggshell blue. Here and there were remnants of cobblestone streets and a few sprawling live oak trees added real character. Charleston also boasted a steepled skyline and Theodosia could see a half dozen or so floodlit church steeples looming in the darkness.

  As Theodosia and her dog turned and walked down the back alley, she noted that the Granville Mansion, the large home next to hers, was still dark. The owner, a man named Robert Steele, a hedge fund guy, had supposedly gone off to London to do business for a year and rented the place out. But nobody had showed up yet and Theodosia didn’t have a clue as to who her new neighbors might be.

  Back inside, Theodosia turned off all the lights and headed upstairs. As she shrugged out of her clothes and changed into an oversized T-shirt, she checked her text messages and saw she’d received one from Riley. It said:

  U still up to yr eyeballs in suspects?

  It was late, but she texted him back:

  Got more!

  As Theodosia smiled to herself, she heard a low growl. She turned to Earl Grey and said, “What is it, boy?”

  His hackles were raised and he was looking out the window in Theodosia’s turret room. His muzzle was pressed close to the glass and his breath had created a tiny pouf of fog.

  She frowned, mildly concerned. “What do you see, fella?”

  Theodosia walked over to the window and gazed down into her side yard. And saw . . . absolutely nothing. There was no one down there, no cars were driving by on the street, and the house next door remained dark.

  “C’mon, it’s okay,” she urged her dog. “Why don’t you crawl into bed?” Not for nothing had she
vastly overpaid for his orthopedic memory-foam bed.

  Still, Earl Grey didn’t want to abandon his post.

  Okay, if you’re so nervous, I’ll check again.

  A cold wind rattled the window in its frame as Theodosia unlatched it, gave a tug, and slid it open. She was pleased that, with the cool weather and the major drop in humidity, the window wasn’t sticky as it usually was.

  Theodosia gazed into darkness and listened. There was a whoosh of wind and tree branches rubbing together. But wait. Were those soft footsteps she heard walking away?

  Theodosia closed her eyes and listened harder. Focused with all her might on whatever might be out there. Finally . . .

  No, nothing there. Must just be the wind.

  She hoped.

  12

  As if by some preagreed-upon plan—or maybe a Vulcan mind meld—everyone showed up at the Indigo Tea Shop earlier than usual this Wednesday morning. Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley were all present and accounted for.

  Even Miss Dimple came in early, wearing a flouncy red dress with one of those pearl-studded snap-on collars that had been so popular several decades ago. All she needed to complete her holiday outfit was a red Santa cap.

  “Miss Dimple, you’re a dead ringer for Mrs. Santa Claus,” Haley said.

  Drayton shot Haley a cautious look and said, “Dead ringer? Seriously, Haley?”

  “Oops. Sorry.” Haley looked suitably stricken for about two seconds. Then she said, “No, really, Miss Dimple, you look adorable.”

  “I thought I should dress for the occasion,” Miss Dimple said, “since today’s our White Christmas Tea.”

  “Excuse me, but we have to get through our morning teatime first,” Drayton reminded them.

  “I get it, I get it,” Haley said, “which is why I’m retreating to my kitchen lair.”

  “That girl,” Drayton said, shaking his head. “If she weren’t Charleston’s preeminent baker, I’d . . .”

  “You’d what?” Miss Dimple asked. “Fire her?”

  “No, I’d probably put her in charge of the city,” Drayton said. “Have you seen how Haley handles our vendors? They’re all terrified of her.”

  “She’s got a way of making people snap to,” Miss Dimple agreed. “And that adorable little orange-and-brown cat of hers . . . What’s its name? Teacake?”

  “It’s a stray Haley found in the back alley,” Theodosia said.

  “More like lured it in with food,” Drayton said.

  Twenty minutes later the tea shop was buzzing. Theodosia was offering a plated cream-tea special this morning—an eggnog scone with Devonshire cream served alongside a small bowl of fresh strawberries and your choice of spiced tea. Needless to say, it was an instant hit.

  “Our customers are loving your cream-tea special,” Drayton observed as he pushed a pot of Assam tea across the counter to Theodosia.

  “I know. They seem to enjoy it when I make ordering a no-brainer.”

  “More like all-inclusive,” Drayton said. He lifted the lid on the pot of Assam, frowned, and said, “No, this needs to steep an extra minute or two.”

  “Okay.”

  “So how was last night’s ballet?”

  “It was actually a lot of fun.”

  “Even though you were in the company of Madam Delaine?”

  “Even with Delaine. Oh, and guess who we ran into.”

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Drayton said.

  “Sawyer Daniels, the guy who runs that charity-review company.”

  “The fellow with the high voice.”

  “That’s the one. And man, oh man, did he ever have fantastic seats. They were balcony box seats just above and to the right of the stage.”

  Drayton fixed Theodosia with a crooked half smile. “Excuse me, but those are Miss Drucilla’s seats. That’s where she always sat.”

  “No kidding. Well, somehow Daniels got his grubby little hands on her tickets,” Theodosia said.

  “He must have been tight with her. A true confidant.”

  “I guess so, although he comes across as kind of . . . mm . . .”

  “Yes?” Drayton said.

  “I was going to say crude, but that’s not quite right. Maybe more cocky than anything.”

  “Well, he’s a money guy. They tend to be a touch arrogant.”

  “I guess.” Then, “Did you remember that I have to be at the Holiday Market this afternoon? Brooke set me up with a table and she says it’s going to be kind of a big deal. Lots of fun vendors and jolly old St. Nick is supposed to put in a personal appearance.”

  “I have the tea tins all ready. They’re the cute red ones I ordered last June.”

  “And they’re filled with tea and . . . ?”

  “Haley already stuck the labels on,” Drayton said.

  “Well, good. You guys are way ahead of me,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton lifted the lid on the teapot again and said, “We try.” And then, “This is ready now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia was chatting with Jill and her daughter, Kristen, when the front door popped open (for about the fiftieth time) and a familiar face came bobbing toward her.

  She said, “Excuse me,” to her guests and then wandered over to greet Wade Holland.

  “I’ve heard so much about your place from Pauline that I had to drop by and see for myself,” Wade said. He gazed about the bustling shop, taking it all in. “And I have to say her assessment was spot-on. It’s cute. I mean, like English-countryside cute.”

  “Thank you,” Theodosia said. “A lot of love and hard work went into this little tea shop.”

  “I can see that,” Wade said as they moved toward the counter. “And you’re crazy busy, too. Not a table to be had. Good thing I only stopped by for takeout.”

  “We can certainly help you there,” Drayton said, smiling at him. “How about an eggnog scone and a cup of . . .”

  “Green tea,” Wade said. “Always love the green tea.”

  “Got it,” Drayton said.

  “You know,” Theodosia said, “I drove past your shop yesterday. On my way to check out that art consultant.”

  “You should have stopped in. King’s Ransom is stocked to the rafters with tons of Christmas gifties. I bet you’d like our stuff,” Wade said.

  “Maybe I can still manage to come by, though things are pretty crazy here,” Theodosia said.

  Wade nodded, but his expression had suddenly turned serious. “I have to tell you—I’m truly grateful that you’ve been looking into things for Pauline. She’s been worried sick and working herself into a grand tizzy. She thinks the police are going to grab her, toss her in a windowless room, and shine bright lights in her eyes until she confesses.”

  “I don’t believe the police see Pauline as any kind of suspect or accessory to the crime,” Theodosia said.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I am,” Theodosia said.

  “Good. That’s good to hear, because Pauline is really freaking out.”

  “Now that you’re here, I have a question for you. One that’s just this side of impertinent,” Theodosia said.

  “Oh yeah?” Wade said.

  “In speaking with some of the party guests, it was brought to my attention that Pauline might have a gambling issue.”

  “Gambling?” Now Wade looked completely perplexed. “You mean like going on a—what would you call it—a junket to Las Vegas?”

  “Or anywhere really.”

  Wade’s look of consternation suddenly morphed into a boyish grin. “Gambling. That’s pretty funny because I’d have to say the closest Pauline’s ever come to gambling is maybe—maybe—going to a church bingo game or buying a raffle ticket.”

  “Really,” Theodosia said.

  “Really,” Wade sa
id.

  “Okay, I’m going to take your word for it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Wade said. “Someone actually mentioned this to you? Accused Pauline of being a gambler?”

  “You could say that.”

  Wade frowned. “Wow. That’s so not cool. Can you tell me who it was?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Well, whatever jerk was spreading rumors, it sounds as if they’re trying to throw Pauline under the bus, which I think is just plain awful. Unconscionable, really. Especially when she’s been such a good and loyal employee to Miss Drucilla. And she’s been staying on and working so hard to get everything in order for the estate.”

  “I hate to admit it, but there are some nasty people out there,” Theodosia said. “People who’ll make up stories.”

  “More like lies,” Wade said.

  “Here you go,” Drayton called from behind the counter. He snapped a lid on a take-out cup and handed over an indigo blue bag. “Organic green tea and we dug up a nice healthy blueberry scone. Instant fortification for your busy day.”

  “This is terrific,” Wade said, accepting the takeout from Drayton. “I’m really into wellness and trying to get Pauline to think the same way. You know, drinking green tea, practicing tai chi, earthing, that sort of thing.”

  “Is earthing where you walk around outdoors barefoot?” Drayton asked. “Grass between your toes and all that?”

  “Yes, it’s extremely healthy and connects you to the earth’s vibrations. You ever try it?” Wade asked.

  “Heavens no,” Drayton said.

  “Well, thank you anyway,” Wade said. He raised his cup of tea in a kind of salute. “Hopefully, this’ll see me through a busy morning.”

  “Come back soon,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, with a full house and customers waiting to be seated, a sort of crisis arose. Not exactly a life-and-death crisis. More like the delivery of a gigantic, sixteen-foot-high white flocked Christmas tree.