Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “Okay,” she whispered. “We’d better scram before we’re really in hot water.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Jogging back down the alley, Theodosia turned and headed down Legare again. She passed directly in front of Bragg’s house, not looking that way, almost pretending the place didn’t exist, but all the while searching out of the corner of her eyes to see if anything was amiss.

  It didn’t seem to be, thank goodness.

  Her heart lifted as she and Earl Grey picked up the pace.

  But those syringes! Was Smokey the killer?

  Somehow it didn’t feel right. And yet . . . there they were. Bright orange syringes. The same type that had been used on Miss Drucilla.

  Theodosia and Earl Grey stopped at the corner, waited for a car to swoosh by, then crossed the street.

  Time to head home. Tonight’s run felt somehow tainted.

  But as Theodosia and Earl Grey started down Meeting Street, footsteps sounded behind them.

  Is that Smokey? Or Donny Bragg? Did one of those goofballs see me?

  Theodosia immediately picked up the pace. She was fast and in good condition from almost nightly runs. She could probably outrun anybody if she had to. Or if she was frightened enough.

  On the other hand, whoever was following behind her was running faster, too!

  Anger flared.

  Somebody’s chasing me? I don’t think so.

  She bounded down Price’s Alley, Earl Grey running beside her. This was one of the narrow hidden lanes that catacombed its way through the Historic District. Listed on the Historic Register, Price’s Alley was too narrow for cars, was paved with antique flagstones, and boasted tall brick walls festooned with hanging ivy. And it was dark as a coal bin. Nobody would see her as she slipped along. . . .

  BANG!

  Something zinged past her, bounced off the wall ahead of her.

  Theodosia was stunned.

  What! Did somebody just fire a shot at me?

  Like a gazelle hell-bent on escaping a hungry lion, Theodosia juked left. She and Earl Grey flew over a low brick wall, landed in a secret garden, sprinted through a forest of azaleas, dodged a marble statue of a Greek goddess pouring water, and popped out onto a well-lit street.

  Two blocks later they were home, Theodosia’s heart still beating out of her chest, Earl Grey figuring it had all been great fun.

  She flew through the back door, yanked Earl Grey in after her, and turned the lock.

  Her throat burning, chest heaving, Theodosia realized she’d just run a mile in under six minutes, which was basic qualifying time for the Boston Marathon.

  Now was not the time to celebrate her personal best.

  She double-checked her lock, then ran to the front door and made sure that was locked, too. And just in case, she dragged over a chair from the dining room and wedged it under the doorknob.

  Okay, calm down, she told herself. Try to get your heart rate down from a terrified one fifty to a more manageable eighty.

  She walked back into her dining room, stared into the large framed mirror that hung over her Sheraton buffet, and thought, My hair looks crazy. So maybe I should . . .

  Her cell phone shrilled, making her jump. Had Donny Bragg seen her after all? Was he calling to scream and cackle at her? But no, it was Riley.

  Theodosia wondered for a split second if she should she tell him what had just happened? No, if she did that, she’d have to confess to sneaking into Smokey’s apartment and then he’d jump on a plane and fly back here. Forbid her from continuing the investigation. Maybe even lock her up and throw away the key.

  “Hey there,” Theodosia said in what she hoped was a relaxed and happy tone of voice.

  “Hey there, yourself,” Riley said. “Are you still investigating?”

  “Oh, you know . . .” When in doubt, Theodosia decided to hedge as much as possible. “Now and then, when I have a little free time.” She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she’d run home half-crazed because somebody had taken a shot at her. Although, now that she’d had time to think about it rationally, maybe she’d overreacted. Maybe it had been something else. A car backfiring? A window being slammed. A rock being thrown? Please, anything else.

  Riley snapped her out of her reverie.

  “I figured as much,” Riley said. “And I realize it’s difficult for you to leave these things alone.”

  “Riley, if you could have seen that poor woman . . . dead on the floor of her home. Like some poor little creature that had been poisoned.”

  “I know, I know. I’m familiar with the aftermath of murder. Just remember that this investigation you insist on getting involved in is not some game of Clue. The killer is not Mr. Plum in the library with a candlestick. This happens to be the real deal and quite deadly at that.”

  “I’ve been scrupulously careful and mostly just asked questions.” Theodosia squeezed her eyes shut at hearing her own little white lie.

  “How can I fault you on that?” Riley laughed. But he said it like he didn’t quite believe her.

  They talked for another ten minutes, Theodosia trying her best to keep the conversation light and upbeat. The weather, the tea shop, his Christmas plans. Then they said heartfelt good nights and promised to talk again tomorrow night.

  Wandering into the kitchen, Theodosia brewed a cup of chamomile tea—always good for calming the nerves—and carried it upstairs.

  In between sips she took off her makeup, took a hot shower, brushed her hair (boy, did it ever need brushing), and changed into one of her oversized T-shirts. She walked into her tower room and peeked out the upstairs window. She listened carefully, but nothing was stirring.

  Not even a mouse. Or a rat. Good. That means nobody followed me home. Nobody’s lurking outside.

  But just in case, Theodosia dragged Earl Grey’s dog bed from his usual spot in the bedroom to the top of the stairs. He eyed it questioningly for a few moments, then plopped down contentedly.

  “Good dog. Guard the house please.”

  With Earl Grey at his post, Theodosia fell into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  * * *

  BZZZ. BZZZ.

  Something was buzzing around Theodosia like an angry hornet. Just edging into REM sleep, she wondered if she was dreaming about bees. She came awake halfway, decided she didn’t much care for the idea, told her brain to please dream about something else, and fell back asleep again.

  BZZZ. BZZZ.

  Annoying. What was that awful sound?

  This time Theodosia sat halfway up in bed. And realized . . . it was her phone making that noise. And not a buzz at all but an insistent ring-bling. Who was calling? It had to be the middle of the night, right?

  Who’d call me at . . . ? What time is it anyway?

  Theodosia pushed back the covers, rolled over, and squinted at her bedside clock.

  Two thirty in the morning. Could it be Riley? Has something happened?

  She pawed around on her night table, finally snagged her phone, and answered sleepily.

  “Hello?”

  It was Haley. Babbling a mile a minute, garbled words gushing out of her. She wasn’t just excited; she sounded terrified.

  “Theodosia, you’ve got to come quick and help!” Haley cried. “I think . . . Oh, this is terrible. I don’t know what to . . .”

  “Haley. Slow down.” Theodosia was still sleep fogged and groggy. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Somebody’s downstairs trying to break in!” Haley cried in a frightened whisper.

  “Break into the tea shop?” Now Theodosia was instantly awake. Haley’s apartment, what used to be her old apartment, was directly above the tea shop!

  “Jeez. I mean . . . I think they’re still in the alley, but they’re trying to get in.”

  “Did y
ou call 911?”

  “No. I’m hiding in the bathroom with Teacup. Will you call them for me?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to call on my landline. I want you to lock the door—barricade it if you can—and stay on the line with me.”

  “Okay, okay,” Haley gibbered.

  Theodosia ran downstairs—thank goodness she had another line—and called 911. Told the dispatcher what was happening, gave them her name and Haley’s name. When the dispatcher assured her a patrol car was on the way, she thanked them, then relayed that information to Haley.

  “But what should I do now,” Haley cried, “until the police get here?”

  “Stay in your bathroom and keep quiet.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “Fast as I can, honey,” Theodosia said. “I’m running upstairs now to get dressed. Hang tight.”

  “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Theodosia came screeching into the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop, it was all over but the writing of the police report. A black-and-white cruiser with the blue police graphic was parked there, its light bar strobing red and blue, the two uniformed officers trying to calm down a very frightened Haley.

  “What happened?” Theodosia asked as she jumped from her Jeep.

  An officer with a name tag that read hurley turned to her. “You’re the shop owner?”

  She nodded. “Theodosia Browning, yes.” Then, putting a hand on Haley’s shoulder, said, “Are you okay?”

  “She’s mostly just shaken up,” the second officer said. His name tag read barron.

  “I’m mostly just shaken up,” Haley said, repeating his words. She was wearing a down jacket over her pajamas and had little Teacup cuddled in her arms. The orange-and-brown cat looked fine, Haley not so much.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. I imagine you were scared to death,” Theodosia said.

  “Well, yeah, since some jackhole tried to jimmy open our back door,” Haley said. She shifted Teacup in her arms and pointed to a series of ugly gouges in the wood.

  “Probably just kids running wild and fooling around,” Officer Barron said. “We see this crap all the time. Amateur night breaking and entering. We even got a callout for a dumpster fire a couple of hours ago over on Queen Street. Behind that fast-food place Hot Diggity Dog. What a stink that made.”

  “Still, your door was worked over pretty good,” Officer Hurley said. “Maybe you should go inside, make sure that everything’s okay. You know, for insurance purposes.”

  Feeling deeply unsettled, Theodosia stuck her key in the lock—thank goodness it still worked—and opened the door. As she flipped on the lights and glanced around her office, she wondered what the burglar had been looking for. What had he hoped to steal? Teapots? Baskets? Christmas decorations?

  On the other hand, a more critical question might have been, who had been trying to jimmy their way in? Could it be the same person who’d fired a shot at her the previous evening? Did they think she still lived here?

  “Everything seems to be fine,” Theodosia told the officers. “Thanks for responding so quickly.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Haley said, her teeth still chattering.

  “We’re on until six, so we’ll cruise by a couple of times, make sure these clowns, whoever they are, don’t decide to sneak back,” Officer Hurley said.

  “Thank you,” Theodosia said. She watched with Haley as the officers climbed into their cruiser and pulled away, then said, “Do you want to come home with me for the rest of the night?”

  “Naw,” Haley said. “I think I’ll be okay.” She sounded much calmer now.

  “Okay, but if you get scared, just call.”

  “Will do,” Haley said. Then, “Are you gonna get the door fixed?”

  “I’ll call the hardware store first thing tomorrow.”

  Theodosia also wondered if she should call Detective Tidwell. After all, if this break-in was somehow related to the murder investigation . . .

  Then she decided that no, it was late and she should let the man get his beauty sleep. She’d see him soon enough at Miss Drucilla’s funeral tomorrow.

  Glancing at her watch, Theodosia corrected herself. No, the funeral was actually today since it was now ten after three in the morning.

  Oh dear.

  17

  The morning of the funeral dawned far too abruptly for Theodosia. She was dog-tired after dealing with last night’s break-in, feeling so discombobulated she could barely think straight, and woefully in need of a strong cup of tea.

  Arriving at St. Philip’s Church at twenty to nine, attired in a black jacket and slacks, Theodosia hastily located Drayton and pulled him aside so she could give him the lowdown on last night.

  “Haley already told me,” Drayton said as they huddled in one of the church’s three pedimented porticos. “When I stopped by the tea shop first thing.”

  “So you know about the break-in,” Theodosia said.

  “Do you suppose it’s because we’ve been investigating?” Drayton asked. He’d abandoned his normal tweedy look today and was dressed in a decorous black three-piece suit with a herringbone necktie. Because he was wearing a somber expression to match, Theodosia thought mourners might easily mistake him for one of the funeral directors.

  “I’m thinking we stirred up some kind of nasty hornet’s nest. Only whoever tried to break in, for whatever reason, must have thought I still lived in that upstairs apartment.” Theodosia wondered if she should tell Drayton about the hypodermic needles she’d seen at Smokey’s apartment. No, maybe wait until after the funeral.

  Drayton’s brow furrowed as he digested Theodosia’s words. “Do you think the burglar was after you?”

  Theodosia bit her lip. “I’m not sure it was a burglar so much as . . .”

  “As what?”

  “I hate to even think this, but the burglar could have been the same person who murdered Miss Drucilla.” There, she’d said it. The terrible thought that had wormed its way into her brain right after she woke up and been stuck there ever since.

  Drayton’s face crumpled, his shoulders sagged. “That means it was someone fairly close to the investigation. Someone who knows we’re involved.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “And they were intent on what? Sending a warning? Trying to stop you?”

  “That’d be my best guess,” Theodosia said.

  “Holy Hannah, maybe we’re all in danger,” Drayton said.

  “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess in the first place. I apologize.”

  Drayton raised a hand to touch his bow tie, found it wasn’t there, and fluttered his fingers instead. “Never mind about me. On second thought, I’m not all that alarmed. But do you think Haley is safe? She’s all by herself at the tea shop.”

  “She won’t be for long. Right after I phoned the hardware store to come fix the back door, I called Miss Dimple and asked her to come in and help out. Brew tea, take care of customers, hang around for the post-funeral luncheon. She said yes.”

  Drayton glanced at his watch. “So she’ll probably show up at the tea shop right about now.”

  “Probably.”

  “And we’ll be back there in an hour, so I suppose we’re okay.” He blew out a gust of air. “For now anyway.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia hadn’t heard a peep from Detective Tidwell in three days. But as she walked down the center aisle in St. Philip’s, he loomed out from one of the pews like a dark avenging angel and dropped a heavy hand on her arm.

  “I just heard,” Tidwell said gruffly. “About the break-in at your tea shop. Is everyone all right?”

  Theodosia slid sideways into his pew, his grasp a relentless tractor beam that reeled her in. “We’re unnerved but unscath
ed,” she said in a low voice.

  “Any ideas come to mind as to who was behind it?” he asked.

  “Well . . .” Theodosia knew she didn’t dare tell Tidwell that someone might have taken a shot at her last night. If she did, he’d lock her up and call Pete Riley. Then Riley would break a leg trying to get back to Charleston and all hell would break loose. And her investigating days would be over. For good.

  “Come on.” Tidwell waggled his fingers at her. “For every action a reaction. What could have prompted this sinister nocturnal visit to your tea shop?”

  Okay, I guess I have to tell him about the syringes.

  “The thing is, I did a little prowling last night. . . .” She tried to make it sound low-key.

  “Prowling where?” Tidwell demanded.

  “It was perfectly innocent really,” Theodosia said.

  Tidwell’s brows furrowed like two fuzzy caterpillars coming together. “Am I to believe you indulged in some breaking and entering?”

  “No breaking, but some unauthorized entering, yes.”

  “A night prowl. That’s enough to get you arrested,” Tidwell said.

  Theodosia raised an eyebrow. “You’d turn me in?”

  “Consider it a friendly warning. Now tell me whose home was graced by your presence?”

  Theodosia studied the church’s domed ceiling for a few moments, then said, “Actually, it was Smokey’s apartment.”

  “I told you not to investigate!” Tidwell hissed loudly. The sound caused a woman in a pink suit and matching hat who was sitting in front of them to turn around and frown.

  “But here’s the important takeaway,” Theodosia said, lowering his voice to a more church-appropriate level. “When I tiptoed into Smokey’s bathroom, I found needles.”

  “Hypodermic needles?” Now Tidwell quivered like a Boykin pointer on full alert.

  “The disposable kind. And they were orange,” Theodosia said. “They were exactly like . . .”

  Tidwell threw up a hand to silence her.