Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

“I know we can,” Theodosia said as she rolled up her sleeves and began clearing tables.

  “I wish I could stay and help out at tomorrow’s tea,” Beth Ann said. “Today turned out to be so much fun.”

  “Dear girl, you’re welcome back anytime,” Drayton assured her. He rolled up the Oriental carpet in the entryway, then grabbed a broom and began sweeping the tea room floor.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate the invite,” Beth Ann said. Then to Theodosia, “Do you want me to gather up the linens before I go?”

  “No, that’s okay, I can take care of it,” Theodosia said. “Just say your goodbyes to Haley and then scamper off. I know you’ve got a ride to catch.”

  “I think my dad might be parked outside right now,” Beth Ann said, glancing out a window.

  “C’mere then. Give me a hug,” Theodosia said. The two women embraced and Theodosia said, “Ditto for what Drayton said. You’re welcome back anytime. As our guest or as part of the team.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Beth Ann said. She ducked into the kitchen, blew multiple kisses to Haley, and grabbed her bright red moto jacket. As she shrugged into her jacket and yanked open the front door, she almost collided with someone who was coming in. “Oops, ’scuse me,” she yelped, and was gone.

  Theodosia looked up and said, “Uh-oh,” then watched uncomfortably as Coy Cooper came walking toward her.

  Cooper was dressed in a camel hair coat, a moss green sweater, and dark slacks. To Theodosia’s eye he looked young . . . and rich. Almost indolently rich, which was the worst kind.

  “What brings you here?” Theodosia asked him in an even tone.

  Cooper’s face was set in an intense scowl, as if he were on some kind of dreadful mission. He threw a quick glance at Drayton, instantly dismissed him, then focused his gaze back on Theodosia.

  “Hey there,” Cooper said. A small wave accompanied a greeting that was guarded.

  Theodosia placed a Shelley Dainty Blue teacup and saucer in a tub that held a stack of other cups. “I didn’t think you’d still be hanging around Charleston,” she said. “Figured you’d run off to wherever.”

  “I need to talk to you,” Cooper said. “It’s important.”

  “What’s important?”

  “I want to hire you.”

  “Excuse me?” Had she heard him correctly? Or was this some kind of snarky joke?

  “That dead art dealer you stumbled upon last night?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Yeah. You’re not the only one who talks to the cops.” Cooper paused. “I don’t think that was the guy who murdered my aunt.”

  “A lot of things point to it,” Theodosia said slowly.

  “Not really,” Cooper said. “Looks to me like somebody got his shorts in a bunch over that missing painting and murdered the art dealer. Maybe the art dealer knew something. Maybe he’s the one who stole the painting. Anyway, he got whacked. And the way I see it, his killer has to be the same guy who murdered my aunt, right?”

  “I suppose there could be some sort of conspiracy,” Theodosia said. She didn’t really believe that, but tossed it out anyway.

  “No,” Cooper said. “Wolf-Knapp may have been a crook and a pitiful excuse for a human being, but he didn’t kill my aunt. Someone else did.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  Cooper rocked back on his heels. “You’re asking me? I have no idea. That’s why I want to hire you.”

  “Of course you’re not serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Theodosia said.

  Cooper frowned. “Come on, you don’t think I did it, do you? Murdered my own aunt?” He stopped and stared at her intently. “Well. Maybe you do. Just a little bit?”

  “Maybe I do,” Theodosia countered.

  “Then you’re wasting your time. And you strike me as a fairly intelligent person who doesn’t waste time on the ridiculous or nonsensical.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “Will money?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Can’t be bought, huh?” Cooper said, eyeing her. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

  “Go back and talk to the police,” Theodosia said. “They’re the ones running the investigation.”

  “Like I said before, I already had a confab with them. Can’t say I’m impressed.”

  Join the club, Theodosia thought. Then she said, “If you’ve spoken to the police, they must have shared some ideas with you.”

  “Yeah,” Cooper said. “Like the usual suspects.”

  “Those being . . .”

  “Smokey the wild-eyed handyman seemed to be numero uno on their hot list. For a while anyway.”

  “But what do you think?” Theodosia asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the various players like you seem to be.”

  Drayton, who’d been wielding his broom and was almost finished sweeping the tea room, said, “I’m sorry, but we’ll be closing in two minutes.” He walked to the door and pulled it open. Continued to sweep in that direction.

  “Giving me the bum’s rush, huh?” Cooper said to Theodosia.

  She shrugged. “Like the man said, we’re closing.”

  “Sure,” Cooper said. He shook his head and started for the door. As he passed Drayton, he said, “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You’re welcome,” Drayton said pleasantly. Then he closed the door, locked it, and said, “That was odd.”

  “No kidding,” Theodosia said.

  “Do you think Coy Cooper was serious about hiring you?”

  “Maybe he was just making an end run, checking to see if I’ve figured anything out.”

  “Or to see if you’re onto him?” Drayton said.

  “Could be.”

  “Do you suspect him?”

  “I didn’t until just now.”

  “Interesting,” Drayton said. “Okay, quickly changing the subject. Have you thought about who’s going to help serve tomorrow?”

  “I’ve been working on that. I’ve got a woman I could call or Isabelle over at the Dove Cote Inn has a couple of young ladies who help serve at their banquets.”

  “Your decision sooner than later would be optimal,” Drayton said.

  BANG! BANG! Another loud knock sounded at the front door.

  “Is that pest back again?” Drayton said. “Does the man not comprehend the meaning of closed?”

  But when Drayton peered out the front window, he discovered it wasn’t Coy Cooper who was standing there banging away.

  “What on earth?” Drayton said as he unlocked the door and pulled it open to reveal a second surprise guest—Donny Bragg looming in the doorway. “What do you want?”

  Bragg wore a dark green snorkel parka, jeans, and desert boots. He looked as if he was about to run off to investigate the wilds of Alaska.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked. His cheeks had pink blooms on them, as if he’d huffed along for several blocks in the cold.

  Theodosia and Drayton both responded with a resounding “Yes!”

  “That’s too bad,” Bragg said, taking a preemptive step into the tea room. “Because I came here to say my piece.”

  “Which is?” Theodosia hurried to the front hallway to meet him. Not because she was being polite, but to block him from coming in any farther.

  “Stop meddling!” Bragg shouted at her. “The police have been all over Smokey like stink on a dead polecat for the past three days and it’s driving the poor guy nuts. Hell, it’s driving me nuts.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve both been inconvenienced,” Theodosia said. “But the fact remains, a woman was murdered.”

  “As well as an art dealer,” Drayton said.

  “Not by me. And certainly not by
Smokey.” Bragg dug in his coat pocket, drew out a cigar, and waved it in Theodosia’s face. “I’m not one bit worried about the police department’s so-called investigation, but I’m asking you to back off.” He turned toward Drayton. “And you, too, friend. No more questions, no more snooping, no more nasty innuendos—you hear me?”

  “Good heavens,” Drayton said in a mild tone. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat. I do believe I’m quaking in my boots.”

  “All I want is for you people to mind your own business,” Bragg snarled. “Now, I’ll be flying down to the Bahamas for Christmas, but Smokey’s going to hang around and look after my house. So I want you to leave him alone!” He waved his cigar in Theodosia’s direction. “Ya got that?”

  “You’re threatening me with a Cohiba?” Theodosia said as Drayton angled his broom and deftly swept a ridge of dust onto the toes of Bragg’s shoes.

  “Hey!” Bragg cried as he stomped his feet and backed away. “These are expensive!”

  * * *

  * * *

  “Should we be worried about Donny Bragg?” Drayton asked as he climbed into Theodosia’s Jeep.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “What if he’s the one who killed Miss Drucilla? What if by warning you to stay away from Smokey, he’s basically smoke-screening himself?”

  “A left-handed way of putting the blame on Smokey? Of reinforcing our suspicions? I suppose that’s always a possibility,” Theodosia said. “But Bragg doesn’t scare me. He’s one of those guys who blusters up a storm but rarely backs it up with any sort of action. Like they say in Texas, all hat and no cattle.”

  “What if Bragg’s not really flying down to Rio for Christmas?”

  “The Bahamas,” Theodosia said.

  “Whatever. What if he plans to sneak around and see how things shake out?”

  “Then we’ll deal with him.”

  “Huh.” Drayton buttoned his navy pea coat and pulled the seat belt strap across his chest. “Sometimes I don’t think you worry enough.”

  “Oh no,” Theodosia said as she pulled away from the curb. “That’s all I’ve done this week is worry. Worry about Miss Drucilla’s murder, worry about Donny Bragg and Smokey being involved . . .” She zipped around a corner, making Drayton reach out to steady himself. “Worry about stupid dead Julian Wolf-Knapp, our holiday tea parties, the missing Renoir, Pauline, and even you.”

  “Me?” Drayton said.

  “I worry that I pulled you into this . . . mess. And that we might never find an answer.”

  Drayton relaxed. “Oh well. You shouldn’t. Worry, I mean. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

  Theodosia turned down Archdale Street, heading for Charleston Harbor and the Parade of Boats.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly batting a thousand. We’ve been chasing our tails, spinning theories like they’re cobwebs, but not making a whole lot of forward progress.”

  “We’ve made some progress,” Drayton said. “After all, we’ve eliminated one of our main suspects.”

  “Wolf-Knapp?” Theodosia let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not sure that counts.”

  They rode along in silence for a few blocks. Finally, Drayton said, “It counts.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The Parade of Boats was a big deal in Charleston. As much a Christmas tradition as The Nutcracker, Handel’s Messiah, and A Christmas Carol at the Dock Street Theatre. Which was why White Point Gardens was humming with activity tonight. Spectators lined the shoreline ten deep; food trucks selling fried oysters, po’boy sandwiches, kettle corn, and pulled pork were parked along Battery Street. And vendors selling glow sticks, Mylar balloons, and other trinkets and gewgaws worked the jostling crowd.

  “Shall we get you a holly corsage?” Drayton asked as a man carrying a cardboard display board filled with red-and-green corsages strolled past them.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Theodosia said. She had her eye on a slice of shoreline where they might get a good view of the boats as they came by. “Come on, let’s try to worm our way in.”

  They shouldered their way past a few dozen people and, surprise, surprise, found an unoccupied sandy spot.

  “Two inches closer and we’ll be wading in the harbor,” Drayton said. He was shifting from one foot to the other, fretting about getting his shoes wet.

  “Cheer up,” Theodosia said. “You were the one who wanted to come here tonight. Surely you can appreciate a prime viewing spot, right?”

  Drayton edged his heels back onto drier land. “Right.”

  “I for one am glad we came,” Theodosia said as a gust of wind caught her hair and spun it into auburn streamers. “Here we are, right at the tip of the Peninsula, where pirates used to land their frigates, where major battles were fought, where historic old cannons still stand guard.”

  Drayton smiled. “With the one-hundred-eighty-year-old Citadel located nearby. Nothing like a good dose of history to stir the fire in one’s blood.”

  As if to punctuate his sentence a loud BOOM erupted from out on the choppy water.

  “They’re coming!” someone behind them yelled excitedly. “The boats are coming!”

  Everyone pushed closer to the shoreline and craned their necks expectantly.

  And then they saw it. The lead boat in the Parade of Boats was a mighty three-masted schooner. Lit with thousands of tiny white lights from stem to stern, it looked like a fairy-tale ship as it glided toward them. Appreciative shouts rang out; hundreds of people applauded. And then an armada of at least fifty boats came into view as the spectacle steamed toward them. There were yachts, sailboats both large and small, and powerboats as well. All were decorated with gleaming bright lights that reflected pixelated images in the shimmering water.

  One of the sailboats had its mast draped with green lights in the shape of a Christmas tree. Another boat featured a giant star atop its mast. One boat had blue lights in the shape of dolphins carousing along its hull.

  “This is wonderful,” Theodosia said.

  “Isn’t it?” Drayton said. “Aren’t you glad we came?”

  Theodosia nodded. “I am. This is what it’s all about: tradition, everyone enjoying a shared experience, the true spirit of Christmas.”

  “Goodness. If we’re not careful, spontaneous Christmas caroling may break out.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Actually, I think it would be lovely,” Drayton said.

  Boats continued to stream past them. A Santa Claus wearing a white-and-gold skipper cap helmed one of the boats. That one elicited cheers and got a hearty wave back from Santa. Another boat had its mast decorated in the shape of a palm tree, Charleston’s ubiquitous symbol of welcome. Some boats had flashing lights; others had chase lights reminiscent of theater marquees.

  When the last boat had finally sailed by, Drayton said, “I know we’re on a tight schedule, but there’s a food truck over there selling cocoa and donuts. Care to indulge? Now that the wind’s come up, it might be nice to warm our innards.”

  “The temp’s supposed to drop down to forty degrees tonight,” Theodosia said. “And it feels like it’s already bobsledding that way. So I’d say hot cocoa is perfect.”

  They wandered through the crowd of several hundred people, no one in a hurry to leave. Boat watching had morphed into stargazing in what was a blue-black sky lit with crystalline orbs.

  “Everyone’s waiting for the fireworks to start,” Theodosia said.

  “Should be any minute,” Drayton said as they approached one of the gaily decorated food trucks. “Let’s see. They’ve got cocoa, hot cider, coffee, donuts, oh, and cream puffs. Of course they won’t be nearly as delicious as . . .”

  “Drayton!” Theodosia suddenly grasped his coat sleeve and pulled him aside.

  “Hmm?” Drayton
was still studying the menu on the side of the truck. Bouncy yellow type against a dark orange background.

  “Look over there,” Theodosia hissed.

  “What?” Drayton cranked his head around fast, searching in all directions.

  “Not there. There. You see those two people? Kind of whispering and almost kissing? That’s Sawyer Daniels and Majel Mercer!”

  26

  Drayton gazed at the couple who stood some fifty feet away from them. He clenched his hands, looked back at Theodosia, and cleared his throat.

  “I didn’t realize they knew each other so well,” he said finally.

  Daniels and Mercer seemed to exist in their own little bubble. They stood close together, smiling, eyes locked on each other, executing that subtle little dance that couples often do, hips and shoulders swaying and touching.

  “It would appear that Daniels’s company, the, um, one that makes recommendations on charitable giving, is familiar with Miss Mercer’s advocacy group,” Drayton added.

  Theodosia was a little less circumspect. “I’d say they’re more than a little familiar,” she said as Sawyer Daniels pulled Majel Mercer into his arms and kissed her full on the lips.

  Drayton’s brows arced practically to his hairline. “Oh my, I didn’t realize they were having an actual relationship.”

  But Theodosia’s naturally suspicious brain was already cranking out a vivid scenario.

  “Drayton, what if Daniels nudged Miss Drucilla into donating substantial funds to Majel Mercer’s Justice Initiative?”

  “Why would Daniels do that?”

  “What if his firm’s not entirely on the up-and-up? What if Daniels can be bought, or he exacts a nice healthy cut for every recommendation he makes?”

  “A payoff?” Drayton said.

  “Why not?” And then, because another idea had just jolted Theodosia’s brain, she said, “And what if . . . just what if Miss Drucilla suddenly got wise to their little two-act play?”

  Drayton’s shoulders jerked spasmodically. “You think Miss Drucilla might have figured out that she was being scammed? That would mean Daniels and Mercer would both be exposed as frauds.”