Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “That’s it,” she said to Riley. “I’m watching the Turner Classic Movies channel while I’m getting ready. Classic old dog movies.”

  “Works for me. Hey, isn’t today your big tea extravaganza, with all sorts of Victorian flappery and flaming scones on a stick?”

  “Our Grand Illumination, yes,” Theodosia said as she sank back down in bed and snuggled beneath her comforter. “I’m getting myself all psyched up even as we speak.”

  “You don’t sound all that psyched up.”

  “Give me time. I’ll get there.”

  “I know you didn’t listen when I told you to stop investigating. So I might as well ask, how is it going?”

  “Mine or Tidwell’s?” Theodosia asked.

  “Take your pick.”

  “I suppose we’re both hanging in there. Suspects still abound but no clear answers. No arrests.”

  “Ah, there will be,” Riley said.

  Theodosia perked up. “You have that on good authority?”

  “I have faith in Tidwell.”

  What about me? she wanted to say but didn’t.

  They talked some more and joked back and forth, Theodosia waking up a little bit with each passing minute. Finally, she said goodbye, hung up, and swung her legs out of bed. She regarded the seven—yes, count ’em—dogs that watched her with curiosity written on their adorable faces.

  “You know what?” she said.

  Four of the dogs cocked their heads; the others preferred to groom their paws.

  “I have to call Mrs. Barry and seriously warn her about you guys. Tell her this isn’t any ordinary dog-walking day. With this monstrous pack, she’ll have to run relays out to the backyard. Come to think of it, she might even need an assistant.”

  * * *

  * * *

  An uncertain sun hung in the sky as Theodosia pulled her Jeep into the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop. She parked as close to the back door as possible because she knew they’d soon be loading food, decorations, and gear into the back of her vehicle. As she headed inside, the morning felt crisp as an apple with a cool breeze blowing in off Charleston Harbor. And when she stuck her key in the lock of her newly installed back door, she paused for a moment to admire it. The hardware store had made sure the door was sturdy aluminum with a double latch.

  Nobody’s breaking in here—that’s for sure.

  Inside her still messy office, Theodosia shucked off her coat and tossed it on a chair.

  “Haley? Drayton? Anybody here yet?”

  “We both are,” came Haley’s voice.

  Theodosia glanced in the small mirror next to the door, said, “Eek,” and walked into the tea room.

  Drayton stood in the center of the room, tweed jacket, dress slacks, and bow tie perfect, looking dapper as an eighteenth-century English advertisement for a brick of imported tea. Appropriately enough he was sipping one of his morning brews from a bone china cup.

  “I hate to be critical,” he said. “But you have dog hair all over your slacks.”

  “Oh dear.” Theodosia swiped a hand at her slacks. Whoops, they really did look awful. Like she’d either gotten dressed in the dark or didn’t care. “Do we have any tape or one of those lint-roller thingies?”

  Haley popped out of the kitchen to look. “Wow. I can’t believe Earl Grey is shedding that much. Maybe the cold weather brought it on.”

  “It’s not his fault. It’s the six other dogs I have to contend with.”

  “What!” This was Drayton and Haley in perfect unison.

  “Here’s the deal,” Theodosia said. “Delaine’s favorite dog rescue group, Loving Paws, had what you’d call an overflow issue.”

  “You mean, too many dogs?” Haley asked.

  “And nowhere to put them,” Theodosia said.

  “So Delaine stuck you with six dogs?” Drayton said.

  “And Earl Grey makes seven. Which sets the stage for a cozy situation,” Theodosia said.

  “More like a veritable kennel. And I assume you have to feed them all,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia did an eye roll. “Are you kidding? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and they’ve already cleaned me out of kibble. Do you have any idea how much food seven dogs can eat?”

  “A better question might be, where do they sleep at night?” Haley asked.

  “Anywhere they feel like it,” Theodosia said. She brushed at her slacks some more and said, “When it rains, it pours, huh, guys?”

  Drayton nodded. “I hate to bring this up, but today is our big day and we’re still suffering from a shortage of personnel.”

  “Jeepers, Drayton, you sound like the HR department at some big honkin’ corporation,” Haley said.

  He stared at her. “And that’s bad?”

  “No, it’s just awfully . . . buttoned-up.”

  “Buttoned-up can be a good and necessary thing.”

  Haley made a face. “If you say so.”

  “I’ll go call a temp place,” Theodosia said. “See if we can get a warm body in here right away.”

  But three phone calls later and she’d struck out. Seems that tea shops weren’t the only places in dire need of temporary help at Christmas. All the retail shops, restaurants, bars, clubs, and small businesses needed people, too.

  Wondering if she should call Isabelle at the Dove Cote Inn and ask for help, Theodosia walked out into a half-full tea room to grab a morning cuppa.

  Drayton saw her and immediately pounced. “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.” Theodosia leaned both elbows on the counter and said, “But I’ll find someone. It’s only a matter of making a few more calls.”

  “Then you’ll need fortification. Good thing I brewed a pot of Puerh.”

  “I’d love some.”

  As he reached for his teapot, the front door opened and Pauline Stauber strolled in.

  “Pauline,” Theodosia almost sputtered. Why had she suddenly showed up here? Did Pauline know she’d been followed last night? Theodosia felt instantly embarrassed, as though she’d been caught doing something . . . well, not exactly illegal . . . but intrusive.

  “Theodosia,” Pauline said as she came up to the counter, “I didn’t mean to cut you off last night when you called. Apologies.”

  “That’s okay,” Theodosia said. “I just had a harebrained theory I was noodling around.”

  Pauline looked hopeful. “Concerning the guest list? Did it pan out?”

  “I kind of have to wait and see,” Theodosia stammered just as the phone rang. Saved by the bell, she snatched up the receiver and said, “Indigo Tea Shop. How may I help you?”

  “Theodosia,” Miss Dimple croaked, “I’m still under the weather.”

  “You sound like it. Do you need anything? Should we send over a gallon of hot chicken soup?”

  “That’s kind of you,” Miss Dimple said, her voice scratchy and barely audible. “But I’m not one bit hungry. I think I just need to stay in bed.”

  “Rest is the best thing for you,” Theodosia said. “Good old-fashioned bed rest.”

  “But today’s your fancy Victorian tea!” Miss Dimple moaned. “And I feel like I’m letting you down.”

  “Not in the least,” Theodosia said.

  “Are you sure?” Miss Dimple said.

  “I’m positive,” Theodosia said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll be fine.” She hung up the phone, gazed at Drayton, and said, “Maybe we won’t be fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” Pauline lifted a hand. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing. . . .”

  “Miss Dimple is still sick in bed and can’t help out today,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton poured two cups of tea, handed one to Theodosia, the other to Pauline. “And we have seventy-five people coming to our Victorian Christmas Tea this afternoon,” he s
aid, “which our dear Theodosia is acutely aware of.”

  “I’m not only aware. It’s all I can think about,” Theodosia said.

  “Seventy-five people who have paid good money and are expecting multiple courses of Christmas charm and cheer. So we dare not disappoint them,” Drayton said.

  “And we won’t,” Theodosia said, meaning it.

  Drayton touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “This is a nightmare.”

  “No, no, we’ll muddle through,” Theodosia said. “We always do.” She wasn’t sure how they were going to manage, but she realized that job number one right now was to reassure Drayton. If he hit the panic button, if he went down, all would be lost.

  Pauline reached over and touched Theodosia’s hand. “Sounds like you have a big problem.”

  “Normally, it wouldn’t be. If the tea party were being held right here at the Indigo Tea Shop, we’d probably make it through just fine. But because we accepted so many reservations, we had to move it to the Dove Cote Inn.”

  “Why don’t I come along and lend a hand?” Pauline offered.

  Theodosia shook her head. “No, that’s okay. We’ll figure things out. I’ve been calling temp agencies, so something’s bound to hit.”

  Pauline placed her hands flat on the counter and stared pointedly at Theodosia and then at Drayton. “Listen, I can’t tell you how kind and helpful you two have been to me. So why don’t you let me help out? I know my serving tea or doing whatever you need won’t come close to repaying you for all your efforts, but it should be worth something.”

  Theodosia gazed at Pauline, who looked absolutely serious. In fact, in the cold, clear light of day, she also looked absolutely innocent. So maybe Theodosia had jumped to conclusions?

  Drayton, who’d been listening closely, said, “You’d really do that for us, pitch in and help?”

  “Of course I would,” Pauline said. “In fact”—she looked around—“I could start this very minute. Help you get through lunch and learn the ropes. Like on-the-job training or an impromptu internship.”

  “You don’t have to be somewhere else?” Theodosia asked.

  Pauline shook her head. “Not today.”

  Drayton gazed at Theodosia. “Theo?” he asked. Worry was etched across his face.

  Did Theodosia still have a few reservations about Pauline? Of course she did. But she also had seventy-five confirmed tea reservations for that afternoon. So how awful would it be to accept Pauline’s offer? After all, a bird in the hand . . .

  “Okay,” Theodosia said. “Thank you. Let’s do it.”

  Drayton sprinted around the counter and gently dropped a long black Parisian waiter’s apron over Pauline’s head. “It looks as though you’re hired, my dear.”

  Pauline flashed a wide grin as she wound the strings around her waist.

  Then Theodosia reached over and gave Pauline a hug. “Welcome to the team.”

  28

  One hour later, with the tea shop running smoothly, Theodosia was more than thankful to have Pauline on board. Pauline waited tables, poured tea, and served raspberry scones, orange scones, and banana muffins. She also had a nice genteel manner when dealing with the guests, and asked Drayton all the right questions—but not so many that she made a pest of herself.

  “It seems to be going well,” Theodosia said to Drayton as she slipped behind the counter and helped herself to an orange scone.

  “Maybe we were wrong about Pauline,” Drayton said. “Maybe she just enjoys a good game of poker now and then. Maybe Donny Bragg made a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “I hope so,” Theodosia whispered back. She nibbled a bite of scone and wandered into the kitchen.

  “Your orange scones are delicious, Haley. I feel like I just got a year’s worth of vitamin C.”

  “Real orange juice along with plenty of orange zest, that’s the secret sauce,” Haley said.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “It’s controlled chaos in here, but I think I can manage to keep my head above water. I’ve got my dough all mixed and plan to bake my scones and crullers in the kitchen at the Dove Cote Inn. That way everything will be piping hot right out of the oven.”

  “How do you feel about Pauline helping us out?”

  “She’s been great so far,” Haley said from her post at the stove. “No wasted effort and she’s a smart cookie.” She leaned down, pulled open the oven door so she could check another pan of scones, then shut the door. “I can see why Miss Drucilla hired her as a personal assistant.”

  “I guess personal assistants get tossed into lots of different situations,” Theodosia said.

  “And have to figure out how to do all sorts of tricky stuff. Like arrange travel and parties and stuff.” She grabbed a wooden spoon and used it to lift a lid on a simmering pot. “So Pauline’s going to help serve at the Dove Cote Inn? We’ve got a big menu you know . . . a heroic menu . . . so we sure could use the help.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  * * *

  * * *

  What wasn’t in Theodosia’s battle plan was an impromptu visit from Detective Burt Tidwell. But like a visiting head of state, he strolled casually into the Indigo Tea Shop, glanced about with hooded eyes, then lifted his head and stared directly at Theodosia.

  “Detective,” she said, acknowledging him.

  “Miss Browning.” Slight nod. “We need to talk.”

  Theodosia crooked a finger. “This way, then.”

  Tidwell followed her down a short hallway into her office. Once he’d settled his bulk in the oversized upholstered chair they’d dubbed “the Tuffet,” he said, “So I’ve finally been invited into m’lady’s inner sanctum.”

  “You’ve been in my office before.” Theodosia sat down and faced him from across her desk.

  “Not really.” Tidwell made a big point of studying the stacks of red hats and sweetgrass baskets, the boxes filled with teapots, tea, and trivets, and said, “Interesting.”

  “ ‘Interesting’ is what people say when they don’t feel like giving an honest answer.”

  “Okay, then, it’s girlie.” He made it sound like an insult.

  “Girlie!”

  Tidwell favored her with a mousy smile. “But in a good way. A tea shop way.”

  “Keep digging that hole, Detective. You’re doing just fine.”

  “Perhaps I should dispense with any formalities and get right down to business.” He pursed his lips. “We’ve had a sort of . . . breakthrough.”

  Theodosia eased forward onto the edge of her chair. Yes, this was exactly what she’d been waiting to hear. Hopefully the information she’d passed on about Sawyer Daniels and Majel Mercer had led to an arrest!

  She took a shot. “Please tell me that Sawyer Daniels has been arrested for the murder of Miss Drucilla.” When Tidwell simply stared at her, she said, “Okay, then, was it Majel Mercer?”

  Tidwell shook his great head. “Wrong on both counts. However”—he held up a chubby index finger—“thanks to your snooping, we’ve discovered that the two of them conned hundreds of thousands of dollars out of Charleston’s most generous citizens. To say nothing of various charitable foundations.”

  Theodosia had a record-scratch moment. “Wait. . . . What? You’re telling me they’re crooks?” She was so excited, she practically popped out of her chair.

  “Turns out, the two of them have been in cahoots for quite some time.”

  But not killers. Okay, that’s kind of disappointing. I thought I was onto something. Still, I was partly correct about their being involved in some kind of money scheme.

  “What have they done that’s so illegal?” Theodosia asked, hungering for details.

  “Sawyer Daniels has been funneling as much money as possible into Majel Mercer’s charity and then helping himself to a generous slice of the pro
ceeds. Her so-called Justice Initiative? You might as well call it the Injustice Initiative, it’s so crooked.”

  “So Daniels took a commission?” Theodosia asked.

  “That would be a polite descriptor. Kickback is more accurate,” Tidwell said. “Doesn’t matter though. They’re both guilty as sin.”

  “But not of murdering Miss Drucilla.”

  “No, not that.”

  Theodosia leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “You’re positive?”

  “Think about it,” Tidwell said. “Why would they kill their cash cow when Sawyer Daniels had Miss Drucilla wrapped around his pinkie finger? She must have trusted him with millions of dollars to administer.”

  “Wow.”

  “And that’s not the half of it. We’re looking at his books, donation records, bank statements—you name it. It’s already being kicked up to the state attorney general’s office. Major fraud means those two are looking at serious prison time.” He smiled. “I made a few other inquiries as well.”

  “To the people who donated to Majel’s charity?” Theodosia asked.

  “No, to the mayor.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean, the mayor of Charleston?”

  Tidwell knitted his hands together and rested them on his ample stomach.

  “I wanted to get him on board as well as our city attorney. If I’m going to investigate and prosecute two people who are involved in defrauding high-profile foundations and donors, then I want to be armed to the teeth.”

  “I guess it’s good to know people in high places,” Theodosia said.

  Tidwell smiled serenely.

  “I’m glad you busted them,” Theodosia said. “But what about Miss Drucilla? It’s been almost a week and still nobody’s figured out who murdered the poor woman. With Sawyer Daniels, Majel Mercer, and Julian Wolf-Knapp out of the picture, suspects are dropping like flies.”