Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “At this point I’m still looking at Donny Bragg and Smokey Pruitt,” Tidwell said, looking grim. “Now I just have to prove it.”

  “You need hard evidence. Maybe I could—”

  “No!” Tidwell barked. “Stay out of it.”

  “Okay, okay, calm down. But . . . um, I have had concerns about someone fairly close to Miss Drucilla.”

  Tidwell narrowed his eyes. “You’re referring to the young woman who’s working in your tea shop today?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “She’s still a possibility. As are several others.”

  “Care to elaborate?” Theodosia said.

  Tidwell’s jowls shook. “Not particularly.”

  “Okay, then, have you dug up—figuratively, not literally—anything new on Wolf-Knapp? I mean per the autopsy results.”

  “The ME concurs with me that Julian Wolf-Knapp was shot point-blank in the back of the head.”

  “He never saw it coming,” Theodosia said.

  “Murder victims rarely do.”

  Tidwell’s words, delivered in such a cold, matter-of-fact manner, made Theodosia flinch. It made her realize that if someone got too close to this clever killer, there could be additional fallout. In other words, more victims.

  “And you’re still investigating Coy Cooper?” she asked.

  “Looking him over, yes,” Tidwell said, “though Cooper does have an airtight alibi for the night his aunt was murdered.”

  “Where was he?”

  Tidwell snorted. “Partying. At a club in Savannah with a dozen of his closest friends.”

  “As long as he was paying the bar tab and they were doing shots, nobody will remember anything.”

  Tidwell slapped his knees and rose to his feet, his knees making popping sounds like cracked walnuts.

  Ouch.

  “But don’t think I’m letting Cooper off the hook entirely,” Tidwell said, “because I do believe he warrants a second look.” He wriggled his shoulders inside his saggy brown suit, glanced at the military watch stretched around his wrist, and said, “Tempus fugit. I must be moving on.” With that, he executed a smart spin on what Theodosia always thought were delicate feet for a man so large and ungainly. And then he was gone.

  Theodosia sat at her desk, listening to his retreating footsteps. Then she tilted back in her chair to think.

  Huh.

  Lots to ponder. Especially since the killer was still out there. Still in Charleston? Or off to Europe, South America, or even Asia? She knew just enough about the art market to realize there was a dark side. Billionaire buyers, plundered treasure, stolen art, and high-stakes deals all made for a lethal combination.

  Were Tidwell and his crew up for this kind of chase? Or were they finally outclassed—or outsmarted? Maybe the danger was so grave that she really did have to step aside and let the professionals handle things.

  Or . . . maybe not.

  Theodosia stared at a vintage yellow biscuit barrel by Sadler that sat on her desk and let her mind wander. When no answers seemed forthcoming, she ruminated over Tidwell’s visit. He hadn’t told her much and he’d been in a hurry to leave. So maybe something supersecret was going on? And—this might be a freaky aside—but it was the first time Tidwell had visited her tea shop without trying to scam a free scone. Maybe he’d renounced his evil ways and was trying to eat healthily? No, that would never happen. He was up to something.

  Two minutes later, there was a knock at her door.

  “Yes?”

  Drayton peered in. “I see your visitor has shuffled off to Buffalo on his swift little feet.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Anything you can share with me?” He walked in, carrying a tray covered with a blue-and-white-checked cloth.

  “Daniels and Mercer have both been arrested for fraud,” Theodosia said. “Turns out, Majel’s been pocketing money earmarked for her charity and also sharing some of the winnings with Daniels.”

  “Oh my. Just as you suspected.”

  “Daniels targeted Miss Drucilla specifically and maybe scammed as much as several million dollars from her.”

  “Is there any possibility of a clawback for her estate?” Drayton asked.

  “One would hope so. If the money hasn’t already been spent on drugs and fast cars.” Then, “What’s that you’ve got there?”

  “Lunch. Haley made up a tray for you. Tomato soup, a scone, and two chicken salad tea sandwiches.” He set the tray down on Theodosia’s desk. “Oh, and I added a cup of Darjeeling. You need to be anchored for the afternoon ahead.”

  “Thank you, Drayton. And thank Haley, too.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you need me out there, in the tea room?”

  Drayton shook his head. “It’s slow as molasses. And Pauline’s doing fine.”

  Pauline, Theodosia thought as she ate her lunch. She was still kind of a wild card in all this. A person who’d been close to Miss Drucilla and might have possibly had a motive to kill her. But at first glance, and possibly even second, she did look fairly innocent.

  Theodosia picked up a tea sandwich, took a bite, and toyed with her computer mouse using her other hand.

  Let’s just take a look-see here.

  She took a fast spin through Facebook to see if Pauline had a page. She did. Okay, now she was looking to see how much information Pauline shared.

  There wasn’t a lot, but the information that was there struck Theodosia as startling and slightly damning.

  Pauline’s profile listed her as an art history major at the University of Virginia.

  Oh . . . crap. Does this mean something? Why didn’t I check this out sooner?

  Theodosia wolfed down the rest of her lunch, then hustled out to the tea room and glanced around. It was one o’clock and Pauline was delivering luncheon plates to a table of three. Probably their last customers of the day.

  Good.

  She slipped behind the front counter, where Drayton was packing up teapots, and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I think we may have made a mistake,” Theodosia said to him. She watched as Pauline continued serving the customers.

  “What? You mean, with Pauline?” Drayton asked. “Here I thought she was a diamond in the rough. The customers seem to love her.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I just went on her Facebook page, and guess what I found.”

  “I couldn’t possibly. You know I don’t subscribe to those Placebook things.”

  “Facebook.”

  “Whatever. What did you find that’s so earth shattering?”

  “Pauline majored in art history,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton stared at her, his jaw working soundlessly.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  He nodded. “I did. But what does that mean exactly?”

  “It means Pauline might have been scamming us all along. If she’s knowledgeable about art and artists, she could have easily murdered her employer and stolen the Renoir.”

  Drayton gave a slow reptilian blink. “And she might even know how to fence a painting.”

  “That occurred to me as well.”

  Drayton touched an index finger to his lower lip. “Did we just let the fox into the henhouse?”

  “Could be. But there’s no proof. We don’t know anything for sure.”

  “What are we going to do? We’ve already committed to having Pauline help us at the Victorian Christmas Tea this afternoon.”

  “All we can do is proceed as planned and keep a careful watch on her.”

  “And do what? Pray she doesn’t steal the paintings off the walls at the Dove Cote Inn?”

  Theodosia grimaced. “Or murder someone in cold blood.”

  29

  But Pauline was on her best beha
vior as they packed up food, tea, teapots, trivets, cups and saucers, kitchen utensils, and Victorian decorations and gifts. Then, like a modern-day Silk Road caravan, they stuffed everything into Theodosia’s Jeep and Pauline’s Honda Civic.

  “Wait!” Haley cried as she came running out the back door, blond hair flying. “Don’t forget my cake!”

  Theodosia hurried back inside and together the two of them carried out an enormous white bakery box that held Haley’s Victorian fondant cake.

  “Easy now,” Haley said as they placed it carefully in the back of the Jeep. “Be gentle with my baby.”

  “It looks good enough to eat,” Theodosia said.

  “Bite your tongue,” Haley said. “It’s for display only.”

  “What else is left?” Theodosia asked.

  “Pauline still has to bring out the last box of teapots that Drayton packed.”

  “You keep working here. I’ll go help Pauline.”

  Theodosia ducked back into the tea shop and called out, “Pauline, need any help?”

  “I’m good,” Pauline said. She staggered into Theodosia’s office, carrying an enormous cardboard box.

  Drayton appeared in the doorway. “Here, let me take that heavy thing.”

  Pauline handed it off to him. “Whew . . . thanks.”

  “I think we did it,” Theodosia said. “It’s just a tick past two o’clock, so we’ve got almost two hours to get to the Dove Cote Inn and set up our tables.”

  “That’s doable, right?” Pauline asked. She’d been a hard worker thus far, diligent and helpful. Theodosia was slowly revising her opinion. Pauline couldn’t be a killer, could she?

  “We’ve worked with far tighter deadlines,” Theodosia said. She looked around her office and ran through a mental list. “I’m pretty sure that’s everything.”

  “I’ve gotta make a quick call to Wade and tell him I’m helping you guys out, that I’ll be late tonight.”

  “Use my phone while I grab an extra carton of honey. That’s if I can find it in all this clutter.” Theodosia hunted around, pushing boxes aside, mumbling to herself while Pauline made her call. “Okay, I know I just saw it. How maddening is that?” Theodosia narrowed her eyes, moved another stack of boxes, continued her search.

  “Just a minute,” Pauline said. “I’ll ask her.” She dropped the phone down from her mouth and said, “Theodosia.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Wade wants to know if you could use an extra pair of hands over at the Dove Cote Inn today.”

  That stopped Theodosia dead. She straightened up, turned, and said, “Is he serious?”

  “Are you serious?” Pauline said into the phone. She listened, bobbed her head, and turned back to Theodosia. “He’s serious.”

  “Wade doesn’t have to work at the gift shop?”

  “He says no, not today. So . . . what’s the verdict?”

  Theodosia thought about all the unloading, the setting up, the making sure tables and chairs were arranged just so, then serving a four-course high tea to seventy-five guests—maybe even a few more if there were last-minute drop-ins. The images buzzed through her brain like film speeding through a projector.

  Can I use the help? Yes. Should I let Pauline bring in Wade? Actually, he might be a nice, stabilizing influence on her. And if for some remotely bizarre reason she is the guilty party, he might even help to hold her in check. It feels win-win, so . . . yes.

  Theodosia bobbed her head, smiled at Pauline, and said, “I can hardly say no to such a generous offer.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The wrought iron lamps were already installed when Theodosia and Pauline arrived at the Dove Cote Inn. Drayton, wearing his pea coat and a knit cap, was futzing about, making final adjustments.

  “What do you think?” he asked as the women hefted and carted boxes up the front walk.

  “Beautiful,” Pauline said. “Like something out of a Dickens novel.”

  “Victorian, yes, that’s the general idea,” Drayton said. “And quite magical once the lamps are lit and throwing glowing little circles of light. A Grand Illumination, so to speak.” Then, “I’d better give you ladies a hand with those boxes.”

  “There’re ten more in the Jeep,” Theodosia said as Drayton grabbed a box from Pauline.

  “We’ll get them all,” he said. “You run inside and have a look at the Essex Room.”

  “It looks good?”

  “Like I said, have a look.”

  To Theodosia’s eyes, the Essex Room didn’t just look good; it looked spectacular. The mantel held at least a dozen pots of lush red poinsettias, and a fire crackled in the large stone fireplace. Besides the flocked Christmas trees, green garland strung in the windows, and topiary trees that Theodosia had seen before, Isabelle and her crew had hung strands of frosted icicle lights from the ceiling. So it felt as if you were walking through a winter wonderland.

  “What do you think?” a voice asked.

  Theodosia spun around to find Isabelle, the catering manager, walking toward her. In keeping with the Victorian theme, Isabelle wore a long plaid skirt, a high-necked white ruffled blouse, boots, and a half dozen long strands of pearls.

  “I think your costume is better than mine,” Theodosia said.

  Isabelle laughed. “It’s just something I threw together. Kind of fun, I guess.”

  “I’ve never seen the room set up with this many tables.”

  “Ten, exactly what you asked for.”

  “And I love that there’s still plenty of room for us to serve and for guests to move about.”

  “Of course,” Isabelle said. “It’s a Christmas party, right?”

  “Which means I’d better get to work!”

  First, Theodosia checked to be sure all Haley’s food and equipment had made it to the kitchen. Then she took a closer look at the dining room. The tables had already been set with white tablecloths and the Dove Cote Inn’s Christmas china and silver flatware, so the only thing left was arranging teacups and water goblets. Wade showed up just as Pauline began placing cups and saucers and immediately jumped in to help.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Theodosia said to Pauline and Wade as they finished with the cups and saucers and moved on to crystal water goblets with gold rims.

  “Just treat your guests to an amazing experience,” Pauline said.

  “Ditto,” Wade echoed. He wore dark slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt, an outfit that said he could easily pass for a waiter.

  Drayton came bounding in to watch it all take shape.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “The fun stuff,” Theodosia said. “Now we get to go all Victorian.”

  “Ooh,” said Pauline, clearly impressed.

  The decor was a huge undertaking but they operated like an experienced team, as if they were all old hands at it. Large silver candelabras were placed on each table, then draped with strands of pearls, Victorian lockets, and green silk vines.

  Cones of floral paper were tied with ribbon and stuffed with sprigs of dried lavender and pink strawflowers. Petite rose-shaped soaps were placed in pink organza bags.

  “Roses,” Drayton said, “were very much favored by the Victorians.”

  Linen napkins were rolled and secured with vintage tags. Small silk parasols were placed on tables along with an assortment of pocket watches, top hats, and vintage postcards. Chairbacks were draped with pink chiffon tied in bows.

  “It actually looks like a proper Victorian drawing room,” Wade commented, “all decked out for Christmas.”

  “Thank goodness,” Theodosia said, “since that’s exactly what we were aiming for.”

  “Now what?” Pauline asked. She seemed jittery, eager to keep moving.

  Haley, who’d just emerged from the kitchen, wiped her hands on a dishcloth and cr
ied, “Costumes, guys! Don’t forget the costumes!”

  “There are costumes?” Wade said. He looked surprised that an afternoon tea party had turned into such an elaborate undertaking.

  “A huge box full of them,” Haley said. “They’ve been delivered to the library. I just took a peek—there’s some pretty cool stuff.”

  “Where’s this library?” Drayton asked.

  “Right next door,” Theodosia said, motioning for them to follow her.

  So Theodosia, Drayton, Pauline, and Wade trooped into the Dove Cote Inn’s library. It was a small room, cozy and warm, with space for two upholstered wing chairs and a dark blue velvet love seat. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and held hundreds of volumes, maybe even thousands, some of them old, some brand-new.

  “Interesting place,” Drayton said, pulling out a leather-bound volume and riffling through a few pages. “A fellow could lose himself in here for a few hours. Or maybe a few days.”

  “But not this day,” Theodosia said. She was already down on her hands and knees, ripping open the box and pulling out costumes. “Let’s see, we have corsets, long skirts, and pearls for the ladies. For the gentlemen, we have . . .” She grabbed a gray-striped jacket. “Hmm, looks like something you might wear to the horse races at Ascot.”

  “Top hats and tails,” Drayton said. “I guess we’re going to be authentically Victorian.”

  Theodosia pulled on a long mauve skirt, laced a pink-and-black-paisley corset over her high-necked blouse, and threw on a few strands of beads as well as a cameo brooch. On the way into the kitchen to check on Haley, she stopped in front of a Baroque mirror. Gathering her hair into a loose bun, she piled it on top of her head in a loose pouf and secured it with a tortoiseshell clip.

  There, instant Victoriana.

  “Lay out those plates, will you?” Haley said when she saw Theodosia. “They’re for the scones and Devonshire cream.” In her white chef’s jacket and hat, Haley moved about the kitchen with authority, ducking and bobbing as she worked, looking like a manic symphony conductor. “Oh, and you look really cute.”