by Laura Childs
Drayton perched on the overstuffed chair across from her desk, the one they’d dubbed “the tuffet,” and fussed with the tetsubin, or traditional iron teapot. Moments earlier, he’d used a bamboo whisk to whip the powdered green tea, along with a dollop of hot water, into a gentle froth. Then he’d poured more hot water over the mixture, water that had been heated until it was just this side of boiling.
Now Drayton poured a small amount of the bright green tea into two teacups. Like the tea, the teacups were Japanese, tiny ceramic cups with a decorative crackle glaze that held about two ounces.
Savoring the heavenly aroma, Theodosia took a sip and let the tea work its way across her tongue. It was full-bodied and fresh, with a soothing aftertaste. Green tea was usually an acquired taste, although once a tea drinker became captivated by it, green tea soon found a place in his tea-drinking lexicon. It was a tea rich in fluoride and was reputed to boost the immune system. In a pinch, green tea could also be used on a compress to soothe insect bites or bee stings.
“Splendid,” exclaimed Theodosia. “How much of this tea did we order?”
Drayton favored her with a lopsided grin. “Just the one tin. It’s priced sky high, a lot more than most of our customers are used to paying. What say we keep it for our own private little stash?”
“Okay by me,” agreed Theodosia. “Now, what’s up with this mystery tea?” Drayton had worked out the concept on his own, distributed posters up and down Church Street and in many of the bed-and-breakfasts. But, so far, no one at the tea shop had been privy to his exact agenda.
Drayton whipped out his black notebook and balanced his reading glasses on the tip of his nose. “Twelve customers have signed up so far, and we have room for, oh, maybe ten more. We’ll begin with caviar on toast points and serve Indian chai with a twist of lemon in oversized martini glasses. Then, as the program proceeds, we shall . . .” He glanced up to find a look of delight on Theodosia’s face. “Oh,” he said. “You like?”
“I like it very much,” she replied. “What else?”
Drayton snapped his notebook shut. “No, all I really wanted was to gauge your initial reaction. And I’m extremely heartened by what I just saw. Now you’ll have to wait until Saturday night to find out the rest.”
“Drayton!” Theodosia protested with a laugh. “That’s not fair!”
He shrugged. “I guess that’s why they call it a mystery tea.”
“But it sounds so charming,” she argued. “At least the snippet you shared with me is. And you certainly can’t do it...I mean, you shouldn’t do it all by yourself. You’ll need help.”
Drayton shook his head firmly as a Cheshire cat grin creased his face. “Nice try,” he told her. “Now I’ve got to get back out there and give Haley a hand.” He took a final sip of tea and set his teacup back down. “Oh, and Theodosia, can you figure out what to do with the leftovers from yesterday? They’re absolutely jamming the refrigerator, and I’m going to need space for my . . .” He dropped his voice. “. . . mystery goodies.”
After he had gone, Theodosia leaned back in her chair, a wry smile playing at her lips. All right, Drayton, she thought, I’ll go along with your little game. We’ll just wait and see what excitement you’ve cooked up for Saturday night.
She took another sip of Sencha tea and thought for a moment about the dilemma inside the refrigerator. Drayton was certainly correct; there were packages of finger sandwiches that had been in the hamper from yesterday, and now they’d been crammed into the refrigerator. What could she do, aside from tossing them out and wasting perfectly good food?
I know, she decided, I’ll pack everything up and take it to the senior citizen home with me. After all, I’m going there tonight with Earl Grey.
Her heart melted at the thought of Earl Grey, the dog she’d dubbed her Dalbrador. Part dalmatian, part Labrador, Theodosia had found the dog cowering in her back alley two years ago. Hungry and lost, the poor creature had been rummaging through trash cans in the midst of a rainstorm, trying to find a morsel of food. Theodosia had taken the pup in, cared for him, and opened her heart to him.
And Earl Grey had returned her kindness in so many ways. He’d turned out to be a remarkable companion animal. One who was personable and gentle and a perfect roommate for her in the little apartment upstairs. Earl Grey had taken to obedience training extremely well, delighted to learn the essentials of being a well-mannered pooch. He’d also shown a keen aptitude for work as a therapy dog.
Attending special therapy dog classes, Earl Grey had learned how to walk beside a wheelchair, how to gently greet people, and to graciously accept old hands patting him with exuberance. When one elderly woman, with tears streaming down her face and a mumbled story about a long-remembered pet dog, threw her frail arms about Earl Grey’s neck, he calmly allowed her to sob her heart out on his strong, furry shoulder.
Upon graduation from therapy dog classes, Earl Grey had received his Therapy Dog International certification and was awarded a spiffy blue nylon vest that sported his official TDI patch and allowed him entry to the O’Doud Senior Home two nights every month.
“Hey.” Haley stood in the doorway. “What’s the joke between you and Drayton? He looks like a cat that just swallowed a canary.”
Theodosia waved a hand. “It’s the mystery tea thing.”
“Oh, that,” said Haley. “He’s driving me crazy, too. Gosh, I almost forgot why I came in here. You’ve got a phone call. Jory Davis. Line two.”
Theodosia grabbed for the phone. “Hello?”
“Theodosia?” came a familiar voice.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where were you? Your boat never finished the race.”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Jory Davis. “When we got out of the shelter of the harbor, just past Sullivan’s Island, the wind was so strong it blew out our genoa sail. We had to scrub the race and pull in at the Isle of Palms. By the time we found a place to moor the boat and hitched a ride back to Charleston, it was after ten. But we did hear all about Oliver Dixon. Poor fellow, what a terrible way to go. Kind of shakes you up. One day he’s glad-handing at the clubhouse, and the next day he’s gone. Do they have a handle yet on how the accident happened? Anybody examined that old pistol? I mean, it was an accident, right?”
That’s funny, thought Theodosia. Jory Davis was the second person she’d spoken with who’d made a casual, questioning remark about whether it had been an accident or not. Correction, make that the third person. She, herself, had implied the same thing to Tidwell yesterday.
“Apparently, the pistol just exploded,” said Theodosia.
“Wow,” breathed Jory Davis. “Talk about a bad day at Black Rock for the Dixons.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her radar suddenly perking up.
“Oliver Dixon’s two sons, Brock and Quaid, were supposed to be in the race with us, but they got disqualified.”
“Why was that?” asked Theodosia.
“They had an illegal rudder on their boat. They’re claiming that Billy Manolo, the guy who does maintenance on some of the boats at the yacht club, tampered with it. Frankly, I think those guys probably sanded the rudder down themselves in an attempt to streamline it. Anyway,” continued Jory, “I don’t want to trash those guys after their father just died so tragically.”
“No, of course not,” murmured Theodosia.
“And I didn’t want to call you last night and risk waking you up. Especially in light of the kind of day you probably had. I understand you were the first person to reach Oliver Dixon’s body.”
“Yes,” she said.
“That’s pretty tough, kiddo. You doing okay?”
“I think so,” said Theodosia. “I can’t help thinking about Doe, however. I mean, they’d only been married something like nine weeks.”
“It’s a tragedy,” said Jory. “I saw Doe and Oliver together at Emilio’s Restaurant a week or so ago, and they were absolutely gaga over each other. Of course, the saving grace in
all this is that Doe is still young. She’ll be a lot more resilient and able to bounce back.”
“Bounce back,” repeated Theodosia absently. “Yes.”
“But, listen,” Jory continued, “I didn’t call to rehash this misfortune. People have probably been stopping by the tea shop all morning to do that. I really called to tell you I’m flying to New York this afternoon.”
“New York!” Theodosia exclaimed. She’d been hoping she could get together with Jory Davis and coax a little information from him. Being a longtime yacht club member, he’d undoubtedly have an inside track. And with his keen lawyer’s perception, he might just notice if something seemed a little out of alignment. He could also fill her in on that historic old pistol they supposedly kept under lock and key at the yacht club clubhouse. Well, all that might have to wait.
“Our firm is representing some fast-food franchises who really got hosed by the parent corporation,” he said. “I’ve got to depose witnesses, then file papers for a class action suit. Listen, I’ll be staying at the Waldorf. If you need me for anything, anything at all, just leave a message at the desk, okay?”
“Okay. Good luck.” Theodosia hung up the phone, feeling slightly out of sorts. Gazing at the wall that faced her desk, her eyes scanned the montage of framed photos, opera programs, tea labels, and other memorabilia that hung there.
There was a photo of Earl Grey taken when she’d first found him, all ribs and scruffy fur. There was her dad posed jauntily on his sailboat. That had been taken just a year before he passed away. Another photo, one of her favorites, showed her mom and dad at Cane Ridge Plantation. That photo had been taken back in the early sixties, right after they’d gotten married. They looked so young and hopeful and so very much in love, with their arms entwined around each other. Six years after that photo had been taken, she had been born. Her mother had lived only eight more years.
Heaving a giant sigh, Theodosia told herself not to feel sad but to feel lucky. She had known unconditional love and support from her parents. Her parents’ ultimate gift to her had been to fix firmly in her mind the notion that she could accomplish anything she set her mind to.
And she had.
Stop being a goose, she scolded herself, just because Jory Davis is taking off for New York. You can always give him a buzz. He said as much, didn’t he? And you’ve got lots of other friends and plenty of pressing business to keep you busy.
Haley had accused her of wanting to solve another mystery. Is that true? she wondered. Is that why she felt so unsettled and restless? And did she really believe Oliver Dixon’s death had been anything other than a terrible, unfortunate accident?
Theodosia let the idea tumble around in her brain as she reached for one of the catalogs and slowly thumbed through it, contemplating all manner of teapots and trivets.
Chapter 5
A furry brown muzzle poked over the metal rails of the bed.
“Hello doggy.” A tiny, birdlike woman reached out and gently rested her blue-veined hand on Earl Grey’s forehead. He snuggled to her touch, and the old lady squealed with delight.
“You’re a good doggy to come visit me,” she told him. “A very good doggy.”
Standing ten steps back, allowing Earl Grey the freedom he needed to interact with the residents, Theodosia beamed. This was what it was all about. Affording older folks the joy of touch and connection with an animal that demanded nothing of them, yet offered a warm, furry presence that inexplicably seemed to render a calming effect.
Tonight, Earl Grey and Theodosia had spent most of their time visiting the rooms of residents who were bedridden. Earl Grey, who was often exuberant when chasing a ball tossed by one of the residents down the wide hallways, seemed to understand that these types of visits required considerably more restraint. And Theodosia was pleased that Earl Grey had conducted himself with a great deal of doggy decorum.
“Theodosia? Can you bring Earl Grey into the TV room?” Suzette Ellison, one of the night nurses who had worked at the O’Doud Senior Home for more than fifteen years, stood in the doorway.
“What’s up, Suzette? Another liver brownie cake for Earl Grey?”
Suzette grinned. “What else? But this is a special occasion. Your anniversary. It’s been two years since you and that nice dog of yours have been coming here, and some of our ladies and gentlemen want to thank you.”
“Surprise!” The group called out in unison as Theodosia and Earl Grey walked into the room.
Theodosia threw her hands up in surprise, and Earl Grey, immediately homing in on the liver brownie cake that rested on a low table in the center of the room, shook his head in anticipation and let out a sharp woof.
“Happy anniversary, Earl!” one of the ladies called out with exuberance. “Thanks for always making us smile.”
Suzette had laid out all the sandwiches Theodosia had brought with her on a long table and rustled up a bowl of punch. The residents wasted no time in helping themselves to snacks, and the room suddenly buzzed with the makings of a party.
Theodosia grabbed a cup of punch for herself and wandered among the residents. They smiled and nodded at her, but Earl Grey was, of course, the real star. He was the one they wanted to talk to and pet. He was the one they looked forward to seeing.
“This is a lovely picnic you brought, Miss Browning.”
Theodosia smiled down at an elderly man in a wheelchair. Freckles covered his bald head, and deep wrinkles cut into his face, but his eyes shone bright with interest.
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” she said.
“Kind of different from yesterday afternoon, eh?” said the old man.
Surprised, Theodosia sank down on one knee so she was eye level with him. He smiled at her then, a kind, knowing smile that suddenly took years off his tired, lined face.
“Oh yes,” he told her as he wagged a finger, “I heard all about the accident from my son. He was there.”
“Your son was in White Point Gardens yesterday?” asked Theodosia.
“Yup,” said the old man. “Course, he didn’t just phone me out of the blue and tell me. I read about it in the newspaper this morning. Then I called him so I could get the real poop. My son used to race Lasers with the yacht club,” he explained.
The old man stopped abruptly, as if all this talking had been a considerable effort for him.
“Would you like something to drink?” asked Theodosia. She thrust her cup of punch toward him. “Here, take mine.”
The old man eagerly grasped her drink and helped himself to several good swallows. “Good,” he croaked. Setting the empty cup aside on a nearby table, the old man stuck out a withered hand. “I’m Winston Lazerby.”
“Theodosia Browning,” she said, shaking his hand. “And your son is...?”
“Thomas Lazerby. He’s a cardiologist at Charleston Mercy Medical. You know, a heart doctor.” Winston Lazerby thumped his own skinny chest as if to demonstrate his son’s specialty. “The minute I saw that article about Oliver Dixon,” Winston Lazerby continued, “I thought of the feud.”
Tiny hairs on the back of Theodosia’s neck rose imperceptibly. “What do you mean, Mr. Lazerby?” she asked.
“The Dixon-Cantrell feud,” Winston Lazerby said, staring at Theodosia intently. “Those two families have been going at it for almost seventy years.”
Theodosia glanced around quickly. No one seemed to be paying the two of them a bit of attention. Good, she thought. “Tell me more, Mr. Lazerby,” she urged him.
The old man leaned forward. “They been fighting with each other ever since the thirties, when Letitia Dixon up and ran off with Sam Cantrell.”
“This Letitia Dixon, how was she related to Oliver Dixon?”
Winston Lazerby thought for a moment. “Aunt,” he said. “Letitia would’ve been Oliver’s mother’s sister.”
“And Sam Cantrell?” asked Theodosia.
Winston Lazerby nodded. “Related to all them Cantrells. Don’t know the full story there. But I do kno
w Sam was a smooth-talkin’ feller, and Letitia was a young gal, eighteen years old at most, and wilder ’n seven devils.”
“What happened to them?” asked Theodosia, intrigued. “Where did they run off to?”
“Nobody knows,” replied Winston Lazerby. “There was rumors that Letitia ended up in Portland, Oregon, and died of rheumatic fever a few years later. But I personally think they was just rumors. People always think the worst when something like that happens.”
“And there’s still bad blood between the two families?” said Theodosia.
Winston Lazerby nodded knowingly. “Very bad blood.”
“So that might explain why Ford Cantrell was so hot under the collar in front of Oliver Dixon and Giovanni Loard,” murmured Theodosia.
“Giovanni Loard,” giggled the old man suddenly. “Ain’t that a fancy new name. Fellow’s Christian name was George Lord. Guess he figured calling himself Giovanni would play better with the tourists. Or adding an a to his last name. Folks might mistake him for a real Southern gentleman.”
“Do you know what the Dixons and Cantrells have been fighting over recently?” asked Theodosia.
“You name it, they probably fight over it,” said Winston Lazerby. “Those two families have wrangled over business, over real estate, over women.” He shook his head. “Crazy.”
Theodosia glanced up and saw that many of the residents had begun to move off toward their rooms. It was eight-thirty and getting late for these older folk.
“Mr. Lazerby, could we talk again sometime?” Theodosia asked.
“Sure,” he agreed. “Come on over any time. You know where I live.” He gave her a wink.
Warm breezes caressed her face and carried delicious scents for Earl Grey’s inquisitive nose as Theodosia sped home through the night, the windows of her Jeep Cherokee rolled down. She’d purchased the Jeep two years ago against the advice of Drayton and had immediately fallen in love with it.
When summer’s heat and humidity hit full bore, wrapping Charleston in its smothering grip, Theodosia loved nothing better than to escape to the low country. Crashing down shady, narrow roads that were lush and overgrown with twining vines, she’d maneuver long-forgotten trails, confident in her Jeep’s nimbleness and four-wheel drive. There were old rice dikes to bump over and moss-covered mounds that were remnants of old, abandoned phosphate mines. In the tangle of sun-dappled woods and myriad meandering streams guarded by live oaks, those grand sentinels of the South, Theodosia would find cool refuge and tranquility.