Shades of Earl Grey atsm-3

by Laura Childs

  “Yup,” said Haley as she handed change across the counter. “Thank you so much,” she told her customer. “Come back and see us again.”

  “Three dozen lunches in the course of an hour or so,” said Theodosia. “And that’s not counting the tea and scone orders. We don’t usually do that many.”

  “Better get that permit for outside tables,” chided Dray-ton.

  “You’re right,” said Theodosia. “I’m definitely liking the way business is shaping up.”

  “Wait until the T-Bath products go on sale,” warned Haley. “Business will be bonkers.”

  “You really think so?” asked Theodosia. She was hopeful the T-Bath products would take off, but then again, you never know. Business could be a real crap shoot.

  “I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised,” said Haley. She stretched her arms high above her head, bent slightly to the left. In her rust-colored long-sleeve T-shirt and long, filmy skirt of rust and blue, Haley looked like a ballet dancer, lithe and limber.

  “In case you guys haven’t noticed, tea is big business these days,” pronounced Haley. “Look at all the green tea candles and tea-scented perfumes and lotions out there on the market. And every time you go into a gourmet shop or kitchen boutique, you find tons of teapots and tea infusers and boxed teas.”

  “She’s right,” said Drayton. “And while we may not always like some of the bottled teas or premixed jars of chai in the supermarket, someone is buying them. Which I guess is good for us.”

  “Speaking of business and products flying off the shelf,” said Theodosia, “how exactly are we going to display the T-Bath products when we launch on Thursday?”

  “I’ve got that covered,” replied Drayton. “I found a marvelous old secretary at Tom Wigley’s antique shop. Wooden, a little scuffed, but it still retains most of its original shelves. Not too deep, either. I believe it will fit flush to the wall over near the fireplace and work perfectly as a display case.”

  “Kind of like the wooden cabinet Delaine has in her store,” said Theodosia. “The one holding scarves and purses and such.”

  Drayton furrowed his brow, trying to recall what was in Delaine’s shop. “Something like that, yes. Tom said he’d bring the piece round tomorrow.”

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Brooke Carter Crockett and her associate, Aerin Linley, were back in the tea shop that afternoon.

  “Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again so soon,” laughed Brooke. “But we just had to come by for another cuppa.”

  “Dear lady, twice in one day is an absolute delight,” assured Drayton. “Now let me share with you a Castleton estate tea. Still an Indian black tea, just not as buttery as your beloved Goomtee. This one is slightly fruity, but kindly reserve judgment until you’ve given it a fair shake.”

  “Who’s minding the store?” asked Theodosia, as Dray-ton went off to prepare the pot of tea.

  Aerin waved a hand. “Oh, business was slow, so we just hung a sign on the door. You know, one of those hand-scrawled notes that says, Back in twenty minutes.”

  Theodosia nodded. It wasn’t unusual to see signs like that up and down Church Street and at the little shops throughout the historic district. People were always running out for tea or coffee or a quick visit. It was one of the little quirks that made the neighborhood so charming and fun to be part of.

  She was also glad that Brooke and Aerin had just casually dropped by. As Theodosia well knew, repeat customers are the bread and butter of any small business.

  The importance of generating repeat business was also one of the main reasons Theodosia tried to maintain a database of all her regular customers’ names and addresses. If you mailed out postcards on luncheon specials or invited folks to promotional events like the T-Bath open house they were staging Thursday, customers would continue to return.

  “Say, Theo,” began Brooke. “I was telling Aerin about our little talk this morning. You know, when you asked about people just dropping by Heart’s Desire and offering items for sale? She remembered someone acted somewhat strangely while I was away in New York.”

  “That’s right,” said Aerin. “It was a woman who came in a few weeks ago with a very pretty brooch.”

  “There was something unusual about her behavior?” asked Theodosia.

  Aerin Linley paused. “She just seemed nervous, a little on edge. I remember thinking it was odd at the time, but then I dismissed it.”

  “Did you buy the piece from her?” asked Theodosia.

  “Yes, we did,” said Aerin. “I knew our inventory was low and it was a rather lovely piece. An emerald cut citrine surrounded by ten small diamonds. Not a huge piece, mind you, but fairly tasty. Fine craftsmanship and it definitely had some age on it.” She hesitated. “Now, thinking back, I guess I’m a little nervous about the entire transaction.”

  Brooke leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “I think you even know the seller, Theo. Claire Kitridge?”

  “Claire from the Heritage Society?” asked Theodosia.

  Claire? Theodosia thought to herself. The Claire that always seems so buttoned up and straitlaced? The same Claire that collects antique linens?

  “Ladies,” said Haley, arriving with their tea. “May I present Drayton’s fabled Castleton estate tea. And one of my blackberry scones for each of you. The blackberries, I might add, are from a recent crop grown on nearby Saint John’s Island.”

  There were oohs and aahs from the two ladies as Haley set teacups, teapot, and accouterments on the table and they began helping themselves.

  “Enjoy your teatime,” said Theodosia as she slipped away. “I’ll chat with you again later.” Slightly unnerved, she went to the display shelves and began rearranging the antique teacups she had placed there just yesterday. In her heart, she knew Brooke and Aerin had to be mistaken. Claire Kitridge was above reproach. She’d worked at the Heritage Society for three or four years now. She’d even heard Timothy Neville, in one of his rare instances of magnanimity, praise Claire for her hard work and dedication.

  “Oh no,” said Haley under her breath. “Not him.”

  Burt Tidwell had just pushed his way through the door and seated himself at one of the smaller tables.

  Theodosia squinted across the room at him. Tidwell didn’t usually just show up unannounced unless he had something on his mind. The question was, What was on the old boy’s mind today?

  “Detective Tidwell,” said Theodosia, trying her best to manage a lighthearted greeting. “Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

  Tidwell arranged his mouth in a reasonable facsimile of a smile, but the vibes weren’t particularly warm. “Tea and the prospect of polite conversation have drawn me to your little establishment today.”

  What a maddening oblique manner he has, she thought to herself. Studied, slightly formal, but still with that cat-and-mouse attitude he was so famous for. Very well, she decided, I’ll play along for now.

  Hastily brewing a pot of uva tea, a delicate, slightly lemony Ceylonese tea, she put a stack of madelaines on a plate and carried everything back to Tidwell’s table.

  “Sit a moment, will you?” he invited. “Join me?”

  She turned back to the counter, grabbed the first teacup she could lay her hands on, a Delvaux porcelain. She balanced it atop a Spode muffin plate, another antique piece from her collection, and went back to join Tidwell at his table. Sliding into the chair across from him, she watched as Tidwell poured out a stream of the pale amber tea into her teacup first, then his.

  “This is nice,” he said with another quick twitch of a smile.

  She wasn’t sure if Tidwell was referring to her company or the tea. It didn’t really matter. The sentiment didn’t feel genuine.

  “You’ve been busy,” Tidwell began. His large fingers skittered across the plate of madelaines, stopped on one, gathered it up.

  This time she knew exactly what he was referring to. And it had nothing to do with the increase in business at her tea shop.
/>
  “Saint Anne’s Hospital the other night. Not a smart thing to do,” he told her. Tidwell cocked a furry eyebrow, waited for a response.

  That man can convey reproach with just the quiver of an eyebrow, Theodosia marveled to herself. How must a true criminal feel when Tidwell focuses his beady-eyed gaze upon them? Nervous, probably. That’s when they know the jig is up.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to obtain your permission in order to visit people in the hospital,” Theodosia told him, her manner deliberately cool.

  “Visitation is not what I was referring to,” said Tidwell. “Far be it from me to criticize you and your canine friend from bringing cheer to small, needful children. I was referring to the fact that you gave chase to someone.” Tidwell took a sip of tea, then gave her yet another look of stern reproach. “I warned you not to get involved.”

  “I wasn’t involved,” said Theodosia. “I went into a hospital room to pay a visit. It wasn’t my fault someone was lurking there. I wasn’t looking for trouble.”

  Now Tidwell fixed her with a steady gaze. “I get the feeling, Miss Browning, that you don’t ever go looking for trouble. It comes calling on you.” His eyes bore into her. Then, just as quickly, flicked down to scan the plate. His fingers convulsed, but he did not reach for a second madelaine.

  “Detective Tidwell,” Theodosia began, “have you been able to look into the incident at the Lady Goodwood Inn? The break-in that led to the death of poor Captain Buchanan?”

  “Ah, change of subject,” said Tidwell. “Very well, it was done politely. Not the most graceful segue in the world, but adequate.” He leaned back in his chair, hunched his shoulders, and crooked his head to the left, as though trying to dislodge a kink from his thick neck.

  “I carefully reviewed the investigation report that Officers Gallier and Delehanty filed on the so-called break-in at the Lady Goodwood Inn. They did, in fact, check the roof and the various access points to it for fingerprints as well as signs of a disturbance. None were found.” He paused. “I stand corrected—on one of the remaining panes of glass in the ceiling, they found fingerprints belonging to one of the maintenance men. A Mr. Harry Kreider.”

  Harry Kreider, thought Theodosia. That was the man she’d spoken with that awful night, the one who’d lent her the ladder. He certainly wasn’t a viable suspect in her mind.

  “So it’s a dead end,” said Theodosia. Frowning slightly, she reached for one of the madelaines, took a bite, chewed absently.

  “It was never going anywhere to begin with,” said Tidwell. He gazed at her, saw her apparent distress. “I’m sorry,” he added, tempering his tone. “I don’t mean to be so rude. It was a game try, you made a good guess.”

  Theodosia exhaled slowly. No, she decided, it was more than a guess on her part. It was a... what was it, exactly? A feeling? A visceral intuition that the two incidents were connected?

  Tidwell was watching her closely, trying to get a read on her by using his natural instincts. She dropped her voice so Brooke and Aerin, sitting at the nearby table, wouldn’t hear her. “Let me ask you about something,” said Theodosia. She picked up her teacup, took a deliberate sip.

  Tidwell continued to watch her expectantly.

  “Other thefts in the historic district,” she said as she balanced her cup on the muffin plate. “Have you heard of any?”

  “Nearly half a dozen.”

  A loud crash sounded at her feet. Startled, Theodosia looked down to see the teacup and plate she’d been holding just moments earlier lying in smithereens on the floor. Without thinking, she bent down to pick up one of the pieces, immediately came away with a cut.

  “Miss Browning,” said Tidwell, reaching for her arm, gently pulling it back. “Do be careful.” He looked into her eyes, saw what he took to be bewilderment and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle or upset you in any way. Please do believe me.”

  In that same instant, Brooke Carter Crockett had jumped up from her seat at the table and now stood next to Theodosia, surveying the damage. “Oh, no,” she mourned, gazing down at the shattered china. “Were they good pieces?”

  Theodosia blinked back tears. Silly, she thought to herself, it’s only a plate and teacup. Lots more where that came from. “The teacup, a Delvaux, it... was my mother’s,” she replied. She reached down again, but Haley was suddenly there with a broom and dust pan.

  “Careful, Theo,” Haley warned. “Those little shards are awfully sharp.” She swept the larger pieces into the dust pan, went over the floor again to try to collect the smaller pieces. “These pegged floors are terrible,” she complained. “Every little thing gets caught down in the cracks. I’m going to have to bring out the vacuum sweeper.”

  “Later, Haley, okay?” said Theodosia. She glanced at her watch. “We’ll be closing in an hour or so anyway. Just let it go till then.”

  Haley, a compulsive cleaner and neat-nik, wasn’t pleased with what she viewed as a huge delay in putting things right. But she backed off anyway.

  Tidwell rose suddenly from his chair. “Sorry if I caused you any distress,” he said. “I just found out about this so-called rash of robberies myself a few hours ago. Very strange.”

  A half-dozen other robberies, Theodosia thought to herself. Not good. Not good at all.

  “That’s all right,” said Theodosia, still feeling slightly distracted. “And this is my treat,” she added when she saw him reach into his jacket pocket for his wallet. “Sorry to have been so clumsy.” And she hurried off after Haley.

  “Are you okay?” asked Drayton. He was ferrying empty teapots and teacups from the various tables. For some reason, the Indigo Tea Shop had cleared out rather suddenly. “You’re white as a sheet,” he told her.

  Theodosia slid in behind the counter. She put a hand to her heart and found it was beating like crazy. “There have been other robberies,” she hissed at Drayton.

  “What?” He stared at her crazily.

  “Tidwell just told me. A half-dozen other robberies!”

  “Good lord. In the historic district?”

  Theodosia nodded.

  “Hey,” said Haley as she emerged from the kitchen with a cardboard take-out carton in her hands. “What’s with you two?”

  “Tidwell delivered some fairly earth-shattering news,” said Drayton.

  “I gathered that,” said Haley, glancing over to the spot where she just knew some tiny shards were still wedged between the floorboards.

  “There have been other thefts,” said Drayton in a low voice.

  “Holy cow,” said Haley. “A lot?” Now he really had her attention.

  “A half-dozen or so. Plus Camille’s wedding ring and the necklace at the Heritage Society,” replied Drayton.

  Haley shook her head. “Right under our noses. Imagine that.”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” said Drayton. “I suddenly feel like I’ve been dumped into a vintage Alfred Hitchcock film. Twists and turns everywhere.”

  Theodosia nodded her agreement. “Drayton, you just said a mouthful.”

  Chapter 12

  From the first day she’d found Earl Grey in her back alley, a shivering, whimpering puppy that some heartless person had abandoned, Theodosia had struggled with his food.

  At first, the poor dog had been so starved he gobbled anything and everything she put in front of him, barely pausing to take a breath. She’d fed him a standard dog food with a teaspoon of olive oil poured over it, in hopes of improving his coat. But as Earl Grey had gotten older and started to feel more secure, came to realize he was much loved, and had finally found a permanent home, the dog had become a trifle picky. From gourmand to gourmet.

  And so Theodosia began to experiment. Adding cooked vegetables to Earl Grey’s food and occasionally boosting his protein intake by giving him a raw turkey neck.

  That had seemed to do the trick. The coat that Drayton continued to insist was salt and pepper but Theodosia saw as dappled gray had grown lush and thick, Earl G
rey had added muscle tone in his chest area, too, but still remained properly lean so you could gently feel a faint outline of his ribs.

  Tonight, Theodosia stirred a mixture of yogurt and steamed broccoli into Earl Grey’s food, then heated up a carton of gumbo for herself that she’d pulled from her freezer that morning. Duck and sausage gumbo was a staple all across the South, and no one made it better than her Aunt Libby, who lived out in the low-country. Aunt Libby had prepared gallons of the hearty stew earlier this fall and had given Theodosia at least a dozen cartons. Suffused with smoked sausage, tender breast of duck, okra, rice, celery, onion, hot peppers, herbs, and spices, the gumbo was an aromatic, heartwarming dinner. Especially since Theodosia had grabbed one of Haley’s blackberry scones to go along with it.

  “What do you think the calorie content of that was?” she asked Earl Grey, who had fixed her with a baleful look as she finished her dinner. “Yes, I know,” she told him. “You dined on low-fat yogurt and florets of broccoli while I sated myself with a high-fat, high-carb dinner. Life isn’t fair, is it?”

  Earl Grey sighed loudly, as if to say, You’re the one who said it, not me.

  “Only one thing to do, big guy,” she told him. “Go for a run.”

  Ah, the magic word. Run. Although walk, jog, and out were big-time favorites in Earl Grey’s lexicon, the word run seemed to evoke the most joy. For Earl Grey was instantly on his feet and pacing wildly as Theodosia dumped dirty dishes into the sink. He added a low whine to his repertoire as she changed into her running gear, and strained mightily as Theodosia struggled to clip the leash onto the overjoyed dog’s collar.

  Then they were down the steps and out the door into the dark night.

  The historic district on this October night was a thing of beauty. The atmosphere, heavy and redolent with mist, lent a soft focus to everything. Lights became shimmery, hard edges obscured.

  After a fast walk down their alley, Theodosia and Earl Grey picked up the pace. They settled into a good rhythm as they cut across the interior of the peninsula on Broad Street, covering a good eight or nine blocks. Popping out near the Coast Guard station, Theodosia could make out the faint silhouette of bobbing sailboats and towering masts at the Charleston Yacht Club far off to her right.