Shades of Earl Grey atsm-3

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia shrugged and her voice was slightly tremulous. “Yes. I’m just feeling... embroiled...in this rapidly unfolding cat burglar mystery.”

  “I believe Haley needs you in the kitchen,” said Dray-ton. Now he shifted his gaze to Tidwell.

  Theodosia waved a hand. “Haley’s fine, Drayton. She’s doing...I don’t know... the cake. Remember?”

  “I am quite certain Haley is in need of your assistance,” repeated Drayton. Now his stare turned into a glower and Tidwell seemed to squirm just a bit under Drayton’s intense scrutiny.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Theodosia, still not picking up on his cue.

  “There’s a dire problem with the coconut,” said Dray-ton. “A question of toasting or not toasting, I believe.”

  Now it was Tidwell’s turn to look mildly disconcerted.

  Theodosia rose from her chair suddenly. “Forgive me, Detective Tidwell, but there is a pressing business problem I must attend to.”

  “Very pressing, indeed. I understand,” he said and walked out.

  “Are you all right?” asked Drayton as he pushed his way into the kitchen. “Because that detective seemed far more annoying than usual.”

  “I’m fine, Drayton,” replied Theodosia. She was sitting on a stool, sipping a cup of tea. “But thanks for the rescue, anyway. I was pretty much at the end of my rope.”

  “Glad to be of assistance,” said Drayton. He reached over and picked up a small plate decorated with purple flowers that was sitting on Haley’s small counter. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Remember the muffin plate I dropped the other day?” said Theodosia. “Along with the teacup?”

  Drayton nodded. As he studied the plate, recognition dawned. “Oh. This is the plate that broke in half!”

  “Haley fixed it,” said Theodosia.

  “I superglued it,” volunteered Haley. “I was going to toss the pieces out, but after I saw the charm bracelet Brooke created, and how delighted Theodosia was at her reclaimed treasure, I decided to try a little glue.”

  “It was very sweet of you, Haley,” said Theodosia.

  “Not bad,” said Drayton, turning the muffin plate over. “You can hardly see the repair.”

  “Thanks,” said Haley. “It turned out to be kind of a fun project.”

  “We might have to tap your services for the Heritage Society,” grinned Drayton. “Put you to work in our restoration department. Maybe your talents run toward restoring old prints and photographs, too.”

  “Speaking of the Heritage Society,” said Haley, “are you-all still going ahead with the opening tomorrow night?”

  Drayton grimaced. “Yes, we are. Up until yesterday there were still nasty rumblings from the executive advisory committee about canceling or even delaying the public opening of the Treasures Show. But of course, Timothy Neville fought them tooth and nail. He’s quite adamant about adhering to his predetermined schedule. Don’t you know, all the invitations have been sent out and all the publicity done. So what else could Timothy do? Plus, he didn’t want to look like an alarmist. After all, this cat burglar fellow could have moved on, just like Detective Tidwell suggested.”

  “He hasn’t,” spoke up Theodosia. “In fact, it seems there’s been another break-in. Tidwell just told me about it. That’s the reason I was so upset.”

  Drayton put a gnarled hand to his head, rubbed his gray hair. “Oh, no. Did he mention where?”

  “The Hall-Barnett House,” said Theodosia.

  “Wow,” said Haley. “What was snatched this time?”

  “An antique tea caddy,” said Theodosia.

  Drayton and Haley just stared at her.

  “Weird,” said Haley finally.

  “So, like the shark with his territorial feeding habits, this fellow is still circling the neighborhood,” sighed Drayton.

  “And it looks like he’s making tighter circles,” said Theodosia. “The Hall-Barnett House is just a couple blocks from here.”

  Haley shuddered. “That feels a little too close for comfort.”

  “This new information is absolutely appalling,” declared Drayton, fingering his bow tie nervously. “Who else

  knows about this?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Theodosia.

  “If Timothy or the executive committee find out, they’ll for sure cancel the opening,” said Drayton glumly.

  “Then don’t tell them,” piped up Haley.

  They were all three silent for a moment.

  “What if,” said Haley finally, “what if we could concoct some kind of scheme? Something that would trap this guy for good?”

  “We already tried that,” snapped Drayton, obviously feeling dispirited and dejected.

  “Not really,” said Haley. “The electronic devices you set up weren’t exactly a trap. You said yourself they were more of a security precaution.”

  “Which didn’t work,” said Drayton with a dispirited air.

  “Because the electricity went off,” offered Haley. “Not because you guys screwed up.”

  The timer on the oven suddenly emitted a loud ding. Startled, Drayton gave a little jump, then watched sheepishly as Haley slipped an oven mitt onto her hand and opened the oven door. The two round cake layers looked perfect. Beautifully golden brown and pocked with tiny bubbles like the surface of a miniature moon. Smiling, Haley pulled the two pans of coconut cake from the oven.

  “Perfect,” murmured Drayton as he gazed at the cakes.

  Haley set the cakes to cool on the scarred wooden table. “You just said a mouthful, Drayton,” said Haley. “Because what you need this time is the perfect plan.”

  He stared at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re jabbering about.”

  Theodosia, deep in thought, suddenly spoke up. “Tell me, Drayton, what’s the most valuable object that the Heritage Society has in their collection?”

  Sidetracked by Theodosia now, Drayton scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be a silver tray made by Paul Revere. The Calhoun family had it in their possession for ages until they donated it to us two years ago.” He threw Theodosia a dubious glance, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “But I hardly think Timothy’s going to allow us to use a valuable such as that for bait. Especially in light of how our efforts failed so miserably at protecting the Blue Kashmir in the European Jewel Collection.”

  “Exactly,” said Theodosia. “Which means we’re going to have to pull something out of a hat.”

  “What?” Drayton’s voice rose in a squawk. “What are you talking about?”

  “And,” said Theodosia, “it’s going to have to be a very tasty little item.” She gazed at Drayton, her blue eyes sparkling, her enthusiasm suddenly back with a vengeance. “Drayton, your friend still writes the arts column for the Post & Courier, doesn’t he?”

  Drayton nodded. “Sheldon Tibbets? Yes, he’s still doing a fine job of it. But I don’t see what—”

  “Do you think you could persuade Mr. Tibbets to compose a special little blurb for us?” Theodosia said in a rush.

  “I suppose I could,” said Drayton slowly.

  “Excellent,” said Theodosia as her energy seemed to increase by leaps and bounds. “Because we’re going to take the liberty of augmenting the Heritage Society’s collection.”

  Drayton narrowed his eyes. “What exactly do you mean by augment?” he asked.

  Theodosia suddenly jumped down off her stool. “The three of us are going to come up with a glitzy, glamorous new objet d’art. Something that’s utterly irresistible to a professional cat burglar. And as the icing on the proverbial cake, you, my dear Mr. Conneley, are going to persuade your good friend, Sheldon Tibbets, to give our fabulous new collectible a big write-up in tomorrow’s paper!”

  Drayton stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I couldn’t be more serious,” said Theodosia. What had Timothy Neville said to her just a few days ago? She racked her brain.
Oh, yes, he said, “There’s no guarantee the disaster of last Saturday night won’t be repeated.”

  “We’re going to deliver a guarantee!” exclaimed Theodosia. “A treasure so tasty and utterly irresistible that it’s guaranteed to attract every salivating cat burglar from here to Palm Beach!”

  Drayton was shaking his head and his voice carried a dubious tone. “But what object could possibly do that?” he asked.

  Theodosia thought for a moment, recalling an article about so-called investment collectibles that had run not too long ago in Business Week magazine. Let’s see, she thought, the article mentioned that sports memorabilia were very big today. As well as the ever-popular antiques and artwork. And gold coins. And what else?

  Theodosia suddenly pushed her way through the velvet draperies back into the tea shop. Puzzled, Haley and Dray-ton followed in her wake.

  Theodosia stood poised in the middle of the Indigo Tea Shop, her eyes wandering as her mind struggled to spin out a plausible scenario.

  Something rare, she told herself. Intriguing, mysterious, with a huge intrinsic value. As her eyes continued to wander, they fell upon the display of teas that sat on one of the wooden shelves behind the old brass cash register. There was a huge selection. Boxes of loose tea from Higgins & Barrow Tea, as well as from Toby & Sons, and Chelsea and Worther.

  Suddenly, her eyes focused on the box of Dunsdale Earl Grey Tea. It bore a delightful label, pale green with a heraldic crest surrounded by elaborate flourishes. In the middle was a silhouette of some nobleman. Perhaps, she surmised, the founding Dunsdale himself.

  Inspiration suddenly hit her.

  “How about a postage stamp?” suggested Theodosia.

  Drayton blinked. Any enthusiasm he seemed to be mustering suddenly drained out of him. “Theodosia, I’m sorry but I’ve been collecting postage stamps for almost thirty years and the rarest one I have is an 1861 two-cent Andrew Jackson with a double transfer on the top left corner. A delicious specimen, to be sure, but not quite in the lofty realm of rare stamps. Not in the ranks that might attract the attention of a cat burglar, anyway.”

  Theodosia smiled placidly as Drayton continued.

  “And Timothy Neville’s been collecting stamps for over forty years and the rarest piece in his collection is a block of four 1851 twelve-cent Washingtons.” Drayton paused and pursed his lips, thinking. “We’d have to come up with something far, far better than those if we really wanted to tantalize our thief.”

  “Like what?” asked Haley.

  Drayton thought for a moment. “The Pony Express collection is worth a fortune. But I can’t imagine where we’d lay our hands on a set.”

  “What about a one-cent Z grill?” asked Theodosia.

  Drayton stared at her. “The 1869 Benjamin Franklin with the Z grill background? Are you kidding?” he snorted. “Nobody’s got a one-cent Z grill.”

  “Aunt Libby does,” said Theodosia with sudden calm. Aunt Libby had inherited a very fine stamp collection from her grandfather, Theodosia’s great-grandfather.

  “Really?” squealed Haley. She grabbed for Drayton’s arm, ready to do a little dance. “A Z grill!” She hopped up and down, did a quick shuffle, then stopped suddenly. “What’s a Z grill?”

  “An exceedingly rare philatelic specimen, that’s what it is,” said Drayton. He peered at Theodosia and cocked his head in disbelief. “Really? Your Aunt Libby has one?” Now he sounded like Haley. Incredulous.

  Yes, Theodosia mused to herself, a rare postage stamp would be perfect. Stamps in general were escalating in value, sometimes even outpacing other collectibles. Besides, rare stamps were portable, easy to hide, and relatively easy to cash in. They were an easy sell to private collectors, who were often compulsive about completing their prized collections. Who knows, a rare stamp might even be the perfect bait to lure a cat burglar.

  Drayton was still looking eagerly at her, waiting for an answer. “You’re quite sure it’s a Franklin Z grill?”

  Theodosia nodded and a slow smile spread across Dray-ton’s face. “Yes,” he murmured, “that’s the ticket, then. A stamp so rare perhaps only a handful of top collectors know about it or have even seen one.”

  “What’s the story?” asked Haley. “Why will it be on display?”

  Theodosia thought for a moment. “We’ll say it’s part of Drayton’s collection.” She gazed at him, liking the sound of it. “Will that make good enough fodder for a newspaper article?” she asked.

  “I’ll call Sheldon Tibbets now,” Drayton told her.

  Chapter 20

  Chicken Perloo HAS long been a dinner time favorite in Charleston as well as the surrounding low-country. Really a type of pilaf or jambalaya, Chicken Perloo, usually pronounced PER-lo and sometimes spelled pilau, is a homey one-pot meal that combines chicken, onions, celery, butter, tomatoes, thyme, and that ever-popular Carolina staple, white rice.

  Simmering and bubbling on the stove in Theodosia’s kitchen, the Chicken Perloo emitted enticing aromas as Theodosia, Jory, Drayton, and Haley sat around Theodosia’s dining table. First course was a citrus salad topped with sliced strawberries and toasted almonds.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t check on the Chicken Perloo?” asked Drayton. He was seated closest to the kitchen door and was the one most tantalized by the flavorful aroma.

  “Don’t you dare lift the cover on that kettle,” warned Theodosia. Haley shook her head. “Why do men always want to take a peak?” she asked.

  “Because that’s how men are,” said Jory Davis. “It’s inherent in our nature. We’re compulsive lid-lifters and oven-door openers.” He took a sip of wine. “Curiosity is a wonderful thing,” he added.

  “Not when it causes a cake to fall,” said Haley. “Remember that angel food cake I made last month? Drayton just couldn’t resist. Had to sneak the oven door open and take a look. And what were the results of his unbridled curiosity? Bam. A nasty mess. The poor thing crashed like the Hindenburg.”

  “Why blame me, when the true culprit was the humidity,” protested Drayton. “Everyone knows you can’t bake angel food cake when the air is completely saturated with humidity.”

  “We hadn’t had rain in days,” said Haley. She slid out of her chair and began collecting the empty salad plates. “I’ll help you serve, okay?” she said to Theodosia.

  “Great,” said Theodosia. “And if Jory could pour some more wine, I think we’re set.”

  It was a perfect dinner. Morsels of fresh, plump chicken blended with the tomatoes, celery, onions, and moist rice in a rich milieu. Not quite a stew, not quite a gumbo. And with Jory’s crisp white wine and a pan of fresh-baked corn muffins, nothing else was needed.

  No one spoke of cat burglars or the dilemma at the Heritage Society until dessert, when Haley’s cake and lemon curd were served. And then it was Theodosia who began the discussion by bringing Jory Davis up to speed on the strange note they’d received that morning.

  “It does seem like a cryptic warning,” he said as he held the note in his hands, studying it. “It’s tempting to just blow it off or chalk it up to a disgruntled customer, but I don’t think that’s the case here.”

  “Neither do we,” said Theodosia.

  “So you think it’s from this cat burglar guy, too?” Haley asked Jory as she began collecting plates.

  “It’s possible,” said Jory. He stared across the table at Theodosia and concern was apparent in his face. “Tell me again about your idea for tomorrow night?”

  Earlier in the evening, when Jory Davis had first arrived and she was still chopping celery, she’d mentioned her plan for putting a rare postage stamp on display at the Heritage Society tomorrow night. Now she filled Jory in about how Drayton had convinced his friend, Sheldon Tibbets, to write a short blurb about the Z grill to run in tomorrow’s edition.

  Jory Davis leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Sounds good. Although I must say, you three have exceedingly active imaginations.”

  “But do you think it
will work?” pressed Drayton.

  “Why not,” said Jory, suddenly switching to a more serious demeanor. “Of course, not being a stamp collector or... what’s the technical term?”

  “Philatelist,” filled in Drayton.

  “Not being a dedicated philatelist,” said Jory, “the stamp sounds intriguing. But not something I’d risk life and limb for. However . . .”

  He gazed across the table at Theodosia, bathed in the glow of pink candlelight.

  “I think that professional thieves are probably also knowledgeable connoisseurs,” continued Jory. “My guess is they have a fairly good grasp of today’s market value for oil paintings and jewelry and stamps and such. That’s what drives them.” Haley set a dessert down in front of him and Jory immediately helped himself to a bite of cake. “Mmn, good. That might also be your cat burglar’s Achilles’ heel, by the way.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Haley, fascinated.

  “My guess is their knowledge is their downfall. It’s how they eventually get caught. A professional thief knows the value of his ill-gotten merchandise, yet often ends up trying to negotiate with fences or unsavory dealers who don’t. If these dealers get an inkling that something is of real value, they could easily flip on their so-called customer, report it to the insurance company, and pocket a nice fat reward.”

  “And if a cat burglar sells his stolen goods on the Internet?” said Theodosia.

  Jory Davis knew she was referring to Graham Carmody. “That’s a different story,” he said. He looked around the table. “Have you told them about Graham Carmody?” he asked her.

  And so Theodosia quickly related her tale of going to Graham Carmody’s house, snatching the black plastic garbage bag, and finding it stuffed with computer printouts from various Internet auction sites.

  “Theodosia,” chided Drayton, “you continue to trample the boundaries of what is prudent and safe. Going to this Graham Carmody’s house alone was far too impulsive.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Haley, “you should have asked us to go along with you. Make a real outing of it!”

  Drayton glowered at Haley. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”