by Laura Childs
“Tasty,” said Haley, taking a quick sip.
“What’s really excellent are these scones,” said Drayton. “This is a new recipe, correct?”
“Peach scones,” said Haley. “One of my granny’s secret receipts.”
“So the departed specter of the Parker clan still looms large in our midst,” smiled Drayton.
Which suddenly reminded Theodosia of Bill Glass’s final words to her. That Ravencrest Inn was haunted.
She thought of mentioning it to Drayton and Haley, then chased that thought clean out of her head. This wasn’t the time to bring up such things as ghosts and goblins. Even here in the Carolina low country where ghostly legends prevailed and graveyards were roundly held to be inhabited by restless spirits.
The three of them sat in quiet repose for a few more minutes, sipping tea, talking. Then, as if an unspoken signal had been given, they began to prepare for their morning guests.
Drayton lit tiny white tea candles and laid out crisp white napkins, while Theodosia placed a tapestry of mismatched teacups and saucers on all the tables. Sugar bowls were filled, tea cozies laid out. Their reassuring morning ritual.
This, of course, was what it was all about. This was what brought Theodosia true happiness and contentment. Never once did she regret leaving the chew-’em-up, spit-’em-out world of marketing to run her beautiful little Indigo Tea Shop. In fact, being a tea entrepreneur was her dream come true. Her floor-to-ceiling cupboards were filled with the world’s most exotic teas: delicately fruited Nilgiris, malty Assams, rich dark oolongs. Her tea shop itself, a former carriage house, sported pegged wood floors that had recently been given a red tea wash, as well as battered hickory tables, brick walls, leaded-glass windows, and a tiny fireplace. Of course, the place was crammed with items for sale, too. Vintage teapots lovingly scouted at local auctions, handmade tea cozies, tea towels, jars of Devonshire cream and DuBose Bees Honey, candles, wicker baskets, and cut-glass bowls all sat on shelves or were tucked into wooden cupboards. The walls were decorated with antique prints and grapevine wreaths she’d made and decorated.
When they were finally, perfectly ready, Drayton went to the front door and pulled back the white lace curtain. “Brace yourselves,” he announced as he unlatched the door. “We’ve got Monday-morning customers.”
But it wasn’t the usual assortment of shopkeepers and neighbors who tumbled in this morning, eager for their morning cuppa and fresh-baked scones. Instead, it was two young men in their late twenties, blond surfer types dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, and toting a video camera and various other pieces of electronic equipment.
“Gentlemen,” said Drayton, looking a little nonplussed. “Table for two?”
The young man with the camera glanced around, noticed Theodosia standing next to a highboy, and came charging through the shop, dodging tables left and right. “You’re Theodosia Browning?” he asked. “Right?”
Theodosia gave a slight nod. “Yes. May I help you?”
The man touched a hand to his chest and said, “I’m Jed Beckman, and this is my brother, Tim. We’re ghost hunters!”
* * *
“We can’t help you,” Drayton snapped. “There are no ghosts here. But if you’d care to look at our take-out menu . . .” He grabbed a menu from the counter and thrust it toward them. “We can package up anything you like, especially since you fellows seem to be in a rush.”
Eyes fixed firmly on Theodosia, Jed Beckman unfurled the front page of the Charleston Post and Courier and held it up for her to see. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it says here that you were the one who discovered the body of Mr. Douglas Granville in a room at the Ravencrest Inn?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Theodosia. “But that’s old news and completely out of my hands. The police have already launched an investigation.”
“Because there was obviously foul play,” Drayton added. “Now about your take-out order . . .” He disapproved of the two men’s casual dress, and he disapproved of their questions. Basically, Drayton just disapproved.
“I don’t know if you’ve paid much attention to the rumors,” said Jed. “But Ravencrest Inn is supposed to be haunted.”
“I really don’t know anything about that,” said Theodosia, stumbling over her words a little. “Perhaps you’re thinking of the Unitarian Church Graveyard or the Old City Jail? I know there are nightly ghost tours to those particular sites.”
“Really, historic tours,” cut in Drayton, as four women pushed their way into the tea shop and gazed at him expectantly.
“Maybe you two should sit down so we can talk privately,” Theodosia suggested to Jed and Tim. Lord knows, she didn’t need her customers to overhear any talk about ghosts. This was a tea shop, after all. A genteel oasis of calm. Not the fortune-telling room at Madame Viola’s Voodoo Emporium.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tim, as he and Jed settled at a nearby table. “And we’d like some tea if you’ve got it.”
“We have an entire repertoire,” said Theodosia. “What would you prefer? A nice English breakfast tea? Or perhaps an Earl Grey or Nilgiri?”
“I’ve only ever had tea bags,” said Jed. “And Chinese restaurant tea. So anything you choose will probably be great.”
“And perhaps a scone to go along with your tea?” asked Theodosia.
Both boys nodded, so Theodosia scurried off.
“What are you doing?” Drayton hissed to her at the counter. “You’re encouraging them in their folly.”
Theodosia grabbed two floral teacups with matching saucers and placed them on a silver tray. “I didn’t tell you about this before because I thought it was just a silly story. But after everyone left on Saturday, after the police strung up the crime-scene tape and everything, Bill Glass told me that Ravencrest Inn was haunted.”
“He was pulling your leg,” said Drayton.
“Actually, he seemed rather serious. And you know Glass; he’s never serious.”
“There are no ghosts,” said Drayton, as he measured out scoops of jasmine tea into a blue-and-white Chinese teapot. “They simply don’t exist.”
“Oh, really,” said Theodosia. “What about the glowing orbs you encountered a couple of years back? The ones you saw hovering along Gateway Walk?”
Drayton pursed his lips. “That was different. That incident took place in a very ancient cemetery. On land where our forebears fought and died.”
“So you’re telling me those were legitimate ghosts while the ones at Ravencrest Inn are just posers?” For some reason, the notion amused her.
Drayton waved an index finger back and forth. “Trust me, entertaining a troupe of amateur ghost hunters can come to no good. It can only turn into a circus and cause more pain for Delaine.”
But would it really? Theodosia wondered. Because, of all the people she knew, of all the people who believed, Delaine was strangely amenable to ghosts and spirits from the great beyond.
* * *
They were unbelievably busy then for the next twenty minutes. Theodosia greeted and seated guests while Drayton worked the front counter, brewing multiple pots of tea. Finally, when things settled down a bit, Theodosia turned her attention back to the ghost hunters.
“Is this a nonprofit venture on your part?” Theodosia asked. “A hobby?”
“It started out that way,” said Jed. “But now our goal is to produce a reality show called Southern Hauntings.”
“Aren’t there enough paranormal shows on TV already?” asked Theodosia. You could barely channel-surf without seeing a gaggle of ghost hunters pawing their way through some old prison or rundown mansion.
“We don’t think so,” said Tim. “There’s really a huge demand for ghosts and the paranormal, and we think we bring a fresh perspective.”
“How so?” asked Theodosia.
“Besides the obvious Southern angle
,” said Jed, “the other TV shows concern themselves with trying to contact ghosts of people who died years and years ago.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia, not exactly liking where this conversation seemed to be headed.
“But we want to make contact with new ghosts, recent ghosts,” said Jed.
“A-ha,” said Theodosia, though she did not share their enthusiasm.
“You see,” explained Tim, “contacting the spirit world is a little like trying to establish a radio signal. Unfortunately, the longer a person has been dead, the weaker that signal is. What we want to do is try to contact the more recently departed.”
“Because they emit a stronger signal,” said Theodosia. She couldn’t believe she was playing along with this.
“That’s exactly right,” said Tim.
“Here’s the thing,” said Jed. “We’d like you to go with us.”
“Back to Ravencrest Inn,” said Theodosia, suddenly not relishing the idea at all. “But that would require obtaining permission from the owners.”
“We’ll get it,” said Tim. “We can be very persuasive.”
“Everybody and his brother wants to be on a reality show these days,” offered Jed.
“If you go in,” said Theodosia, “you’ll find that the place isn’t all that large. So you certainly don’t need me to function as any sort of guide.”
“We were thinking of you more as a spirit guide,” said Jed.
Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “Oh, dear.”
“Because you were near him,” said Jed. “When he died.”
“And you found him,” said Tim.
“And that’s important?” said Theodosia.
“It is to us,” said Tim.
“Let me noodle around your invitation,” said Theodosia. She wanted to let them down gently. They were obviously well intentioned, but this really wasn’t something she wanted to participate in, let alone help facilitate.
Tim leaned forward, a question on his face. “Tell me, Miss Browning, when you first walked into that room, before you knew the man was dead, did you feel anything? Was there anything strange in the air?”
Theodosia thought about the electrical pulse she’d picked up on immediately. A strange anxious feeling that had tickled her nerves, as if a transformer had just exploded. A feeling that something wasn’t quite right, a sort of . . . low, menacing vibration.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t feel anything at all.”
5
As always, Haley was a marvel in a kitchen that was roughly the size of a postage stamp. In her white smock and tall chef’s hat that looked like an overblown mushroom on her head, she whirled and twirled her luncheon ballet: plucking a pan of bubbling pepper jack cheese quiche from the oven, giving her wild rice soup a quick stir, tasting her vinaigrette and adding a pinch more tarragon.
“Are the ghost busters gone?” asked Haley. She gave a mischievous smile. “Did they vanish into thin air?”
Theodosia, who’d been setting out white luncheon plates like she was dealing out a deck of playing cards, said, “How on earth did you know about them?”
“Drayton told me,” said Haley. “Last time he buzzed through here. Though he seemed awfully put off by the whole thing.”
“The intrepid Beckman brothers have their heart set on tiptoeing through Ravencrest Inn,” said Theodosia.
Haley nodded. “Kids just want to have fun.”
“Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that,” said Theodosia. “They also want to try to make contact with Dougan Granville’s spirit.”
Haley smiled. “They think maybe he’s malingering over there on the other side?”
“Something like that, yes,” said Theodosia.
“Then maybe he is,” said Haley.
“Probably he isn’t.” Probably, Theodosia decided, Granville rested in the arms of the Lord now. At least she hoped he did.
“I bet Delaine wouldn’t mind if they tried to contact her dear departed fiancé,” said Haley. “She might even like the idea.”
“Drayton thinks that any sort of ghost-hunting nonsense would just cause Delaine more heartbreak,” said Theodosia. “He’s of the firm belief that we should just leave it alone.”
“Drayton thinks what?” asked Drayton, as he suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Theodosia was just telling me about the ghost hunters,” said Haley, as she plucked a Meyer lemon from a large bowl of lemons, grabbed a paring knife, and quickly created a small mound of lemon zest.
“Such silly fellows,” said Drayton. “They’re under the illusion they can contact an actual spirit and then record it using a camera or some sort of tape recorder.”
“More like a digital recorder,” said Haley. “Tape went out, oh, I don’t know, maybe with disco music and shoulder pads the size of pillows?”
“I have no idea what you’re mumbling about,” said Drayton. He was a confirmed Luddite who basically abhorred technology. He scorned digital cameras and didn’t even own a cell phone.
“I bet you still play vinyl records,” said Haley.
“Naturally,” said Drayton. His brows rose slightly as he adjusted his bow tie. “Some things simply cannot be improved upon.”
“Haley,” said Theodosia, eager to put an end to the ghost-hunting issue, “why don’t you run through our menu for today?”
That stopped Haley in her tracks. She loved nothing better than to tick off her luncheon offerings and her tasty repertoire of baked goods. “Oh. Well. Our savories include quiche, wild rice soup, tea-simmered chicken breasts, and tomato and cream cheese tea sandwiches.”
“And for sweets?” Drayton prompted.
“That would be ginger scones and chocolate mint bars,” said Haley.
“Excellent,” said Drayton. He gave a perfunctory smile, then said, “I believe I shall brew pots of Assam and Indian spice tea. Those teas should make for excellent luncheon pairings.”
“Go for it,” said Haley, as Drayton disappeared.
Haley grabbed a soup ladle, frowned, and said, “Oh, rats.” She stepped around the counter quickly, looking distracted, and said, “I forgot to tell Drayton about my apple crumbles. She rushed out the kitchen door and called after him, “And there’s apple crumbles, plus we’ve still got apricot scones left, too.” Hurrying back into the kitchen, she dusted her hands together and said, “Okay. So we’re pretty much set for lunch.”
“Anything I can do to help?” asked Theodosia. Haley was a martinet in the kitchen, secretive of her ingredients and recipes, wanting to control every single aspect. So she rarely asked for assistance. Yet Theodosia always offered. It was simply good manners.
Haley picked up a wooden spoon and gestured at her. “If you ask me, I think you should seriously consider accepting that ghost-hunting invitation.”
“You think so?”
“Yup.”
“Like Drayton, I worry that any sort of foray back to Ravencrest Inn might cause Delaine more pain.”
“Why don’t you let her decide?” said Haley.
“You mean ask Delaine?”
“Sure,” said Haley. “In case you didn’t know, she’s sitting out there in the tea room.”
* * *
Delaine looked tired but composed. She sat at a window table, gazing out onto Church Street where red-and-yellow horse-drawn jitneys lumbered past laden with tourists, and late-morning traffic was forced to blip around St. Phillip’s Church where it stuck solidly out into the middle of Church Street. Hence the name Church Street.
Seated across from Delaine was a woman Theodosia didn’t recognize. She was fairly young, maybe late twenties, with a pleasant expression, cool-looking narrow silver-blue glasses, and a cap of attractive brown curls. She wore a crisp khaki business suit that had a bit of a military snap to it.
Theodosia
slipped past the velvet celadon green curtain that separated the tea shop from the back of the shop and threaded her way to Delaine’s table.
“Delaine?” Theodosia’s voice conveyed the fact that she was surprised to see her. “How are you doing?”
Delaine offered a sad smile. “Hanging in there.”
“I’m surprised to see you here,” said Theodosia.
“Where else would I go?” said Delaine.
Gee, I don’t know, Theodosia thought. Maybe a meeting with a funeral director? Or a minister?
Delaine flipped a hand toward the woman sitting across from her. “Theo, I’d like you to meet Millie. Millie Grant.”
Millie threw Theodosia a warm smile. “I’m Mr. Granville’s secretary,” she explained.
“Oh,” said Theodosia. “How very nice to meet you. Considering the, um, circumstances.”
Millie nodded and seemed to blink back tears. “It’s been hard on all of us.”
Theodosia glanced around and saw that Drayton had things under control for the moment, so she sat down with them.
“Where’s Nadine . . . is she still in town?” Theodosia asked Delaine. Nadine was a divorcée from New York. But, to Delaine’s great consternation, she seemed to be spending more and more time in Charleston. Theodosia figured Nadine was biding her time until she could move in permanently with Delaine, and thus be a permanent source of discord.
“Some help she’s been in all of this,” said Delaine, making a dismissive gesture. “She’s either crying herself silly or dashing out the door.”
“Well, if you need help with anything, I’ll do whatever I can,” said Theodosia. “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Delaine’s eyes suddenly shone brightly with tears. “Thank you, Theo. I do need your help. After being interrogated and browbeaten by Detective Tidwell, I’m extremely upset!”
“If you’d like me to speak to him,” said Theodosia, “just say the word.”