by Laura Childs
Delaine reached across the table and gripped Theodosia’s hand. “Theo, I need more than talk. I need action!”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Theodosia. “You need some help planning a memorial service or . . . ?”
Delaine did a double take, popping her eyes wide open and dropping her lower jaw. “Are you serious?” she screeched. “I want you to do what you always do. Snoop around, ask questions, figure things out! Help clear my good name!”
“You’re saying you want me to investigate?” said Theodosia.
“Yes! Of course!” Delaine gave a quick glance around. “Did I just walk into a parallel universe or something? That’s what you’re good at!”
“Not really,” said Theodosia.
“You are!” said Delaine. “You’ve figured out crimes before!” She tapped an index finger against her head. “So we need to put your smarts to work on this!”
“But who exactly would I investigate?” asked Theodosia, knowing she was treading on eggshells.
“Simone, of course!” spat out Delaine. “Dougan’s skanky ex-girlfriend. Really, Theo, the woman hates me. No, let me rephrase that, she despises me!”
“I somehow doubt that,” said Theodosia.
But Delaine thought otherwise. “It had to be Simone who gave Dougan the drugs. She knew he’d had a minor flirtation with them a couple of years ago.”
Theodosia tried to get a word in. “But why would she . . . ?”
“Simone was obviously trying to appeal to Dougan at a weak moment,” said Delaine. “She was trying to get him high and then change his mind about marrying me!”
“Delaine, be reasonable,” said Theodosia. “If Simone still had feelings for Dougan, she certainly wouldn’t have murdered him.”
“You don’t know her like I do,” said Delaine. “She’s extremely cold and conniving. She probably figured that if she couldn’t have him, then neither could I!”
Theodosia had to admit there was a small kernel of twisted logic there. Somewhere.
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll pay a visit to Simone.” For about two minutes. Just to say that I did and satisfy Delaine’s craving to snoop. “Where exactly would I find her?”
Delaine fumbled in her Prada bag and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here. I wrote it all down for you. Simone owns a vintage shop by the name of Archangel. It’s over on King Street.”
“Near all the antique dealers,” Theodosia murmured, as Drayton suddenly appeared at their table. His tray held a pitcher of sweet tea along with three tall, frosted glasses.
“My special Honey Hibiscus Sweet Tea,” said Drayton. “Egyptian chamomile tea blended with hibiscus blossoms, rose hips, and a touch of honey.” He nodded solemnly at Delaine. “I do hope you’re feeling some better.”
“Some,” said Delaine.
“And hello to you,” Drayton said to Millie.
“This is Dougan’s secretary,” said Delaine.
“Millie,” said Millie, nodding.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Drayton. “My sincere sympathies to you, too.”
“Thank you,” said Millie, as Drayton moved off.
Theodosia poured out glasses of sweet tea for all of them. When she handed a glass to Millie, the girl gave a little shiver and said, “I never met a real-life investigator before.”
“Well, I’m not one,” said Theodosia.
But Millie was not to be dissuaded. “Delaine was bragging to me earlier about how smart you are. How good you are at finding clues and figuring things out.”
“Sometimes I get lucky,” said Theodosia.
“Well, it sure is nice to have you on our side,” Millie continued. “Especially after . . .” Her voice faded as she gazed sorrowfully at Delaine.
“What?” said Theodosia. “Did something happen?” Tidwell again?
Delaine sniffled, then dug into her bag for a tissue. “There was another nasty scene this morning,” she whispered.
“What?” said Theodosia. What she really meant was, Now what?
Millie turned toward Theodosia with sorrowful eyes. “When Delaine showed up at Granville and Grumley, I’m afraid she was given a rather cool reception.”
“Seriously?” said Theodosia. Delaine was treated rudely at her fiancé’s law firm? Her dead fiancé’s law firm? Shouldn’t they have been bend-over-backward nice to her?
Millie nodded. “To be honest, they were perfectly awful.”
Theodosia stared at Delaine. “Who was awful to you?”
“Pretty much everyone,” sniffed Delaine. “Although Allan Grumley, Dougan’s partner, was the worst.”
“His partner?” said Theodosia. She found this totally bizarre, especially since Granville and Grumley had been known all over Charleston for being a hotshot team of lawyers, the kind of gunslinging attorneys that could intimidate and negotiate with the best of them. Her assumption had always been that the two men were arrogant, freewheeling, and extremely like-minded. That they got along famously.
“I was totally shocked,” said Delaine. She sniffed again and daubed at her eyes with a hanky.
“Why did you even go there?” asked Theodosia.
“Just to obtain some paperwork,” said Delaine. “But who knew I’d be met with such fierce resistance? Except, of course, for Millie. She was the one saving grace.”
Millie reached across the table and patted Delaine’s hand. “You know I’ll always be there for you.”
“I know you will, sweetie,” said Delaine. “You were devoted to Dougan and don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”
“Thank you,” said Millie. Now she looked like she was ready to cry.
Her eyes going hard, Delaine gazed across her sweet tea at Theodosia. “I want revenge,” she hissed. “Sweet revenge. My life’s been ruined and the one man who loved me despite all my foibles is dead!” She took a gulp of sweet tea. “He loved me unconditionally and didn’t think it was one bit odd that I talked to cats.”
“Of course, he didn’t,” said Theodosia. Women are considered odd only when they collect dozens of cats.
“I know it’s asking a lot of you, Theo,” said Delaine, “but will you please go with me to Granville and Grumley tomorrow afternoon? Will you be my advocate? My ally?”
“Why do you even have to go there?” asked Theodosia.
“There are papers and things she needs to see,” said Millie.
“Can’t you take care of those things?” Theodosia asked Millie. “Run interference for her?”
Millie snorted. “Me? Are you kidding? I’m just a lowly secretary. Not even on par with a paralegal. Nobody there listens to me.”
“Please, Theo?” said Delaine. “We need you. I need you.”
“Of course, I’ll go with you,” said Theodosia. She hated the fact that Delaine had been treated badly. Rude behavior and taking advantage of people when they were hurting were two things that radically ruffled her feathers.
“The thing is,” said Delaine, “I really don’t trust Allan Grumley.”
“Maybe he’s still in shock, too,” said Theodosia. “Maybe he’s trying to figure out how the firm can move ahead and he’s just crazed with worry.” She figured there had to be a legitimate reason for Grumley’s bad behavior, if that was what it really had been.
“And I’m not so sure about Charles Horton, either,” Delaine added.
“The stepson?” said Theodosia. “Why on earth would you be suspicious of him?”
“I find it très strange that Horton suddenly came crawling out of the woodwork once our wedding was announced,” said Delaine. “And that he suddenly wanted to go to work for Granville and Grumley.”
“But Horton’s a lawyer,” said Theodosia. “So it really does make sense. And I’m guessing he probably wanted to reconnect with his stepfat
her after all these years. Maybe a happy event like a wedding just made for perfect, feel-good timing. I mean, Horton did live with his stepfather when he was younger, didn’t he?”
“I suppose he did,” said Delaine. “For a few years, anyway.”
“Horton’s mother was Granville’s second wife?” Theodosia asked.
Delaine nodded.
“How many times had Granville been married?”
Delaine looked thoughtful. “Two that I know of. Maybe three.” She blinked, looked up, and said, “Hello, Haley.”
Haley gave an eager smile. “I brought you guys some fresh-baked scones and honey butter.”
Delaine gave Haley’s tray a listless glance. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Try a bite,” said Theodosia. “These scones are one of Haley’s premier recipes.”
Haley placed a scone on everyone’s plate, then continued to stand at their table, throwing meaningful glances at Theodosia.
“Thank you, Haley,” said Theodosia. She couldn’t figure out why Haley was still hovering. Usually, she darted right back to her kitchen, like a little mouse to its hidey-hole.
Haley cleared her throat self-consciously and said, “Theo, you should tell her.”
Delaine lifted her head and stared tiredly at Haley. “Excuse me?”
“Thank you for your input, Haley.” Now Theodosia’s voice carried a warning tone.
“Because I think she’ll be okay with it,” Haley continued.
“Now is not the time,” said Theodosia.
Delaine’s perfectly waxed brows knit together. “Now is the time,” she said, sounding vexed. “Pray tell, why are you two making goo-goo eyes at each other? What little secret are you trying to keep from me?”
“Something pretty important,” said Haley.
“The thing is,” Theodosia said with reluctance, “we had a strange pair of visitors this morning.”
“Two young men who claim to be ghost hunters,” said Haley. “Jed and Tim Beckman.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” asked Delaine, as Haley suddenly retreated, leaving Theodosia by her lonesome to sputter out some sort of explanation.
“They stopped by because they’re filming a documentary on Southern ghosts,” said Theodosia. She figured documentary sounded much more palatable than reality show. “And . . . well . . . they intend to explore Ravencrest Inn.”
Delaine’s eyes got wide and her every muscle seemed to tense. “What?” she said in a low whisper. “What did you just say?”
6
Oh, dear, now I have to go into the whole thing with her, Theodosia thought to herself. “Okay, Delaine, here’s the thing. The Beckman brothers came across an obscure legend that says Ravencrest Inn may be haunted.” She took another gulp of tea. “And they feel they have a better chance of contacting the spirit world since . . .” She paused. “Well, because . . .”
“Because Dougan died there,” said Delaine. Her voice was hoarse, her eyes pinpricks of intensity.
Theodosia swallowed hard. Delaine had a way of tossing harsh realities out on the table. “Well, yes.”
“And what exactly do these ghost hunters wish to do?” asked Delaine. “How do they intend to contact the spirit world?”
“I imagine they’ll want to go inside room three-thirteen,” Theodosia said with some hesitation. “They’ll probably want to use infrared film and magnetometers and such to see if they can, um, make contact.”
Delaine peered at Theodosia. “That’s it?” She tapped manicured fingers on the table as if she were considering something. “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“They asked me to accompany them,” said Theodosia. There, she’d said it. She’d laid out the whole foolish scheme. Indiana Jones and the Haunted House. Now Delaine could feel free to shed a few more tears and act highly offended, or toss the whole thing off as a stupid would-be parlor trick.
Instead, Delaine leaned forward and said, “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“You do?” Theodosia was stunned. Maybe Delaine hadn’t heard her correctly. Sure, that had to be it. Delaine was still in deep, dark shock and not absorbing the full impact of her words.
“The only thing I ask,” Delaine continued, “is that I go along!”
* * *
The rest of lunch was crazy busy. Theodosia ferried luncheon plates while Drayton brewed pot after pot of tea. Then one table requested a tea tasting of three different Japanese green teas, so Drayton had to pull down his tins of Sencha, Gyokuro, and Bancha and tend to that.
As lunchtime morphed into afternoon tea time, Theodosia was able to relax a little bit. The pace grew slower, their guests a little less harried and demanding. Mostly, the folks who came in for afternoon tea were looking for a genteel respite in the middle of their day. They wanted to slowly sip a cup of oolong or Lapsang souchong and savor their scones and jam.
Still, the phone continued to ring off the hook, and Theodosia found herself booking two tea parties and, depending on the bid she came up with, a catering gig for the Charleston Opera Society.
“That’s it,” said Theodosia, leaning over the counter as Drayton measured out scoops of Formosan oolong, “I’m not taking any more calls.”
So, of course, the phone shrilled yet again.
Sighing, Theodosia picked up the receiver and said, “Indigo Tea Shop. How may I help?”
“Theo?” came a rich, baritone voice.
“Max!” said Theodosia. Note to all: This was one call she definitely wanted to take. In fact, she could just picture Max sitting in his office at the museum, feet up on his desk, looking more like a grad student than the PR director. Tall and thin, with a tousle of dark hair, he had an olive complexion and generally wore a slightly sardonic grin. Theodosia had decided that you needed a good sense of humor in that job just to deal with all the donors and docents.
“How are you holding up?” asked Max.
“Doing okay.” Theodosia and Max had talked at length over the weekend about the wedding debacle and Granville’s strange death. They’d turned it over and over, offering up a few suppositions, but had come to no firm conclusion. Now, Max was going to stop by for dinner tonight. “You’re still coming tonight, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Max. He’d been one of the wedding guests in the downstairs parlor who’d been kept in the dark, both literally and figuratively.
“Come around seven,” Theodosia urged. “That’ll give me time to take Earl Grey for a good run and fix us something wonderful to eat.”
“I wouldn’t mind one of your designer pizzas. Hint, hint.”
“Any one in particular?” Theodosia loved to create interesting pizza combinations such as gorgonzola, figs, and caramelized onions. Or chanterelles with Burrata cheese.
“Why don’t you surprise me?” said Max.
* * *
When the clock struck three and just a few tea room guests lingered, Theodosia ran into her office and trundled out two boxes of T-Bath products. This was her own proprietary line of tea-infused lotions and potions that were soothing, cruelty-free, and blended to her exact specifications. Much to her delight, the T-Bath products also sold like hotcakes in her shop, online, and at a few Charleston boutiques. Green Tea Lotion was her biggest seller, but White Tea Bath Oil and Green Tea Feet Treat were holding their own. And her two newest T-bath offerings, Ginger and Chamomile Facial Mist and Lemon Verbena Hand Lotion, were finding a following, too.
Just when Theodosia was sprawled cross-legged on the floor, with jars and bottles spilled out all around her, just as she was composing a new arrangement on her display shelves, Detective Tidwell came lumbering in.
She saw his heavy-duty cop shoes trudge toward her, saw his billowing trouser legs. Then Tidwell came to a halt and his booming voice called out, “Is that you down there
?”
“It’s me,” said Theodosia. Her head popped up between two tables like a manic gopher. “You caught me restocking shelves.”
“And a fine job you’re doing,” said Tidwell.
Theodosia pulled herself to her feet, dusted herself off, and gazed at Tidwell. “Tea?” He’d been coming in regularly for a couple of years now and she’d finally turned him into a tea drinker. Not quite a tea connoisseur yet, but Tidwell showed promise and she was infinitely patient.
“Please,” said Tidwell, who had already deposited his bulk in a creaking captain’s chair. “And a sweet treat if you have it.”
“I’m sure we can scrape up a few crumbs,” Theodosia told him. She nodded to Drayton, who was already fixing a pot for Tidwell, then flew into the kitchen and grabbed a ginger scone and a mint bar.
When Theodosia set his tea and dessert in front of him, she said, “That’s a tippy Yunnan tea.”
“Interesting,” said Tidwell. He lifted the lid of the teapot, gave a sniff. “Mmm, slightly spicy. Must it steep for another minute?”
“I think it’s probably ready right now.”
“Excellent,” said Tidwell, as he lifted the teapot and poured a stream of golden liquor into his teacup. Then he glanced up and said, “Well, have you begun your investigation yet?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Theodosia. She tried to project what she thought was an air of sincerity.
Tidwell wasn’t fooled. He let loose a belly laugh that caused his entire body to jiggle like a mound of shrimp in aspic. “Of course, you would,” he growled. “And probably have. I’m positive the irascible Delaine Dish has already pleaded her case, playing the wounded victim and venting her deepest, darkest suspicions. She’s probably come to you on bended knee, begging you to investigate whomever she sees as her suspect du jour.” Tidwell took a sip of tea, lifting his pinkie finger as he did so. “Delicious.”
“She did ask me to take a look at Simone Asher,” Theodosia admitted. Why not tell Tidwell? What did she have to lose?
“Simone of Archangel,” said Tidwell. “Mr. Granville’s most recent ex-girlfriend. The one he spurned in favor of Miss Dish.” He gathered up his cloth napkin and gently patted his lips.