Sweat Tea Revenge

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia was still stunned. “But I . . . um, what would I have to do?”

  “First off,” said Delaine, “I’ll contact the gardener and cleaning staff and have them get everything ship-shape.”

  “Okaaay,” said Theodosia, as she waited for the other shoe to drop. And she didn’t have to wait long.

  “And you can handle the refreshments,” Delaine smiled.

  Thud.

  “Me? Seriously?”

  “Yes,” said Delaine. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You cater little gatherings?”

  “But this wouldn’t exactly be a little gathering. We’re talking about the possibility of hundreds of people touring Granville’s home and gardens. Maybe even a thousand people who’ll need tea and desserts!”

  “Theo,” said Delaine, looking both serious and a little frightened, “I’m asking you as a friend. Out of desperation. I really need your help. Now are you in or not?”

  “Okay, yes, I’ll help,” said Theodosia, feeling sufficiently browbeaten.

  “Good,” said Delaine. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

  Theodosia shifted around. “Will we be going to the cemetery?”

  Delaine shook her head. “No. Since Dougan was cremated, I’ve decided to take his ashes and have them made into a diamond.”

  “Excuse me?” Theodosia rasped. Had she heard Delaine correctly? No, she couldn’t have. Delaine had muttered something about a diamond. The poor woman must be confused and mad with grief after all.

  “It’s a rather straightforward process,” Delaine went on. “I found a company in Chicago that specializes in this type of thing. A place called Diamonds Forever.”

  “You’re not serious,” Theodosia stammered. Delaine couldn’t be making this up, could she?

  “Of course, I’m serious,” said Delaine.

  “Pray tell, what exactly does Diamonds Forever do with the ashes?” asked Theodosia. I have to know. Wait a minute, do I really want to know?

  “They compress them,” Delaine explained. “Diamonds are, after all, highly compressed carbon. Same as people. We’re carbon. So when you put a person’s ashes under tremendous pressure, you get a diamond.”

  “That’s totally bizarre,” said Theodosia. She’d never heard of such a thing.

  Delaine gave a sad smile. “I’m just hoping I have enough ashes to get something that’s at least three carats. That way, Dougan’s death will be far more meaningful.” She lowered her voice. “A gemstone as opposed to a headstone.”

  “Delaine,” said Theodosia, “you never fail to amaze me.”

  “Why, thank you, Theo. I try very hard to be amazing. I really do.”

  14

  Theodosia made it back to the Indigo Tea Shop just in time for lunch. She found a few tables occupied, while others had been readied with white linen tablecloths, flickering candles, and elegant place settings. She was happy to see that Drayton had pulled out the Shelley chintz cups and saucers. Their tiny, colorful print lit up the tables and lent a nice bit of British cheer.

  Drayton finished scooping tea leaves into a matching Shelley teapot, then glanced up at her. “How was the funeral?”

  “Sad,” she said. “And a little strange.”

  He glanced at his watch, an old Piaget that ran perpetually slow. “I must say you’re back sooner than expected. Didn’t you all troop out to the cemetery?”

  “No cemetery,” said Theodosia. “Granville was cremated.”

  Haley stepped out from the back of the shop. “What’s Delaine planning to do?” she asked. “Keep his ashes in an urn over her fireplace?”

  “Noooo,” said Theodosia. “Instead of having Granville’s ashes interred in Magnolia Cemetery or some other peaceful resting spot, Delaine is opting to have them squished into a diamond.”

  “What?” Drayton and Haley cried in unison.

  So Theodosia had to fill them in on Diamonds Forever’s process of compressing carbon.

  “That’s totally whack!” said Haley.

  “It’s unorthodox,” said Drayton. “But it’s also very much in keeping with Delaine. A little bit cuckoo but a touch of practicality at the same time.”

  “That’s right,” said Theodosia. “Nothing gone to waste.”

  “Gack!” said Haley, making a face.

  * * *

  Theodosia and Drayton followed Haley back to the kitchen where she rattled pans and clattered knives, the better to demonstrate her indignation.

  “Why don’t we go over today’s menu,” Theodosia suggested. She knew this would calm Haley down. Haley could be moody, but she was also a perfectionist. She liked things to run smoothly, especially when lunchtime rolled around.

  “It’s a pretty straightforward menu,” said Haley, grabbing a bowl filled with hummus.

  “You always say that,” said Drayton. “And then you tickle our imagination with all your wonderful offerings.”

  Haley slapped a dozen slices of whole-wheat bread onto the counter and began spreading them with hummus. “Well, for starters, we’ve got hummus with sliced tomatoes and olives on whole-wheat bread.”

  “Always a popular tea sandwich,” said Drayton. “What else?”

  “Curried chicken salad on croissants,” said Haley. “As well as a nice salad of tea-smoked chicken and grapefruit sections served on baby field greens.”

  “So that’s it?” said Theodosia. It seemed to her like a slightly abbreviated menu.

  “I’m also prepped for an egg-white omelet with spinach, asparagus, and Gruyère cheese,” said Haley.

  “For our health-conscious customers,” said Drayton.

  “What about our non-health-conscious customers?” said Theodosia.

  Haley brightened at this. “Oh, we’ve got lemon chamomile custard, peanut butter scones, and chocolate cupcakes.”

  “The ones you call the blackout?” said Drayton. “The super chocolatey ones?”

  “You got it,” said Haley.

  * * *

  Hearing the da-ding of the bell over the front door, Theodosia and Drayton hurried out into the tea shop and found themselves suddenly dealing with an influx of customers. Theodosia greeted and seated guests, then took orders while Drayton busied himself behind the counter brewing pots of gunpowder green tea, Moroccan mint tea, and Ceylon black tea. Though he barely had time to draw a spare breath, he also brewed a pot of strawberry tea. When it was sufficiently cooled, he transferred it to a pitcher filled with ice.

  “If I garnish this tea with fresh mint leaves, we can call it strawberry mint tea,” he told Theodosia.

  “And I had a request for a lemon sweet tea,” said Theodosia.

  “Not a problem,” said Drayton, reaching overhead for another glass pitcher. “I’ll brew some of our lemon verbena tea and stir in a little simple syrup.”

  At one fifteen, just when the crush seemed to be abating, Tidwell sauntered in, glanced about, and nodded curtly at Theodosia. Then he casually seated himself at a small table by the window.

  Two minutes later Theodosia was at his side. “I didn’t think I’d see you again today,” she told him.

  He patted his protruding stomach. “The thought of one of your delicious tea luncheons proved irresistible.”

  Theodosia tapped her foot. The unpredictable detective was proving to be predictable. Particularly when it came to food. “Could I interest you in an egg-white omelet?” she asked, flashing a wicked grin.

  Just as she knew he would, Tidwell looked shocked. “Surely you have something a tad more appealing. And . . . dare I say it, more substantial.”

  “Tea-smoked chicken salad?” Theodosia asked. When Tidwell hesitated, she said, “Or how about curried chicken salad on a croissant?”

  “The curried chicken sounds lovely,” said Tidwell. “And it’s served on one of Haley’s homemade croissants? Th
e flaky, buttery kind?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And perchance a sweet?” asked Tidwell, feigning innocence. He knew they always offered three or four different sweet treats.

  Theodosia sighed. She might as well lay the big guns on him. “Haley has a cupcake she calls a blackout. Dark chocolate with a chocolate pudding filling.”

  “That should serve my purpose,” said Tidwell. He paused. “And perhaps you have a tea suggestion?”

  “I’d recommend a pot of Pai Mu Tan tea,” she said. “It’s a delicate Chinese white tea with a peony flower flavor.”

  “You’re the expert,” said Tidwell.

  Theodosia took another tea request from the table next to Tidwell, gave it all to Drayton, then ran into the kitchen and ordered Tidwell’s croissant. By the time she delivered Tidwell’s lunch a few minutes later, she was once again mulling over the issue of the paperweight.

  “Anything more on the glass paperweight?” she asked, as she placed his sandwich and teapot in front of him.

  “Still no fingerprints,” said Tidwell. “No whorls or friction ridges have magically appeared.”

  “Unfortunate,” said Theodosia. She paused. “Do you think it’s the murder weapon?”

  Tidwell popped a bite of croissant into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then he said, “I spoke to the Rattlings no more than an hour ago. And they’re fairly sure it’s the missing paperweight.” He chewed some more. “But I’m going to stop by Simone Asher’s shop and try to get her confirmation as well.”

  “Don’t turn your back on her,” Theodosia warned. “She’s got more of those killer paperweights in her shop.”

  “Inventory doesn’t make her a killer,” said Tidwell.

  “No, but I find Simone a bit . . . strange.”

  “That’s because you have it in your head that she killed Granville,” said Tidwell. “In law enforcement we call that a preconceived notion. Never particularly helpful in resolving a case.”

  “In the real world I call that a hunch,” said Theodosia.

  “You and your many hunches.”

  “I don’t know for a fact that Simone was involved,” said Theodosia. “But I do think she should be on your suspect list.” She glanced around, then sat down in the chair opposite Tidwell. She lifted the lid on his teapot and found the tea to be perfectly steeped. So she poured out a cup for him.

  “Thank you,” said Tidwell. “How much do you know about the Rattlings?” He looked suddenly thoughtful.

  His question caught Theodosia by surprise. “Not much at all,” she said. She’d always viewed the Rattlings as having a walk-on role in this whole murder mystery mess. They were the kind of whiny supernumerary characters you’d see in a drawing room play. Not the main characters, just peripherals who added to the jumble of noise. “I don’t know them at all,” she added. “Aside from the fact that they’re the proprietors of Ravencrest Inn.”

  “Ah,” said Tidwell, suddenly looking pleased with himself. “Not anymore they’re not.” He took a quick sip of tea.

  Theodosia stared at him. “What are you talking about? Of course, they are. I mean, you should have seen them last night, fretting and fussing about all their lost business. It’s absolutely killing them.”

  Tidwell smiled his Cheshire cat smile. “As always, a smart investigation hinges on solid forensics.” He held up his teacup. “By the way, this is excellent tea.”

  “What are you talking about?” Theodosia demanded. Once again, Tidwell was playing cat and mouse with her, talking in riddles. “Please stick to the subject!”

  “I’m referring to financial forensics,” said Tidwell. “After a routine investigation wherein one of my investigators tiptoed through their books and a number of court records, it turns out the Rattlings no longer hold the title to Ravencrest Inn.”

  This news hit Theodosia like a ton of bricks. “They’re not the owners?”

  Tidwell nodded his head, pleased.

  “Then who is?” This wasn’t making any sense to Theodosia. Surely Tidwell had his facts screwed up, right?

  “For the past three years,” said Tidwell, “a real estate company by the name of Gimmler Realty has held a contract for deed on the place.”

  “You said has held,” said Theodosia, jumping on his words. “Are you telling me that Gimmler Realty sold the contract for deed to someone else?”

  “Indeed they have,” said Tidwell.

  “Wow,” said Theodosia. The Rattlings had certainly acted like concerned owners. They’d wrung their hands and clucked unhappily about the fortunes of Ravencrest Inn as though their life depended on it.

  “Hang on to your tea cozy,” said Tidwell. “Because there’s more.” He paused for dramatic effect. “With the help of a certain attorney, a certain Dougan Granville, Gimmler Realty actually foreclosed on Ravencrest Inn.”

  “What!” said Theodosia. “The Rattlings don’t own Ravencrest Inn anymore and Dougan Granville spearheaded the foreclosure?” This was stranger than fiction. “What does it all mean?” Theodosia sputtered.

  “Added complications, for one thing,” said Tidwell. “Apparently, after the foreclosure, the contract for deed on Ravencrest Inn was sold to brand-new owners.”

  “Holy Toledo,” said Theodosia. She was absolutely floored.

  Tidwell took a quick sip of tea. “It seems the Rattlings were not the most hospitable of innkeepers. Nor were they prepared to sink time and money into marketing as well as making overall improvements.”

  “You’re saying they failed to make a go of the place,” said Theodosia. “And that they couldn’t keep up on their payments.”

  Tidwell aimed a stubby index finger at her. “Bingo.”

  Theodosia’s mind was in a whirl, thinking about the angry Rattlings and the rather smug Granville. “This is a game-changer!” she sputtered. “Maybe the Rattlings were angry and upset with Granville for helping to engineer the foreclosure. Maybe they were the ones who sneaked upstairs and murdered him!”

  “That possibility certainly exists,” said Tidwell.

  Theodosia tried to think. “Maybe, on the day of the wedding, the Rattlings tried one last negotiation with Granville. Made one final appeal.”

  “Yes?”

  “But something happened. They argued and it all went bad.”

  Tidwell didn’t look convinced. But he was listening intently.

  “Maybe Frank Rattling went to Granville’s room to plead his case,” said Theodosia. “And found Granville doing cocaine. Maybe that’s when it all went bad.”

  “And Rattling clobbered Granville with the paperweight?”

  “Maybe he didn’t set out to,” said Theodosia. “Maybe it was a crime of passion. Frank Rattling could have sort of blacked out and lost it. Boom! Or maybe there was an argument or a struggle and the paperweight got knocked off the shelf and struck Granville accidentally.”

  “An awful lot of maybes,” said Tidwell.

  “Yes, there are,” Theodosia agreed. She sat there and stared at Tidwell as he finished the last of his croissant. “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “From what I understand,” said Tidwell, “the new owner plans to update Ravencrest Inn and turn it into a cozy B and B—try to make it more of a going concern.”

  “I mean with the Rattlings,” said Theodosia.

  “Oh,” said Tidwell. “I suppose we haul them down to police headquarters and beat them silly with a rubber hose.”

  “You wouldn’t really,” said Theodosia.

  “No, but they’ll be questioned again. At length.”

  “Do you think they’ll crack?” asked Theodosia.

  “Only if they have something to confess.”

  “Meanwhile, the Rattlings are still there,” said Theodosia. “At Ravencrest Inn.”

  “Only until the end of the mon
th,” said Tidwell.

  “And then what?” said Theodosia. “Then they vacate the premises? They move away?”

  “Possibly.”

  “If they really are guilty, that would make it harder to arrest them, right?” said Theodosia.

  “Hopefully,” said Tidwell, “this case will be resolved by then.”

  “Hopefully,” echoed Theodosia.

  * * *

  Theodosia spent the next twenty minutes in a thoughtful daze. She ferried tea and scones to the various tables, smiled at customers, and made small talk with friends. But all the time her mind was swirling like an F-5 tornado. She wondered about the inept Rattlings. About the foreclosure that had hung over their heads like a sword of Damocles. And their dealings with Dougan Granville.

  Had the negotiations between Granville and the Rattlings been filled with vitriol and hostility? Probably. Had the Rattlings insulted Granville, or had Granville demeaned them? Was that why Granville had been drawn to Ravencrest Inn as a wedding venue? Had he been thumbing his nose at the unlucky Rattlings? And then it all backfired on him?

  Theodosia knew this was a thread she had to follow up on. And in order to unravel it, she had to talk to Delaine.

  By three o’clock the tea shop was quiet, so Theodosia slipped into her office in back. Settling into her cushy office chair, she dialed Delaine’s home phone number.

  “Hello?” came a choked and tearful voice.

  “Delaine?” Theodosia wondered if Delaine’s poise had finally crumbled. If she’d broken down and was caught in the throes of hard grief.

  There was a loud sniffle, then a honk. Someone blowing their nose. Then a faint voice said, “No, this is Nadine.”

  “Oh, Nadine, hello. How are you doing?”

  “Terrible!” Nadine wailed. “This tragedy with Dougan has severely impacted the both of us.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Nadine. Can you put Delaine on?”

  Another honk and then whispered voices. Finally Delaine came on and said, “Theo? Is that you?”

  “It’s me. Sounds like I might have interrupted something.”

  “Not really,” said Delaine. “Nadine’s just indulging herself in another round of hysterics.” Her voice was suddenly harsh. “Which seem to occur like clockwork around here! Old Faithful, I’m starting to call her.”