Sweat Tea Revenge

by Laura Childs

  “That’s kind of sad,” said Theodosia.

  “Isn’t it?” said Brooke. “I can understand selling your grandmother’s ring if it’s clearly not your taste. But to sell because you’re desperate for cash? Kind of tragic, really.”

  “Brooke,” said Theodosia, “have you ever run into a woman by the name of Simone Asher? She has a shop called Archangel over on King Street. She specializes in vintage clothing, but she carries some jewelry, too.”

  Brooke shook her head. “No. She must be fairly new. Is the place worth visiting?”

  Theodosia shrugged. “Maybe. But I think her stash of jewelry is less high-end estate and more vintage.”

  “You mean like Bakelite bangles and colored glass brooches?”

  “Right,” said Theodosia. She paused. It was always awkward to ask a shopkeeper about a customer. “I’ve got kind of a tricky question to ask you.”

  “Ask away,” said Brooke.

  “If you can’t tell me, I’ll certainly understand.”

  “Now you’ve amped up my curiosity,” said Brooke.

  “The thing is, I’ve been looking into things for Delaine,” said Theodosia.

  “Because of her fiancé’s murder,” said Brooke. “Yes, what a terrible tragedy. And for it to happen right here in the Historic District . . . it makes one feel rather unsettled.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “And it’s kind of you to help Delaine out,” said Brooke. “I mean, the police don’t have any conclusive answers yet, do they?”

  “Not really.”

  Brooke cocked her head. “But I bet you’re onto something. In fact, I know you are. I can tell by the intensity in your face.”

  “Maybe I’m onto something,” said Theodosia.

  “So what’s your question?”

  “I happened to take a look at Dougan Granville’s most recent American Express bill . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “And one of the charges listed on it was for Heart’s Desire.”

  Brooke nodded. “I don’t think I’d be revealing any deep, dark secrets if I told you what it was for.” She paused. “I did some custom engraving on a couple of sterling silver key chains.”

  “Really,” said Theodosia.

  “Probably for his contingent of groomsmen.”

  Theodosia considered this. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “As far as I know, there was only a best man. His stepson, Charles Horton.”

  Brooke shrugged. “Still, the sentiments were pretty garden-variety stuff, as I recall.”

  “What do you recall?” said Theodosia. “I mean, do you remember what you engraved?”

  Brooke looked thoughtful. “I’ve got the paperwork around here somewhere. Want me to try to find it?”

  “Well . . . sure.”

  Brooke rummaged around her back counter, poking and prodding in cubbyholes, until she finally pulled out a yellow sheet of paper. “Okay. One of the key chains was engraved with CHH.”

  “For Charles Horton,” said Theodosia. “And the other ones?”

  Brooke scanned her paper. “There were only two.”

  “What did the other key chain say?”

  “It was engraved with the word Forever.”

  “That’s it?” said Theodosia.

  “That’s it,” said Brooke.

  “Kind of strange,” said Theodosia.

  “Maybe the second key chain was for a friend or business acquaintance. A client, perhaps?”

  “Would an attorney give a client a key chain that says Forever?” Theodosia wondered.

  “Maybe if it was a longtime client?” said Brooke.

  “Possibly,” said Theodosia. But to her, the sentiment sounded more heartfelt. Like something you’d present to a lover.

  * * *

  Once she was back at the tea shop, Theodosia put in a quick call to Tidwell.

  “Did you receive the photos from Glass?” she asked. “Did he e-mail them to you?”

  “Yes,” said Tidwell. “And I was a little surprised. I had no idea they even existed.”

  “You can thank me later,” said Theodosia. “But for now, tell me, what did you think?”

  “About . . . ?” said Tidwell.

  “You must have noticed what Grumley and Simone Asher were wearing. Do you think the thread I found might match up with the fabric from one of their jackets?

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Oh, and by the way, Horton’s got a light-colored jacket, too.”

  “How very observant of you.”

  Theodosia rolled her eyes. This was like pulling teeth, like extracting molars. “Are you going to check this out? I mean, I see this as a definite lead!”

  “We have several leads that we’re following,” said Tidwell.

  “Oh, really?” said Theodosia. “Well, guess what, I’ve got another one for you.” She quickly told him about the two engraved key chains. When she was met with more silence, she said, “Don’t you find that interesting? The key chain engraved with Forever. Don’t you wonder who it was intended for?”

  “I’d find it far more interesting,” said Tidwell, “if I could locate Bobby St. Cloud.”

  19

  Earl Grey sniffed the live trap warily. Then his eyes rolled up at Theodosia and he backed away slowly.

  “This has nothing to do with you, sweetheart,” Theodosia told him. “It’s for the raccoon that tried to stage a raid here the other night. I’m going to trap the little rascal.”

  But Earl Grey was still nervous. He decided that retreating behind a large azalea bush was the smartest thing to do.

  “Peanut butter,” said Theodosia, unscrewing the lid on the jar. “I’m going to stick a big glob of peanut butter inside that trap and hope it tickles his fancy.” She glanced at Earl Grey. “But don’t you go sticking your head in there!”

  Earl Grey edged back a little farther.

  Satisfied that her trap was baited, set, and ready, Theodosia went back inside with Earl Grey. They’d spent a relaxing evening together—a quick run down to White Point Gardens, a dash up Gateway Walk, and then home for a late supper. Kibbles for Earl Grey, a croque monsieur for Theodosia.

  Now, tucked into an easy chair in her upstairs turret room, Theodosia settled in to read a mystery about a crime-solving feline. But her mind kept returning to the real murder mystery at hand—and worrying that a killer was still on the loose.

  The fabric shred she’d discovered at Ravencrest Inn seemed to point to Grumley, Simone, or Charles Horton. But Theodosia wasn’t letting Frank and Sarah Rattling off the hook, either. Any one of them could have dealt a death blow to Granville. Because any one of them might have a serious grudge against him.

  The question was—who among them was the most desperate? In Theodosia’s experience, desperate people often committed desperate acts. So . . . which one was it?

  She closed her book, set it on the little table beside her chair, and tried to focus. She grabbed a silk pillow stuffed with jasmine tea leaves and put it behind her neck. Then, leaning forward, she stuck one leg out and toed a kilim-covered footstool toward her.

  There. She felt better having her tootsies up. Wiggling her toes, she decided this relaxed pose was definitely conducive to letting the mind ruminate over the events of the past few days.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she was suddenly carried back to the long, dark corridors at Ravencrest Inn. Someone had quietly, surreptitiously, slipped down one of those corridors, gained admittance to Granville’s room, and murdered him. And they’d done so under cover of gloom and a terrible downpour on the day of his wedding.

  Someone who didn’t want Granville to get married?

  Maybe. Or someone who just wanted him out of the way and knew that would be the perfect moment to catch him alone and unguard
ed.

  Theodosia slipped a hand behind her head and massaged the base of her neck. That was where the tension gathered, where the fizzing nerves seemed to be located. She kneaded slowly and shifted her thoughts to the Summer Garden Tour that kicked off tomorrow. Tomorrow, at this time, she’d be brewing tea and serving scones and running around like a crazy woman. Probably ticking down the seconds until the night was over.

  Her eyes opened and she stared across the tall, shared hedge toward Granville’s palatial home. It was dark outside and, with her lamp reflecting in the window, she could barely see the outline of the place. But tomorrow it would be lit up like a Christmas tree with . . .

  She blinked, not exactly sure what she was seeing, and stared harder.

  Whoa. How come there’s a light bobbing around in the second-floor window?

  Could it be Delaine pussyfooting around? No, if paranoid Delaine was over there, she would have turned on every light in the place. So it had to be . . .

  A burglar? Someone’s burglarizing the place?

  Theodosia jumped to her feet and flew into her bedroom. Grabbing the bedside phone, she punched in 911. Once the dispatcher came on the line, she hastily babbled her suspicions along with Granville’s street address and implored him to send a police cruiser as soon as possible!

  Then Theodosia went back to her upstairs window to watch and wait.

  But now she didn’t see any light.

  Are they gone? Maybe they’re gone. Maybe it was a reflection and I made a terrible mistake!

  No, there was a sudden flash of light in the downstairs window now! Theodosia knew firsthand that Granville’s place was filled with priceless oil paintings, antiques, and silver. Certainly that was what must have attracted this burglar. And Lord knows how long he’d been in there rummaging around. Filling his sack or pillowcase chock-full of Granville’s treasures, chuckling over his spoils.

  As Theodosia waited with bated breath, she recalled how she’d once heard about a horrible, cunning thief who’d kept his eye on the obituaries. Then, when the bereaved family was least expecting it, he’d swoop in and rob them blind.

  Feeling jittery and unsettled, Theodosia wondered when the police would arrive. Had they sent out a squad car yet? If so, what was taking so long? Should she call again?

  Tossing a black sweater around her shoulders, she hurried downstairs and roused Earl Grey.

  “C’mon, boy, I need you. We’ve got a problem!”

  Slowly, quietly, Theodosia pushed open her back door and the two of them eased their way onto the back patio. She figured this would be a fairly decent observation point. They could remain undetected and safe and still keep an eye on things. Taking care, Theodosia stepped up onto a stone bench where she had an unobstructed view of Granville’s back door.

  But what if the intruder is gone? What if he dashed out the front door?

  A small click made Theodosia perk up her ears.

  Something going on?

  She gazed into the darkness that shrouded Granville’s back portico.

  Then, like a ninja stealing through the night, a shadowy figure eased his way out the back door.

  Oh, no! He’s leaving! He’s going to get away!

  What could she do? Follow him? Call 911 again? Or were the police just seconds away?

  The back door snicked shut and the shadowy figure moved stealthily along a brick pathway, heading for the back alley.

  There’s no time to think! I just have to . . . do something!

  Theodosia grabbed Earl Grey by the collar and carefully eased out her back gate into the alley. Maybe she could nonchalantly run into the burglar. Pretend she was out walking her dog and just give a friendly nod. If she played it cool enough, maybe she could get a look at his face. Get a decent description.

  No way was her plan going to work. Because when the burglar eased through Granville’s back gate, he quickly spun in the opposite direction.

  Now what? Think fast!

  Taking a step forward, Theodosia called out, in what she hoped was a friendly tone, “Excuse me, but I think you dropped something.”

  Her ruse didn’t work. Like a shot, the intruder took off running down the alley.

  Acting on pure instinct, Theodosia released Earl Grey’s collar and yelled, “Go!” And then her dog was bounding down the alley, barking loudly and scrambling after the burglar in hot pursuit. She kicked it into high gear, too, and ran down the alley, clattering over cobblestones, praying the intruder would stumble, drop his bag of stolen goods, or get bitten in the seat of the pants by Earl Grey. But when she reached the spot where the alley took a dogleg turn behind the Winfield Mansion, Earl Grey was huffing heavily and pacing back and forth. And there was no one in sight.

  “He’s gone?” she said. “Just like that?”

  Earl Grey looked up sheepishly, as if he knew he’d blown his secret mission.

  Theodosia patted his head. “That’s okay, I didn’t expect you to single-handedly capture a robber, handcuff him, and read him his rights. You did your best. We both did our best.”

  They’d almost returned to her back gate when a black-and-white squad car roared up to them and rocked to a stop.

  Two officers jumped out.

  “Ma’am?” said one. “Are you the one who called in the disturbance?”

  “It wasn’t a disturbance,” said Theodosia. “It was a burglary.” She pointed at Granville’s home. “Someone was sneaking around inside and then I saw them come out the back door.” She pointed again. “I live right here. I’m the neighbor.”

  The second officer was taking notes. “After you saw the intruder exit the back door, what happened?”

  “I sent my dog after him,” said Theodosia.

  Both officers stared at Earl Grey, who suddenly looked nervous at being the center of attention.

  “And then what?” asked the first officer. He was gazing at Earl Grey and seemed to be addressing the question to him.

  “I chased him, too,” said Theodosia. “But we lost him. He got away.”

  “Did you get a description?” asked the first officer.

  “No,” said Theodosia. “Sorry. It was too dark.”

  The officers hitched up their utility belts and headed for Granville’s back door, with Theodosia and Earl Grey following in their wake.

  “It’s been pried,” said the first officer. He moved his flashlight up and across the door frame. “You see the marks?”

  “Unless the guy’s got a dog,” said the second officer. Which made them both turn and look at Earl Grey again.

  “No dog and nobody home,” Theodosia explained. “This house belongs to Dougan Granville, the man who . . .”

  “The murder victim?” said the first officer. He frowned and his mouth worked soundlessly, as though he were processing the information. “Aw, jeez, I gotta call this in. There’s something fishy going on.”

  “You think?” said Theodosia.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Detective Burt Tidwell was on the scene, dressed in billowing khaki slacks and a College of Charleston sweatshirt. This was one of the few times Theodosia had seen him not looking all buttoned up for business. Somehow, dressed in casual clothes, Tidwell looked a little more human. A little more . . . normal.

  Unfortunately, Tidwell was peevish at being roused.

  “I was deep into the third chapter of Walden,” he rasped at Theodosia accusingly.

  She held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not the one who pried open my neighbor’s back door. I’m not the one who creepy-crawled around inside his home with a flashlight.”

  “But you called it in,” he said accusingly.

  “Excuse me,” she said, getting a little steamed. “You don’t want me to be a conscientious citizen?”

  Tidwell sighed heavily, then left her standing in the back
yard while he walked through Granville’s house. Ten minutes later, he reappeared.

  “Anything missing?” she asked.

  “Afraid so,” said Tidwell. “Looks like a few small paintings have been appropriated, some silver might be missing, and the place has obviously been ransacked.”

  “Ransacked how?” asked Theodosia.

  “Drawers have been pulled open and overturned,” said Tidwell. “Things are generally somewhat messy.”

  Theodosia was beginning to get the picture. “So an art heist and more.”

  “We’ll need to obtain some sort of inventory list,” said Tidwell. “Probably from the insurance company.”

  “Besides grabbing a bunch of tasty valuables, it seems like the intruder had a kind of agenda,” said Theodosia. “As if he were also searching for something specific. So a burglary and a kind of . . . reconnaissance mission.”

  Tidwell stared at her.

  “I have to call Delaine,” said Theodosia. “Right now.” She spun on her heels and darted back toward her house. Tidwell followed close after her, trying to catch up.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tidwell huffed.

  “Yes, it is. There’s a very real possibility Delaine’s the new owner of that house,” said Theodosia as she pulled open her back door. “She has to be informed.”

  Tidwell had intruded his way into her kitchen now, his bulk almost filling the space between her sink and her stove. “Why don’t you let me handle this? In a way, this might be the answer we’ve been looking for. Now I’m free to bring in a team and search the house from top to bottom.”

  Theodosia considered this. “But you’ll still notify Delaine?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Tidwell. “First thing tomorrow.”

  Theodosia decided this would work. Probably, Delaine didn’t need to be roused for an emergency just when she was getting ready for bed.

  “Okay,” said Theodosia. “Just as long as you keep her in the loop.”

  Tidwell glanced around Theodosia’s kitchen, taking in her collection of teapots, her antique canisters, her small teak breakfast table. “This is nice in here. Cozy.”