by Laura Childs
“It needs some work,” said Theodosia. It was late and she was tired, probably not the best time to get into a discussion about woodwork and planned renovations to her kitchen cabinets. And she certainly wasn’t going to offer him any sort of refreshment, if that was what he was angling for.
Earl Grey flopped on his dog bed and splayed out his front legs possessively, as if daring Tidwell to make any kind of move.
“What’s this?” asked Tidwell. He swooped a hand toward the stack of mail that still sat on Theodosia’s kitchen table.
“Um, Granville’s mail.”
“And why do you have it?” he asked.
“I picked it up last night when Delaine and I were over there getting the place ready for the Spring Garden Tour.”
“The what?” he said sharply.
“Spring Garden Tour,” Theodosia said again. “The one that’s happening this weekend. Friday and Saturday night. Granville’s home is on the tour.”
“No, it’s not,” said Tidwell. His furry eyebrows rose and his jowls sloshed sideways as he shook his head vigorously.
Theodosia snatched up a brochure and thrust it into his hands. “Yes, it is. You try telling those garden club ladies to drop it from the program!”
Tidwell made a big show of reading the proffered program. “You’ve already tried to unlist it?”
“Yes, of course, I’ve tried,” said Theodosia. “So did Delaine. But our arguments fell on deaf ears.”
“So hordes of people will be tromping through my crime scene tomorrow night.” Tidwell gazed at Theodosia as if it were all her fault.
“I guess . . . yes,” said Theodosia. “Which means you’re going to have to work fast.”
Tidwell was about to say something, then changed his mind. “I’ll speak to Miss Dish tomorrow. Ask her to take a look and also help determine what she thinks might be missing.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Whatever.” Now she was anxious for Tidwell to leave. It had been a long day and she was aching to crawl into bed and turn out the light. “Just latch the gate on your way out, okay?”
Tidwell gave a mumble as he stepped out her back door. He took a few steps, and then his heels seemed to drag on the flagstones as he hesitated.
No, no, no, Theodosia thought to herself.
Tidwell’s voice floated back to her. “Ho-ho, what have we got here?” He sounded almost amused.
Theodosia leaned out the back door. “Now what?”
“I’d say you caught something in your trap,” said Tidwell.
“What?” Theodosia flew across the patio and peered into the boxy wire trap. Two bright eyes peered back at her! “Oh my gosh! I got him! I caught the little demon.” She couldn’t believe it. Mr. Raccoon had come a-calling and been caught in her trap!
“The creature doesn’t look particularly happy with his situation,” Tidwell observed.
But Theodosia was elated. “This will teach him not to feast on my defenseless little goldfish!”
The raccoon gave her an accusing look, as if to say, But I was hungry.
“I don’t know why you can’t just pry open a garbage can or two,” Theodosia told the raccoon. “Like any other self-respecting raccoon.”
The raccoon grasped the metal grate with his small paws and gave her a baleful look.
“Now what?” said Tidwell.
“Maybe . . .” Theodosia had been so focused on trapping him, she hadn’t really thought about the disposal aspect. “Could you do something with him?” she asked Tidwell.
Tidwell was taken aback. “You’re asking me to dispose of this animal?”
“Well, I don’t want you to take it out and shoot it or anything. Just . . . I don’t know . . . fingerprint it, give it a stiff talking-to, and then release it in a nearby park. Preferably a park that’s several miles from here.”
“And if the little bandit finds its way back to you?” said Tidwell.
Theodosia shrugged. “Then I suppose we’ll have to get it into the witness protection program.”
20
“And then what happened?” asked Drayton. It was Friday morning at the Indigo Tea Shop and Drayton and Haley were hanging anxiously on Theodosia’s every word.
“Then the intruder ran down the alley and I sent Earl Grey cannonballing after him,” said Theodosia.
“Woo-hoo!” cried Haley. “Did Earl Grey catch the guy?”
“No,” said Theodosia. “But he gave it his best shot and I think put a good scare into him.”
“Then he won’t be back,” said Haley.
Drayton measured out scoops of Keemun tea as he processed Theodosia’s words. “Excuse me, you’re telling us that someone broke into Granville’s home last night, stole a bunch of valuables, then pawed through the drawers?”
“That’s what Tidwell seemed to imply,” said Theodosia. He hadn’t let her go inside with him, even though she’d asked.
“That does sound strange,” said Haley. “If it had been me, I would have helped myself to a few more paintings.”
“But maybe the intruder wasn’t out to solely steal art,” said Drayton. “Maybe he was after something else, too.”
Theodosia pounced on Drayton’s words. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.”
“So what was he after?” asked Haley. “Money? Was there cash stashed around the place?”
“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Theodosia.
Haley put her hands on her slim hips. “Then what?”
Theodosia grabbed a small tin of lemon verbena tea and unsnapped the lid. “This is going to sound kind of strange, but what if the intruder was looking for information?”
“That seems odd,” said Haley.
“Does it really?” Theodosia mused. She didn’t think so. More and more she was inclined to believe the intruder was after a specific item.
“What if the intruder was trying to find that missing shipment of cigars you told us about?” said Haley.
“I suppose we can’t rule that out,” said Theodosia.
“And you said Tidwell’s going to search the place again this morning?” said Drayton.
Theodosia nodded. “He’s probably there right now. Or his team is. Doing a super thorough search.”
“Maybe they’ll find those cigars,” said Haley. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Do you think that’s why Granville was murdered? Over a bunch of lousy cigars?”
“I don’t think so,” said Theodosia. “It feels like there’s something larger and more sinister going on.”
“But what?” asked Drayton. “Was he involved in some other contraband or illegal deal?”
“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. “But something odd is going on.”
“Hmm,” said Drayton.
The three of them got busy then. Drayton lined up his teapots on the counter like some sort of Greek chorus. Haley rushed back into her kitchen so she could tend to her baking and prepare for a busy morning and luncheon service. And Theodosia moved through the tea room, making sure candles were lit, sugar bowls were filled, silver was polished, and each place was perfectly set.
When the place sparkled enticingly, with warm morning sun streaming in through the leaded-glass windows and the pegged wooden floors gleaming, she turned her attention to her displays. Somehow, the DuBose Bees Honey jars had been shuffled around, so she stacked those into a single, neat display. Then she fluffed up her display of chintz and print tea cozies and hung one of her handmade grapevine wreaths. This was a sort of freestyle, oblong wreath with a dozen miniature teacups tied in with pink silk ribbon.
Everything was perfect, Theodosia decided. Except for . . . her teacup jewelry. She untangled the chains for her teacup pendants and, once again, smiled at the shards of vintage teacups and saucers that Brooke had outlined with silver and crafted into pins and charm b
racelets.
Now, Theodosia decided. Now everything was perfect. At which point Haley came scooting out and yelled, “Hey gang, we got another delivery!”
Drayton looked up from the counter where he’d been fussing. “Not another one of those awful traps, I hope.”
“It’s something for you,” Haley told him.
Drayton was suddenly alert. “My floral arrangement. I was hoping it would arrive before the start of business.”
“What did you order?” Theodosia asked. But before she could get her words out, Drayton had disappeared. “Something from Floradora?” she asked Haley.
Haley threw up her hands. “I suppose.”
“Will you look at this!” exclaimed Drayton. He bustled back into the tea room holding aloft a large bouquet of pale pink bell-shaped blossoms.
“Pretty flowers,” said Haley. “But what are they?”
“Heather,” said Drayton, looking pleased. “And they’re technically not flowers, they’re from a flowering shrub.”
“As in heather from the Scottish moors?” asked Haley.
Drayton nodded. “That’s it exactly.”
“For our Scottish tea,” said Theodosia, smiling. “What a perfect touch.”
“You’re a stickler for details, aren’t you?” said Haley.
“No more than you,” replied Drayton.
“And you’re all dressed up, too,” said Haley. She twiddled a finger at her collar. “With your tartan bow tie and all.”
“Naturally,” said Drayton, heading for the front counter. “We’re hosting a special event today.”
Haley glanced at Theodosia. “Don’t you think Drayton looks like he stepped right out of the pages of a magazine? Southern Living or something like that?”
“That’s our Drayton,” said Theodosia. “Picture perfect.”
* * *
Midmorning found Theodosia practically breathless. The tea shop buzzed with activity, customers poured in, and Theodosia poured cup after cup of tea.
“I’m having trouble keeping up,” she told Drayton, as she grabbed a pot of spiced plum tea.
He gave an abrupt nod. “Just wait until lunchtime. We’ll have them packed in like sardines.”
“Oh joy,” said Theodosia.
Still they managed to brew and serve pots of Golden Monkey, English breakfast, and French linden tree tea, as well as deliver fresh-baked scones, almond croissants, and banana bread.
Eleven fifteen brought a break in the action, the calm before the storm.
“Did you get a gander at our tartan cupcakes yet?” asked Drayton.
“No,” said Theodosia. She pushed a stray tendril of hair out of her face. “Should I? Did Haley outdo herself again?”
Drayton crooked a finger and she followed on his heels into the kitchen, where a dozen frosted cupcakes sat on a two-tiered milk glass serving tray.
“See?” said Drayton. “Stewart and Black Watch tartan, just as we discussed.”
“What are you two goggling at now?” asked Haley, glancing up from the stove.
“The word is ogling,” said Drayton. “Not goggling. And if you must know, we’re admiring our fabulous cupcakes.”
“Our cupcakes?” said Haley. “Excuse me, but I’m the one who whipped up the batter, did the baking, and figured out the frosting patterns.”
“As a result of my conceptual thinking,” said Drayton. “You have to give me that.”
“Okay, okay,” mumbled Haley. She picked up a wickedly sharp knife and deftly sliced a piece of Scottish salmon. Then she placed it on a triangle of dark bread spread with crème fraîche. “How are we doing out there? Still so busy?”
“There’s a lull,” said Theodosia. “Thankfully.”
“So for your Highlanders’ Club,” said Haley, glancing at the menu she’d tacked on the wall, next to dozens of recipes and food photos, “we’ll have the cock-a-leekie soup, a salad, and two types of tea sandwiches. Along with shortbread and marmalade.”
“Excellent,” said Drayton. “And I’ll brew a pot of Scottish heather tea that I special ordered. It’s basically a blend of Assam and Kenyan teas with a taste of heather.”
“You’re really going all out for this,” remarked Theodosia.
“Absolutely,” said Drayton. “I’ll set the table with my Royal Stafford Robertson series cups and saucers.”
“The bone china with the crest and tartan ribbon?” asked Haley.
“That’s right,” said Drayton. His collection of teapots and teacups was even larger than Theodosia’s collection.
“Oh, yeah,” said Haley. “Those are way cool.”
“So which baked treat did you finally decide on?” Drayton asked. “Are we serving oatcakes or scones?”
Haley grinned. “For you, Drayton, I melded the best of both worlds. I baked a batch of oatmeal scones with butterscotch chips.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Drayton, his enthusiasm positively brimming over. “You know, I have a feeling this luncheon is going to be one of the best themed teas we’ve ever done.”
“What about our chocolate tea?” Haley asked.
“Or our Victorian tea?” said Theodosia.
“Those were excellent, too,” said Drayton. “But I predict this will be even better.” He zipped back out to the café, humming as he went.
Haley gazed at Theodosia. “I haven’t seen Drayton this whipped up since his bonsai won best of show last year.”
“He’s a man on fire,” Theodosia agreed.
“So are you,” said Haley. “Except you’re burning the candle at both ends. Between ghost hunting, searching for clues, and helping Delaine with the Garden Tour, you’re gonna wear yourself out.”
“You’re still working on the menu for tonight, aren’t you?” Theodosia asked quickly.
Haley nodded. “Oh, yeah, you know I’ve got your back. But I still think it kind of stinks that Delaine stuck you with so much responsibility.”
“She thinks because I live next door that it’s no trouble at all. All I have to do is saunter across the back lawn and set up for tea.”
“So she can greet the guests and play Lady Bountiful,” said Haley.
Theodosia shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”
* * *
At precisely twelve noon, the Charleston Highlanders’ Club arrived for lunch. Six men bustled into the tea shop, were greeted somewhat formally by Drayton, and were shown to their seats at the round table in the center of the room. If they realized they were men in a practically female-dominated tea shop, they paid no notice. Rather, they commented favorably on the bouquet of heather, the tartan plaid placemats and napkins, and the Robertson cups and saucers from Drayton’s private collection.
Theodosia was pleased that they were pleased. She knew that tea was not solely a woman’s domain and wished she could convince more men of that. Fact was, in most of the world, both genders eagerly embraced tea drinking, whether it was in centuries-old tea shops in China, busy offices in India, or shops and bazaars in the Middle East where they drank their tea from small, delicate glasses. Next to water, tea was the second most popular drink in the world. And perhaps even more beloved!
As Drayton served their first course of oat scones and Devonshire cream, Theodosia skittered into the kitchen to pick up two orders.
“How’s it going out there?” Haley asked.
“Controlled chaos,” said Theodosia.
“I’ll wager Drayton’s in his element.”
“You should see him,” said Theodosia. “He’s in full majordomo mode. I’m surprised he’s not wearing tie and tails.”
“I’d expect nothing less from our Drayton,” said Haley. She quickly mounded salad and slid the plates across the counter to Theodosia. “Here you go. It’s back into the fray for you.”
Theodosia delive
red her luncheon entrées, seated some newly arrived customers, and made the rounds with two pots of freshly brewed tea.
Once she’d taken care of all her customers, Theodosia noticed that Drayton’s group had already enjoyed their cock-a-leekie soup and tea sandwiches. Taking a deep breath, having a few spare minutes, she wandered over to the Highlanders’ Club and introduced herself.
Ten seconds into the introductions, Theodosia realized that she knew most of the group, or was at least familiar with them. She’d met two of the men at Heritage Society events. Three were local business owners. And Stanton McDougal, who seemed to be the group’s ringleader, owned McDougal’s Haberdashery, one of several fine men’s shops located over on King Street.
For some reason, maybe because her name had been mentioned in the newspaper along with Granville’s passing, McDougal immediately brought up the murder. Then everyone seemed to chime in with either a condolence-laced remark or a theory on what really happened.
“If you ask me,” said Ewan Wallace, who was a longtime board member at the Heritage Society, “it was a business deal gone bad.”
“Could have been,” said Theodosia. The missing shipment of Cuban cigars was still on her mind.
“Any way you cut it,” put in McDougal, “Granville’s death was a real tragedy. Charleston is out a darned fine attorney.”
“I take it you knew Granville fairly well?” said Theodosia.
“Oh, sure,” said McDougal. “Granville was forever ordering custom-made shirts from my shop.” McDougal allowed himself a chuckle. “And, as his girth steadily increased, so did his orders for more shirts.”
“Granville must have been a good customer,” said Theodosia. She knew Granville had grown portly in the last six months of his life. Whether that was due to his overindulgences or Delaine’s dragging him to trendy new restaurants every night, she wasn’t sure.
“Granville was one of my best customers,” McDougal told her. “He always wanted to look sharp in court, you know. Plus, everyone at the shop thought Granville was such an interesting, gregarious guy. He was constantly going on about his investments to whoever would listen.”