Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13

by Laura Childs

  “And the police are investigating?” Max hesitated. “The news story wasn’t entirely clear on whether the death was accidental or…”

  “Murder,” finished Theodosia.

  “Huh?” said Max. “Is that what you think? That this was a homicide?” He sounded shocked. And a little nervous, too.

  Theodosia decided it might be better to downplay that aspect. “I’m not sure what to think,” she told Max. “Since the police are still investigating.”

  “Mmm,” he grunted.

  “So, for now, it’s all kind of in limbo.” She winced at her little white lie. Why am I downplaying this? Because I’m talking to my new boyfriend about my old boyfriend’s death? Yes, that’s right. And trying not to sound too sad in the process. Awkward.

  Theodosia hastily changed the subject. “When are you coming home?”

  “Not till the end of the week,” said Max. “There’s an auction at Sotheby’s on Thursday when the Impressionists come up for bid. And I still need to meet with one of the editors at Arts Horizon magazine. I’m trying tosweet-talk them into doing a story about our collection of English furniture.” He hesitated. “Or at least a sidebar. Donors always like to see a little publicity. They enjoy the notoriety and it helps reassure them that their money is being well spent.”

  “I’m sure they do,” said Theodosia. She wasn’t sure whether Max not coming back until Friday or Saturday was welcome news or not. On the one hand, Max’s absence conveniently afforded her personal space so she could conduct her own brand of investigation. On the other hand, she was disappointed since she was truly missing him.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Max promised. “And try not to think about this drowning thing too much, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  Theodosia winced again. “I promise.”

  Theodosia kept her promise for all of about fiveminutes—the time it took to scoot upstairs and plunk herself down in front of her laptop. She wiggled her fingers above the keys, then hastily Googled Chimera, the restaurant down in Savannah. That brought her to Bumbershoot Incorporated, the umbrella company for both Chimera and Violet’s.

  She clicked ABOUT US and scanned a short paragraph about the company. It was owned, as far as she could tell, solely by Lyle Manship. In fact, there was even a photo of Manship, a tall, olive-skinned man with a barracuda smile. The smiling, genial, glad-handing owner.

  Or was he? If one of Manship’s sidelines was laundering money, then were these restaurants simply a front? Did his real business involve shuttling money to offshore banks in Grand Cayman or Belize?

  And who did he shuttle money for? Tidwell had mentioned that Manship might be involved in narcotics, so obviously it had to be dope dealers. Or even some cartel. Theodosia’s heart sank another couple of notches. What had Parker gotten himself into?

  And what about the note the police had recovered from inside Parker’s pocket? Could Manship possibly have written it? Theodosia’s eyes fluttered closed as she recalled the fragment Tidwell had shown her.

  Please meet me…easily explain my

  Earl Grey came up alongside her and poked his head in her lap. Theodosia ran her fingertips absently across the top of his furry forehead, thinking about the note, about Manship, his restaurants, and his unsavory activities.

  So what now? Should she call Manship? Just ask him outright about his dealings with Parker Scully?

  But that would be a tough way to get any sort of realistic answer. He’d probably just blow her off, lie to her, or worse yet, simply hang up on her. And it would be next to impossible to get any sort of gut read on Manship. Or intuitive read, or whatever you wanted to call it.

  So what then? Just drive down there? Arrive unannounced and hope for a meeting? The idea was brash, and brazen, and…it just might work.

  Theodosia shut down her computer and stood up. She let the notion swirl around in her brain, liking it more and more, deciding that acting on impulse might be the smartest, cagiest way to ferret out information.

  In fact, she’d drive down to Savannah first thing tomorrow morning. If she got an early start, she could be back at the tea shop by noon. Drayton and Haley could easily handle things until then.

  “Okay,” Theodosia said to Earl Grey, praying she didn’t lose her nerve, hoping it wouldn’t evaporate come morning. “Time to take that walk.”

  The evening was perfect. Sixty degrees, stars twinkling in the inky blue sky, a light wind blowing in. Theodosia and Earl Grey wandered through the historic district for fifteen minutes, dodging down narrow brick alleys, peering throughwrought-iron gates at elegant private courtyards, and tiptoeing between narrow buildings on old walks that had once been reserved for servants. This part of the city was magical to Theodosia. She loved to imagine how it had been one hundred fifty or even two hundred years ago, when coaches pulled byhigh-stepping horses rolled up to these massive mansions and disgorged fine ladies in hoop skirts and men wearing high collars and long jackets. It must have been magnificent. And ethereal, too. Because that life hadn’t lasted.

  Now, many of the Italianate and Greek Revival mansions that lined the Battery had been turned into B and Bs, the carriage houses (like hers) converted into small homes. The wealth generated by the old indigo and rice plantations had simply evaporated.

  Yes, Theodosia decided, you still needed big bucks to live in these old homes. But now the money was earned in more traditional ways.

  They ran along the shore then, waves crashing in, then receding with a whoosh and a hiss, the sound echoing and reechoing in Theodosia’s head.

  Twenty minutes later, muscles thoroughly warmed, both of them a little breathless, Theodosia and Earl Grey turned up the walk for home.

  But they were not alone.

  Someone was also striding up the walk to Dougan Granville’s massive front door. A figure that looked awfully familiar.

  Theodosia glanced back at the curb. Yes, there was adark-green Jaguar parked there. So…it had to be Delaine.

  “Delaine,” Theodosia called out. “Hello.”

  Delaine jumped like she’d been singled out by an unruly lynch mob. She whirled in athree-hundred-sixty-degree circle, finally spotted Theodosia, then put a trembling hand to her chest.

  “You scared me,” she said, sounding petulant and out of sorts.

  “Sorry,” said Theodosia, “I didn’t mean to.” Theodosia couldn’t resist. “I’m on the Neighborhood Watch committee, you know.” Now she was grinning to herself. “And when I saw a stranger sneaking up the walk…”

  “I was hardly sneaking,” came Delaine’s indignant reply. She raised a large white shopping bag and dangled it. “I was bringing dinner.”

  “Ah.”

  “Poor Dougan works such terribly long hours,” Delaine lamented, “and there’s so much turmoil going on at his law firm right now.”

  “Big case?” asked Theodosia. She knew Granville was always embroiled in some big criminal case.

  “Bad partner,” said Delaine. “Someone they’re trying to oust.” She said it like they were trying to flick a bug off the table. “Anyway, in the interest of Dougan’swell-being, I’ve taken to picking up dinner for him at Aubergine.”

  “Lucky him,” said Theodosia. She wouldn’t mind having dinner delivered to her each night from afour-star restaurant whose specials included sirloin tips, poached salmon, and veal chops.

  “Yes,” said Delaine. “Dougan is always crashingly busy. Then again, he is one of Charleston’s leading attorneys.”

  “It’s kind of you to be so concerned about Mr. Granville’s nutrition,” said Theodosia. She figured that Delaine’s bringing dinner to Granville every night was her sneaky way to keep a keen eye on her new beau. Granville did have a reputation as a ladies’ man. Until he started seeing Delaine, he’d squired a different woman about town practically every week.

  “I do what I can,” Delaine said, in a tone that dripped with false modesty. She gave a curt wave and said
, “Good night, Theo. Have a pleasant evening.” Then she continued up Granville’s front walk.

  “Delaine?”

  Delaine hesitated. “Yes?”

  “Do you think you could get me a copy of last night’s guest list?” She knew Dougan Granville would have one. He was on the Neptune Aquarium’s board of directors, after all. Now, even in the dark, Theodosia could see Delaine frowning, calculating how much trouble passing on the list might cause.

  “Why do you want it, dear?” Delaine’s voice floated back to her.

  “I’d like to satisfy my curiosity,” said Theodosia.

  Delaine hesitated at the front door of Granville’s mansion. Shifting her black tote bag and her white plastic bag of takeout to her left hand, she arched her finely plucked brows and threw Theodosia a truly sanctimonious gaze. “I’ll try, Theo. But you know what they say…”

  “I know, I know,” said Theodosia, “curiosity killed the cat.” It was one of Delaine’s favorite phrases. Spinning on her heels, Theodosia quickly led Earl Grey across the damp grass to her own front door. Then she stopped and gazed down at him, a smile playing at her lips. “But I’m safe,” she told Earl Grey in a soft voice. “Because I have a dog.”

  8

  The one hundred miles that stretched between Charleston and Savannah was truly a little slice ofheaven—a ribbon of road that undulated through pine forests and picturesque villages and took her past tiny white churches, often known as praise houses, and farm stands that sold peaches, asparagus, purple cabbage, and okra. The sun shone down in apowder-blue sky and, for a few minutes, Theodosia was able to forget about Parker. Life felt good.

  When Theodosia passed the halfway point, what she figured was the point of no return, she pulled out her cell phone and called the tea shop.

  Drayton answered. “Where are you? It sounds like you’re calling from inside a garbage can.”

  “Just rolling through Ashepoo,” she told him.

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then Drayton said, “What?” It came out as a rather uncharacteristic squawk. “Are you serious? Does this mean you’re not coming in today?”

  “I’ll be back in time for lunch,” Theodosia assured him. “But I have some business to take care of. And, well, I don’t particularly want this to get out…”

  “Okay,” Drayton said, cautiously.

  “But I plan to talk to that restaurant fellow in Savannah, the one Parker had been dickering with a few months ago.”

  “Savannah!” Drayton burst out. “That’s a long drive. Why didn’t you just phone him up?”

  “Because then I wouldn’t be able to read his face when I ask about his business dealings with Parker. I wouldn’t be able to get a visceral feel for his body language.”

  “All that from a single meeting?” asked Drayton.

  “Maybe,” said Theodosia. Was she expecting too much? “At least I hope so.”

  Drayton digested this for a moment, then said, “Excuse me, but have you been studying law enforcement textbooks in your off hours?”

  The question was so out in left field that Theodosia had to laugh. “No. Why do you ask?”

  Drayton let loose a dry chuckle. “Because you sound suspiciously like an FBI profiler.”

  I wish, Theodosia thought as she clicked off. I really wish I were that smart.

  Savannah was as charming as ever. Elegant homes festooned with lacy wrought iron, lush and large city squares, vest-pocket parks, and an abundance of pattering fountains. Though the architecture and ambience were somewhat reminiscent of Charleston, Theodosia definitely felt that the pace here was a tad slower. In fact, when locals pronounced their vowels, it seemed more like a leisurely exercise.

  Checking the printout from her computer, Theodosia drove down Harris Street, turned on Abercorn, and immediately spotted a tasteful painted wooden sign for the restaurant Chimera.

  Chimera was housed in an old mansion withRegency-period architecture along with plenty of fancy scrollwork and Greek motifs.

  She climbed the front steps, knocked on the polished wooden double doors, and waited. Nothing. No footsteps, nobody front and center to buzz her into the inner sanctum.

  Probably, she decided, because there was nobody here?

  Descending the front steps, Theodosia followed a narrow brick driveway around to the back, past a tangle of magnolias where flocks of butterflies fluttered and random bees buzzed. She continued under a columned stone portico and directly up to a large wooden door, what had probably been the service entrance when this served as someone’s grand home. What was probably still the service entrance.

  Theodosia gave three sharp raps with her knuckles and waited. A few minutes later, a young woman came to the door. She had a distracted look and a cap of brown curls, and she wore purplehorn-rimmed glasses that coordinated nicely with her mauve blouse and cream linen slacks. Maybe an office manager or bookkeeper?

  Theodosia smiled a pleasant smile and said, “I’m looking for Lyle Manship?”

  The woman offered a hesitant smile. “Were you supposed to meet him here?” Her nose twitched like a suspicious rabbit. “Did he mess up his appointment times again?” She looked like she might be planning to give Manship a good talking-to.

  “No, nothing like that,” Theodosia assured her. “I was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. Really,” she assured the woman, “this is just an impromptu visit.”

  “In that case,” said the woman, “he should be over at Violet’s right now. That’s where our main office is.”

  “Of course,” said Theodosia, giving what she hoped was a brilliant smile, along with an AcademyAward–worthy performance. “Violet’s.”

  “You know how to get there?”

  “Back down Abercorn and then…”

  “Past Oglethorpe Square, turn left at Reynolds Square…”

  “And then down St. Julian,” said Theodosia.

  “That’s right. Almost to the City Market,” the woman instructed. “Parking lot’s in back.”

  “Thank you,” said Theodosia.

  Legend holds that General Sherman, after his brutal and infamous “March to the Sea,” finally relented when he reached Savannah. He gathered his wits about him, called a halt to the senseless burning and pillaging, and decreed that the city of Savannah was far too beautiful, the women amazingly gracious, and the parties far too elegant for him to wreak any more havoc. Savannah, it seemed, was the perfect city in which to enjoy a little R&R.

  Thus, street after street of antebellum mansions, Federal period townhouses, and entire districts of Victorian homes remained historically intact and too gorgeous for words.

  Theodosia drove down St. Julian Street, past Mulberry Books, the French Bouquet Boutique, and the Blue Moon Tea Shop. If this were another day, a leisure day, she’d park her car and wander through City Market, on the lookout for local art, gourmet goodies, or some wonderfulhand-thrown clay teapot.

  But she was a woman on a mission and she’d just spotted her destination. Or so she hoped.

  Theodosia was pleasantly surprised to find that Violet’s was billed as a garden café. Better still, an outdoor café filled with trellises and arbors, abundant pots of bougainvillea and magnolias, and smaller pots of violets. And since the café was open for business, she figured she had a good chance of catching the elusive Mr. Manship.

  Strolling into Violet’s, Theodosia was enticed by the aroma of spices, citrus, fresh coffee beans, and flowers.

  The hostess, a young woman in a tight blue T-shirt and long, diaphanous skirt, greeted her. “Table for one?”

  “Actually,” said Theodosia, “I’m here to see Lyle Manship. Is he in?”

  “Just arrived ten minutes ago,” said the hostess. “Did you have an appointment?”

  “I’m sort of popping in,” Theodosia told the hostess. She gave a quick smile, trying her best to project the air of an old friend dropping in for a quick visit, a fun surprise.

  Obviously her ruse worked, be
cause she was dutifully led back to Lyle Manship’s office, where the hostess pushed the door open and said, as a hasty introduction, “Someone here to see you.”

  Manship glanced up from behind an acre of mahogany desk. He wasforty-something, fairly good-looking, with olive skin and lots of white teeth. Two framed photos on his desk showed a prettydark-haired wife posing with two sons, each with heroic sets of teeth.

  “How can I help you?” Manship asked, a quizzical look on his face.

  “I’m a friend of Parker Scully,” Theodosia told him.

  “Ah…” Manship was immediately on his feet, a look of sympathy on his face and his arm outstretched to shake her hand. “I just heard the news. What a tragedy. And such terrible circumstances.” An overindulgence of Hugo Boss cologne wafted about him.

  “I understand the two of you were business partners,” said Theodosia, trying hard not to sneeze.

  “And your interest is… ?” Manship was pleasant but guarded.

  “Just following up on some business for his firm,” said Theodosia. Ouch. There was another little white lie. And they were starting to add up. Good thing it was a brilliantly sunny day and no chance for a bolt of lightning to come crashing down from the sky and incinerate her.

  “I see,” said Manship. “Please sit down.” Theodosia made herself comfortable in an upholstered armchair while Manship eased himself back into his desk chair.

  “The fact of the matter is,” said Manship, picking up a black Montblanc pen and lining it up against his iPhone, “we weren’t business partners. Parker and I talked about a couple of deals, but in the end nothing came of it.”

  “You were going to open a restaurant together,” said Theodosia.

  “That’s correct.” Manship stared at her for a moment, then leaned sideways and pulled open a desk drawer. He selected a file, placed it carefully on his desk, then flipped it open so it faced toward her. “Azalea,” he told her. “That was our working title. With a menu aimed at gourmet Southern food.” He grinned, thinking about it. “Think Old South décor but with a contemporary spin on Southern cuisine. We even had an old warehouse space picked out and were planning to decorate with blowups of antique Mathew Brady photos.”