Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13

by Laura Childs

“Of course, they are,” said Haley. “And if you guys can stop obsessing for one minute that this place is going to go bankrupt, then you could start toting this stuff out to the cars so we can take off for Cane Ridge.”

  “My my,” said Drayton, “aren’t we wound tight today.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Haley. She glanced at Theodosia. “We’ll load all the food into your Jeep and I’ll drive out separately in my car?”

  “Works for me,” said Theodosia. She was anxious to get going. Anxious to have something else occupying her mind besides Parker’s death and funeral.

  The three of them spent five minutes ferrying everything out the back door. Then, just as they were ready to take off, Drayton decided he needed two more teapots. So he ducked back inside.

  “Drayton’s gonna have a coronary,” Haley observed. She was wearing her white chef’s jacket over a pair of blackleggings. She’d removed her tall chef’s hat and was twisting it in her hands.

  “Don’t say that,” said Theodosia. “He’s just being mindful.”

  “I brought three, just in case,” said Drayton, slipping out the back door, juggling his precious cargo in a cardboard box.

  “Good thinking,” said Theodosia, while Haley just rolled her eyes.

  Drayton loaded his final box, then turned to Theodosia and Haley, almost reluctant to leave. “You really think Miss Dimple and her brother can hold down the fort?”

  “Of course, they can,” Haley snapped. “It’s a limited menu. Just tea, scones, zucchini bread, and soup. All they have to do is ladle, slice, pour, and serve. Basically, it’s idiotproofed.”

  “They’re not exactly idiots,” Theodosia reminded her. “Miss Dimple is our bookkeeper, and her brother used to be an English professor at the College of Charleston.”

  “Apologies,” said Haley, “then let’s just say the food service has been greatly simplified. Is that better?”

  “Much,” said Theodosia.

  “You know what?” said Haley, her eyes starting to twinkle. “When Miss Dimple told me she had an elf to help out, I didn’t think she literally meant an elf!”

  “Excuse me,” said Drayton, “you’re talking about her brother?”

  Haley nodded.

  “The man is merely short of stature,” said Drayton.

  “But did you see his shiny head?” Haley giggled. “Did you see his pointy ears?”

  “Nonsense,” said Drayton.

  Haley nodded sagely. “Miss Dimple was right. He is an elf.”

  13

  Built in 1835 on Horlbeck Creek, Cane Ridge was a former rice plantation that now served as the genteel home for Theodosia’s Aunt Libby Ravelle and her companion and housekeeper, Margaret Rose Reese. The property was set high on a vantage point overlooking a quiet pond and marshland, and the surrounding low flat fields, once crisscrossed with dikes and sluiceways, were now thick with brush and forest and blended effortlessly with South Carolina’sold-growth piney forests.

  The main house was a fanciful Gothic Revival cottage replete with soaring peaks and gables, a steeply pitched shingled roof, and a broad piazza extending around three sides. Anow-unused stable, a smokehouse, and smaller outbuildings were adjacent and accessed via a rocky path.

  “You’re here!” Aunt Libby, tiny, silver haired, and always energetic, rushed out to greet the Indigo Tea Shop gang. “Theo, my darling. And Drayton!”

  “You’re looking lovely as always,” said Drayton, bending down to give Aunt Libby a chaste peck on the cheek.

  “And Haley!” Aunt Libby continued. She swept her arms open wide, and Haley rushed to greet her.

  “Aunt Libby!” said Haley, giving her a gentle squeeze, “it’s been ages!”

  “Too long,” Aunt Libby cooed. Then she straightened up, squared her narrow shoulders, and gave a delighted grin. But you’re all here now and just in the nick of time. We’ve already had a few guests show up.”

  “This early?” frowned Drayton, who was struggling to lug two of Haley’s metal containers.

  Aunt Libby waved a hand as if to dispel his nervousness. “But don’t worry your head over them. They’re chatting away on the front lawn, enjoying the lovely view. I had my dear neighbor, Mr. Bohicket, bring in ahalf-dozen tables with chairs and they’re all set up to allow for a grand view of the pond.” Aunt Libby chuckled. “The cedar waxwings are out there right now, doing their aerial ballet to entertain.”

  Aunt Libby was a bird lover of the first magnitude. She went throughfifty-pound sacks of cracked corn, sunflower seeds, and thistle like they were popcorn at a James Bond movie. And she could instantly recognize birds by the shape of their bill, tail, and wing bars, much the same as aviation addicts delighted in identifying aircraft.

  “Come along, come along,” Aunt Libby urged. “Bring everything into the kitchen and have at it.” Then, as Drayton and Haley trudged past them, Aunt Libby said to Theodosia, “How was the funeral? I assume you went?”

  “I did,” said Theodosia, “and it was sad, as are all funerals.”

  “But you’re holding up.”

  “Because I’m keeping busy,” said Theodosia.

  “Ah,” said Aunt Libby, a gleam in her eye.

  While Haley quickly unpacked her coolers and began to assemble tea sandwiches, Drayton set about brewing tea. Theodosia, nervous about seating and serving, ducked out the front door to check the arrangements. But just as Aunt Libby had promised, tables were scattered across her front lawn, which swept down to the pond like a carpet of green velvet. A separate tea table, draped in white linen, had also been set up for the staging of their outdoor tea service.

  Aunt Libby had been quite right about the view. Thesun-dappled pond shimmered and rippled as flocks ofwell-fed birds cawed their greetings and wheeled in circles across the sky. Truly a wondrous sight!

  “How are the sandwiches coming?” Theodosia asked, as she popped back into the kitchen.

  “Coming along great,” said Haley. Her butter knife was fairly flying across the slices of bread that she’d laid out.

  “How many guests are we expecting?” asked Drayton.

  “There were thirty as of yesterday,” said Theodosia. “But there’ll probably be a fewdrop-ins.”

  “No problem,” said Haley, “we’ve got plenty of food.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Theodosia, as Haley grabbed a large bread knife and began slicing off crusts with the skill of a samurai warrior. “You’re using the silver Tiffany trays?”

  “That’s what Aunt Libby gave us,” said Haley. “She said they hadn’t been used for a couple of years and were just sitting on her sideboard looking pretty but gathering dust.” She paused. “Except we dusted them.”

  “Always nice to enjoy the good pieces,” said Drayton. Even though he owned a fine, almostmuseum-quality collection of tea ware that included teacups by Shelley, Spode, and Royal Winton, he wasn’t averse to pulling them out and using them for a simple cup of Assam.

  “I see her point,” said Theodosia. “If this isn’t enough of a festive occasion, what is?”

  “So how are we going to work this?” asked Drayton, draping an apron around his neck.

  “We’ll serve the walnut scones first,” said Haley, “with the maple pecan butter.” She quickly scooped her discarded crusts into a large silver bowl for later distribution to the birds. “Then our second course of quiche.”

  “Just quiche?” asked Theodosia. She had a sneaking feeling that Haley had something extra up her sleeve.

  “Okay, okay,” said Haley. “So I made my famous mushroom mornay sauce to drizzle on top.”

  “Yum,” said Drayton. “And a fine sauce it is.”

  “After the quiche,” said Haley, “we’ll placethree-tiered trays on each of the tables. Tea sandwiches on the top and middle tiers, of course, brownie bites on the bottom tier.”

  “You’re always so well organized,” said Theodosia.

  Haley nodded, “I am in theory. But nothing ever goes off without a hitch.”
/>   But this tea did.

  As her guests arrived, Aunt Libby greeted them and led them around front to the tables. After air kisses and exuberant hellos were exchanged, everyone settled in expectantly for their fancy tea luncheon.

  That was when Theodosia and Drayton snapped to the business at hand. Theodosia carried out the first round of scones, passed around footed crystal dishes filled with Devonshire cream and sweet honey, made sure everyone was properly served, and then chatted with the guests, many of whom she knew through Aunt Libby. Drayton, armed with two teapots, threaded his way among the tables, pouring tea, answering questions, and doling out little tidbits of information on tea.

  Aunt Libby, being Aunt Libby, kept popping up from her chair and offering to help.

  “Sit,” Theodosia told her. “Enjoy your guests and your event.”

  “But you’re working so hard,” she protested.

  “Nonsense,” said Theodosia. “This is what we do. This is what we love.”

  And, of course, it was.

  In between the quiche and the tea sandwiches, with everything humming like clockwork, Theodosia found time to take a breather. She poured herself a cup of Earl Grey and ambled over to the table where Delaine was seated.

  “Thanks for coming,” Theodosia said, sliding into the chair across from her. “It means a lot to Aunt Libby that you’re here.” She paused. “It means a lot to me, too.” Hopefully, last night’s somewhat heated exchange had been forgotten and forgiven.

  “What are friends for?” Delaine chirped. She was resplendent in ahot-pink bouclé suit and matchinggarden-party hat. As she spoke, Delaine was carefullyhigh-grading the egg mixture from the quiche crust, obviously mindful of carbs. “Besides, this is your aunt’s charity event. And you know I’m a huge believer in supporting charities. Especially one that helps poor little kitties and dogs.”

  “Yes, you are very supportive,” said Theodosia. Delaine could be maddening, gossipy, and even a touch vulgar, but she was socially conscious and had a terrifically huge heart. Particularly when it came to animals.

  “Besides,” said Delaine, “I know I can count on you when I have my Clothes Horse Race.”

  “What is that exactly?” asked Theodosia. Delaine had been chattering about this upcoming event, but Theodosia was still unclear on the details.

  “I’m doing afund-raiser at my boutique to help buy suitable business attire for women who are trying to reenter the job market,” said Delaine. “Most of them have endured some sort ofhard-luckstruggle—drug rehab, a nasty divorce, domestic violence. Well, you get the picture.”

  “That sounds like a very worthwhile cause,” said Theodosia.

  Delaine nodded. “Oh, it is. Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth like…um…we were.”

  “Delaine,” said Theodosia, deciding to take a small shot in the dark, “how well do you know Peaches Pafford?”

  Delaine wrinkled her nose as she flicked away a wayward crumb and said, “Fairly well.” Then she seemed to reconsider her words and said, “Well, Peaches has certainly been a good customer in my shop. In fact, she’s developed quite a penchant for designer suits and casual silks. And, of course, I’ve dined at her various restaurants many, many times.”

  “Let me phrase it differently,” said Theodosia. “What do you know about her?”

  Delaine narrowed her eyes. “You mean like…personal information?”

  Theodosia lifted a shoulder. Yes. That might be of help.

  Delaine fiddled with her enormous moonstone ring as she considered this for a few moments, then said, “She’s actually a little guarded about her personal life. But what I can tell you isthis—Peaches is an extremely good businesswoman. Very smart, very tough.”

  “Tough,” said Theodosia, “in what way?”

  “Brutal when it comes to negotiating,” said Delaine. “The lease for her newest restaurant, Ariel?” Delaine gave a sharp laugh that was almost a bark. “Peaches pounded Bell Management into the ground. She basically pulverized their leasing agent and got her lease agreement down to something like sixteen dollars a square foot. And I’m talking gross, not net!” Delaine was clearly impressed. “Yup, Peaches goes for the jugular.”

  Ten minutes later, the tea trays set out on the tables, Haley headed back to Charleston and Theodosia regrouped with Drayton.

  “The hard part’s over now,” Drayton told her. “From here on we can pretty much coast to the finish line.”

  “So no problems at all?” said Theodosia.

  “Delaine was a little demanding, but when isn’t she?”

  Theodosia chuckled. “She’s like one of those rock stars with aten-page rider on her contract. You know, with demands for white flowers or aromatherapy candles in their dressing room. Or bowls full of Skittles.”

  “Or Oxycontin,” said Drayton.

  Aunt Libby noticed them chatting and scurried over.

  “How do you think it’s going?” Aunt Libby asked.

  “A huge success,” Drayton proclaimed. “Very well re-ceived.”

  “What was the charge per person?” Theodosia asked, mindful that the event was afund-raiser.

  “We sold tickets fortwenty-eight dollars,” said Aunt Libby.

  “And you’ve pulled…what?Thirty-four, maybethirty-five guests?” said Theodosia. She ran a quick computation in her head. “That’s almost a thousand dollars that will go into the coffers of your animal rescue group.”

  “Less food costs,” said Aunt Libby.

  Theodosia waved a hand. “Consider the food my contribution.”

  “Oh, you dear girl!” said Libby, clutching her arm.

  “But let’s not rest on our laurels,” said Drayton, still anxious to please their guests.

  “Refills, then,” agreed Theodosia.

  “Theo!” called Delaine. She raised an arm and snapped her fingers to gain Theodosia’s attention. “Over here!”

  Theodosia hurried to Delaine’s table with afresh-brewed pot of tea. “More strawberry Darjeeling?” she asked.

  “Refills would be lovely,” said Delaine. “But I really called you over so I could introduce you to Majel Carter.”

  “Ah,” said Theodosia, instantly recognizing the name and offering a quick smile to the woman who was now seated across from Delaine. “You’re the executive director of Tuesday’s Child.”

  “Guilty as charged,” said Majel, holding up her teacup. She was in her early forties, with luminous brown eyes, brown hair curled into a soft bob, and a very kind face. Basically, Majel looked like someone who would probably head a charity devoted to children.

  Delaine nodded excitedly. “That’s right. Majel founded Tuesday’s Child, the charity you so graciously agreed to do the scavenger hunt for.” She threw Theodosia a cagey look. “You are still participating in the scavenger hunt, aren’t you?”

  Is there a way to worm my way out of this? Theodosia wondered. Hmm. Doesn’t seem likely.

  “Yes, of course I am,” said Theodosia.

  “That’s so kind of you,” said Majel. She had a slightly distracted air about her and a slow, measured way of speaking. Theodosia figured it was probably because Majel dealt primarily with children. Or maybe she had a degree in psychology and was just very deliberate about choosing her words.

  “And I want to apologize for not making it to your tea shop yesterday,” said Majel.

  “Not a problem,” said Theodosia.

  Majel continued to focus her gaze on Theodosia. “Anyway, when Delaine told me what was going on here today, I decided to drop by and thank you. I appreciate so much that you’ve agreed to be our sponsor in the scavenger hunt. We’re a newer charity and not all that well known yet in the community.” Her eyes crinkled. “But after all the kindness of late, I pretty much feel like Tuesday’s Child has won the lottery.”

  “You have,” Delaine said with relish.

  “How so?” asked Theodosia.

  “First the Gibbes Museum offered us the proceeds from this m
onth’s fishbowl,” said Majel, “and now your tea shop is sponsoring us in the scavenger hunt.” She reached out and clutched Theodosia’s hand. “In a way you’ve…you’ve become a kind of guardian angel.”

  Majel’s words and gesture touched Theodosia’s heart. And she made up her mind, then and there, to throw herself into the scavenger hunt one hundred percent. She realized she’d been a little grudging about participating. But…enough of that.

  “There are a lot of at-risk kids who are going to benefit from this,” Majel assured her.

  “And that’s what it’s all about,” said Theodosia, still feeling guilty for trying to wiggle her way out.

  “Oh, look,” said Delaine, gesturing and giving an excited little squeal, “I think Drayton is going to do one of his recitations.”

  “He does so love center stage,” said Theodosia. Fact was, Drayton delighted in reciting bits and pieces of tea poetry. And it would appear that one of today’s guests had asked him to perform.

  The chatter at the tables suddenly dropped off by several decibels and a hush spread across the crowd as all eyes focused on Drayton.

  “This,” Drayton said, posturing with a rose medallion teapot cupped in the crook of his arm, “is from a Chinese poem penned by Tso Ssu back in the second century.” He gave a quick smile. “And I think it’s rather appropriate considering our lovely locale.”

  Then Drayton began to recite in his best oratorical voice:

  The wild duck soars then hovers

  Over my garden orchard.

  The fruit has fallen, fresh, and

  Ready to pick.

  I long for flowers that bend with

  The wind and rain.

  In my mind I write a play about Tea.

  The wind breathes and sighs among

  The tripods and cauldrons.

  Applause broke out and Drayton bowed deeply. “Thank you, thank you so much.” He spread his arms out and said, “Some of you also had questions? About tea, that is.”

  A woman in a bright yellow suit raised her hand.

  “Yes,” said Drayton, pleased.

  “A friend told me that the teatime ritual was invented by the Chinese,” said the woman. “But I thought the Queen of England came up with it. Which of us is right?”