by Laura Childs
“Okay, what about those crazy Eastern European gangs that have been in the news lately? The ones who’ve been hitting the Paris and London boutiques?”
Drayton considered this. “Yes, they are quite daring. And you really think one of those gangs could have landed here?”
“They could have,” Theodosia said. “And if this is a well-organized smash-and-grab gang, and they decide to hang around Charleston for a spell, you can bet there’ll be another disaster just like last night.”
Drayton pursed his lips. “You’re talking about our big show at the Heritage Society. You’re trying to scare me.”
“Yes, I’m trying to scare you,” Theodosia said. “If it happened once and the thieves got away with it, it could happen again. You should have seen those guys. They were smart, perfectly coordinated, and fearless. I mean, they were good.”
“Hmm, maybe we’d better take another look at that list.”
They went over the list again and ended up putting red question marks by six names. They weren’t exactly suspects; they were just people they didn’t know all that well.
“This lady, Sabrina Andros,” Theodosia said. “I spoke to her last night after the robbery. She cried a few crocodile tears, but in the end she didn’t seem all that shaken up. She was more, um, interested in what was going on in the aftermath, though she really didn’t want to speak to the police.” Theodosia blew out a glut of air. “But I don’t know a single thing about Sabrina and I’m pretty sure my suspicious mind is getting way ahead of me.”
Drayton closed his eyes in thoughtful contemplation. “Andros. Andros. Something about that name sounds familiar.”
“Well, I know Sabrina’s come into the tea shop a couple of times.”
Drayton snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. Isn’t her husband the yacht guy?”
“I don’t know. Is he the yacht guy?” Theodosia didn’t go sailing as often as she liked anymore. So she hadn’t been hanging around the Charleston Yacht Club, sipping Sea Breeze cocktails and picking up the latest boat gossip.
“Andros. I think that’s the name,” Drayton said.
“Easy enough to find out.” Theodosia picked up the phone and dialed the number for Heart’s Desire. “I’ll just ask Brooke.”
“I’m going to grab us a fresh pot of tea,” Drayton said as he disappeared out the door.
Then Brooke was on the line. “You found something already?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Theodosia said. “I’m just calling to ask you a quick question.”
“You and two hundred other people. Angry people.”
“But I’m not angry,” Theodosia soothed. “Just a little curious about two of your guests.”
“Which ones?”
“Sabrina and Luke Andros,” Theodosia told her. “Their names are on your list and I’m not very familiar with them. Is Luke Andros the yacht guy? That’s what Drayton thought, anyway.”
“That’s right,” Brooke said. “Luke Andros owns Gold Coast Yachts. Apparently they specialize in custom and high-end yachts.”
“And you invited him and his wife to your jewelry event?”
“Actually, they were kind of a last-minute addition. Luke Andros came into my shop last week looking for a tasty bauble to buy for his wife. When he found out about my upcoming show, he asked if they could attend.”
“So what else do you know about Andros?”
“Just that he and his wife are relatively new in town,” Brooke said. “They opened Gold Coast Yachts something like eight months ago.”
“What else?”
“Well, I’ve been told the two of them wasted no time in doing a fair amount of social climbing.”
“Trying to buy their way in,” Theodosia said. It wasn’t unheard of.
“More like trying to impress their way in,” Brooke said. “Because they didn’t buy a single thing from me.”
“And they were both there last night? I remember talking to Sabrina but not to her husband.”
“No, he couldn’t make it.”
“Interesting,” Theodosia said. She put a second check mark next to Luke and Sabrina Andros’s name just as Drayton came back with a fresh pot of tea.
“Is something going on?” Brooke asked. She sounded a little breathless. Anxious. “Did you find something?”
“No, I’m just trying to familiarize myself with your guest list,” Theodosia told her. “In case I want to do a couple of low-key interviews.”
“There’s something I should tell you about,” Brooke said. “Something we kind of stumbled upon this morning.”
Theodosia perked up. “What’s that?”
“We had a party crasher last night.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“No. But when the police had me look at the surveillance tapes an hour ago, there he was.”
“And you’re sure he wasn’t on your guest list?”
“Positive,” Brooke said. “But the police have promised to track him down. I guess they’re going to take a screenshot and run it against driver’s licenses or something.”
“Let me know what happens, okay?” Theodosia said.
“Absolutely,” Brooke said.
“What?” Drayton asked once Theodosia had hung up.
“There was a party crasher last night.”
“Does Brooke know who he was?”
“No, but the police are looking into it.” She hesitated. “And we should probably do a quick check on Sabrina and Luke Andros. Just to kind of clear them.”
“Why is that?”
“A couple of reasons. Brooke says they’re fairly new in town and serious social climbers.”
Drayton frowned. “What else?”
“Because Sabrina showed up last night, but Luke didn’t.”
“Okay,” Drayton said. “That’s mildly interesting.”
“And because their high-end yacht business puts them squarely in contact with high-end people.”
“I hear what you’re saying. But how exactly are we supposed to compile a dossier on those two?” His eyebrows twitched. “Go purchase a yacht?”
Theodosia thought for a minute. “Maybe we could call Delaine?” Delaine Dish was a society mainstay, gadabout, and prolific fund-raiser. She owned Cotton Duck, an exclusive boutique, and professed to be one of Theodosia’s very best friends. “I mean, Delaine knows everybody.”
“It’s funny you should say that, because Delaine just came in a few minutes ago for afternoon tea,” Drayton said.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Go see for yourself.”
Theodosia did. She rushed out past the kitchen and peeked around the corner into the tea room. Delaine was sitting at the small table next to the stone fireplace. She was dressed in a stylish eggplant-colored suit, and her dark hair was swept up into a messy but very cute topknot that set off her heart-shaped face to perfection. She fidgeted nervously as she talked into her cell phone and shared her thoughts and observations with anyone in the nearby vicinity who would listen.
“What did Delaine order?” Theodosia asked.
“A chicken salad sandwich. Oh, and I brought her a pot of Mokalbari East Assam.”
“That Assam is fairly high in caffeine,” Theodosia said. She needed Delaine to be grounded when she talked to her.
Drayton shrugged. “A finer cut always means more caffeine extraction.”
“So what isn’t a caffeine bomb that’ll send Delaine into orbit? I know, let’s trade her out for a pot of Lapsang souchong.”
“Fine with me,” Drayton said.
• • •
“The-o-do-sia,” Delaine purred when she caught sight of her friend. She leaned across the table and gripped Theodosia’s hand. Her carefully made-up face looked sweet, but her dark eyes glittered with intensity. “I read
all about that horrible robbery in the paper this morning. Awful. Just awful for poor dear Brooke to lose her niece like that. And you were really there?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then you must tell me everything about it. Don’t leave out a single, thrilling detail.”
Theodosia ran through her version of the robbery. How the SUV had smashed its way in, how the people had screamed as glass shards exploded, how the masked robbers had dashed about, smashing open all the cases. And finally, how poor Kaitlin had been found dead in the detritus, a dagger of glass embedded in her neck.
Delaine hung on every word, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, her mouth pulling into a rounded O. “That sounds like a hideous way to die. Extremely painful. And you say the robbers stole every single piece of jewelry?”
“Everything that wasn’t locked in the safe in Brooke’s back room.”
“Goodness.” Delaine sat back in her chair. “What a chilling story.”
“It was a pretty bad scene,” Theodosia agreed.
“I’m glad I didn’t attend.” Delaine sighed and picked an invisible piece of lint from her expensive suit. As proprietor of one of the ritziest boutiques in Charleston, Delaine owned a wardrobe that wouldn’t quit. And to Theodosia’s sometime consternation (because she herself veered perilously between a size eight and a size ten), Delaine was also able to squeeze her skinny, carb-obsessed body into all the tiny sample sizes.
“The event started out beautifully,” Theodosia said. She was going to ease her way into questioning Delaine. “Many of Charleston’s most prominent families were guests.”
Delaine took a tiny nibble of her sandwich, managing to avoid the bread. “I should imagine.”
“There were even a few new people there.” Theodosia squinted as if trying to remember. “I ran into a lovely woman. Sabrina Andros? Have you met her yet?”
“Yes, I have,” Delaine said. “I met Sabrina at an opera fund-raiser last month. She and her husband Luke own Gold Coast Yachts.”
“Mmn, sounds fancy.”
“They sell some of the finest yachts available,” Delaine smiled. “Marquis, Princess, Vantage. You know, Vantage is the kind of yacht that Calvin Klein owns.”
“Wow,” Theodosia said. “Then it sounds as if the Androses are rolling in dough.”
Delaine waved a hand. “I’d probably classify them more as nouveau riche. Anyway, they’ve been throwing a lot of money around, supporting various charities, even though they seem to have come out of nowhere. I mean, they don’t exactly have a proper Charleston pedigree.”
“That’s okay,” Theodosia said. “Neither do the dogs at the Four Paws Animal Rescue.”
Delaine practically spasmed in her chair. “You’re so right. And look what adorable creatures they are. Did I tell you about the puppy I saw when I was dropping off a check from our recent fund-raiser? An adorable, sweet little pug. If I thought my darling Siamese kitties would tolerate him, I would have snatched the creature up and carried him home!”
Theodosia half listened to Delaine, then subtly threw in a few questions about some of the other people she’d marked on her list. When Delaine had rambled on about the third person, she suddenly turned suspicious.
“You’re certainly quizzing me a lot,” Delaine said, practically pulling her mouth into a pout.
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said. “I thought we were just having a conversation.”
“You’ve been probing. Carefully and gently, but you’re up to something, aren’t you?” Delaine narrowed her eyes, catlike. “Theodosia, I know you. You’re definitely up to something.”
6
So much for wringing information out of Delaine, Theodosia decided. Some of it had been proffered freely, most of it had been like pulling teeth.
It was late afternoon and she was back at her desk, jotting a few notes to herself.
“Did you find out what you needed from Delaine?” Drayton asked. He was lounging in the doorway, looking elegant and half-posed, like a retired ballet master.
“Yes and no.”
Drayton gave a thin smile. “Why am I not surprised? Delaine’s like a Chinese puzzle. Layers and riddles and infinite dead ends.”
“She thought I was pumping her for information.”
“That’s because you were,” Drayton said. “She’s not stupid, she’s just snooty.”
“Hey,” Haley said, pushing her way past Drayton. “Am I the only one around here who’s working her little fingers to the bone?”
“You’re the only one, Haley,” Drayton said. “Theodosia and I have been lazing about, stuffing our faces with chocolate bonbons and watching soap operas.”
Haley eyed him warily. “What do you know about soap operas? You only watch the Smithsonian Channel and the History channel. And public television.”
Drayton gave a cryptic smile. “Which broadcasts Downton Abbey?”
“That’s not a soap opera,” Haley said.
“Come on,” Drayton said. “You’ve watched it. The show’s a bit of a potboiler. Or it was, anyway. Admit it.”
“Theo?” Haley asked. “What do you think?”
Theodosia twiddled a pen. “Mmn . . . I’d probably have to say . . . potboiler. But a very entertaining and cultured one.”
“Sheesh,” Haley said. Then, “You know, we’ve got a super busy week ahead of us.”
“So we’ve noticed,” Drayton said. “Our Duchess of Devonshire Tea is scheduled for the day after tomorrow and then our Romanov Tea happens on Thursday.”
Haley grinned. “The Romanov Tea that . . . hooray . . . Theodosia is going to promote to high heaven when she appears on Channel Eight.”
“When is your interview scheduled?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia cast a quick glance at her calendar. “Um . . . day after tomorrow. Wednesday afternoon. So right after the Devonshire Tea, but just in the nick of time to publicize our other teas. And it’s not really an interview per se. The station asked me to do a quick tea demo.”
“That sounds like fun,” Haley said.
“Anyway,” Theodosia continued, “after the tea segment they’ve promised me about twenty seconds to promote the two event teas we have on this week’s schedule.”
“Please don’t forget to mention our Full Monty Tea,” Drayton said. This particular themed tea was his own idea and he was constantly fretting over it.
“Twenty seconds doesn’t seem like very much time,” Haley sniffed.
“If we were paying for that media off a rate card,” Theodosia said, “it would cost us a thousand dollars.”
Drayton dusted his hands together. “There you go. Case closed.”
Theodosia thought about Brooke, who was so eager and trusting, placing all her hope in Theodosia to figure out who’d killed her beloved Kaitlin. Was that case closed? No, not by a long shot. In fact, she’d only just gotten started.
• • •
“Okay, I’m taking off now,” Haley yelled as she hustled out of the kitchen and raced through Theodosia’s office. She’d pulled on a beaten-up brown leather jacket and had her belongings stashed in a small backpack. Her long blond hair was clipped into a youthful ponytail.
She was almost at the back door when Drayton said, “What on earth is that horrific racket?” He was sitting across from Theodosia’s desk on the overstuffed chair they’d dubbed the tuffet, drinking a cup of tea. Theodosia was basically ignoring him, working on orders and shuffling through invoices that needed to be paid.
Haley grinned at Drayton over her shoulder. “Oh, don’t mind that. It’s just a friend picking me up.”
“He drives a Sherman tank?”
Haley rolled her eyes. “No, Drayton, he has a motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson, if you really must know. And it seems as if you must.”
“Is this another one of your bad-boy boyfriends
?” he asked.
“Bad boy . . . ?” Haley stuck a hand on her hip. “Look, he’s a friend, okay?”
“Does this friend have a name?” he asked.
“What are you, my parole officer?”
Drayton had to smile at that one.
“Okay, his name’s Billy Grainger,” Haley said. “And he really is a nice guy. Not a maniac or a crazy person, so I’m perfectly safe. Now. Are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” Drayton said. “Just please take care when you’re clinging to the back of that thing, getting bugs stuck in your teeth.”
“You got it,” Haley said as she dashed out and pulled the door closed behind her.
Drayton stood up and peered out over a white lace curtain. “My, that certainly is a large motorcycle. Must be quite powerful.”
Theodosia glanced up from her desk. She’d been paging through a half-dozen different tea magazine and catalogs, studying the contents. It was time once again to place orders for tins of tea, jams, jellies, and tea knickknacks. “Hmm?” she said. She’d heard Drayton’s good-natured exchange with Haley and something had stirred within her brain. But what was it? She tried to pull it up, but it didn’t want to come. Stayed stuck. Oh well.
Drayton turned and smiled. “I said I hope Haley is wearing a helmet.”
• • •
Theodosia lived in an English-style cottage that went by the name of Hazelhurst. It had once been part of the larger estate next door to her. Now it was its own little principality ruled over by Theodosia and her dog, Earl Grey.
Thump, thump, thump.
Earl Grey’s tail beat out a syncopated rhythm on the parquet floor as Theodosia opened the front door. She crouched down as he leapt up and squirted toward her, a bundle of fur driving forward to bury his sleek head in her hands.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, giving his ears a gentle tug. “How was school today?” Theodosia employed a dog walker, a retired schoolteacher by the name of Mrs. Berry, who came by most afternoons. They all called it school (K through 9? K9?) even though it was mostly Earl Grey, a Scottie dog named Mr. Misty, two schnauzers, and a toy poodle named Tootsie that the dog walker led through the tony neighborhoods on most afternoons. The dogs had the time of their lives, sniffing and romping to their heart’s content, dragging their human handler down narrow, seldom-traveled cobblestone pathways such as Stoll’s Alley and Longitude Lane.