Devonshire Scream

by Laura Childs

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Drayton pulled down a tin of orange pekoe tea and peered at it suspiciously. “Did you ask Miss Dimple to come in today and help?”

  “First call I made this morning. She said yes and that she’d be thrilled.”

  “Good, because I can’t say I’m looking forward to presiding over our Full Monty Tea this afternoon.”

  “I’m about ready to lose my good humor, too,” Theodosia said. “Never again; never will we schedule three major event teas in one week.”

  “What were we thinking?” Drayton responded. He flapped his arms like a hapless crow. “It feels like we’ve been jammed up all week long.”

  “At the time, we didn’t know there was going to be a huge robbery at Heart’s Desire. Or that Brooke’s niece would be killed,” Theodosia said. “And we didn’t know that a crazy band of international jewel thieves would swoop into our city.”

  One of Drayton’s eyebrows twitched. “Plan for the unexpected. Expect the worst?”

  “That sounds fairly dour.”

  “I’m a fairly dour person.”

  “No, you’re not,” Theodosia said. “That’s just an act. And by the way, how was Honey Bee this morning?”

  Drayton’s eyes lit up and he beamed. “She was so much better. Especially after some nourishing food and an exploratory sniff in my backyard garden. When I left, the little sweetheart was curled up fast asleep on my living room sofa.”

  “The antique Victorian sofa that you overpaid for at Sotheby’s?”

  “That’s the one.”

  • • •

  Just as Theodosia was making the rounds, a teapot filled with Irish breakfast tea in one hand, a teapot full of jasmine tea in the other, Miss Dimple toddled in. Barely five feet tall, beyond plump, and with a cap of pinkish-blond curls, Miss Dimple was seventy-something and spry as ever. She’d started out as their bookkeeper—in fact, she still came in twice a month. But what she really loved and adored was helping out at the Indigo Tea Shop.

  “Thanks for calling me,” Miss Dimple said, putting a hand on Theodosia’s arm and giving it a friendly squeeze. “You know how I just love working here.” She spun on the stubby little squash heels that gave her an extra inch in height, and grinned at Drayton. “Hello, Drayton, long time no see.”

  “My dear lady,” Drayton said in his courtliest manner. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to come in and assist us.”

  Miss Dimple gave an airy wave. “I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity for the world. When you live with your bachelor brother and a pair of old cats named Samson and Delilah, you take your fun where you can find it.”

  “And you’re implying that we’re fun?” Drayton looked mock-startled. “Horrors.” Then he smiled and said, “Perhaps you’d better come over here, lovey, and let me put an apron on you.”

  • • •

  Satisfied that the tea shop was in capable hands, Theodosia retreated to her office to take care of a little business. Not tea shop business, mind you, but investigation business on behalf of Brooke. She spent the next half hour running a number of Internet searches on her list of suspects. And came up with several photos and articles about Lionel Rinicker, Sabrina and Luke Andros, Marcus Clement, and Professor Warren Shepley.

  Humming to herself, she printed everything out and stuffed the pages into her leather messenger bag. Her plan was to take it all to Brooke and see if any of this information rang a few bells.

  “You’re leaving us?” Drayton asked as she slipped into her suede jacket. “Right in the middle of tea service? Again?”

  “I have to run something down to Brooke,” Theodosia told him. “But you’ll be fine. You’ve got Miss Dimple.”

  Miss Dimple patted Drayton’s arm reassuringly. “That’s right. You’ve got me, sweetie. Not to worry.”

  “He always worries,” Theodosia told her.

  Miss Dimple nodded sagely. “I think that’s part of his charm.”

  • • •

  Heart’s Desire was still all boarded up, but Theodosia walked across a few clattery planks, located the temporary wooden door, and thumped on it loudly.

  “Hello? Just a minute,” Brooke’s voice floated out to her. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Theodosia.”

  The door popped open and Brooke was standing there. She was dressed in blue jeans, a navy T-shirt, and had a red bandana tied in her hair. She looked youthful, perky, and, best of all, more in control of the situation. The tension lines that had etched her face a few days ago seemed to have eased.

  “Come into our construction zone if you dare,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry I don’t have a hard hat to offer you.”

  “That’s okay.” Theodosia stepped inside the shop and looked around. All the glass had been swept up, the broken cases discarded, and the old carpet ripped out. New rolls of carpeting were stacked in the corner and a single display case—probably the only one that had remained intact—was shoved to the back of the shop.

  “We’re putting the pieces back together,” Brooke said.

  “You repainted the walls.”

  “The painters came and did it yesterday,” Brooke said. She looked around, pleased. “Yes, I decided to freshen the place up. Eventually we’ll be good as new.” Then her smile faded. “Well, almost as good as new.”

  Theodosia gave her a warm hug. “You’ll come through this. I have faith.”

  “I have to come through it. I mean, what are my options?” Brooke waved a hand. “But you didn’t come here to listen to me grump. Dare I ask how you’re coming with suspects? The police and FBI still don’t seem to have a whole lot going. Or, if they do, they’re no longer sharing it with me.”

  “I might have a little too much information for you.”

  Brooke looked pleased. “Information overload? I doubt that.”

  So Theodosia carefully detailed her list of suspects—Lionel Rinicker, Billy Grainger, Sabrina and Luke Andros, Marcus Clement the rock climber, and Professor Warren Shepley. As she went through her list, she laid out for Brooke exactly why she viewed each one as a potential suspect.

  Brooke was stunned by Theodosia’s list. And maybe a little overwhelmed, after all.

  “I knew the police were taking a look at Rinicker and Shepley,” Brooke said. “But I never heard boo about them seriously investigating Sabrina and Luke Andros. And those other people you mentioned, Grainger and Clement, I never even heard of them. Wait a minute, tell me again why you see those two as suspects?”

  “I’ll give you the short version,” Theodosia said. “Grainger rides a motorcycle and Clement owns a rock hammer.”

  “Ah.” A smile flitted across Brooke’s face. She lifted a hand and touched it gently to Theodosia’s check. “You’re a very smart lady.”

  “Thank you. But realize, please, that I could be completely off base. I probably am off base with most of these guys. But”—she dug into her messenger bag and grabbed her stack of papers—“I’d like you to look at all this stuff I pulled off the Internet.”

  Brooke inclined her head toward the papers in Theodosia’s hands. “What is all this?”

  “Press releases, newspaper articles, photos, you name it. I’d like you to skim through them and tell me if any of these people ring a bell with you. Maybe you’ve run into one of them before, or they’ve come into your shop, or you vaguely recognize one from the attack the other night.”

  “You want me to go through this right now?”

  “Sure. If you could.”

  They went back into Brooke’s office. Brooke sat down behind her desk and Theodosia took a chair across from her.

  “You did a lot of work here,” Brooke said as she paged through the printouts.

  “If anything pays off, it’ll be well worth it.”

  Bro
oke went through the stack of papers, studying everything. Then she went through it a second time. When she’d finally turned the last paper over, she said, “The only ones I really recognize are Sabrina and Luke Andros, Lionel Rinicker, and Professor Shepley.” She gazed at Theodosia. “But Rinicker, only because I’ve seen him hanging around at the Heritage Society, never at my shop. And, of course, Shepley, because he crashed the party.” She tapped a grainy photo of Rinicker. “He looks . . . interesting, though. Do you think he could he have been part of the robbery gang?”

  “Maybe,” Theodosia said. “If anybody could get away with it, I have a feeling he could.” She remembered how Rinicker had chortled about the FBI dropping in on him. Who did that? Who was that brazen and calm?

  “So how are we going to resolve this?” Brooke asked.

  Theodosia gave a faint smile. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe?”

  “Seriously.”

  “I don’t know yet,” Theodosia said. “There are a lot of suspects, but only circumstantial evidence. I guess I have my work cut out for me.” She also had a nervous inkling that things might just shake out at the Heritage Society tomorrow night.

  • • •

  Back at the Indigo Tea Shop, Theodosia decided it was time to stop dancing around Haley. In fact, she decided that she had to be open and honest and lay everything out for her.

  “Haley,” Theodosia said, ducking into the kitchen. “Can we talk?”

  Haley had just removed a pan of popovers from the oven. They were golden brown and super puffy, looking almost like miniature chef’s hats. “Sure. About today’s menu?”

  “Actually, it’s a little more serious than that.”

  Haley set her pan down. “Uh-oh.”

  “You know Brooke asked me for help.”

  Haley nodded. “Sure. I was there, remember? I seconded the vote.”

  “Yes, of course. And you know Drayton and I have been whispering about a few suspects . . .”

  Haley picked up a jar of strawberry jam and wiped the top of it with the edge of her apron. “That’s all you two have been doing. Pretty much all week long.”

  “And one of our suspects . . . mind you, he’s kind of on the periphery.”

  Haley leaned in closer to her. “Yes?”

  Theodosia took a gulp.

  “Just spit it out, Theodosia.”

  “Okay, I will. One of our fringe suspects happens to be your new friend Billy Grainger.”

  “I knew it!” Haley slapped a hand down hard on the butcher-block table, jarring a bowl of frosting and sending a spoon clattering to the floor. “I just knew you were still suspicious of him. Even though you kind of told me you were going to drop the whole thing. It’s because Billy rides a motorcycle, isn’t it?”

  “That and a couple of other things,” Theodosia said.

  “But you’re wrong about him,” Haley said. “You’re so far off base it’s ridiculous.” She wasn’t so much angry as she was insistent.

  “I’m actually glad to hear you say that.”

  “In fact, you are so wrong that I’m not even going to worry about this,” Haley said. She smiled, but Theodosia thought that she saw hurt behind Haley’s smile.

  “Then I won’t say any more,” Theodosia said. “We’ll just let this whole thing play out.”

  “I think that might be best.”

  “No hard feelings?” Theodosia asked.

  Haley shook her head. “No. Well, one question. Did you tell Detective Tidwell that you considered Billy a suspect?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Really?”

  “You have my word on that, Haley.”

  “Okay, then,” Haley said. “That’s one small load off my mind. I’d hate to think that Tidwell was dogging Billy’s every footstep.”

  “So we’re good on this?” Theodosia asked.

  Haley held up a finger. “As long as we never mention this again.”

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  Haley nodded vigorously. “It is. Pinky swear you’re not going to bring it up again?” She held up her little finger.

  Theodosia hooked fingers with her. “Pinky swear.”

  “Okay,” Haley said. “Now. Do you want to know what’s on the menu for lunch?”

  Theodosia breathed a sigh of relief. Haley wasn’t mad. In fact, she just wanted the subject dropped. “Yes, Haley,” she said, “I’m dying to know.”

  23

  “We’ll be serving a mixed green salad, pepper jack quiche, and crab salad on a croissant,” Theodosia told Drayton and Miss Dimple. “Plus cinnamon apple scones and chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “Perfect,” Drayton purred. “I’m delighted to see that Haley’s come up with a slightly more manageable luncheon menu since we have to turn things around fast for our Full Monty Tea later on.”

  “What time is that supposed to start?” Miss Dimple asked.

  “Two o’clock,” Theodosia said.

  “And what’s the menu for that?” Drayton asked.

  “Haley says it’s going to be a variation on lunch with a few extras tossed in.”

  “Goody,” Miss Dimple said, practically clapping her hands.

  “So in order to get our tables set up, we need to send our luncheon guests merrily on their way by one thirty at the latest,” Theodosia told them.

  Miss Dimple nodded. “What should we do? Just shoo them out?”

  “Nothing quite that obvious,” Theodosia said. “But it works wonders if we send Drayton over to glower at them.”

  “Drayton doesn’t glower,” Miss Dimple said. “That’s just his serious look. He’s a serious sort of gent.”

  “Gent.” Theodosia was amused. “That’s a funny word. Kind of old-fashioned.”

  Miss Dimple looked pleased. “But that’s exactly what Drayton is. Courtly and polished and a little old-fashioned.”

  Drayton popped the top on a Brown Betty teapot. “If you say so.”

  • • •

  Theodosia spent most of the lunch doing the heavy lifting. That is, running back and forth, grabbing luncheon plates, then clearing away dishes. She let Miss Dimple wander through the tea room with a pot of tea, dispensing compliments, advice, and refills.

  “Have you decided which teas to serve this afternoon?” Theodosia asked Drayton. She knew he liked to ruminate over what might be the most suitable teas for all their events.

  “I’m thinking a Prince of Wales tea and an Irish afternoon tea,” Drayton said. “Prince of Wales is always such a popular choice in England and it has a light, slightly delicate flavor. And the Irish afternoon tea is more full-bodied and brisk.”

  “And both work well with milk or sweetener. Good choice.”

  Theodosia pulled out their set of Staffordshire dishes as well as two Limoges porcelain figures. There’d been no need to worry about the luncheon guests leaving on time, because they simply had. By one thirty they’d all cleared out, as neatly as if Haley had swept the leaves away from the front door.

  “Let’s put out the glass teapot warmers,” Theodosia told Miss Dimple. “And I’ll grab a box of votive candles.”

  “What about these flowers?” Miss Dimple asked. “What if I cut the stems and popped them into your short, white ceramic vases?”

  “Go for it.”

  Theodosia was pleased with how the tea room was shaping up. They had . . . what? Maybe twenty-eight people coming today? Not as big a group as last night but still enough guests to keep them hopping. And keep them in business, too, since that was the whole purpose of serving tea.

  Oh, is it really? she thought to herself. Is that why I do this?

  Well, no. Theodosia knew her purpose was really to be master (or mistress) of her own destiny, enjoy the freedom of being a small-time entrepreneur who reported only to herself, and do somet
hing that she was passionate about.

  And she was definitely passionate about the Indigo Tea Shop. She loved it more than anyone would ever know. This was what dreams were all about. Have a vision, build on that vision, and work hard to make sure it all came to fruition.

  The front door creaked open, pulling her out of her introspection. It was Detective Tidwell.

  He peered around, his broad face registering surprise at seeing the tea shop empty, yet all set up for tea service. “Are you open?” he asked in a bold voice that seemed to resonate a little too loudly in the empty shop.

  Theodosia tucked one hand on her hip. “It depends. Are you here for a late lunch or are you arriving early for our Full Monty Tea?”

  Tidwell’s eyes glowed expectantly and he was suddenly interested. “There’s a special tea? A . . . excuse me, what did you call it?”

  “A Full Monty Tea.”

  “Ah. You must have named your event in honor of the venerable field marshal Bernard Montgomery.”

  “That’d be about right.”

  “I believe I might enjoy your Full Monty Tea.”

  “I’m sure you would, since Haley’s come up with quite an extensive menu.”

  Tidwell did everything but smack his lips and tuck a napkin down his shirtfront. “I understand old Monty always enjoyed a full complement of rations at breakfast.”

  “And at teatime, as well,” Theodosia said. “Even when he was in the field commanding his troops.”

  “Or sitting safely at the rear,” Tidwell said.

  Theodosia led Tidwell to a table and pulled out a chair for him. “Am I to surmise you’re a student of history?”

  “Most definitely. In fact, I’m a bit of a World War Two buff.”

  “I would have pegged you for more of a Civil War buff,” Theodosia said. “Maybe even one of those fellows who wander around old battlefields with a metal detector, looking for uniform buttons and minié balls.”

  Tidwell’s jowls sloshed. “That’s definitely not my style.”

  Theodosia brought him a cup of tea and then sat down next to him. “So what’s new? What do you hear about the rock-hammer guy?”