Ming Tea Murder

by Laura Childs

  “Biggest mistake of my life.”

  “But the man bankrolled your shop. You must feel some sense of gratitude.”

  “You don’t know the Websters very well, do you? It wasn’t like there was any long-term commitment. And you know what?” Cecily snapped her fingers. “About two minutes after we broke up, Edgar was demanding his money back. Said he needed it to help finance that stupid tea house at the museum. And now that he’s gone, his witchy wife is coming after me. She wants all the money repaid and has threatened to sic her mad-dog attorneys on me if I don’t cough it up!”

  “I can’t imagine Charlotte’s topmost concern right now is money,” said Theodosia. “After all, she’s got her husband’s funeral to deal with tomorrow. That’s going to be fairly traumatic.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s what you think. Would you care to hear the voice mail Charlotte left me this morning?”

  Theodosia hesitated. “Yes, I would.”

  Is there really a voice mail?

  Cecily dug frantically in her Prada handbag. A wallet and keys were dumped out. A pack of tissues and a bottle of bloodred nail polish went flying by. Finally, she retrieved her cell phone. “Listen to this. Just listen to this.” She manipulated a button.

  Charlotte Webster’s voice suddenly burst from the phone’s speaker in a crackly, tinny tirade. “Cecily!” she shrieked. “I’m dead serious about getting that loan paid back! You’d better start making arrangements immediately or there’s going to be hell to pay!”

  “You see,” said Cecily, “the woman’s like a crazed rottweiler. Somebody should throw her a chew bone.”

  “She did sound rather . . . emotional,” said Theodosia.

  Cecily stared at Theodosia, mouth open, eyes wide, looking slightly deranged. “It’s like Edgar is coming at me from the grave. Only now it’s his crone of a wife!”

  • • •

  On her way back to the tea shop, a million questions buzzed inside Theodosia’s head. Could it have been Charlotte Webster who’d attacked Cecily last night? With her mind clouded by shock and fear, could Cecily have been mistaken about the size of her attacker? After all, the angry voice mail Charlotte had left positively dripped with malicious intent. Which indicated that Charlotte could have easily had a moment—or moments—of madness.

  Or had Charlotte persuaded Roger Greaves to throw a scare into Cecily. And if so, why?

  Or could Greaves have acted purely on his own? Trying to clean up some unfinished business?

  On the other hand, the attacker could have been someone else entirely. The question was—who?

  Was Elliot Kern, the museum director, involved?

  Theodosia shook her head to try to dispel her imaginary swarm of angry hornets. There were so many questions, a roster of serious suspects, but not a whole lot of answers. The whole situation left her feeling queasy and nervous.

  Still, she wasn’t about to give up the hunt.

  • • •

  Leave it to Drayton to come up with the perfect costumes for the Titanic Tea.

  “Come look at Drayton,” Haley called as Theodosia slipped in the back door. “He’s all decked out for our tea.”

  “He’s what?” Theodosia dumped her bag on her desk, tossed her leather jacket on a chair, and headed into the tea room, where she skidded to a sudden stop. “Oh my.”

  “What do you think?” said Drayton. He extended his arms outward and did a half pivot so Theodosia could enjoy the full effect of his costume.

  “Aren’t you a vision in white,” said Theodosia. Drayton wore a white jacket that had been duded up with a couple of shoulder epaulets, some gold braid, an eagle insignia, and a scattering of gold stars. He also wore matching white slacks and a jaunty-looking captain’s hat.

  “He’s the epitome of the doomed captain on the Titanic,” said Haley. “Don’t you think?”

  Theodosia couldn’t help but chuckle, because Drayton really did look like he’d just stepped out of a wheelhouse. “I think he looks like he’s about to meet up with Doc and Gopher on the Lido deck.”

  Haley doubled over with laughter. “The Love Boat! Ha, good one.”

  “Go ahead and laugh if you want,” said Drayton, “but I did take it upon myself to procure costumes for everyone.”

  Haley stopped laughing immediately. “Wait.” Now she looked wary. “By everyone, do you mean me, too?”

  “Both of us?” said Theodosia. She hadn’t counted on wearing a costume.

  “That’s right.” Drayton held up two white frilly lace aprons and matching lace headpieces. “What do you think?”

  Haley gaped at the costumes. “Are you sure these aren’t naughty French maid costumes?” she asked suspiciously.

  Drayton pursed his lips. “Please. I would never.”

  Theodosia couldn’t help but giggle. If they weren’t going to wear those aprons over black slacks and white blouses, the costumes might have indeed exuded a certain Victoria’s Secret vibe.

  Haley gingerly accepted her apron and held it up in front of her. “And you’re sure this is what the first-class waitresses wore?”

  “No, Haley,” said Drayton. “It’s what the waitresses in steerage wore. Of course, I’m sure. I promise you these costumes are one hundred percent accurate.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Do you not trust that my research was exemplary?”

  “What kind of research?” said Haley.

  “We appreciate you going all out like this,” said Theodosia, suppressing a smile. “And I’m sure our guests will, too.”

  “Historical accuracy is always important,” said Drayton. He clapped his hands together. “Okay then, it’s full speed ahead into that iceberg.”

  “Huh,” said Haley. “More like iceberg lettuce.”

  • • •

  Ten minutes later, with everyone looking like they’d just been beamed in from the year 1912, Max showed up.

  “Hi,” he said, glancing around the tea shop almost furtively. “Oh, great costumes.” He stopped in his tracks. “Is it okay to come in? Am I welcome here?”

  “Of course, you are,” Theodosia assured him. “But you realize we’re completely sold out. Have been for a week. We don’t have a single extra seat available.”

  “Oh no,” said Max. “I didn’t mean I was expecting dinner. I thought maybe I could help out in the kitchen or something.”

  Theodosia thought for a moment. “Maybe . . .”

  “Get back here!” Haley screeched. “If you know how to zest a lemon, I’ll put you to work as my sous chef.”

  “There you go,” said Theodosia. “You are now gainfully employed in the kitchen.”

  Haley did put Max to work. He peeled and sliced asparagus, zested lemons, laid out plates for the appetizers, and generally did all of Haley’s bidding. And when the customers began to show up just before five, the Indigo Tea Shop, if you closed your eyes in the flickering candlelight and drew upon your imagination, looked just like the first-class dining room on A deck of the RMS Titanic.

  • • •

  It took Theodosia and Drayton a good thirty minutes to greet all of their guests, lead them to their proper tables (as you would on any fine ocean liner), and then quickly serve steaming cups of Taiwanese Jing Shuan oolong tea and glasses of dry sherry.

  At five fifteen, Drayton rang a brass bell that he’d borrowed from a yachting shop down the street. Having gained everyone’s attention, he pulled himself up to his full height, ready to begin his welcoming speech. Just as she’d been cued, Theodosia dimmed the lights so the twinkling candles in glass hurricane lamps would enhance the mood.

  “Welcome,” Drayton intoned, “to our first annual Titanic Tea at the Indigo Tea Shop.”

  There was a smattering of enthusiastic applause.

  Drayton continued. “On the evening of April fifteenth, in the year 1912, the first-class pa
ssengers of RMS Titanic, of the now-infamous and sadly defunct White Star Line, feasted on a sumptuous ten-course dinner. Only a few hours later, their ship struck an iceberg and, within the span of three hours, sank to the bottom of the Atlantic. Though tragically gone, the two thousand two hundred twenty-four passengers and crew are certainly not forgotten. They have been memorialized in movies, literature, and various documentaries.” He paused. “And tonight we are going to partake of some of the very same gastronomic delights that the first-class passengers enjoyed at their historic and doomed ‘last supper.’”

  Theodosia stepped in now. “For your appetizer, we shall be serving chilled asparagus vinaigrette. Your second course will consist of sautéed chicken lyonnaise. Your rather lovely entrée will be poached salmon with cucumbers on a bed of rice. And, once dinner is concluded, gentlemen will not be required to retreat to the smoking lounge. Instead, you are invited to remain seated and enjoyed a rather ravishing desert of Waldorf pudding and chocolate éclairs.” She paused dramatically. “And I can assure you all that, this evening, we are in no danger of sinking!”

  Theodosia and Drayton got busy then. They each carried out large silver trays and placed plates of asparagus vinaigrette in front of each guest. That was followed by a slice of Haley’s English tea bread placed on bread plates. As their guests chattered and openly admired the table décor, Theodosia circled back to the front counter.

  “How do you think it’s going?” she asked Drayton.

  “Swimmingly,” he said.

  Theodosia lifted an eyebrow. “Really, Drayton?”

  “No pun intended, I assure you,” said Drayton, scuttling away.

  As Theodosia circled one of the large tables with a teapot, an arm reached out to grab her.

  “Hey there,” said Harlan Duke. “We meet again.”

  “You,” said Theodosia, smiling. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I heard about this Titanic Tea and got intrigued,” said Duke. He pronounced it “Ti-tan-ic,” with his Texas twang. “And then a couple of friends had an extra ticket, so they invited me to come along.”

  “I’m delighted you could make it,” said Theodosia. She was pleased this Texas transplant was fitting in so well with her native Charlestonians.

  “I’ve still got that teapot at my shop,” said Duke. “The Chien-lung.”

  “You didn’t bring it along?”

  “Ah,” said Duke, “I think you’ve got enough going on tonight.”

  “Okay, now you’ve definitely got me intrigued.”

  “Wonderful,” said Duke. “I take that as a good sign.”

  While Theodosia was serving the second course, the chicken lyonnaise, she stopped to chat with Roger Greaves and his wife.

  “Theodosia,” said Greaves, “this is my wife, Dolores.”

  “Dolly, call me Dolly,” said the woman. She had dancing blue eyes and a swirl of puffy hair that seemed to alternate in color between champagne blond and apricot. With a pair of red half-glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she looked like a slightly ditzy librarian. “And I’m thrilled to meet you.” She gave a little shiver. “And to be here,” she added. “This is so much fun.”

  “We’re delighted you could make it,” said Theodosia. “Do you have everything you need? Can I bring you anything else?”

  “We’re just great,” said Greaves as he tucked into his chicken.

  Seated at the table in the corner next to the stone fireplace, Percy Capers was there with two other curators from the museum.

  “We came to show the flag,” Capers told Theodosia, “for Max.” He looked around. “Is he here tonight?”

  “Max is back in the kitchen with Haley,” said Theodosia, “playing sous chef.”

  “Well, everything has been just wonderful so far,” said one of the men with Capers. “I really didn’t know what to expect, this being a tea shop and all. But your food is really delicious.”

  “Then we’ll expect you back,” Theodosia told him. She slid between the tables, checking to make sure everyone was happily feasting away. Then she spun around the corner and popped into the kitchen.

  It was pure chaos. The stove was littered with steaming pots and pans, plates were laid out everywhere, and the temperature felt like it was ninety degrees. Haley had a red bandana tied around her head; Max had a blue one.

  “Uh-oh,” said Theodosia.

  15

  Haley glanced up from a tray of salmon. “What?”

  “Trouble?” said Theodosia. It looked to her like dinner might have gone off the rails.

  Haley looked puzzled. “Why . . . no. Are you having problems?”

  “It’s just that . . .” Theodosia gestured with her hands. “Everything looks so . . .”

  “Chaotic?” said Haley. “Yeah, well, this is my version of controlled chaos. Believe me, I’m on top of it.”

  “We’re both on it,” said Max. He was arranging pieces of kale on each plate along with a grilled tomato and a bed of rice. Obviously, the poached salmon would be placed atop the rice.

  “Yeah, he’s been a big help,” said Haley. “Who’d ever guess that a PR dweeb could find his way around a kitchen. He even knows the difference between a potato peeler and a corn zipper.”

  “Okay then,” said Theodosia, just as Drayton stuck his head in behind hers.

  “We’re ready for the next course,” said Drayton. “Are you almost ready with the salmon entrées?”

  “I was born ready,” said Haley.

  “Riiiiight,” said Drayton as he quickly retreated.

  “How long, really?” Theodosia asked.

  Haley held up two fingers. “Two minutes. I guarantee your entrées will be plated and ready to serve in two minutes.”

  • • •

  The poached salmon was pure perfection. How did they know? Because their guests exclaimed and raved over it again and again.

  “Lovely,” said Roger Greaves. “Just delicious.”

  “I’m going to get down on my hands and knees and beg for this recipe,” said Dolly Greaves.

  “This salmon’s the best I’ve ever eaten,” Percy Capers told Theodosia as she poured him a glass of chardonnay.

  “Success,” breathed Drayton, as he bumped into Theodosia rounding one of the tables.

  “What is this delicious cream sauce with the salmon?” wondered Harlan Duke.

  “That’s a combination of béchamel and velouté,” Theodosia told him. “One of our chef’s own creations.”

  “Amazing,” said Duke. He was practically scraping his plate with his fork.

  Ten minutes later, with several bottles of chardonnay and white Côtes du Rhône having been consumed and the entrees almost finished, people began to get up and move around. They table-hopped, shook hands, and exchanged air kisses. Charleston was a social town, and these people were social animals, so pretty much every dinner party or charity event evolved into a friendly, chatty love fest. Of course, they’d be seated again once the desserts were brought out.

  Theodosia was standing behind the counter fixing a pot of gunpowder green tea when Percy Capers came up to greet her.

  “A lovely evening,” Capers told her. “Just perfect.”

  “Thank you.” She measured four scoops of tea leaves into a Blue Willow teapot.

  Capers dropped his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I trust you found everything you needed last night? You know, the guest list and whatever else you were hunting for.”

  “I did. And thank you so much for being such a knight in shining armor. Showing up like you did and giving us the new code. I know you took a risk.”

  “I was mostly worried about you,” said Capers, “sneaking into the museum, especially in light of the stabbing at the big premiere party last Thursday. And then that attack last night.”

  “You’re talking about Cecily
Conrad?”

  Capers nodded. “I read all about it in this morning’s newspaper. She was the woman who Edgar Webster had been seeing, right?”

  “Yes, but she seems to be relatively unhurt. In fact, I paid her a visit earlier today.”

  “You think it’s a strange coincidence or . . . ?” His voice trailed off.

  “No,” said Theodosia. “Probably not a coincidence at all.”

  “Really? Whoa. That’s not good. That means something fishy is going on.”

  “You know what else might not have been a coincidence?” said Theodosia. “Elliot Kern was in his office last night.”

  Capers looked suddenly concerned. “He was there when you went in? Oh boy, that could have made for a dangerous situation.”

  “After I found what I wanted in Max’s office, I saw a spill of light down the hallway. So I kind of tiptoed down there and listened outside Kern’s office.

  Capers gazed at her. “You like to live dangerously, don’t you?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Okay, now you have to tell me. What did you see? Or hear?”

  “Just Kern mumbling something about ‘a great deal of money’ and then something that sounded like ‘probably in the clear.’”

  “A great deal of money for what?” said Capers.

  Theodosia shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Something to do with the museum?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  Capers’s eyes narrowed. “And Kern actually said something about being in the clear? Do you think he meant someone was in the clear for . . . ah . . .” He looked pained. “For Webster’s murder?”

  “He . . . he could have meant that, I suppose.”

  “You must use extreme caution, then,” warned Capers.

  “So should you. After all, you have to work with the man.”

  “And promise me you’ll relate your story to one of the investigating officers,” Capers cautioned. “One of the detectives.”

  “I suppose I should,” said Theodosia. “Though it’s still only hearsay.”

  A brilliant flash startled them and left them dazed and seeing spots.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” said Capers.