by Laura Childs
Yeah, Theodosia thought. Cecily went down. On her keister.
Instead, she said, “Cecily dropped in but left immediately.”
“I’m afraid she wasn’t really welcome,” said Drayton.
“That’s it?” said Glass.
“That’s it for now,” said Theodosia.
Glass eyed them both suspiciously, then his head swiveled toward the café, and he said, “You guys got any of those dinky little sandwiches left?”
Relieved that Bill Glass seemed ready to drop the subject, Theodosia said, “Sure. In fact, there’s a place open at Delaine’s table.” She led Glass over there and said, “Have a seat.”
“What?” said Delaine, suddenly looking horrified. “He’s going to sit here?”
“Is there a problem?” said Theodosia.
Delaine saw the set of Theodosia’s jaw, and said, “Why, no. Actually, we were just leaving.” She got up, slapped her hat on her head, and said, “Come along, Auntie.”
“Have a nice day, ladies,” said Glass, giving a mock salute.
“Hmph,” said Aunt Acid.
• • •
As Roger Greaves and his employees started making motions to leave, Theodosia hurried over to them.
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Theodosia said to Greaves, “but I desperately need to talk to you.”
Greaves stared at her. “About?”
“I just have a few questions.”
“And why would you be asking me questions?”
“Because I promised to help Charlotte any way I could,” said Theodosia. She knew it was a little white lie, but she wanted to get Greaves alone and on the hot seat. “You remember, when I brought the basket over to Charlotte? You were there, you heard her ask me.”
He softened. “When you put it that way . . . I suppose.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia, touching his arm gently. She knew men liked it when a woman touched their arms. It implied that you were addled and slightly helpless in their presence, and completely obscured the fact that you were manipulating the crap out of them.
“You can drop by my office later today. You know where we’re located?”
“Um . . .”
“We’re Digital Corridor members, so we’ve recently relocated over in the University District.”
“Great,” said Theodosia. “Many thanks. I look forward to meeting with you.”
“Mmn,” said Greaves.
• • •
As the luncheon dwindled to a close, a few of the guests wandered over to the highboys in the corner, where Theodosia had arranged a fresh stash of tea, honey, T-Bath products, antique teacups, and decorated sugar cubes.
“They’re charmed by your shop,” Drayton told Theodosia as they observed the luncheon guests mingling and looking about.
“You think?”
“Oh, absolutely. You’ve created everyone’s ideal of what a tea shop should look like. The Indigo Tea Shop is small, cozy, and exudes that chintz-and-china aura . . . It’s perfection.”
“But they really come for our tea,” said Theodosia. “As well as our sweets and savories.”
“And for you,” Drayton smiled.
“Excuse me?” said a male voice.
Theodosia turned to find Harlan Duke gazing at her intently. “Yes?” she said.
“Charlotte was wondering if she could have a word with you,” said Duke.
Theodosia wondered who’d died and made him messenger, and then she remembered—Charlotte’s husband had died. So she probably shouldn’t be quite so snarky, as Duke seemed to be playing the nice guy and running interference.
“Of course,” Theodosia said.
“It’s a private matter,” said Duke.
“Okay.” Now her curiosity was piqued. She pointed over her shoulder. “In my office, then?”
“Perfect,” said Duke. “I’ll send her in.”
• • •
Charlotte was fidgeting nervously as she walked into Theodosia’s office.
“Won’t you have a seat?” Theodosia said. She indicated the chair that Cecily had vacated some twenty minutes ago. The irony was not lost on Theodosia.
Charlotte plunked herself down and carefully arranged her black skirt. Then she looked up with a smile on her face. “Theodosia, dear, I want to ask you something.”
“Yes?” Theodosia said. Warning bells started to clang in her head. Every time someone addressed her as “Theodosia, dear,” they were generally trying to wangle something for nothing. Or trying to pull the wool over her eyes. But she wanted to give Charlotte the benefit of the doubt. After all, it had been a hard day for her. A hard couple of days.
“I’m chairperson of the Historic District’s big Halloween event this year,” said Charlotte. “But after everything that’s happened . . .” She glanced around, exuding an air of helplessness.
“Yes?” Theodosia said again.
“Well, you’ve heard of the Bloody Mary Crawl and the Haunted Hayride?”
“Sure,” said Theodosia. “It’s the spooky walk and hayride that take place Halloween night.” She was getting a good sense of what might be coming.
“Only it’s so much more than just that,” Charlotte enthused. “Historic homes will be all decorated and open to the public, and volunteers will be serving Bloody Marys, cider, and donuts. Then there are guided trips through the cemetery, and of course, a hayride with real live horses.”
“I’ve never taken part in any of those events,” said Theodosia. “But they sound like fun.” She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Only now,” said Charlotte, “my participation feels . . . well, rather unseemly. I mean, coming on the heels of poor Edgar’s death”—she gave a dry cough that sounded a little phony—“and his subsequent burial.”
That would be the usual order of things, Theodosia thought.
“Anyway,” Charlotte continued, “long story short, I was wondering if you would agree to take over my duties as chairperson.”
“What exactly would I have to do?” Theodosia felt sorry for Charlotte; she really did. A dead husband and Halloween didn’t exactly go well together. At the same time, she was nervous about taking on an additional project. And a fairly big one at that.
“That’s the beauty of it,” said Charlotte. “You don’t have to do much of anything. I mean . . . everything’s been planned out, down to the last detail. Oh, sure, you’d have to be at the rallying point when the Bloody Mary Crawl kicks off and kind of ride herd on the volunteers. Then you’d have to make sure the open houses go off without a hitch, and that guides take visitors along Gateway Walk and through the cemeteries.”
“How many volunteers do you have?”
Charlotte closed her eyes, thinking. Then they popped open. “We’ve signed up at least thirty.”
“Oh, so a lot of volunteers.”
“And the horses and hay wagons are all donated,” said Charlotte. “From Equinox Equestrian Center.”
“I don’t have to worry about the horses, too?” said Theodosia.
“Not really. The hay wagon drivers will take care of trailering them in . . . and the hayride routes are all predetermined.” Charlotte bobbed her head eagerly. “So you’ll step in and do it?”
“Yes, I will,” said Theodosia. “But I’d still need to get together with you and go over all the various aspects. Would that be possible?”
“Absolutely, it would. Maybe you could drop by my house tonight around seven. I could go over my notes with you—everything’s organized in a binder. You should be able to pick up on the high points in about two seconds.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then,” said Theodosia.
Charlotte reached out and grasped Theodosia’s hand. “Thank you so much.” She stood up, and said, “Oh, and some good news, too. I’ve be
en elected a board member at the museum.” On this note she fairly beamed.
“You’re taking your husband’s place,” Theodosia said slowly. “That’s really quite . . . interesting.”
“Interesting, yes,” said Charlotte. “In fact, we have our very first meeting tomorrow night.”
• • •
Ten minutes later, it was all over. The guests had departed, Theodosia had cleared away the debris, and Drayton had set up the tables for afternoon tea. Only Bill Glass lingered at his table, wolfing down a scone and slurping his third cup of tea.
“Are you just about done there?” Theodosia asked him. She worried that he might become a permanent fixture.
But Glass wasn’t really listening. He was tuned in to his own wavelength.
“I am seriously suspicious of Harlan Duke,” said Glass. “Did you see how he was making moves on Charlotte Webster?”
“Sitting next to her, being kind and comforting her. That’s making moves?”
“If you could have seen them right after the funeral. He was escorting her out of the church, and she was positively leaning into him.”
“Maybe because she was upset?”
“Or maybe because he was coming on to her.”
“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. Although she was curious about their developing relationship herself.
“What if Harlan Duke killed Webster?” Glass blurted out.
“What?”
“I think you heard me just fine,” said Glass.
Theodosia put a hand on her hip and regarded him. “Okay, smart guy, I’ll bite: Why on earth would Duke kill Edgar Webster? What possible motive could he have had?”
Glass gave a nasty grin. “Duh . . . to get to the grieving widow? To get in line so he can be her next husband and heir to the throne?”
“The throne?”
“Well, all that money she’s got squirreled away.”
“That’s an awful lot of speculation,” said Theodosia. “But, okay, just for the sake of argument, let’s just say Duke did kill Edgar Webster. Then does it follow that he also attacked Cecily Conrad?”
“He could have.”
“But why? For what possible reason?”
Glass had an answer for this, too. “Maybe because Charlotte asked him to?”
“Then you’re saying they’re in collusion,” said Theodosia.
“That’s a possibility.”
“And I think maybe you’re completely off base.” Was he really?
“Let’s just say I haven’t rounded the bases yet,” said Glass. “But I think I might have hit a decent line drive.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” said Theodosia.
“Admit it,” said Glass. “There’s something going on.”
“Something, yes. We just don’t know what.”
Glass held up a finger. “But we will. I know we’ll figure it out.”
18
“They left their easel behind,” said Theodosia. She glanced around as if she expected it to toddle off by itself. “Drayton?”
Drayton looked up from where he was fixing a pot of Earl Grey. Afternoon tea was in full swing and almost half the tables were occupied. Haley had baked a batch of orange scones, and those were being enjoyed along with cups of chocolate hazelnut and ginger peach tea.
“The easel,” said Drayton. “Yes, I guess it is still here. I suppose Charlotte was supposed to take it. Or the Datrex people.”
Theodosia grabbed the tag board with the photos and notes stuck to it and propped it behind the counter. Then she gathered up the wooden easel and carried it into her office. “We don’t need people tripping over this,” she muttered.
She shoved the easel up against a wall, struck her toe on the corner of a cardboard box filled with straw hats, and clambered over to her desk. Yes, her office was messy. She was the first one to admit it. But only because it was jam-packed with boxes of tea, honey, Tea Shirts, and her trademark indigo-blue shopping bags. To say nothing of the stacks of sweetgrass baskets, wreaths, and red hats.
Sitting at her desk now, she leaned back, and thought, Why did I come in here again? She let her mind wander for a few moments. Oh, yes. I need to focus on Delaine’s Hunt and Gather Market.
She really had forgotten all about it. Forgotten that she’d promised Delaine months ago that she’d take part. That, along with forty or so other merchants who Delaine had coerced, she’d sell some of her tea or T-Bath products at the one-day street market.
Delaine was certainly flamboyant and a little maddening, but she was a whirling dervish when it came to fund-raising. The Heritage Society, the Charleston Opera, and especially animal-welfare organizations benefitted from her fiendish ways. When it came to opening doors, prying open checkbooks, and garnering substantial pledges, nobody could hold a candle to Delaine.
Theodosia picked up a tea catalog, flipped through a few pages, and then, feeling restless, tossed it aside. She still had to figure something out for the Hunt and Gather Market. She supposed she could sell some of their proprietary blended tea. They still had beaucoup bags of their Housewarming Blend, a Chinese black tea blended with a hint of citrus and ginger. And there was a good stock of Honey Hibiscus tea, too, a mild black tea blended with hibiscus blossoms, rosehips, and a touch of honey.
Sure, that should work.
“You look puzzled,” said Drayton. “Are you deep in thought?” He was standing in the doorway, smiling.
“I have to come up with something to sell at tomorrow’s Hunt and Gather Market,” said Theodosia.
“Yes, I heard Delaine banging away about that.”
“It slipped my mind.”
“You’ve had a lot going on.” Drayton took a step forward. “You know, I’ve just worked up a new tea blend.”
“Another one?” Drayton came up with the most wonderful proprietary blends. And they were all good sellers, too.
“If Haley and I put in an extra half hour or so this afternoon, we could probably package up a few bags for you.”
“To sell at Delaine’s market?” said Theodosia. “That would be super. And thanks for the rescue, I owe you one.”
“Don’t you even want to taste the tea?” asked Drayton.
“Well . . . sure.”
He held up a finger. “I shall return.”
Theodosia was halfway through the afternoon mail—mostly junk—when Drayton came back with a small pot of tea. “It’s ready,” he told her. “Perfectly steeped.” He poured out a cup and handed it to her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Better you should try it first.”
So Theodosia did.
“This is delicious,” she said. “It tastes like . . .” She smiled. “The outdoors.” Taking another sip, she let the warm liquid roll across her tongue. “What do you call this?”
“This is my English Hedgerow tea,” said Drayton. “A rich black tea with chamomile, lemongrass, cornflower, and rose petals. It’s basically a floral and grassy blend that I find reminiscent of the English countryside and its hedgerows.”
“This is magnificent,” said Theodosia. “No wonder you’re the tea blender and I’m the tea taster.”
“We’ll package up . . . what? Maybe four dozen bags for you?”
“That should do it.” Theodosia stood up and came around her desk, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She nodded toward the tea room. “Do you need me out there?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” said Drayton.
Together they strolled out into the tea room, Theodosia still enjoying her cup of tea. “You know I’m going to pay a visit to Datrex later on today.”
“For what reason?”
“I still get a weird feeling about Roger Greaves,” said Theodosia. “I thought if I saw the company, talked to him a little more, that somethi
ng might pop.”
“This whole thing is a skull cracker, isn’t it?” said Drayton.
“Yes, and there’s something I need to ask you,” said Theodosia. “You know about the Bloody Mary Crawl and Haunted Hayride?”
“The events taking place on All Hallows Eve,” said Drayton.
“Well, Charlotte asked me to take over her role as chairperson.”
“That sounds like an awfully big job. Isn’t her request coming a trifle late?”
“It is, but I still told her yes anyway. The thing is, I’m going to drop by her house tonight and go over the final plans.” Theodosia hesitated. “I was wondering if you’d come along with me.”
Drayton looked pained. “You’re not going to ask me to dress up as a ghoul or a ghost are you?”
“No, no, you’d be coming along strictly as moral support. And because you’re smart and because I’m still a tiny bit suspicious of Charlotte.” Especially after Bill Glass got done spinning all his wild theories.
“I see,” said Drayton.
“So. Will you? Come along, I mean?”
“You know I will.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia.
Drayton cocked his head to one side and peered around Theodosia. “Exactly what are you doing, Haley?”
“Oh,” said Haley. She was struggling with an enormous cardboard box. “I dug out our Halloween decorations. I thought I’d put them up.”
“Now?” said Theodosia.
“We couldn’t do it any earlier,” said Haley, sounding a little defensive. “I mean, how would it have looked? The tea room festooned with ghosts and skeletons while a funeral luncheon was taking place? That would have been way too macabre. But now . . .”
“I suppose it’s okay,” said Drayton, looking pained. “At least our lovely tea room will only resemble Dante’s Inferno for three days.” He turned to pluck a tea tin from one of the shelves. “Though it will feel like an eternity,” he muttered.
“I heard that,” said Haley.
• • •
Theodosia was just about to leave when Detective Tidwell came striding in. He was accompanied by another detective in a worn-looking brown leather jacket, a man he introduced as Detective Tuck Samuels. She recognized Samuels as one of the men who’d been at the scene of Cecily’s attack on Saturday night.