Ming Tea Murder

by Laura Childs

  “Perfect,” said Theodosia. “And tickets are all sold out?”

  “Oh yeah. Have been for a couple of days. We’re gonna have another full house tomorrow.”

  “I think we’ve discovered the magic key,” Theodosia mused. “Maybe we should just switch to having themed teas.”

  Haley looked shocked. “You mean every day, all the time?”

  “Well . . . maybe two or three a week?”

  Haley shook her head so vigorously, her curtain of long blond hair swished about her shoulders. “No way. Then people would start taking our themed teas for granted. No, we need to keep them in reserve for special occasions only.”

  Theodosia had to smile at Haley’s intensity. “I see your point. Okay, we’ll do it your way.”

  “Whew.” Haley touched a hand to her chest. “I don’t like to rock the boat, but . . .”

  “You prefer to stick to a routine. Same as Drayton does.”

  Haley nodded sagely. “Routines are good. It’s what keeps us all sane.”

  “I could use a little more sanity in my life,” said Theodosia. “Especially after the past couple days.”

  “You’ve been running yourself ragged all over the place. And now you’re off to that Hunt and Gather thing?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Does it feel like you’re chasing your tail?”

  “Truer words were never spoken, Haley. Because the crazy thing is, Earl Grey and I are supposed to run in tonight’s Halloween five-K.”

  “Oh, Earl Grey’s a marathoner now?”

  “I guess so, since we’re entered in Big Paw’s Run and Romp Division.” Big Paw was a local service-dog organization that both Theodosia and Earl Grey volunteered with.

  “You guys are regular little Energizer Bunnies, aren’t you? Me, I’m just gonna stay home tonight and loaf on the sofa, watch a chick flick, and down a bag of Chips Ahoy!”

  Theodosia tipped her head. “Haley. Really?”

  “You think my own scones or muffins would be better?”

  “Infinitely.”

  • • •

  Lunch was busy, which kept Theodosia and Drayton hopping from table to table. They served croque monsieur sandwiches, citrus salads, and egg white omelets accompanied by spiced plum and Ceylon black teas. At twelve forty-five, Theodosia glanced at her watch and said, “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” said Drayton.

  “I’ve got, like, fifteen minutes to get to Delaine’s market and set up my table.”

  “I already loaded the tea into the back of your Jeep if that’s any consolation.”

  “Thank you.” Theodosia glanced at her watch again.

  “Now you’ve got fourteen minutes,” said Drayton. “Perhaps you’d best get moving.”

  “I . . . I need to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?” He picked up a Meissen teapot decorated with a swirl of pink peonies.

  “When I drove out to the equestrian center this morning to talk to Harlan Duke . . .”

  “I hadn’t realized he had horses,” said Drayton.

  “He has horses and a very sharp hoof pick,” said Theodosia.

  That got Drayton’s immediate attention.

  So Theodosia told him about the shiny metal hoof pick and how she wondered if something like that could have served as a murder weapon to kill Edgar Webster.

  “I suppose it could have,” said Drayton. “Did you tell Tidwell about this?”

  “No.”

  “Keeping a lot from him, aren’t you? Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not. Probably not.”

  “Well, think about telling him, okay?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Theodosia glanced at her watch again. “Are you going to be okay here without me? You and Haley are literally a skeleton crew.”

  Drayton gave her a deadpan look. “Please.”

  Theodosia ran into her office, snatched up her jacket and bag without missing a beat, and was out the back door. Then it was a matter of a five-minute drive down to Queen Street, where Delaine’s market was setting up.

  Luckily, Theodosia found a parking spot just a block away. A woman in a white Escalade was just pulling out, and Theodosia was able to nose into the vacated spot.

  Thank you, parking space fairy godmother.

  And, once she’d grabbed her cardboard boxes filled with tea and sprinted the block to her table, she arrived with about one minute to spare.

  Good thing Delaine was nowhere in sight. She would have had a major conniption.

  Theodosia whipped an indigo blue cloth onto her table, and then quickly arranged her packages of English Hedgerow tea in neat little rows. She’d printed out a sign that said INDIGO TEA SHOP, ENGLISH HEDGEROW TEA, $6.99 A BAG, so that went into a plastic table topper for all to see.

  Theodosia took a deep breath and looked around. Tables stretched to either side of her as far as she could see. They held dried flower arrangements, jams and jellies, pottery, jewelry, fluttering scarves, and even used books.

  There were food stands, too. In fact, Theodosia could smell the mingled aromas of fried shrimp, fresh-baked muffins, and fresh-roasted coffee.

  And just as Theodosia was wondering if any shoppers would show up, if maybe the whole thing would turn out to be a bust, the proverbial floodgates opened and crowds descended upon them.

  Theodosia sold tea like it was going out of style. Forty-five minutes into the event, she’d sold out more than half her merchandise. Now what? Well, she could call Drayton and ask him to grab some bags of tea and tea accoutrements off the shelf and pack them up.

  She did exactly that. And, some twenty minutes later, Haley showed up, red-faced and lugging an enormous cardboard box.

  “The cavalry to the rescue,” announced Haley. She thumped her box down on Theodosia’s table and scrambled to help unpack.

  “I’m sorry you had to drop everything and rush this over,” said Theodosia. She was delighted to see that Drayton had packed thirty more bags of tea, as well as teacups and saucers, jars of honey, and a few T-Bath products.

  “Don’t be,” said Haley. “It’s no trouble. We weren’t all that busy.” She looked around. “I guess everybody’s over here.”

  “So you can hang around for a while?”

  “Well . . . maybe I ought to get back. I hate for Drayton to be the lone wolf.”

  “Thank you, Haley,” said Theodosia, “for bringing this over. And thank Dayton for packing all this up at the last minute.”

  Theodosia got busy again, arranging her merchandise, selling tea, and chatting with the women who had tables on either side of her. Finally, she caught a glimpse of Delaine.

  “Theodosia!” said Delaine as she careened toward her. She held a clipboard in her hand and had two harried-looking interns following her like a pair of ducklings. “How’s it going?”

  “Very well,” said Theodosia. “I already had to restock.”

  “We’ve had a fantastic turnout,” said Delaine. She looked about distractedly. “I can’t quite believe it. The animal groups are going to be so thrilled.” And with that she dashed off.

  Theodosia wrapped a teacup and saucer in tissue paper for one buyer and explained to another how to heat water just so for brewing the perfect cup of tea. When she finally dared to draw a relaxing breath and look around, she saw Elliot Kern standing at her table. He had picked up a bag of tea and was studying the label.

  “Can I help you?” said Theodosia. She was a little surprised that he’d even stopped at her table. Her meeting with him had reeked of hostility.

  Kern looked up when he heard Theodosia’s voice. Suddenly recognizing her, he looked so startled one would have thought he’d just been doused in hot oil.

  “Oh . . . h-hello,” Kern stuttered. Then he looked down at the packages
of tea again and glanced back at Theodosia, reluctantly making the connection. “I should have guessed you’d be the one selling tea,” he said in a flat tone of voice.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure there are other sellers here if you’d prefer,” Theodosia replied.

  “No, no,” said Kern, backpedaling slightly and trying to cover his unease. “This looks like lovely tea. It’s your special blend, I take it?”

  Theodosia gave a tight nod. “It’s one of our proprietary blends, yes.”

  Kern stared at her, a look that was both imperious and challenging. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

  The first thought that popped into Theodosia’s head was, No, I really don’t. Instead, she bit her tongue and reminded herself of the old adage about catching more flies with honey. And maybe more information, too.

  “I really don’t know you,” said Theodosia.

  “But you’re still upset about Max being put on leave.”

  “Max is upset about Max being put on leave.”

  “I understand he’s already been approached by another museum,” said Kern.

  Theodosia ignored his somewhat probing remark. Instead she said, “When do you intend to invite him back?”

  “That’s hard to say,” said Kern.

  “I can’t imagine it’s that difficult. You’re the museum’s director, after all. It’s your job to weigh the various options and make tough decisions.” Her smile was a half snarl. “It’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

  Kern cleared his throat, clearly uneasy.

  “By the way,” Theodosia continued, “I hope you’re excited to have Charlotte Webster on your board of directors. Especially in light of the firebombing at her home last night. You did hear about that, didn’t you?”

  Kern gave a sober nod. “I did. It sounded awful.”

  “If you ask me,” said Theodosia, “someone doesn’t want Charlotte around. Kind of like someone didn’t want her husband around.” She realized that her resolve to catch more flies with honey had been kicked to the curb. But she was angry and rolling now.

  Kern’s brows pinched together and he scowled. “If you’re implying that I had something to do with either of those things . . .”

  “I don’t know,” said Theodosia. “Did you? Someone clearly didn’t want Edgar Webster poking his nose into museum business. And now someone might feel the same way about Charlotte.” She glared daggers at him.

  “I don’t need to take this,” Kern snarled. He tossed the bag of tea down on the table and spun away from her. He disappeared into the crowd.

  Theodosia watched him go and wondered. Was Elliot Kern the man who’d been orchestrating all this mayhem? Was he a killer and a madman? Or was someone else to blame? Someone she hadn’t yet tumbled to. Someone nobody had tumbled to?

  22

  Feeling tired and a little worn out, Theodosia arrived back at the Indigo Tea Shop just after five o’clock.

  The place was closed, and the curtains were drawn. Drayton had long since gone home for the day, and she could hear the rafters creaking as Haley rattled around upstairs.

  That was good, Theodosia decided. She thought she could use a little peace and quiet to help her get her head back together. Meeting with Harlan Duke this morning and realizing he was a potential suspect—and then running into Elliot Kern—had rattled her. She now understood that either of those men might have had an ax to grind against Edgar Webster. And that either of them could have harassed Charlotte last night. Duke, to send her running in his direction, and Kern, to frighten her away.

  As Theodosia walked out into the tea room, the lingering aromas of gunpowder green and Indian spice teas made her decide to fix herself a cuppa. She was running a 5K in a matter of hours, and a convenient hit of caffeine would definitely help spike her energy level.

  But as she pulled a tin of Assam down from the shelf, her eyes landed on the Edgar Webster tribute poster that she’d stuck behind the counter. And the note from the Shanghai art dealer that was still tacked to it.

  Theodosia plucked the note from the poster and stared at it. And wondered—what time was it in Shanghai?

  She knew that, because of the international date line, it was already tomorrow in China. That meant it would be first thing Wednesday morning in Shanghai, seeing as how that city was something like thirteen or fourteen hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time.

  Should she call the art dealer, whose name was . . . ? Her eyes traveled to the bottom of the note.

  MR. FANG LIU OF MANDARIN ART AND ANTIQUES.

  Should she venture a few questions to Mr. Liu about the Chinese tea house? Theodosia put a hand up and massaged the back of her neck. And decided . . . yes. Yes, she would.

  Sitting at her computer, feeling like she was about to sail into uncharted waters, she Googled Mandarin Art and Antiques. There it was, located on Moganshan Road in Shanghai, with a phone number listed and everything. She flipped through a phone directory and located the country code. From there it was a small matter of dialing the number.

  After a few clicks and clacks, a crisp male voice answered on the other end.

  “Ni hao,” said the voice.

  “Hello?” said Theodosia. The connection sounded hollow, and there was a time delay of a couple seconds.

  The man’s voice changed to cultured English. “Good morning. How may I help you?”

  “Hello,” said Theodosia. “I’m trying to get hold of Mr. Liu.”

  “Speaking.”

  “Oh, Mr. Liu, this is Theodosia Browning calling from Charleston. In the United States?”

  “Yes?” Now he sounded slightly wary.

  “I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are with the Chinese tea house,” Theodosia burbled. She was making things up as she went along. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  That warmed him up.

  “I’m so very glad,” said Mr. Liu.

  “It’s almost hard to believe that it’s . . . authentic,” said Theodosia.

  Mr. Liu chuckled. “I can assure you that it’s perfectly legitimate, right down to the floorboards.”

  “That’s what Mr. Harlan Duke told us, too.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Duke. He has a discerning eye for Chinese antiquities. It was a pleasure to work with him.”

  “I imagine a Chinese tea house is not that easy to come by anymore,” said Theodosia. Please, please, please, take the hint and follow my lead.

  “Luckily, the city of Shanghai is still blessed with a number of such structures,” said Mr. Liu. “However, with the current building explosion that’s going on here . . .” A note of regret crept into his voice. “Well, we are gratified to see these tea houses go to public institutions, where they will be honored and appreciated.”

  “Our museum in Charleston really loves it,” Theodosia assured him. “It’s very popular.”

  “Right now there is another museum that is also looking to secure one,” said Mr. Liu.

  Theodosia’s ears perked up. “Oh really? Which museum is that?”

  “The Crenshaw Museum,” said Mr. Liu. “In Upstate New York. They are in the process of raising funds to complete their purchase.”

  “Well, thank you so much,” said Theodosia. “It was very nice talking to you.”

  As she hung up the phone, Theodosia wondered if it was too late to call the Crenshaw Museum. Yes, she decided, it probably was. But first thing tomorrow, she would make that call. Because if Shanghai tea houses were somehow tied to these recent crimes, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  • • •

  “You look adorable, you know that?” Theodosia was back home in her kitchen, smiling at Earl Grey, trying to cajole him with the upbeat sound of her voice.

  The dog wasn’t buying it.

  Standing there in his lion costume, Earl Grey was a very reluctant partic
ipant. His tail was down and his shoulders slumped. He looked . . . embarrassed.

  “You know,” said Theodosia, trying her best to pump up some enthusiasm, “I hand stitched that costume just for you. Went to the fabric store, found that nice shaggy orange fun fur, and created your cool lion’s mane.”

  Earl Grey let loose a delicate sigh.

  Theodosia decided to approach it from a different angle. “You only have to wear your costume for an hour or so. We’re going to jog over to White Point Gardens, run in the Big Paw five-K, and then blow that pop stand.”

  This time Earl Grey rolled his eyes.

  “And look,” Theodosia continued, “I’m going to wear a costume, too.” She put on her witch’s hat. “See?” She gazed at him hopefully, and then said, “I still haven’t convinced you, have I? You know what? I understand how you feel. I get that dogs hate Halloween because it’s the worst holiday of the year. It’s one long litany of ringing doorbells, kids in scary costumes, and chocolate that’s bad for you. And I’m sorry about that, I truly am. But what we’re doing tonight is going to benefit a lot of people and dogs.”

  He lifted his muzzle and gazed at her.

  “That’s right, it’s a good thing. We’re trying to raise money so we can train more service dogs.”

  Earl Grey took a step toward her and touched his nose to her hand. Gave her a nudge.

  “Thank you,” said Theodosia. “I see we’re finally on the same wavelength. Okay, let me put on my cape and slip into my running shoes. Then we’re outta here.”

  • • •

  Strings of purple and orange lights glowed in the dark. An enormous circle of carved pumpkins with flickering candles gave the impression of a witches’ convocation. And rumbling fog machines pumped out great gluts of ethereal white vapor, making White Point Gardens look very much like a haunted theme park.

  Theodosia and Earl Grey picked their way through throngs of costumed people and dogs, heading for the registration table that was staffed by Big Paw volunteers.

  “Hey there,” Theodosia said to Helen, one of the volunteers and race organizers. “We’re here to pick up our numbers.”