by Laura Childs
Helen consulted her list and then shuffled through a dozen or so cardboard tags. “Let’s see, Theodosia and Earl Grey. Here you go. You’re team number forty-five.”
Theodosia pinned her number to her sleeve and grinned. “Everything looks so nice and spooky tonight.”
“Can you believe it?” said Helen. She was short and cute with curly dark hair, the owner of a wonderful white poodle named Shawn. “We didn’t really need to rent a fog machine.” She waved an arm. “The Atlantic Ocean seems to be providing us with a good supply of the real thing.”
“It certainly adds to the moodiness,” agreed Theodosia. “Oh, do you have Max’s number, too? He’ll be running with us.”
“He’s already picked it up,” said Helen.
“Max is here?”
“Somewhere,” said Helen as she went on to help the next runner, a man with an exuberant boxer in a red devil costume.
“Okay, thanks,” said Theodosia.
She found Max snarfing down a funnel cake. “Aren’t you afraid that glop of sugar and grease is going to slow you down?” she asked.
Max had just taken a huge bite of his funnel cake, so he had to chew and swallow hard before answering. “Uh-uh. The carbs are guaranteed to give me an extra shot of energy.”
“In other words, you skipped dinner?”
“Afraid so.”
“Me, too.”
“We’re both running on empty, then,” said Max. He reached down and scratched Earl Grey behind the ears. “Hey there.”
“At least it’s a short race,” said Theodosia. She took in his Lycra pants and nylon hoodie. “I see you didn’t wear a costume.”
“No time,” said Max. He turned his attention back to Earl Grey. “But hey, buddy, your costume looks great.”
“He hates it,” said Theodosia.
“Nooo,” said Max as he continued to rub Earl Grey’s ears. “I bet you feel like a big, tough lion in that costume, don’t you?”
Earl Grey stared at Max as if he’d just committed a major faux pas (or would that be faux paw?).
“I see the costume is kind of a sore point,” said Max. “Like you already said, good thing it’s a short race.” He sidled closer to Theodosia. “You look cute tonight. Very witchy and mysterious.”
“Max,” said Theodosia, turning serious, “I have to tell you something.”
He tilted his head toward her. “What?”
She pulled him away from the crowd and into a quiet area. “I stopped by Harlan Duke’s antique shop this morning.”
“Okay.”
“He wasn’t there, but I was able to catch up with him at the Equinox Equestrian Center.”
“Is this your way of telling me you bought a horse? Or that you’re going to run away and join the rodeo?”
“No, but . . .” Theodosia drew a deep breath, and then proceeded to tell Max about Duke, his horses, and his casual handling of the dangerous looking hoof pick.
As she talked, Max’s expression changed from one of mild interest to one of great concern. “Whoa. Time out. Are you implying that Duke might have used a hoof pick to dispatch Edgar Webster?”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“The saga of Webster’s murder just keeps getting stranger and stranger.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Theo, did you tell Detective Tidwell about the hoof pick?”
“I was going to,” said Theodosia. “Drayton said I should. But I haven’t yet.” When Max gave her a troubled look, she added, “Mostly because I was so darned busy today with lunch and then running off to the Hunt and Gather Market.”
“I think you have to tell him.”
They stood there as a pair of Jack Russell terriers romped by, barking and spinning happily.
“Here’s the problem,” said Theodosia. “Whenever I bring up a random suggestion or share a bit of information, Tidwell goes all law enforcement on me and accuses me of meddling.”
“But a razor-sharp hoof pick isn’t exactly random,” said Max. “Especially when it’s connected to the art dealer who located the Chinese tea house and who’s also connected to the murdered man who helped fund it.”
“But it’s still not direct evidence,” said Theodosia. “It’s circumstantial at best.”
Max took her arm and slowly led her toward the starting line, where the runners—both humans and dogs—were beginning to line up. “I’d like to come to the Indigo Tea Shop tomorrow and help out if I could.”
“Wait a minute. Why the sudden change of subject? You . . . you want to help with our Tower of London Tea?”
“Actually,” said Max, “I want to be there so I can keep you safe and sound.”
Theodosia adjusted Earl Grey’s lion’s mane. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“That’s probably what Edgar Webster thought, too,” said Max. “As well as Cecily and Charlotte just before they were attacked.”
“But I’ll be surrounded by lots of people.”
“Kind of like Edgar Webster was at the museum?” They stepped over a trio of dachshunds and a tangle of leashes.
“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “We’ve got Miss Dimple coming in to help serve tea. But what if you lent a hand tomorrow night at the Bloody Mary Crawl and Haunted Hayride?”
“I think that might be a smart idea,” said Max. There was a long pause as he gave her a curious look.
“Now what?” said Theodosia.
“Nothing.”
“Something.” She knew him better than that. Something was brewing and it wasn’t a pot of tea.
“I got a job offer today,” said Max.
“Seriously?”
“No,” said Max. “They’re probably just yanking my chain.”
“I’m sorry,” said Theodosia. “It’s just that . . . well, I’m a little bit shocked. But a genuine job offer . . . I suppose that really is good news.”
“I thought so,” said Max.
“Was your offer from the Savannah College of Art and Design?”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm. A long ways away.”
“Just ninety miles, give or take,” said Max. “Seems to me you never mind breezing down to Savannah when you need to pick up tea and supplies.”
Theodosia thought for a minute. “So we’d do long distance?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“And there’s no possible chance of your returning to your old job here?”
“Kern doesn’t want me and I don’t want him.”
“What if Kern left the museum? What if he was fired or something?” Tucked in the back of Theodosia’s mind was the notion that Kern was also a viable suspect. If it was proved that he was the one who’d murdered Edgar Webster, then everything could be set right again.
“Excuse me,” said Max. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Theodosia sighed. “No, probably not.”
“Okay,” said Max. As he did a couple of slow knee bends to warm up, his knee joints popped audibly. “Jeez, I hope we’re not in the greyhound division.”
• • •
When the race started—there was no starter’s gun because it would have spooked the dogs—the entire group took off in a mad rush. Dogs barked, tails wagged, and collars jingled as they dashed across the park. The group thundered past a plaque commemorating the hanging of Stede Bonnet and his pirates, following a path that had been clearly marked by orange lanterns and glittering arrows. It took them around Oyster Point and past a group of cannons. Just as they ran past the bandstand, the course suddenly split into two separate race courses. One was the 5K, the other a much shorter course, designed especially for non-runners as well as smaller dogs.
Because Theodosia, Earl Grey, and Max were all seasoned runners, they headed down the 5K track and s
oon found themselves out front, pacing the pack. Now the marked course took them down South Battery, past dozens of enormous mansions. In daylight, these mansions, painted in the French palette of pink, eggshell, and pastel blue, were as delightful as a plate of macarons. Now, in the spirit of Halloween, many were decorated.
There were action-figure witches sitting on side piazzas and stirring cauldrons, ghosts hanging from finials and balustrades, and skeletons standing guard on both sides of driveways. One home even had a full-scale headless horseman on its front lawn.
“I had no idea these homes would be so lavishly decorated,” said Max.
“Some of them must be taking part in the Bloody Mary Crawl tomorrow night,” said Theodosia.
“And the Haunted Hayride,” said Max. “Don’t forget the hayride.”
They huffed their way down King Street, then turned down Ladson.
“Looks like this route is taking us past the museum,” said Max. He didn’t sound particularly happy, but Earl Grey wagged his tail.
“Buck up, mister,” said Theodosia. “You’ve got an ace in the hole now. You just scored a serious job offer.” She wasn’t crazy about Max moving to Savannah, but she knew his career and self-esteem were definitely at stake.
Rounding a corner, they chugged down Meeting, headed toward the museum. As they approached, they saw that a small crowd had gathered outside. They clapped and cheered mightily when Theodosia, Earl Grey, and Max came into view and continued their raucous cheers as more runners came pounding down the street.
“See,” said Theodosia once they’d breezed past. “That wasn’t so bad. I think I even saw a couple of your friends out there waving to us.” She was pretty sure she’d caught sight of Sumner Motte and his wild, flyaway hair, as well as Percy Capers. But there’d been no sign of Elliot Kern.
They blew down Atlantic Street, a few more runners closer on their heels now, and then followed the markers until they were sent down Church Street.
“We’re running right past the Indigo Tea Shop,” said Max.
“The home stretch,” said Theodosia.
From there it was just a few more blocks until they hit White Point Gardens again. As they spun across the finish line, there were cheers, shouts, and barks from the waiting crowd. Then everyone who finished was awarded an orange ribbon, and all dogs were presented with bowls of water.
“Come and get your picture taken,” urged Helen. She was waving at Theodosia and company as well as several other race finishers.
So Theodosia led her gang of three over to the bandstand, where cameras clicked and strobe lights flashed.
And, wouldn’t you know it, Bill Glass was also there taking pictures.
“What are you doing here?” Theodosia asked him as he aimed his camera at an enormous harlequin Great Dane. “You’re not the official race photographer, are you?” She didn’t think Big Paw had hired him. At least, she hoped they hadn’t, since he was such a squirrel to deal with.
“Oh, heck no,” said Glass. “I’m just hanging around, taking a few snaps of these mutts and their people. Hoping to catch something interesting.”
“And have you?”
“Not here.” But Glass suddenly pursed his lips and looked smug.
“What?” said Theodosia.
He started to smile. “You never know. I might have stumbled onto a couple leads concerning the Webster murder.”
“What are you talking about?” said Theodosia, as Earl Grey pulled Max over to a bunch of dogs and people.
Glass waggled a finger at her. “No, you don’t, Nancy Drew. I’m not about to share any information with you. You’d try to scoop me.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Yes, I would. “C’mon, what are you talking about? Who are you looking at?”
“I’ve got my sources.”
“You’d better be careful,” said Theodosia. Max’s warning was still echoing in her head. “Somebody fairly close to us wants to shut this investigation down completely.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t go worrying about me,” said Glass. “I’m one slippery guy. I can take care of myself.” And, with that, he dashed off into a swirl of fog and purple lights.
23
“Happy Halloween!” cried Haley. Theodosia had just ducked in the back door this Wednesday morning as Haley popped out of her kitchen. She was suited up in a biker-chick costume, complete with studded black leather jacket, miniskirt, and boots.
“Haley,” said Theodosia, a little taken aback. “You’re wearing a costume. Wait a minute, weren’t you going to wear an Anne Boleyn costume?”
Haley grinned. “She got kicked to the curb. This is way more cool.”
Theodosia glanced toward the front of the tea shop, looking puzzled.
“I . . . wait a minute. Was I supposed to wear a costume, too? Did I not get the memo?”
“Naw, I’m all dressed up because I felt like it. I tried to talk Drayton into wearing his captain’s outfit again, but he said once was enough. And he hated the idea of wearing a Beefeater costume. You know, in honor of our Tower of London Tea? I thought it’d be neat if he wore a costume like all the fancy pants guards at Buckingham Palace wear. But he said no way.” She looked downright sad. “What a party pooper.”
Theodosia chuckled as they walked out into the tea room together. “Face it, Haley, Drayton’s not exactly a costume-wearing, popper-popping, streamer-tossing kind of guy.”
Haley considered Theodosia’s words for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. That type of wild and crazy guy I can find in any . . .”
“Local gin joint,” said Drayton. He stood behind the counter looking askance at both of them. “Is Haley still whining pitifully because I won’t wear a costume?”
“Would you consider a simple werewolf mask?” asked Haley.
“No, thank you,” said Drayton. “I’m grouchy enough as it is today.” He reached up, grabbed a tin of tea, and a black plastic spider tumbled down onto the counter. “Haley!” he cried. But she’d already disappeared into her kitchen amid a riot of giggles.
• • •
Because it was Halloween, there seemed to be an extra dollop of excitement thrumming in the air. Customers rushed in and grabbed tables. Yellow-and-red horse-drawn jitneys pulled up outside and disgorged more customers. Local shopkeepers, many wearing costumes, ducked in for their morning takeaway of a cuppa and scones.
Haley’s cherry banana bread and maple scones were a huge hit. Along with Drayton’s choice of teas.
“I’m calling them my daily brews,” Drayton told Theodosia. “In honor of Halloween.”
“And what teas are you featuring this morning?”
Drayton held up a Chinese teapot with a sacred bird-and-butterfly motif. “A blend called Jasmine Mountain. Chinese black tea with a hint of jasmine blossoms and strawberries. And my own proprietary blend, Autumn Cornucopia.”
“The one with black cherries and currants,” said Theodosia. “I love that tea blend.”
“Though I tend to be more of a purist,” said Drayton, “I must say the aroma in our tea room today is extraordinary.”
“Tea aromatherapy,” Theodosia agreed. “Nothing better. And you’re ready with your Lady Jane Grey tea and your War of the Roses tea?”
Drayton smiled. “All set to go.”
• • •
“Helloooo! Toodles all!” a familiar voice sang out.
Theodosia couldn’t help but chuckle. Miss Dimple, their friendly tea-drinking octogenarian bookkeeper, had just arrived in a flurry of silver hair, pink cheeks, and layers of ruffles.
“Miss Dimple,” said Drayton. “Thank goodness. You’re just the woman I was looking for.”
Miss Dimple toddled over to the counter on short, plump legs. “What can I do for you, Drayton?” Though she was here to help serve tea, Miss Dimple always made it a point to be extra sweet to Drayt
on. In her mind, he was the one who really ran the tea shop. He was the major domo who could spout volumes of tea lore. And that was just fine with Theodosia. As long as all the work got done and their customers were happy, why worry about who was in charge?
“I want you to taste this tea,” said Drayton. He poured a steaming serving of tea into a small handmade Japanese teacup. “I need you to render your expert opinion.”
Miss Dimple chuckled. She loved nothing better than to render an opinion.
“Now I must warn you,” said Drayton, “this tea is a Formosan Lung Ching green tea. It’s quite different than your usual preference for Japanese Genmaicha.”
Game for anything, Miss Dimple took a sip. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them wide. “Lovely. This tea is bright but not too brisk.”
“Very good,” said Drayton. “You’ve become a real connoisseur.”
“I have?” she said, pleased. “Really?”
“Our customers rely on you to help them select the best teas,” said Theodosia, stepping in.
“I knew there was a reason I loved working here,” said Miss Dimple. She spun around and finally noticed Haley’s decorations. “Oh my. I see we’ve had a small infestation of witches and ghosts. Is that Haley’s doing?”
“No, the decorations were Drayton’s idea,” said Theodosia, laughing as she said it.
“Oh, you two!” said Miss Dimple. She let loose another chuckle and then got serious. “Say, I was so sorry I wasn’t able to help out with your Titanic Tea. But my cousins from Murrells Inlet were visiting.”
“We would have loved to have you,” said Theodosia. “But we made out just fine.”
“Still, I would have given anything to see Drayton in his captain’s uniform.”
Drayton lifted an eyebrow. “Who told you about that?”
“Haley,” said Miss Dimple. “Who else?”
“She would,” said Drayton.
“I bet it was quite a sight,” said Miss Dimple. “I mean, who doesn’t love a man in uniform?”
• • •
With Miss Dimple serving morning tea, Theodosia took time out to put in a call to the Crenshaw Museum in New York. She was curious about them buying a Chinese tea house. And wondered if they were being guided by Harlan Duke, as well.