by Laura Childs
“We’re thrilled to have you,” said Theodosia, finally managing to escape Dolly’s clawlike clutches. “You’re right over . . . well, let’s put you here at table five.”
It was another five minutes before all the guests were seated, but Theodosia and Miss Dimple had already grabbed steaming pots of tea and were busily filling teacups.
Then, finally, as all the guests sipped, chatted with each other, and looked around expectantly, Drayton stepped to the front of the room.
“Welcome,” he intoned in his best Heritage Society lecturer voice. “Welcome to our first ever Tower of London Tea.”
There was a spatter of applause.
“The Tower of London has always enjoyed a dark and storied history,” Drayton continued. “It has been the scene of beheadings and imprisonments, and many dour legends abound. But today, with this special themed tea, we plan to present our own lighthearted version of the Tower of London. Yes, tonight is Halloween, when mischief will abound. And some of you may even subscribe to the notion of orbs, haunts, and spirits that make up so many of our low-country legends.” He gestured for Theodosia to join him.
Theodosia stepped in front of the group and smiled. “But today we shall eat and enjoy a civilized tea. In fact, we hope our sweets and savories will completely captivate you, and you’ll never think of the Tower of London in the same way again.”
With that, Haley and Miss Dimple each appeared with a towering four-tiered tray chock-full of food. Upon seeing this amazing presentation, the room erupted in applause. Then, as Haley and Miss Dimple carried their trays to the two round tables, Theodosia and Drayton ducked into the kitchen, grabbed two more trays, and began delivering food to the rest of the tables.
As the tiered trays were placed in the middle of each table, there were questions galore.
“What kind of scones are these?” Delaine demanded.
“On the top tier of our Tower of London you’ll find our crown jewel scones,” said Theodosia, “which are cream scones packed full of delicious candied fruit.”
“And then what?” someone asked.
“On the next tier,” said Theodosia, “you’ll find Anne Boleyn chocolate-dipped strawberries, in both milk and dark chocolate.”
“And what is this delightful little tea sandwich?” Dolly Greaves asked. She was pointing and chattering away like a manic magpie.
“That particular tea sandwich is honey-roasted ham and English mustard on caraway seed bread,” said Drayton. “And the other one is English smoked salmon with cream cheese and chives on brown bread.”
“And once you nosh your way down to our dessert tier,” said Theodosia, indicating the bottom tier of the tea tray, “you’ll find chutney crescents and individual Victoria sponge cakes.”
It was, as they say, your basic piece of cake. Besides enjoying the sweets and savories that were so elegantly presented, their guests were literally eating out of their hands. Nobody complained, everyone seemed deliriously happy, and cup after cup of tea was being sipped with great gusto.
“This was so much easier than I thought it would be,” Theodosia whispered to Drayton.
He nodded. “We should make use of our tiered tea trays more often.”
“It’s the presentation that wows them,” said Miss Dimple as she swung by the counter. “Customers see four layers of goodies interspersed with edible flowers, and they just melt. You see, everybody’s still grinning like crazy.”
“You’re sure that’s not gas?” Theodosia joked.
“Theo!” said Drayton, pretending to be horrified.
Miss Dimple just chuckled.
• • •
As Theodosia made a slow circle around the tea room refilling tea cups, Maggie Twining reached out to stop her. Maggie was a local real estate agent who’d sold Theodosia’s cottage to her. She had a friendly, open face surrounded by a tumble of gray hair. Today she wore a nubby turquoise sweater with half-glasses on a chain to match.
“Theo,” said Maggie, “this is a wonderful tea. Just amazing.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia. “It was fun putting it together.”
“And I so love your décor,” said Maggie. She pointed to a diaphanous ghost that floated overhead and gave a slow wink. “Reminds me of all our local haunted mansions.” Maggie specialized in homes “below Broad,” meaning south of Broad Street, which was the expensive, upper-crust part of Charleston.
“I think you’ve probably sold a few haunted mansions in your career, haven’t you?” Theodosia joked.
“I surely have. In fact, I just sold a grand old Italianate-style place over on Lenwood that’s supposedly haunted by a Civil War soldier. The former owner swears he heard spurs and sabers clanking in the night.”
“I believe it,” Theodosia giggled.
“Speaking of Halloween,” said Maggie, “I understand you’ve been strong-armed to chair that Bloody Mary Crawl tonight.”
“And the Haunted Hayride,” said Theodosia. “Lucky me.”
“Still,” said Maggie. “It sounds like a fun time.”
Theodosia refilled her teacup. “Then I expect to see you there.”
Maggie smiled back. “I just might take you up on that.”
• • •
The bonhomie and good feelings lasted for another hour and a half, basically until Dolly Greaves was just about ready to leave. She was chatting with her friends and a few other departing guests when she spotted Theodosia. She frowned, held up an imperious finger, and then reached out to pull Theodosia aside.
“My husband mentioned that you stopped by his office the other day,” Dolly said to Theodosia.
“That’s right.” Theodosia figured she pretty much had to play it straight. That way nothing could circle back to bite you.
“I didn’t give your little visit much consideration,” said Dolly, “until I happened to overhear someone at the next table today. They were talking about how you’re quite the amateur investigator.”
“Oh, not really,” said Theodosia. Oops, something had just circled back to bite her.
“That’s not what I heard,” said Dolly. She flashed a lopsided smile that was chilly at best. “Or overheard.”
“Just whose conversation were you listening in on?”
Dolly snapped a hand at Delaine.
“Oh.”
Dolly’s tone grew insistent and her words terse. “So I have to ask myself—are you investigating the murder of Edgar Webster? And, if so, are you trying to pin it on my husband?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Which, of course, would be utterly despicable. I mean, my poor Roger is prostrate with grief!”
“You know what?” said Theodosia. “I was just asking a few questions for Charlotte’s sake.”
“That’s so interesting,” Dolly snapped. “Considering Charlotte Webster is one of the prime suspects.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Don’t you know that the wife is always a suspect when her husband is murdered? Especially when serious money is involved.”
Theodosia was about to counter Dolly’s words when Drayton suddenly cut in to their conversation.
“Thank you for coming,” Drayton said to Dolly. “I hope you and your friends had a lovely time.” He was smiling and flushed with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“It was most enlightening,” Dolly said in a snide tone. She’d gone from snappy to downright hostile.
“I’m sorry,” said Drayton, taking a step back. “Did I just interrupt something?”
“I’m sure Theodosia will tell you all about it,” said Dolly, practically spitting out her words. “Aren’t you her little confidant? Or would that be Detective Tidwell?” Then, without waiting for any kind of response, Dolly Greaves flounced out of the tea shop.
“What was that all about?” asked Drayton, gazing after her. “Clearly, the woman’s feathers hav
e been ruffled.”
“Dolly thinks that I think her husband might have killed Edgar Webster,” said Theodosia.
Drayton’s eyes slid toward her and he suppressed a small “told you so” smile. “Isn’t that exactly what you think? I mean, isn’t Roger Greaves a logical suspect?”
“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. “The problem is, there’s a whole raft of logical suspects.”
• • •
With Drayton and Miss Dimple cleaning away the detritus of the tea party, Theodosia was back in her office. She was bound and determined to get through to Allan Abrams at the Crenshaw Museum.
But when she placed another call, Mr. Abrams still wasn’t answering his phone. So she left another voice message, this one just the teensiest bit more pleading for him to call.
With that unfinished business hanging over her head, Theodosia decided she still wasn’t any closer to figuring out Webster’s murder.
But something was bound to pop, she decided. She just didn’t know what.
• • •
“Do you want me to wrap these two teapots in bubble wrap?” Theodosia asked. Drayton had brought along his basalt Capri teapot and majolica blueberry-pattern teapot to use today, and now Theodosia wanted to make sure they were returned to him in pristine condition. In other words, unbroken.
“Please,” said Drayton. He was standing behind the counter, tallying up the day’s receipts. Theodosia and Miss Dimple were packing up all the teapots, dishes, and glassware that Drayton had loaned them. The tables were bare, the floor had been swept clean, and now there were just a few final chores left to do.
“Knock knock,” called out a tentative female voice.
Everyone looked up from what they were doing to stare at the front door. It was crooked halfway open now, and Cecily Conrad was peering in at them.
Drayton pushed his tortoiseshell half-glasses up on his nose. “What on earth?” he said.
“Cecily,” said Theodosia. “Can we help you?”
Cecily took a step into the tea room. “Can I come in? I mean, is it okay?”
Drayton glanced down at his receipts again, so it was left to Theodosia to say, “Yes, Cecily, come in. What can we do for you?”
Cecily looked nervous and a little fearful. “Can we talk?”
“You want to talk to me?” said Theodosia. She looked around, but Drayton and Miss Dimple were giving her no help at all. Some allies they are.
“It’ll only take a minute,” said Cecily.
“Sure,” said Theodosia. “Okay. I guess we can . . .” She made a pointing gesture. “We can talk in my office.”
Cecily bobbed her head and followed Theodosia without saying another word.
When they were both in her office, Theodosia closed the door and slid behind her desk.
“Are you feeling okay?” Theodosia asked. “You’ve got a bit of a shiner on your right eye.”
“It’s not too bad,” said Cecily, once she’d settled across from Theodosia. “Charlotte didn’t hit me that hard.”
“What’s up?” said Theodosia. She didn’t have a lot of time to waste. The tea shop still needed to be put shipshape for tomorrow morning, then she had to run home and change, and then rush off to the Bloody Mary Crawl. And, oh, yes, the Haunted Hayride.
But Cecily was clearly in no hurry. She twirled a finger in her hair and cleared her throat.
“How can I help?” Theodosia said again, trying to convey a note of urgency.
“I appreciate that you were being helpful the other day,” said Cecily, “when you dropped by with your tea basket.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I didn’t know until I talked to Detective Tidwell again this morning that you were so smart at investigating.”
Theodosia smiled faintly. “What exactly did Tidwell say?”
“Just that you were clever and sometimes got involved where you probably shouldn’t.”
“That was kind of him,” Theodosia said in a semi-sarcastic tone.
“No, I think he was trying to pay you a compliment,” said Cecily. “Except that he . . . he’s not very adept at that kind of thing.”
Theodosia leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “So I’ve noticed.”
“The thing is,” said Cecily, “when I heard Detective Tidwell sort of . . . well, vouch for you, I decided that maybe I should have you on my side.”
“Cecily, is this leading somewhere? Do you have some information for me?” Theodosia paused. “Or do you need to get something off your conscience?”
“Not really,” said Cecily. But the expression on her face belied her answer.
She does want to tell me something, but she’s afraid.
“I think you do know something,” said Theodosia. “I think you know more than you’re letting on.”
“No, I don’t,” said Cecily. She looked like she was ready to cry.
“You say you talked to Detective Tidwell . . .”
“Just this morning.”
“And he questioned you some more regarding . . . the attack on you?”
“That and Edgar Webster’s murder,” Cecily grumped.
“Okay.”
“But I told him I didn’t know anything about that. That I’m going to try and forget I ever knew the man!”
“But you have a sort of suspicion.”
Cecily shrugged.
“Cecily . . .”
“Okay!” Cecily blurted out. “I’ve had my suspicions all along, but now . . . now I’m too scared to say anything!”
“Surely you can tell the police.”
Tears rolled down Cecily’s face. “No, I can’t. What if I’m wrong? Worse yet, what if I’m right? What if the killer comes after me? I mean, he already did once, I think. How do I protect myself?”
Theodosia stood up and came around her desk. She sat down next to Cecily on the wide, cushy chair. “Cecily, there’s nothing you can’t tell me.”
“I can’t. I’m too afraid.”
Still Theodosia pushed her. “Cecily, you came here today for a reason. So why not share your suspicions—if that’s what they are—and let me be the judge of what’s going to get you in trouble or not?”
But Cecily just pursed her mouth tightly and shook her head from side to side, looking like a five-year-old who’s not about to tattle.
25
“I see Mother Nature’s fog machine is at work again,” said Theodosia. She was standing on Meeting Street just outside the historic Heywood House. The place was a large Greek Revival home that, tonight, was lit up in spectacular fashion. Orange spotlights splashed up the sides of the home, causing it to glow like a jack-o’-lantern in the dark night. Some sort of green rotating projector cast ever-changing images against the front of the house, enticing streams of visitors through its front doors. And, with most of them clutching plastic cups, the Bloody Mary Crawl was clearly in full swing.
Two volunteers, Mary Grace and Katina, were standing with Theodosia on the sidewalk, taking in the spectacle. Meeting Street had been cordoned off for almost three blocks, so only foot traffic was allowed. Still the crowd continued to swell.
“I had no idea so many people would come out for this,” Theodosia marveled. She clutched the binder Charlotte had given her as if it were a lifeline.
“Oh, yes,” said Katina. She was cute and blond and dressed in a kind of red beetle costume. “And most of them are even wearing costumes.”
Theodosia smiled. “I can see that.”
“But we have a small problem,” said Mary Grace. She was dark-haired and petite, the more serious-looking of the two volunteers. No costume for her.
“What’s that?” said Theodosia. This was why she was here tonight, hopefully to solve problems.
“The hay wagons haven’t arrived yet,” said Mary Grace.
Theodosia flipped open the white binder and ran her finger down a contact sheet until she found the number for the Equinox Equestrian Center. “Let me make a call and see what the holdup is.”
But just as she grabbed her phone, the clip-clop of hooves rang out sharply from down the block.
All three of them turned at once to watch as two enormous black horses steamed directly toward them, pulling an enormous hay wagon. The horses tossed their heads and jingled their harnesses as they pranced right down the middle of the street. Behind that first wagon, Theodosia could see another set of horses pulling a second wagon.
“Problem solved,” said Theodosia. “They’re here.” If all problems were resolved this simply, it was going to be an easy, fun night.
“Those are awfully big boys,” said Katina as the first horse-drawn wagon rumbled past.
“Percherons,” said Theodosia. “Horses that were originally bred in France and used as war horses.” She noted that the wooden wagons were stuffed with hay and looked like they could easily accommodate twenty-five or thirty people. That was good, because kids and their parents were already lining up.
The first wagon shuddered to a stop next to a large red barrel with a sign that said HAY RIDES LOAD HERE. Theodosia strolled down there to get a closer look at the monster-sized team.
“These are gorgeous horses,” she said, looking up at the driver. Then she did a double take when she recognized just who was holding the reins. It was Harlan Duke!
“What are you doing here?” Theodosia asked. Duke was all gussied up in a western hat and long, white drover’s coat.
Duke grinned down at her. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me!”
“No, I didn’t,” said Theodosia. “But it’s a nice surprise.” At least she hoped it was.
“Carriage driving is one of my hobbies,” said Duke. “So I thought I’d help out tonight. I heard that Charlotte roped you in, too.”
“She sure did,” said Theodosia. “You didn’t drive those horses all the way in from the equestrian center, did you?”