Haunted Hibiscus

by Laura Childs

  “Thank you,” she said.

  8

  Drayton fairly pounced on Theodosia when she returned to the tea shop late in the afternoon.

  “Did you learn anything?” he asked. He was standing behind the front counter and leaning forward, the better to catch Theodosia’s attention.

  “Not a whole lot,” Theodosia said. She looked around and saw only a table of two guests seated against the back wall.

  Good, things are nice and quiet. Makes it easier to talk.

  “Nothing at all?” Drayton’s nervous hands reached up to smooth his yellow bow tie.

  Haley heard them talking and came rushing out from the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. She wiped her hands on a red-and-white-checked tea towel, looking about as serious as one could look with a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Did you figure anything out? Please tell me you solved Willow’s murder.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Theodosia said. “All I really did was interview a few people at the Heritage Society, people who’d worked on the haunted house.”

  “And?” Haley said. She was ravenous for details.

  “And most of them are as baffled as we are,” Theodosia said.

  “They had no ideas at all? There were no accusations, no pointing of fingers?” Drayton asked.

  “Not yet anyway,” Theodosia said. She knew that might come later, after everyone had a chance to digest her questions. After they started to wonder if one of them could be the guilty party.

  “No forward progress at all?” Haley asked. “Rats. I’m disappointed.”

  “Actually, I did manage to uncover a couple of interesting wrinkles,” Theodosia said.

  “Like what?” Haley said.

  Drayton held up a finger. “Wait. Wait until I cash out this last table and pour us all a cup of tea.”

  Theodosia and Haley set out cups and saucers while Drayton took care of their last two customers. Once goodbyes had been said and the front door latched, he carried a teapot over to their table and poured out cups of fresh-brewed Earl Grey tea.

  They each took a fortifying sip, then Theodosia drew a deep breath and told them about meeting Robert Vardell in Timothy’s office and hearing Vardell’s strange tale about the Tereshchenko diamonds. She also told them about Timothy and Vardell’s hypothesis that Willow had been murdered on account of her Hibiscus Diamond earrings.

  “Hibiscus like the tea?” Drayton asked.

  Theodosia smiled. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “So the earrings are missing, presumed stolen by last night’s killer,” Haley said. “Is the matching pendant gone, too?”

  “We don’t know,” Theodosia said. “It’s possible the killer went to Willow’s apartment last night to ransack the place and search for the pendant.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t find it and got desperate,” Haley said.

  Theodosia nodded. “Hit the panic button and fired a shot at Riley.”

  “There’s your motive right there,” Drayton said, slapping a hand down on the table, making his teacup jump in its saucer. “Money. Envy. Greed!”

  Theodosia took another sip of tea. “It does seem likely.”

  “So it wasn’t just a whack job,” Haley said slowly. “It must have been someone who was familiar with Willow. Knew she owned those diamonds.”

  “That seems like the most logical explanation,” Theodosia said. “Someone who coveted her earrings and also knew about the matching diamond pendant.”

  “And poor Riley had to go and stumble onto this crazy killer. And get shot for his trouble,” Drayton said.

  “Do you think the killer found the diamond pendant and escaped with it?” Haley asked.

  “Hard to say. When Riley barged in, he might have interrupted the killer’s search,” Theodosia said. “Maybe the killer dashed off without it and the pendant is still there.”

  “Holy cats,” Haley said. “What a mess.”

  They sat there for a few moments, thinking, sipping their tea, digesting Theodosia’s words. Outside, the shadows were lengthening. It would be getting dark soon.

  Drayton cleared his throat. “You said you stumbled onto a couple of interesting wrinkles. What else did you find out?”

  “While I was poking around the Heritage Society I ran into Willow’s publisher, a man by the name of Allan Barnaby.”

  “Never heard of him,” Haley said.

  “Was he at the haunted house last night?” Drayton asked.

  “I think he must have been. Seems to me I remember Willow making some reference to him. Anyway, this Barnaby fellow claims he was in talks with Claire and some of the other curators about publishing a complete history of the Heritage Society,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton’s brows shot up. “First I’ve heard. That idea’s never been brought up at a board meeting.”

  “Is this Barnaby a suspect?” Haley asked.

  Theodosia shook her head. “I’ve got no reason to think he’s involved.”

  “What about Vardell, the fiancé?” Drayton asked.

  Haley frowned. “Yeah, what about him? Did this Vardell guy seem truly heartbroken? You know it’s always the husband or boyfriend who comes under suspicion. At least that’s how it works in the Lifetime movies.”

  “I’d have to say Vardell seemed genuinely devastated at losing Willow. The only sour note came when I asked about his business and he cut me off rather abruptly,” Theodosia said. “Then again, he does work in finance.”

  “He may just be a private person,” Drayton said. “And profoundly shaken up by Willow’s death.”

  “Maybe,” Haley said. But she said it hesitantly like she didn’t believe it.

  “There’s one more thing,” Theodosia said.

  “What’s that?” Haley asked.

  “Claire Waltho—you know Claire, she’s one of the curators—she told me a bit of gossip about Ellis Bouchard,” Theodosia said.

  “Let me guess,” Drayton said. “Claire told you that Bouchard is insanely angry at Timothy and the Heritage Society.”

  “Actually, Claire told me that Ellis Bouchard is flat broke,” Theodosia said.

  “No!” Haley cried. Then, “Broke as in no money?”

  Theodosia nodded as she continued. “Clare said that Bouchard’s rental properties are all going into receivership.”

  “So Ellis Bouchard might have had a motive for killing Willow,” Drayton said.

  Haley’s eyes narrowed. “He could pawn those diamonds and walk away a rich man. Pay off his creditors in a heartbeat.”

  “Not so fast,” Theodosia said. “You’re making an awfully big leap on simple hearsay.”

  “Theodosia’s right,” Drayton said. “Why would Bouchard continue to make a pest of himself, draw so much attention to himself, if he’d committed such a heinous crime?”

  “Duh, maybe he’s throwing up a smoke screen?” Haley said.

  Theodosia shook her head. “You never know.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Haley went into the kitchen to finish up for the day while Drayton wandered back to his domain behind the counter to carefully arrange his tea tins. At one time his floor-to-ceiling shelves of tea had been organized by country of origin. Now he had his black teas on the upper shelves, white teas in the middle, and green teas on the lower shelves. Of course, it was still a colorful mosaic of tea tins that could change on a whim.

  “Are we set for the Sherlock Holmes Tea tomorrow?” Drayton asked Theodosia. Besides being a compulsive organizer, he was a prepper of the first magnitude. Menus, special events, and timetables all had to be carefully worked out before he could relax and feel comfortable.

  “Haley’s got the menu figured out, I’m handling the decorations, and we’ve got Miss Dimple coming in tomorrow to help,” Theodosia said. “I don’t
know what else we can do.”

  Drayton shook his head. “Halloween week—not my favorite time of year—is always so darned busy.”

  Theodosia watched Drayton as he poured hot water into a Brown Betty teapot and began timing whatever it was he was brewing.

  “What have you got there?” Theodosia asked. She had planned to restock her gift shelves, not taste test any new teas.

  “Hibiscus tea,” Drayton said as he poured out a steaming cup for her. “Haunted hibiscus. I thought it might help stimulate your imagination. Get you thinking about those missing diamonds.”

  “I’m already burning up brain cells thinking about those diamonds. The thief—Willow’s killer—has to be someone in dire financial straits.”

  “Like Ellis Bouchard?”

  “He might just be a wild card. Wrong place, wrong time. Though he did seem awfully unbalanced when he rushed in here this morning.”

  “And unbalanced people do unbalanced things,” Drayton said.

  “He’s a possibility, but I’m guessing there’s someone else out there.”

  “Unless the killer has the diamonds in his hot little hand and has already blown town,” Drayton said.

  “There is that,” she said. “But my hope is he’s still hanging around.”

  Theodosia carried her cup of hibiscus tea over to the highboy and set it down on a nearby table. Then she went into her office, grabbed a large carton that UPS had delivered that morning, and muscled it back out to the tea room.

  With so many event teas coming up, it was definitely time to add new gift items to her shelves.

  Luckily, the tea cozies Theodosia had ordered had finally arrived. There were three dozen in all—quilted fabric cozies in solid colors, bright florals, and blue toile, as well as knitted tea cozies shaped like teapots, beehives (complete with knitted bees), floral baskets, kitty cats, stocking caps, and one that resembled an orange-and-white tropical fish.

  Theodosia moved her teapots, jars of jam, and tins of tea around like pawns on a chessboard, making room for the new tea cozy display, all the while letting the findings of the day slowly percolate in her brain.

  Eventually, Drayton came over to check on her display.

  “That cat tea cozy,” Drayton said. “It’s very cute.”

  “Take it, then.”

  Drayton held up a hand. “I have dozens. But you already know that.”

  “You probably have at least fifty or sixty teapots, but that doesn’t stop you from buying new ones.”

  “But now I’m only interested in antique and truly exquisite teapots,” Drayton said. As if extreme good taste excused his mania for collecting.

  “Like the Royal Copenhagen Flora Danica teapot you just bought at auction?”

  “That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Theodosia said. She’d learned to never question Drayton’s fervor for a new but hard-to-find teapot. Then, “I have a favor to ask.” She was still on her hands and knees, scrunched in front of the highboy.

  Drayton peered down at her over his tortoiseshell half-glasses. “What’s that?”

  “I want to snoop through Willow’s apartment tonight, and I’d like you to come with me.”

  “Me?” Drayton was taken aback. “What would I bring to the table?”

  “More like to the investigation,” Theodosia said. “But to answer your question, you’re an interested, involved party. And, when all is said and done, a fair to middling amateur detective.”

  “I’m guessing we’d be looking for the missing diamond pendant?”

  “And we’d hopefully find it.” Theodosia stood up, dusted her hands together, and turned to face him.

  “I thought the police had Willow’s place completely sealed off.”

  “A few strips of yellow plastic tape shouldn’t stop us,” Theodosia said.

  “No, but a locked door might.”

  Theodosia reached into the pocket of her slacks, pulled out a ring of keys, and dangled it in front of Drayton. The keys clinking together sounded like tiny chimes.

  “Ah,” Drayton said, breaking into a smile. “I should have known better than to underestimate you. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “No,” Theodosia said, her mind once again flashing on a disgruntled Ellis Bouchard. “Where there’s a will, there’s a relative. Trying to contest it.”

  9

  The Charleston single house on Logan Street where Willow had lived was completely dark when Theodosia and Drayton pulled up to the curb. They’d waited until eight o’clock at night to make their move. Early enough so they wouldn’t garner suspicion from the neighbors, late enough that most people were already home and hunkered down.

  “Nobody home,” Drayton said, peering out the side window of Theodosia’s Jeep. “Not even the landlord.”

  “I’d say that’s to our advantage,” Theodosia said.

  They climbed out of the Jeep and stood on the sidewalk looking at the dark silhouette of the house. Typical of Charleston single houses, it was three stories tall, one room wide, and several rooms deep. This particular dwelling was a clapboard Victorian version with a two-story side piazza complete with fancy wrought-iron railings and Doric pillars.

  The neighborhood was comprised of several other single houses, and those appeared to be fairly quiet as well. There were no kids out playing, no dogs barking, nobody taking their evening constitutional. A few blocks over on Ashley, a fairly well-traveled street, they could hear cars whooshing by and the occasional honk of a horn.

  “You still want to do this?” Drayton asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re hesitant.”

  “I’m a little freaked-out because this is where Riley was shot,” Theodosia said.

  “You want me to go in while you stay out here?”

  “No, I’ll be okay.” Theodosia was touched by Drayton’s offer. And yes, she was nervous, but it was something she wanted to do, something she felt she had to do. Time to muster up a little faith and fortitude, she decided.

  They walked up the front walk, followed a cobblestone path around the side of the house, and opened the screened piazza door. Once they stepped inside there were two entry doors. The first one led to Willow’s apartment.

  Theodosia stuck the key in the lock and turned it without hesitation, then heard a faint click as the latch opened.

  Okay, this is it.

  When the door swung open she reached in, batted her hand around, found a switch, and flipped on the overhead light.

  The place was exactly as Riley had described it. Complete and total chaos. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, some half-filled, some taped shut. Papers and magazines were scattered all over; books had been pulled from their shelves and piled haphazardly. You could barely see the furniture. Two goldfish peered out from a large oval-shaped bowl that sat on a small table.

  “Witnesses,” Drayton said, pointing at the fish.

  “Too bad they can’t tell us what happened here,” Theodosia said.

  Then Drayton’s eyes roved over the mess. “Sweet dreams, you think an intruder caused all this commotion?”

  Theodosia walked into the living room and looked around, studying everything carefully. Then she made a slow, deliberate pirouette as her eyes continued to scan the room.

  “No,” she said finally. “I don’t believe the killer—the intruder—did this.”

  Drayton’s head bobbed as he did a double take. “Excuse me, Theo, have you suddenly turned psychic?”

  “Just being observant.”

  Drayton postured with one hand on his hip. “Then would you kindly explain who created this awful jumble?”

  “Take a careful look.” Theodosia kicked an empty cardboard box with her toe. “You see the printing on the side of this box? Cardiff Moving. I’m
pretty sure Willow was packing up all her things so she could move. That’s why this place is so crazy and catawampus.”

  “Moving,” Drayton said, slowly digesting the word. “You mean to a new home?”

  Theodosia shrugged. “If Willow was getting married in a matter of weeks, she and her fiancé had probably found a new place to live.”

  “You mean together,” Drayton said.

  “Yes, together. That’s generally how it works.” Theodosia wondered if the killer-intruder had also been startled at encountering such a mess. Or maybe he’d just been hell-bent on finding and snatching the diamond pendant.

  “So what do we do now?” Drayton asked.

  “We stick to our plan and look for the diamond pendant. And see what else we can figure out. If there’s any sort of . . . clue. How about you take the bedroom while I poke around out here?” Theodosia said. “Okay?”

  As Drayton disappeared into the bedroom, his voice floated back to her. “I’ll do my best.”

  Theodosia gazed at the hodgepodge and wondered where to start. Maybe look in the desk drawers? She crossed the room, kicked aside a stack of magazines, and plunked herself down in Willow’s desk chair. Still wondering about the missing computer, Theodosia pulled open the top drawer of the desk. There was nothing much inside except for the usual jumble of pens, pencils, paper clips, notepads, and miscellaneous wires, cords, and earbuds.

  Theodosia had just pulled open a file drawer when Drayton called out to her, “Got an upturned jewelry box in here.”

  That sent her scrambling into the bedroom where Drayton was gazing at the top of Willow’s dresser. There was the decidedly feminine scatter of lipsticks, compacts, combs, brushes, perfume bottles, and a fancy saucer that held spare change and a few pieces of costume jewelry. In the center of it all was a jewelry box. It was a large red leather box with gold trim that had been haphazardly left on its side as if it had been thoroughly ransacked. All of the drawers had been pulled out.

  “Did you look inside?” Theodosia asked.

  Drayton shook his head. “I thought you might do the honors.”