Haunted Hibiscus

by Laura Childs

  “Do we have to?”

  “Play nice,” Theodosia told him.

  But when they sat down, Delaine only gave them a cursory howdy-do. Then she went back to bending Barnaby’s ear with a monologue about the all-too-fabulous Italian knits they’d just gotten in at Cotton Duck.

  “I tell you, the jackets and skirts drape the body like spun silk,” Delaine enthused. “Those weavers are absolute geniuses, and the knits are the most remarkable colors. Primrose pink, honey butter yellow, patina green, golden flax, and . . .” Her eyes practically crossed. “Have you ever heard of peanut? Well, that’s one of the actual colors. A fabulous color. Utterly divine yet terribly subtle . . .”

  Drayton shot a look at Theodosia. As he’d once remarked, the woman dined out on adverbs.

  Delaine prattled on as Barnaby’s enthusiasm for his new lady friend seemed to wane. Delaine might look like a fabulous hothouse flower, someone you’d love to have on your arm, but once you got to know her, you realized the woman had an edge. An edge that could relentlessly scrape away at your sanity.

  Fact was, Barnaby looked positively relieved when Robert Vardell walked up to their table. Until Vardell started screaming at him, that is.

  “You!” Vardell shrilled at the top of his lungs. “Barnaby!”

  Looking startled, Barnaby rose in his seat.

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  “It’s all your fault!” Vardell shrieked.

  “What’d I do?” Barnaby’s face was a mixture of embarrassment and confusion.

  “You’re responsible for Willow’s death! First you paraded the poor girl all over town, from bookseller to big-box store, then you set up a book signing at that ridiculous haunted house. There wasn’t an inkling of security to protect her from those crazy costumed characters. And nothing to protect her from the hordes of people who came flocking in. It was a recipe for disaster!”

  Barnaby finally found his voice. “Willow wanted to do the book signing!” he sputtered. “She asked for it. Saw it as a wonderful opportunity.”

  “More like an opportunity for you!” Vardell shouted. His face had turned beet red, and blobs of spit flew from his mouth.

  “For me?” Barnaby was taken aback.

  Both men were shouting at the top of their lungs now. Conversation in the room quickly came to a screeching halt. Heads turned, ears were cocked, chairs were jockeyed in order to get a better view of the bizarre fight that was unfolding.

  Vardell continued to rain harsh vitriol down upon Allan Barnaby.

  “My fiancée is dead! And now that her murder’s been splashed across every newspaper and television station, you’re probably selling a ton of books. Don’t writers and artists always become more famous once they’re dead!”

  Delaine fluttered her hands in front of her face in a gesture of foolish helplessness. Then she turned toward Theodosia and begged, “Theo, do something!”

  But Theodosia didn’t have to lift a finger. Or raise her voice. There was a sudden loud shuffle of heavy footsteps, then the door to the Rose Room flew open and Detective Burt Tidwell burst in. Looking highly official as well as determined, he was flanked by two uniformed officers. All of them looked as if they had serious business to attend to.

  The room was suddenly quiet as a tomb.

  Tidwell glanced dismissively at Vardell and Barnaby, who were still squared off like a couple of squabbling chickens. Then his beady eyes darted from table to table until they finally landed on Ellis Bouchard.

  “Mr. Bouchard,” Tidwell said in a loud, brook-no-nonsense tone.

  Ellis Bouchard, who was two tables away from Theodosia, seemed to shrink and cower in his chair.

  “If you’d come along with us,” Tidwell said.

  “Me?” Bouchard’s voice rose in a piteous squawk. “Why me?”

  “Please, just come along with the officers.”

  “But why? What did I do?” Bouchard’s face had turned a pasty white as the two officers walked over and stared down at him.

  “We’re not accusing you of anything,” Tidwell said. “We just want to talk with you and clarify a few points.”

  Every eye followed Ellis Bouchard as he was escorted from the room by the two officers. Vardell, looking as if he’d escaped a fate worse than death, slunk away. Barnaby sat down, pulled out a white hankie, and blotted his face.

  “Allan,” Delaine said. “You look like you’re ready to faint.” She sounded annoyed rather than concerned.

  “Well,” Drayton said, once the buzz of conversation started up again. “That was interesting.”

  Theodosia smiled. She figured that Tidwell had taken her words to heart and couldn’t wait to pepper Bouchard with a barrage of questions about the old mansion and its secret casket door. And maybe quiz him a bit more on his failing real estate business.

  Could this be it? she wondered. Is Bouchard the killer?

  Then she thought about the case she’d made to Timothy last night. How she’d tossed Robert Vardell’s name into the mix of suspects.

  “Pardon me,” Theodosia said. She put a hand on Drayton’s shoulder as she stood up. “I need to talk to someone.”

  “Who?” Drayton asked.

  But Theodosia was already making a beeline for Robert Vardell.

  She caught him just as he stood up from his table after saying goodbye to Willow’s parents.

  “Excuse me,” Theodosia said.

  Vardell spun around to face her. “Yes?” His face was flushed as he buttoned his jacket hastily, looking as if he were in a terrific hurry.

  “Why wasn’t Willow wearing her engagement ring in the days before she was murdered?” Theodosia asked him. “Can you explain that?”

  Vardell stared at her, a hard, distrustful look spreading across his face. Then he shook his head. “You people.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You amateur detectives. Always jumping at shadows and seeing suspects at every turn.” Now his voice was both smarmy and disdainful.

  “I asked you a question,” Theodosia said. She wasn’t about to let Vardell off the hook. Especially when he was being so nasty.

  “You know what?” Vardell said, as he slipped past her. “This is not a good time. I have important business back at my office.”

  “Really?” Theodosia shouted after him. “Your business can’t wait? Even on the day of your fiancée’s funeral?”

  Theodosia stood there. Feeling angry and a little foolish. Vardell had blown her off as if she were nothing at all.

  “Problem?” Drayton asked, coming up to her.

  “Not only did Robert Vardell refuse to talk to me, he was incredibly rude and dismissive.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a common malady these days.”

  Theodosia shrugged. She knew she had to let it go. For now, anyway. Others were watching her, and Willow’s parents were still seated at the table, looking sorrowful and a little dazed.

  “I suppose it’s time to get back to the tea shop, yes?” Theodosia said. “We’ve probably worn out our welcome here.”

  Drayton glanced over at Willow’s parents. “We haven’t just worn it out, we’ve extinguished it.”

  22

  Theodosia and Drayton arrived at the Indigo Tea Shop a little before eleven o’clock, just in time for lunch. From the wonderful aromas that perfumed the air it was obvious Haley hadn’t just baked the blueberry scones that she’d mentioned earlier. A quick stop in the kitchen revealed apple tea bread, mushroom quiche, and lentil soup. Haley had also brewed a couple pots of tea.

  Now she was digging in a cardboard box that sat on one of the tables, pulling out Halloween decorations.

  “If you’re stringing up images of witches and goblins, you must be feeling some better,” Drayton said.

  Haley turned and favored him with a wan smile. “I guess so.”


  “Good to hear,” Theodosia said.

  “How was the brunch?” Haley asked.

  “Delicious,” Theodosia said.

  “Slightly manic,” Drayton said.

  “Haley, why don’t you let me finish decorating,” Theodosia said. “I’m sure you’ve got lots to do yet in the kitchen.”

  Haley nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m also gonna do a harvest salad and throw together some curried chicken salad puffs. It’ll be a slightly abbreviated menu today, but a good one.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Theodosia said.

  “And thanks for brewing a pot of Keemun tea,” Drayton said. “It’s the perfect rainy day pick-me-up.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Haley said as she dashed off.

  “She’s still bummed,” Theodosia said.

  “She’ll survive,” Drayton said as he picked up a tabloid that was sitting on the counter.

  “You think we’ll get many customers today?” Theodosia asked. She’d just replaced the closed sign on the front door with one that said open for tea and light lunches.

  Drayton shook his head as he turned pages. “No idea.”

  “What’s that you’re reading?”

  “Today’s issue of Shooting Star. It was sitting here with the rest of the mail.”

  “Oh no, did Bill Glass put anything in there about Willow?”

  “Only if you count a page-one story,” Drayton said.

  “Please tell me he didn’t print a photograph.”

  “No, thank goodness.” Drayton glanced up as the front door opened and a whoosh of wind and rain swept in along with Leigh Carroll, the woman who owned the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop down the block.

  “Brrr,” Leigh said, clutching a shawl around her shoulders. “It’s downright chilly out there.” Leigh was African-American, in her early thirties, and a former coffee drinker that Drayton had converted to tea. She was always upbeat, oozed tons of charm, and, with her almond eyes, sepia-toned hair, and skin the color of rich mahogany, was quite elegant.

  “Drayton,” Leigh said, “that Spode teapot—the one you were so interested in—it finally arrived.”

  “The Kingsley pattern?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Drayton tipped a finger at her. “I’m going to drop by later and have a look.”

  “Do that,” Leigh said. “I think it’ll be a great addition to your collection.” Then she turned to Theodosia and said, “The-o-do-sia! Did I hear via the Church Street rumor mill that your handsome boyfriend was wounded in some kind of crazy shoot-out?”

  “Oh, Leigh, it was awful,” Theodosia said. “Riley was investigating Willow French’s murder at that haunted house . . .”

  “The one over on Tradd?” Leigh asked.

  “Yes. And then, when he went to Willow’s apartment to look around, he stumbled upon what we suspect was the killer and got shot.”

  Leigh’s face immediately registered sympathy. “That’s absolutely terrifying, Theo, you must’ve been horribly upset.”

  “I was. For a while.”

  “So Riley’s laid up in the hospital?”

  “He was just released,” Theodosia said. “But with a gunshot wound to his arm. He claims he’s feeling much better but . . . I don’t know. I’m still worried.”

  Leigh touched a hand to her chest. “Of course you are. I’ll be sure to say a little prayer for him tonight.”

  “And for Willow,” Theodosia said.

  “Oh, poor Willow.” Leigh’s face crumpled in a look of pure distress. “Such a lovely girl. And such a talented writer, too. You know she was registered with me?”

  Theodosia wasn’t sure what Leigh was talking about for a second. Then she said, “Oh, you mean your bridal registry?”

  “Well, Willow was probably registered with a few other shops, too.” Leigh paused, as if she were thinking something over. “But if the rumor I heard was true, I’m not sure Willow’s wedding would have even taken place.”

  Theodosia stiffened. “What are you talking about?” What did Leigh know that she didn’t? Had the wedding been called off? Postponed? Did this have something to do with Willow not wearing her engagement ring? Just as she’d theorized, had a nasty rift developed between Willow and Robert? Was that why Robert Vardell wouldn’t answer her questions this morning? Was he embarrassed about being dumped? Or could he be racked with guilt?

  Seeing Theodosia’s distress, Leigh said, “I heard from my friend Mindy McGovern—you know she’s catering manager over at the Avalon Hotel—that Willow canceled her evening reception.”

  Theodosia stood there, her mouth practically dropping open. All she could manage was, “No way.”

  Leigh gave an uncertain shrug. “That’s what I heard anyway. Maybe there was a last-minute change of plans and Willow was going to have her reception someplace else? But I really don’t know.”

  “Maybe I’ll give Mindy a call and see if she can confirm that,” Theodosia said.

  Leigh narrowed her eyes. “Girlfriend, what crazy thing are you involved in anyway?”

  “Well, Riley is my boyfriend. And Willow was Timothy Neville’s grandniece.”

  Leigh put a hand up to her mouth. “Timothy’s . . . oh, that’s right.”

  “You know how Timothy is. He has such a strong sense of responsibility and takes everything personally. So he’s not only grieving for Willow; he feels responsible for her death.”

  Leigh shook her head. “He shouldn’t.”

  “That’s just Timothy. He’s a pillar of stoicism . . . until he isn’t.”

  “And let me guess, Timothy asked you to get involved?”

  “I’m already involved,” Theodosia said for the umpteenth time that week, then decided she had to stop repeating it. She was getting tired of hearing herself say it.

  * * *

  * * *

  Poised at her desk, Theodosia called the number for the Avalon Hotel. Mindy wasn’t there, but Eric Reiffer, the hotel manager, was. And he was able to confirm to Theodosia that Willow had indeed canceled her reception.

  “Wow,” Theodosia said as she hung up. Things were starting to pop. But clearly not in Robert Vardell’s favor. She could hear Drayton talking with customers out in the tea room and knew she should hustle out there to help. She still needed to call Henry Curtis and grill him about a few things, but she decided there was another, more important call she had to make first. Hastily googling the firm of Metcalf and Solange, she found their website and contact information, then dialed their number.

  The phone was promptly answered with a friendly, “Good day, Metcalf and Solange.”

  “Hello, I was wondering if you could connect me with Robert Vardell,” Theodosia said.

  “Just a moment . . . Oh, wait, I’m afraid he’s gone for the day.”

  “Then perhaps I could leave a message with his administrative assistant?”

  “Um.” The receptionist paused for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry, perhaps you’ve been misinformed. Robert Vardell is the administrative assistant.”

  “What!” Theodosia couldn’t help herself.

  “He works under Mr. Collingsworth, our senior account executive. Actually, Robert is the second assistant. Perhaps you’d like to speak with the first assistant? I could put you through.”

  “No, I’m . . . a little confused here. I thought Robert Vardell held a major position in your company.”

  The receptionist gave an embarrassed laugh. “Well, he was up for a trainee job as a junior customer service representative, but that position was given to someone else.”

  “I see,” Theodosia said. “Thank you.”

  Her heart was racing a mile a minute as she hung up and rushed out into the tea room.

  23

  “He’s a flunky,” Theodosia cried. “A poseur.”

  Drayton
’s hands hovered above the two pots of tea he’d just brewed as he looked up and said, “Pardon?”

  “Robert Vardell.” Theodosia windmilled her arms in frustration. She felt frazzled and oddly betrayed. “He’s not a high-test executive at all. He works for one. He’s an assistant. Actually, the second assistant.”

  “How on earth did you . . . ?”

  “I just called his office where the receptionist spilled the proverbial beans to me!”

  “Gracious,” Drayton said. “And all along we thought Vardell was . . .”

  “An investment hotshot. A financial whiz kid. Well, he’s not.”

  Drayton stared at her. “What do you think this means?”

  Theodosia lifted one shoulder. “Are you kidding? If Vardell lied about work, what else do you think he lied about?”

  “Could be anything. Or everything.”

  “Could be his relationship with Willow?”

  “You think he killed her?” Drayton said.

  “It’s not out of the realm of possibility,” Theodosia said. “What if Willow found out that Vardell had been lying to her and then confronted him in a major way? What if Willow thought she was marrying a financial genius only to find out she was engaged to the office gopher? A guy who might have only been in the relationship for the money.”

  “So a nasty argument ensues, and Willow breaks off the engagement? As well as the wedding?” Drayton surmised.

  “And then Vardell, who had high hopes of sitting fat and sassy with Willow’s money and, I might add, a brand-new house, suddenly finds himself left out in the cold.”

  “So he switches out his plan, murders Willow, steals her diamonds, and keeps the house?” Drayton’s words poured out rapid fire—bing, bang, boom. He seemed to have readily bought into Theodosia’s theory.

  “Jeepers, Drayton, it could have happened that way. I mean, it really could have!” Theodosia was both terrified and excited. She had to know more. No, what she really needed to do was find Robert Vardell and confront him directly! Watch his face when she hurled her accusations at him!