Death by Darjeeling

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia placed the medicine back on the shelf, swung the mirrored door shut, and turned out the bathroom light. She crossed back through the bedroom into Timothy Neville’s private office. She scanned the room again and shook her head. Nope, nothing unusual here.

  Her hand rested on the doorknob when she noticed a tall English secretary just to the right of the door. Rather than housing fine porcelains behind its glass doors, as it had been designed to do, it now appeared to hold a collection of antique pistols.

  Theodosia hesitated a split second, then decided this might be worth investigating.

  Yes, they were pistols, all right. She gazed at the engraved plates that identified each weapon. Here was an 1842 Augustin-Lock Austrian cavalry pistol. And here an Early American flintlock. Fascinated, she pulled open one of the glass doors, slid her hand across the smooth walnut grip, and touched the intricate silver with her fingertips. These pieces were fascinating. Some had been used in the Civil War, the American Revolution, or quite possibly in gentlemen’s duels of honor. They were retired now, on display. But their history and silent power were awe inspiring.

  In the stillness of the room, a slight noise, an almost imperceptible tick, caught her attention, caused her to glance toward the door. In the dim light, she could see the brass doorknob slowly turning.

  In a flash, Theodosia flattened herself against the wall, praying that whoever opened the door wouldn’t peer around and see her hidden here in the shadows.

  The heavy door creaked slowly inward on its hinges.

  Needs a shot of WD-40, Theodosia thought wildly as she pressed closer to the wall and held her breath.

  Whoever had opened the door halfway was standing there now, silently surveying the room. Only two inches of wood separated her from this mysterious person who, quite possibly, had followed her!

  Theodosia willed her heart to stop beating so loudly. Surely, whoever was there must be able to hear it thumping mightily in her chest! Her mind raced, recalling Edgar Allan Poe’s prophetic story, “The Tell Tale Heart.”

  That’s me, she thought. They’ll hear the wild, troubled beating of my heart!

  But whoever stood there—Timothy Neville, the butler, Henry, another curious guest—had peeked into the room for only a few seconds, then pulled the door shut behind them.

  Had they been satisfied no one was there?

  Theodosia hoped so as she slumped against the wall, feeling hollow and weak-kneed. Time to get out of here, she decided. This little adventure had suddenly gone far enough. She moved toward the door.

  Then she remembered the gun collection.

  Theodosia glanced quickly toward the cabinet. In the half-light, the polished guns winked enticingly. All right, she told herself, one quick peek. Then I will skedaddle out of here and join the others downstairs.

  The guns were all displayed in custom-made wooden holders. Beautiful to behold. Probably quite expensive to create. A key stuck out from the drop-leaf center panel. She turned it, lowering the leaf into the writing desk position.

  Tucked in the cubbyholes were polishing cloths, various gun-cleaning kits, and a bottle of clear liquid.

  Theodosia squinted at the label on the bottle. Sulfuric acid.

  It was a compound often used to remove rust and corrosion from antique bronze statues, metal frames, and guns. And, unless she was mistaken, sulfuric acid was also a deadly poison.

  If Timothy Neville had slipped something toxic into Hughes Barron’s tea, could it have been this substance? That was the 64,000-dollar question, wasn’t it? And nobody was saying yet. Not the coroner. Not Burt Tidwell. Certainly not Timothy Neville.

  The Balfour Quartet had resumed playing when Theodosia slipped into the room and took her seat beside Drayton. As she adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, she felt his eyes on her.

  “You look guilty,” Drayton finally whispered.

  “I do?” Her eyes went wide as she turned toward him.

  “No, not really,” he answered. “But you should. Where in heaven’s name have you been?” he fussed. “I’ve been worried sick!”

  Theodosia fidgeted through the second half of the concert, unable to concentrate and really enjoy the Balfour Quartet’s rendition of Beethoven’s Opus 18, no. 6. When the group finished with a flourish and the crowd rose to its collective feet, cheering and applauding, she breathed a giant sigh of relief.

  Jumping up with the rest of the guests, Theodosia leaned toward Drayton. “I’ll tell you all about it,” she finally whispered in his ear. “But first, let’s go back to the shop and have a nice calming cup of tea!”

  CHAPTER 28

  YOU LOOK LIKE the cat who swallowed the canary,” said Drayton.

  Haley was bent over the counter, artfully arranging tea roses in a pink-and-white-flowered Victorian teapot.

  “Who me?” asked Haley with wide-eyed innocence. She tied a lace bow to the teapot’s arched handle and stood back to admire her handiwork.

  Drayton had been asked to organize a bridal shower tea for that afternoon, and everyone was pitching in to help. Since a nasty squall had blown in overnight, causing the temperature to plummet and drenching Charleston with a frigid, pounding rain, it didn’t appear that many customers would be dropping by the tea shop anyway.

  “Come on, what gives?” prompted Drayton. He had carefully wrapped a dozen bone china teacups in tissue paper and was gently placing them in a large wicker basket atop a white lace tablecloth. With the weather so miserable, he would have to add a protective layer of plastic to keep everything tidy and dry.

  “What time do you have to be at the Lady Goodwood Inn?” Haley asked with feigned indifference.

  “Haley . . .” pleaded the exasperated Drayton. When Drayton thought someone was nursing a secret, he was like a curious child—impish, impatient, prodding.

  “Well,” said Haley, “it’s a trifle premature to say anything.”

  “But . . .” prompted Drayton.

  “But Bethany was out on a date last night,” Haley chortled triumphantly.

  “A date!” exclaimed Theodosia. Up until now she had stayed out of Drayton and Haley’s little go-round. Let them have their fun, she’d thought. But this was news. Big news. While she and Drayton had been attending the concert at Timothy Neville’s last night, Bethany had been out with a young man. Theodosia wondered what special person had coaxed the wistful and reclusive Bethany out of her shell. This had to be the first time Bethany had ventured out since her husband passed away.

  “Dare I ask who with?” inquired Drayton. He was positively dying to know all the details.

  “Why, with Theodosia’s friend, of course,” said Haley.

  A thunderclap exploded loudly overhead at the same moment a jar of lemon curd Theodosia had been holding went crashing to the floor. As lightning strobed and windows rattled, glass shards and huge yellow globs scattered.

  For some reason the name Jory Davis had popped into Theodosia’s head. “Which friend do you mean?” she asked quickly.

  “Oh, don’t move, Theo!” cried Haley. “There’s a huge sliver of glass pointing right at your foot. Move one inch, and it’s liable to slice through your shoe. Hang on, and I’ll get the dust pan and broom.” She scurried off to fetch cleaning supplies.

  “Who did she mean?” Theodosia asked Drayton.

  “I’m just as much in the dark as you.” Drayton shrugged.

  “Okay, stand still!” Haley laid the dustpan down, hooked two large shards of glass with the broom, and slid them onto the dust pan. She surveyed the smaller pieces of glass and the pools of yellow liquid. “Gosh, what a mess.” She furrowed her brow, ready to go on the attack. A compulsive neatnik and organizer, Haley always relished a cleanup challenge.

  “Haley.” Drayton snapped his fingers, amused by her fierce concentration. “Which one of our fine lads had the honor of squiring Bethany last evening?”

  Haley looked up at Drayton and blinked, trying to regain her train of thought. “Oh. Tanner Joseph
. The fellow who’s doing the illustrations for the holiday tea labels.”

  “Tanner Joseph,” repeated Theodosia. Now it made perfect sense. Bethany had been so cordial and helpful the other day, explaining teas and holiday blends to him.

  “Of course, that fellow,” said Drayton. Now that he knew who Bethany’s date had been, his interest level had waned. If it had been someone new, someone who’d just opened a clever new shop on Church Street or someone who’d just bought a home in the nearby historic district and was going to renovate in a historically accurate way, then Drayton would have demanded all the details. Who were his family? Where had he gone to school? What did he do for a living?

  “Where is Bethany, by the way?” asked Theodosia.

  Haley scooped up more of the splintery mess. “Doing deliveries.”

  “In this rain?” said Drayton.

  “She said she wanted to clear her head,” replied Haley. “Besides, she’s a jogger. Joggers are used to being out in all sorts of weather.” She gazed out a fogged window toward the deserted, rain-slick street. “At least I think they are.”

  His curiosity satisfied, Drayton turned his attention back to preparations for the bridal shower tea. “I wish it weren’t pouring buckets,” he fussed.

  “They weren’t planning on holding the bridal shower tea outdoors, were they?” asked Haley.

  He grimaced. “Yes, they were. Obviously that’s not a possibility now.” Drayton reached up and took a tiny tea candle nestled in a white porcelain bowl from the shelf. “The whole thing will have to be rethought,” he said mournfully as he gazed down at the little candle in his hand.

  “Doesn’t the Lady Goodwood have a solarium?” asked Theodosia. “Just off the dining room?”

  Drayton considered her question. “I believe they do. Very much on the order of a greenhouse. Verdant, lots of plants, a few tables. I think there might even be a small fountain. Of course the space is abysmally hot when the sun is shining, but on a day like today, cool, rainy, it might be just right.” His face began to brighten significantly as he weighed the merits of this new locale. “Maybe even a touch romantic, what with rain pattering down on the glass roof.”

  “What a nice image, Drayton,” said Haley, smiling. “I like that.”

  “Theodosia,” Drayton said as he frantically scanned the tall shelves where all manner of tea candles, jams, and jellies were displayed. “Don’t we have some floating candles?”

  He whirled about as Theodosia, a step ahead of him, plunked four boxes of the miniature round disks into his hands.

  “That’s it!” cried Drayton. “What else?”

  “Tea cozies for all the pots!” exclaimed Haley, getting into the spirit. “And exchange the wrought-iron chairs that are probably there now for upholstered chairs from the dining room.”

  “Perfect,” declared Drayton.

  “What about food?” inquired Theodosia. “What’s on the menu so far?”

  “Chocolate-dipped strawberries, shortbread cakes, apricot chutney, and Stilton cheese tea sandwiches,” said Drayton.

  “Okay,” said Theodosia. “Now just add some of Haley’s hot crab dip with Irish soda bread.”

  “My God, Theo, you’re a genius,” declared Drayton. He whirled about. “Haley, do you have time to whip up crab dip?”

  “Drayton. Please.” Haley had already shifted into her search-and-rescue mode and was headed for the kitchen.

  It was after eleven when Bethany finally returned to the Indigo Tea Shop, face shiny, hair wet and smelling faintly of fresh rain.

  “You all look so busy,” she cried. “Can I help?”

  Theodosia took one look at her. “You’re soaked clear through. Better pop across the alley and change first. You’re liable to catch cold.”

  “Colds come from viruses,” said Haley. “Not cold weather.” She had finished the crab dip and was now tying raffia and gilded leaves around bunches of cinnamon sticks.

  “Which is why you drink my hibiscus and orange spice tea in winter? To thwart any possible virus?” asked Drayton in a faintly critical tone.

  “Well, not exactly,” said Haley.

  “You’re right, Theodosia. I’d feel better if I changed into dry clothes,” said Bethany. “Want me to take Earl Grey out for a walk first?”

  “Would you?” asked Theodosia.

  “Love to,” said Bethany.

  “She really is in a wonderful mood,” Drayton remarked in an offhand manner to Haley.

  Bethany stood stock-still in the middle of the tea room, and her eyes searched out the three of them. “You all have been talking about me!” she declared. “Haley, you told!” She admonished Haley’s retreating back as Haley decided to quickly disappear into the safe confines of her kitchen.

  “What is with that girl?” declared Bethany. Her face was pulled into a frown, and she was vexed over Haley’s obvious revelation about her previous night’s date.

  Theodosia put a hand on Bethany’s damp shoulder to reassure her. “She’s happy for you, dear. That’s all.”

  “I suppose she told you it was Tanner Joseph. We only went to a gallery opening. The Ariel Gallery over on George Street had a show of black-and-white photography. By Sidney Didion, a local photographer.”

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” asked Theodosia. She had read a review of the Didion exhibit, and it had sounded quite good. Titled “Ghosts,” the show consisted of moody black-and-white photo essays of old plantations.

  “I did.” Now Bethany’s eyes shone brightly. “Did you know Tanner spent an entire year in the Amazon? He has a master’s degree in ecology from the University of Minnesota, and he went down to South America to study the ecosystem of the rain forest.”

  “Yes, he mentioned that to me.”

  “Isn’t it fascinating?” Bethany’s face had taken on a curious glow.

  Why, she seems to really care for this young man, thought Theodosia. It’s heartening to see her coming out of mourning and actually take an interest in someone.

  “Tanner spent a week living in a six-by-eight-foot tree house in the rain forest canopy,” said Bethany. “Apparently he had this whole system of pulleys and harnesses and long ropes that allowed him to ride from one treetop to another and collect samples. Of course, I have acrophobia and absolutely die if I venture more than four feet off the ground, but it does sound like an amazing adventure.”

  “I’ve seen photos of researchers doing that in National Geographic,” said Theodosia. “You really do need to be fearless about heights.”

  “There’s a whole microcosm of plant and animal life up in those trees!” Bethany went on. “Insects, botanicals, birds. Most of them never touch the ground. Tanner told me all about these weird little green frogs.”

  Hairs suddenly prickled on the back of Theodosia’s neck. “What did he tell you about frogs, Bethany?”

  “Just that there’s a certain type of frog the natives collect. They’re very beautiful, bright green and yellow, but they’re venomous. So the Indians dip the tips of their arrows into the frog’s venom, then use those arrows for hunting. And Tanner told me about the most amazing orchids that grow up there, too. Bromeliads, actually. Orchid cousins. He says some of them have blooms that are ten inches across. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “It is,” agreed Theodosia, but her mind was elsewhere.

  For some reason, she had gotten a terribly uneasy feeling the moment Bethany mentioned the frogs. Uneasy, she supposed, because it meant Tanner Joseph had a working knowledge of a certain kind of poison. And, she realized that the first time she had met Tanner Joseph, he had been outspoken about having a problem . . . no, make that a fairly substantial grudge . . . against Hughes Barron.

  After Bethany left on her walk with Earl Grey, Theodosia sat in her office alone, pondering this new information. Could this just be a bizarre coincidence? Was truth, indeed, stranger than fiction? Take your pick, she thought. If it was a coincidence, it certainly was an odd one. And if Tanner Joseph was somehow no
t the mild-mannered ecocrusader he portrayed himself as (and she suddenly remembered how Tanner Joseph had shown a cold satisfaction when he’d spoken of Hughes Barron’s karmic death), then it meant Bethany could be in serious danger.

  And she was the one who’d put her in harm’s way.

  Theodosia lowered her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Damn! In her eagerness to get her tea labels done, she seemed to have opened up yet another can of worms.

  Worse yet, if Bethany was still a suspect in the eyes of Bert Tidwell, and Tanner Joseph was somehow connected . . . Well . . . the possibilities weren’t good at all.

  Theodosia sighed heavily and gazed about her office distractedly. A piece of paper sitting on the corner of her desk caught her attention. It was the sheet she’d begun two days ago. The sheet that looked like a family tree. But instead of family names she had written “Hughes Barron” and “Poison?” at the top and the names “Timothy Neville” and “Lleveret Dante” underneath.

  Theodosia picked up a silver pen. Purposefully, but with a good deal of anguish, she added a third name to her sheet: the name of Tanner Joseph.

  CHAPTER 29

  BY EVENING, THE rain still showed no sign of letting up. A tropical disturbance had swept in from the Atlantic and hunkered down over the grand strand and the sea islands. Its fury extended a hundred miles in either direction, north to Myrtle Beach, south to Savannah.

  Above the tea shop, in her little apartment just six blocks from Charleston Harbor, Theodosia could feel the full fury of the storm. Rain pounded the roof, lashed at the windows, and gurgled noisily down drain spouts. At moments when the storm’s saber rattling seemed to abate slightly, she swore she could hear a foghorn from somewhere over near Patriots Point.

  Lighting a fire in the fireplace in the face of so much wind would have meant losing precious warmth. Instead Theodosia lit a dozen white candles of varying sizes and placed them inside the fireplace. Now they danced and flickered merrily. Maybe not imparting warmth in terms of temperature, but certainly lending a cozy, tucked-in kind of feeling.