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Death by Darjeeling

Page 22

by Laura Childs


  “And I was beginning to believe Timothy Neville was the guilty party,” spoke up Haley. “He’s such an arrogant old curmudgeon.”

  “Timothy topped my list, too,” admitted Theodosia. “I was even worried that he might have been involved in Mr. Dauphine’s death. But Detective Tidwell assured me the poor man did suffer a heart attack.”

  “I thought it must be Tanner Joseph,” said Bethany quietly. “Drayton confided to us earlier that he was snooping around outside your apartment last night.”

  “He really has a thing for you, Theodosia,” Haley said, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, he’s terribly misguided,” Drayton replied with indignation. “Crass fellow, sneaking around like that, peering in windows and such. I daresay he was probably planning to leave some kind of mash note until the security guard rousted him.”

  Bethany put a hand on Theodosia’s shoulder. “So good to have you back safely,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears.

  “It’s good to have you back,” said Theodosia.

  “Nobody cast their vote for Lleveret Dante?” asked Drayton.

  “As the murderer?” said Haley. “Not hardly. But I think that’s because we never knew enough about him to get really suspicious,” she added.

  “Burt Tidwell does,” replied Theodosia. “He told me that Dante is in as much trouble here as he was in his home state of Kentucky.”

  “Well, I hope he gets indicted and shipped back there,” said Drayton. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. We don’t need unsavory chaps like that in Charleston.”

  “Right,” declared Haley. “We’ve got enough of our own.”

  “Drayton,” said Theodosia, “what time is it?”

  He wrinkled his nose and peered at his ancient Piaget. “Twenty to four.”

  “Which means it’s really ten to four,” said Haley.

  “Would you drive me out to Aunt Libby’s?” asked Theodosia. “I want to pick up Earl Grey.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Haley, pounding on the table. “Let’s all drive out to the low-country and pick up Earl Grey. We can stop at Catfish Jack’s on the way and celebrate with beer and blackened catfish.”

  “I love the idea,” said Theodosia. “But can we save it for another time? Tonight I’ve got to get right back.”

  “Of course you do,” said Drayton graciously. “You’ve just been through a terrible ordeal. Best thing for you is to spend a nice cozy evening at home.”

  Drayton’s right, Theodosia mused to herself. I should take it easy, give myself a little quiet time. And I will. Tomorrow night for sure. As for tonight, however . . . tonight I’m going to the opera!

  A RECIPE FROM THE INDIGO TEA SHOP

  Theodosia’s Tea-Marbled Eggs

  A nice summer hors d’oeuvre

  3 cups water

  8 small eggs

  2 Tbs. loose-leaf black tea

  or 4 tea bags black tea

  1 Tbs. kosher salt

  Place eggs in pot with cold water, cover, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 10-12 minutes. Carefully remove eggs and reserve water. Place eggs in cold water, and when they’re cool enough to handle, gently tap eggs all around with the back of a spoon to make cracks. Add tea leaves to the reserved water and place eggs back in. Add the salt and simmer, covered, for one hour. Remove pot from stove and allow eggs to soak in tea water an additional 30 minutes. Then remove eggs and cool. Eggs will now have a brown marbleized design. To serve, slice eggs in half and sprinkle with paprika and minced parsley.

  DON’T MISS THE NEXT INDIGO TEA SHOP MYSTERY

  Gunpowder Green

  Charleston’s annual Isle of Palms Yacht Race is the perfect occasion for boiled crab, iced tea, and social tête-à-têtes. From their vantage point in White Point Gardens at the tip of the historic peninsula, Theodosia Browning and her fellow picnickers watch sleek J-24s hurtle toward the finish line, masts straining, spinnakers billowing. But the dramatic battle between Charleston’s two rival yacht clubs turns tragic. The ancient Civil War pistol used for the traditional finishing line gunshot suddenly explodes, killing the patriarch of one of Charleston’s oldest families. As her neighbors go into mourning, Theodosia begins to unravel a family secret that stretches back over a hundred years, making her wonder: Was this truly an accident . . . or murder?

 

 

 


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