Pekoe Most Poison

by Laura Childs

  Starla handed Doreen the ice bucket and flashed a cool smile at Theodosia and Drayton. “Hello there.”

  Doreen hastened to fill them in. “Starla Crane is our PR guru. She owns the Image Factory here in Charleston.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Crane,” Drayton said.

  “Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” Starla asked. “My firm specializes in image consulting and public relations strategies.” She glanced at Doreen, who was busy shoveling ice cubes into her glass. “We also handle crisis management.”

  “And you think this particular situation—Doreen’s situation—warrants crisis management?” Theodosia asked. She’d spent a number of years working at a marketing firm, so she was quite familiar with public relations and the management of brand images. She’d also never heard of the Image Factory and wondered if it might be a one-person shop.

  “Doreen is well-known in Charleston’s philanthropic world and social community at large,” Starla said in a slightly hectoring tone. “As such she needs to maintain a flawless image of taste and decorum. This incident . . . the smooth presentation of this incident . . . needs to be handled with kid gloves.”

  “I’m sure Doreen’s image is and always will be impeccable,” Drayton said.

  But Theodosia was studying the almost-anorexic Starla Crane. She decided Starla had that high-strung, pushy attitude that self-absorbed career women sometimes affected. It made her wonder how good Starla really was when it came to public relations and media relations. Because the people who were generally the most skillful tended to be congenial and highly empathic. Starla, on the other hand, seemed nervous, contentious, and inner-directed. Then again, you never knew. She could turn out to be an absolute whiz.

  “As you can see,” Doreen said, “Starla really knows her business, which is why I asked her to sit in today.”

  “Fine,” Drayton said. “Then we should get started.”

  “Excuse me,” Starla said. “What are we doing exactly?”

  “I mentioned to Doreen that Theodosia here is an excellent problem solver,” Drayton said. “So she’s agreed to talk to Doreen. To ask a few questions and see what she can come up with.”

  Starla’s upper lip curled. “You’re an investigator?”

  “Not at all,” Theodosia said. “I’m merely trying to sift through what we already know.”

  “A cool, calm voice of reason,” Drayton added.

  “Interesting,” Starla said in a tone so flat it was clear she wasn’t one bit interested.

  • • •

  Theodosia pulled a chair up close to Doreen, then reached over and took the glass from her hand. Passed it over to Drayton. “Let’s get started,” she said.

  Doreen bobbed her head. “Okay.”

  “The police obviously asked you a lot of questions yesterday.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Because something strange happened. Between the time the centerpiece caught fire and your husband collapsed on the floor, something happened.”

  “I guess,” Doreen said in a small voice.

  “And there were any number of people who were clustered around Beau,” Theodosia said. “During the tea, right after the fire, and just before his collapse. It appeared as if they were all trying to help him. But any one of them could have caused his death.”

  “Maybe it was the tea?” Doreen said.

  “And possibly it was something else,” Theodosia said. “Poison doesn’t necessarily mean tea—I’m sure it can be administered in many different forms.”

  “I don’t know what that would be,” Doreen said.

  “Well,” Theodosia said, “we don’t expect you to solve this crime, just to help point the way with your best recollections.”

  Doreen snuck a glance at her empty glass. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Let’s approach this from a slightly different angle,” Theodosia said. “There must have been someone—either a guest at your table or a person who was in the immediate vicinity—who wanted your husband dead.”

  Doreen winced. “You’re talking about motive. I hate to think about that.”

  Theodosia glanced over at Drayton.

  “You have to think about this,” Drayton said to Doreen. “It’s absolutely critical. Don’t you want Beau’s killer apprehended? Don’t you want justice?”

  Don’t you want to award the Heritage Society a nice fat grant? Theodosia thought to herself.

  “I guess,” Doreen said.

  “Tell me about the people who were sitting at your table,” Theodosia said.

  Doreen frowned. “Well, there was Reggie Huston, Beau’s business partner. And then Starla, of course. And our neighbors Honey and Michael Whitley and Robert Steele.”

  Theodosia had pulled a pen and paper from her handbag and was jotting down names. “And at the surrounding tables?”

  “It’s difficult to remember,” Doreen said.

  “Charles and I were sitting at table three,” Opal Anne said. “Along with some financial people and new spa clients.” She glanced at Theodosia. “If I looked at the guest list, I’m pretty sure I could give you their names.”

  “That would be great,” Theodosia said. “Thank you.” She focused on Doreen again. “There must have been someone who was deeply angry or offended by something Beau had done. Perhaps someone who’d lost a good deal of money in a business deal? Or someone who felt they’d been cheated in some way?”

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” Starla asked.

  “Yes, it is,” Drayton said, without bothering to look at her.

  Theodosia tried again. “There must be someone who was angry with your husband.”

  “Are you asking me to put together an enemies list?” Doreen asked. She looked heartsick as she squirmed around in her chair, anxiously twisting the rings on her fingers. “Because I’m not sure Beau had any enemies. I mean, everyone pretty much adored him.” She started leaking tears. “He was sweet and smart and generous to a fault. Just ask anyone.”

  Theodosia knew for a fact that not everyone had loved and adored Beau Briggs. After all, someone had murdered the man in plain sight of fifty guests. That required the skill and cunning of a stone-cold killer. Someone who possessed confidence and chutzpah beyond belief.

  “Just relax and think about it,” Theodosia said in a soothing voice. “Try to recall what your husband might have been involved in lately. Maybe a new business venture? Real estate or investments?”

  “Tell her about the money,” Opal Anne said.

  Doreen shook her head. “She doesn’t want to hear about that.”

  “Yes, she does.” Opal Anne turned to look at Theodosia. “Don’t you?”

  “I guess maybe I do,” Theodosia said, wondering what this cryptic exchange was all about. “Why don’t you tell me about the money, Doreen?”

  Doreen hemmed and hawed, but finally the truth began to spill out. Turns out Beau had made more than a few terrible investments. And that the money he’d lost or squandered hadn’t really been his to lose. It had belonged to Doreen. Had come, in fact, from Doreen’s family fortune, a rather sizable amount that she’d inherited from her father and grandfather.

  “You see why she’s so upset?” Opal Anne said. She reached over and squeezed Doreen’s hand. “Poor thing.”

  “It’s embarrassing,” Doreen said. “Even if Beau wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree when it came to money, I still loved him.” She waved a hand in front of her face as tears sparkled in her eyes. “Loved. You hear what I just said? I’m already talking about him in the past tense. How awful.”

  “Of course it’s awful,” Drayton said.

  “Luckily, he didn’t fritter away my entire fortune,” Doreen said. “There’s still plenty of money left for all of us to be quite comfortable.” She smiled at Drayton. “And for me to support a few
museums and charities that I hold dear. It’s just that now . . .” She sniffled. “I have to make these difficult decisions all by myself.” She cocked her head and eyed the empty whiskey glass that was sitting on a side table.

  “Would you like me to fix you a cup of tea?” Theodosia asked.

  Doreen sighed deeply. “I suppose that would be nice. Do you know where the kitchen is?”

  Theodosia and Drayton were already up and moving.

  “I’m sure we can find our way,” Drayton said.

  5

  “What do you think?” Drayton asked once they were in the kitchen behind closed doors.

  Theodosia glanced around. “The kitchen needs serious updating, for one thing. The range is a Hotpoint from 1975; the refrigerator is basically one step up from an icebox.”

  “I was referring to Doreen. Her story.”

  “I know what you meant,” Theodosia said as she stepped into a rather large, well-lit pantry. She began opening and closing cupboard doors, looking for a tin of tea. “The fact of the matter is, Doreen doesn’t have a story because she doesn’t have a clue.”

  Drayton stood at the pantry door and looked in. “You don’t think there’s anything to be gleaned here?”

  “No, I don’t. Remember what I said earlier about letting the police handle this? Well, I was right. Only, God bless the Charleston police if they can pull even one useful tidbit of information out of Doreen. No wonder they asked her a few questions and then went on their merry way. I think they’ll have a lot more luck talking to the other guests. Even if they interview snappy Starla out there, who, by the way, should be fitted with a muzzle.”

  “You’re not going to give up just like that, are you?” Drayton asked. He sounded almost desperate.

  Theodosia pulled open another cupboard door and peered in. “Drayton, I know your grant for the Heritage Society is on the line here, but I don’t know what more I can do.”

  “You could keep talking to her. I can tell that Doreen likes you. She trusts you.”

  “You want me to string her along? Give her the impression that we can be of some help in her husband’s death?”

  “No, that wouldn’t be fair. I guess what I meant was . . .”

  “Holy crackers!” Theodosia suddenly shouted. She’d been searching a cupboard when her eyes landed on a bizarre black-and-yellow box. As the impact of what she was seeing clanged around inside her brain, she took a giant step backward.

  “What’s wrong?” Drayton asked.

  “Come over here and take a look,” Theodosia hissed.

  Hesitantly, Drayton tiptoed over.

  “Middle shelf,” she said.

  Drayton peered tentatively into the cupboard, as if fearing something horrible might pop out at him. When he saw what had startled Theodosia, he said, “Dear Lord!”

  There, on the middle shelf, surrounded by a clutter of spice tins, was a box of orange pekoe tea. Sitting next to the tea was an open box of rat poison.

  Drayton’s face blanched white. “You don’t suppose . . . ?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but it’s very creepy.” Theodosia studied the box again. Just so there was no mistaking its intended purpose, the box carried a cartoon drawing of a dead rat on it. The rat was lying on its back, its stiff little legs sticking straight up in the air.

  “Why on earth didn’t the police find this yesterday?” Drayton asked.

  “Maybe because the police weren’t prowling through the cupboards looking for Doreen’s box of stale tea bags?” Theodosia said. “I mean, they pretty much had their hands full, interviewing all the rat servers as well as the guests. And, I suppose, the people who looked the most suspicious.”

  Drayton folded his arms and leaned against the opposite cupboard. “Did you think some of the guests looked suspicious?”

  “After finding this box of poison, I think everybody’s a bit questionable. Especially the caterer and kitchen workers.”

  “But those people were all busy baking scones and arranging tea trays.”

  “So maybe the killer was one of the white rats.”

  “Do you know how ridiculous we sound?” Drayton asked. “Talking about poison and white rats?”

  “Yes,” Theodosia said. “We sound like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Cue the gnomes and foxes, send in Hansel and Gretel.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “We have to tell the police about this box of poison.”

  “You’re referring to the somewhat indifferent officer who’s standing outside the front door? The one tasked with guarding our lives?”

  Theodosia shrugged. “At least it’s a place to start.”

  • • •

  But when Theodosia showed Officer Parnell the rat poison in the black-and-yellow box, he let out a surprised gasp. Then he took off his cap and scratched his thinning blond hair.

  “Is that poison?” he asked, even though there was also an ominous-looking skull and crossbones on the package.

  Theodosia wanted to say, No, it’s Cap’n Crunch. Instead, she said, “X-Terminate Rat Poison, if that label is to be trusted.”

  Officer Parnell was still playing catch-up. “Isn’t poison what killed the man who . . .” He gestured toward Doreen and company, who were still in the library.

  “Bingo,” Theodosia said.

  “Then this is like a clue,” Parnell said.

  “Maybe even an important clue,” Drayton said. He was standing at the stove, heating a kettle of water.

  Theodosia favored Parnell with a quizzical smile. “Excuse me, Officer Parnell, but what is it you do exactly? I mean, in your official capacity with the Charleston Police Department?” She figured he was either a meter reader or data entry guy. Because he certainly wasn’t firing on all cylinders like an experienced beat cop would.

  “Two days a week I play Officer Pugsly Pup,” Parnell said, sounding pleased. “I wear a furry dog costume and go around to all the elementary schools. Teach kids basic safety skills.”

  “That explains it,” Theodosia said.

  “I guess I’d better call this in,” Parnell said. He was still gazing with trepidation at the box of rat poison.

  “Call it in to Detective Pete Riley,” Theodosia said. “He’s in the Robbery-Homicide Division. Then have someone from crime scene drop by and pick up the rat poison.” She held up an index finger. “But don’t you touch it.”

  “I won’t, ma’am.”

  “And you probably shouldn’t mention this to the folks out there in the library, either,” Drayton added. He gestured at Theodosia. “You want to hand me that box of tea?”

  Very carefully, Theodosia plucked the box of orange pekoe off the cupboard shelf and handed it to Drayton.

  Parnell’s eyes got big. “You’re going to drink that?”

  “Of course,” Drayton said. He was plopping tea bags into teacups, adding steaming hot water. “You can test it yourself if you’d like.”

  Parnell shook his head. “No way.”

  “Now, listen to me,” Theodosia said to Parnell. “That box of poison needs to be analyzed in your crime lab. Some kind of toxicology test needs to be run to see if it might be the same type of poison that killed Mr. Briggs yesterday.”

  “Okay,” Parnell said. “Got it.”

  Theodosia turned toward Drayton. “You’re sure that tea is okay?”

  Drayton lifted one of the teacups and took a quick sip. “Not great tea. A little on the bakey side, but it will have to do.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I don’t want you to gack out and go boom!”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” Drayton said. “And it’s fine.” He picked up his tea tray and inclined his head toward the swinging door. “If you could?”

  Theodosia pushed open the kitchen door for Drayton. “You need some help with that?”
<
br />   He slid past her, teacups rattling on his tray. “You just stay on top of Officer Pup there.”

  “Will do.”

  But as Theodosia listened to Parnell talking to whoever had answered the phone at Robbery-Homicide, a million questions swirled in her brain. And she wondered—if a woman was crazy angry at her husband for frittering away a small fortune, would she seek revenge by taking matters into her own hands?

  That notion not only shocked and scared Theodosia, it made her a lot more interested in investigating Doreen Briggs. And the entire Beau Briggs murder.

  Yes, she knew she’d just told Drayton there really wasn’t much to go on. But, holy crap, look what just popped up!

  6

  “Doreen had a box of rat poison in her cupboard?” Haley asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Drayton said.

  Haley leaned back in her chair and shook her head, her long blond hair swishing like a curtain. “Whoa.” Then, “Do you think it’s the same poison that killed her old man?”

  “We have to wait for the results of the lab tests,” Theodosia said. She sounded calm as she said it, but really had a case of the jitters. Could Doreen be a killer? A clumsy killer at that? Well, they’d know soon enough.

  “Still,” Haley said, “a box of poison is beaucoup creepy.”

  “What’s creepy is that Beau’s death was premeditated murder,” Drayton said. “Somebody came to that rat tea, either as a guest or server, and left as a full-fledged killer.”

  Haley nodded. “I guess Doreen’s tea didn’t go quite as planned. It wasn’t a hale and hearty tribute to the rat teas of yesteryear.”

  “It was well-intentioned,” Drayton said. “And started out pleasantly enough.”

  “But ended with a bang,” Theodosia said. “If you could have seen that poor man . . .”

  Haley held up both hands as if to ward off a vampire attack. “No way. Please don’t tell me any more about it. I don’t want some awful image of a man in his death throes implanted in my brain. I don’t need that. Especially today. Mondays are always super busy and then the week just gets crazier as we go along. It always feels like we’re on some kind of wild log flume ride.”