by Laura Childs
“Haley,” Theodosia said, “if you need help in the kitchen we can always hire . . .”
“An assistant?” Haley said.
“Yes, of course.”
“No,” Haley said. “I would hate that. You know I would.” Haley was young, in her early twenties, and still thought she could do it all.
“You’d still be in charge,” Theodosia said. They’d broached the subject to Haley several times before and she’d always rejected it. Haley was a brilliant chef and baker, but she was also a tough little martinet.
“No matter who you hired, they’d still have their own ideas and notions about how to do things,” Haley said. “And I’m just not ready for any sort of change, okay?”
“By change you mean compromise,” Drayton said.
Haley surprised them with a grin. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “Whatever makes you happy. Whatever keeps you happy.”
“Working with you guys makes me happy,” Haley said. “I love our little threesome. Our work family. It’s perfect. We all have our jobs to do and we do them really well.”
“I sometimes think we put too much on your shoulders though,” Theodosia said.
“I’m not complaining. I’m really not.” Haley looked nervous. “Could we please just drop the subject?”
“Of course,” Theodosia said. She glanced at her watch. “In fact, we’d better get cracking. Like you said, Mondays are busy.”
“Lots of Church Street shopkeepers will be coming in for takeout,” Drayton said. He furrowed his brow. “Perhaps I’ll brew some Chinese Keemun today. And definitely a pot of Pussimbing Garden Darjeeling. That’s nice and brisk and always goes over well.”
“What are our morning offerings?” Theodosia asked Haley.
“Well, the strawberry scones you guys have been nibbling. And I’ve got pans of apple scones and orange blossom muffins in the oven.”
Drayton bounded to his feet. “Excellent.”
• • •
They got busy then. Drayton draped the dozen or so tables with linen tablecloths and added napkins, silverware, teacups, and water glasses. Theodosia followed him around and put out sugar bowls, creamers, and crystal vases filled with pink tea roses.
“Don’t forget the tea warmers,” Drayton said.
“I have them right here,” Theodosia said. These were made of heavy glass with an indentation in the center to accommodate a small vigil light.
“And should I light a fire in the fireplace?”
“I think . . . yes,” Theodosia said. It was still early spring and mornings were cool, bordering on chilly. How nice for her tea shop guests to come tumbling in and be able to inhale the rich, fruity aromas of brewed tea and enjoy the crackling warmth of a fire.
“Here’s a dozen scones to start you off with,” Haley said. She set a glass pie saver piled high with scones on the front counter.
“Thank you, Haley,” Theodosia said.
Haley stood there, looking like she wanted to say something more. Finally, she said, “It sounds like you guys are kind of involved in this thing with Doreen. Why’d you go back there yesterday . . . I mean, really?”
“For one thing, we just wanted to talk to Doreen,” Drayton said. “We didn’t set out to poke around in her kitchen cupboard and find a box of poison. We were there to offer our sympathy.”
Haley cocked her head at him. “So now you’re a grief counselor?”
“Haley deserves to hear the truth,” Theodosia said to Drayton.
“Wait a minute,” Haley said. “What’s going on?”
“We went to Doreen’s because Drayton thought we could do a little subtle backgrounding on the folks who might be involved in her husband’s murder,” Theodosia said. “He thought we could help Doreen out.”
“You mean, like, investigate?” Haley asked.
“No,” Theodosia said.
“Yes,” Drayton said.
Haley held up a hand. “Are you guys sure you want to get involved in this? Because it seems to me that Doreen just became a prime suspect.”
“She could be,” Theodosia said.
“And the thing is,” Haley said, “involvement in this type of crime is the exact kind of thing Drayton is always warning us to stay away from.”
“I can change my mind, Haley,” Drayton said. “I’m not that rigid.”
“Yes, you are,” Haley said. “I can set my watch by it. As a matter of fact, I count on you to be rigid.”
Theodosia gazed at Drayton. “She’s got you there.” Drayton prided himself on his formality and slightly stilted manner.
“You know what?” Haley said. “It gives me chills to know the two of you were at that stupid tea. I mean, what if the murderer was someone right there in the family? Or, worse yet, what if something had gone haywire and one of you had been poisoned?” She looked stricken. “What then?”
“I don’t think . . .” Theodosia began. And stopped abruptly. Haley made a good point. A very good point.
• • •
Just as Haley had predicted, it was a busy morning. Shop owners from up and down Church Street popped in for their morning cuppa, neighbors strolled in for tea and scones, and even a few tourists found their way to the Indigo Tea Shop, intrigued by the indigo-blue canvas awning hanging over the antique bow window.
Theodosia dispensed tea, scones, Devonshire cream, and good humor to all her guests who were seated at tables. In between, she ran to the front counter and packaged up scones for takeout. With a long, black Parisian waiter’s apron draped around his neck, Drayton stayed busy brewing tea. His nimble fingers plucked the various tea tins from their shelves, then carefully measured out the exact teas requested by guests. Those teas (depending on the blend and country of origin) were brewed in Brown Betty teapots, Japanese tetsubin, English floral teapots, and Chinese teapots, and then hustled to waiting customers.
Late morning, when Theodosia found a few moments to breathe, she ducked behind the celadon-colored velvet curtain to see what Haley had planned for lunch.
Haley looked up from the counter where she was buttering slices of bread, two at a time. “You want the menu, don’t you?” She looked almost dwarfed beneath her tall white chef’s hat.
“Or you can just give me a hint.” Theodosia was always impressed that Haley could whip up so many delicious treats in their postage stamp–sized kitchen.
“No, no, I’m all set.” Haley set down her knife and picked up an index card. “Let’s see. You already know about the strawberry and apple scones. And the orange blossom muffins. Okay, so we have fruit compote, tomato bisque soup, shrimp salad tea sandwiches, stir-fry chicken, and lemon tea bread.”
“It all sounds lovely,” Theodosia said.
“Oh, and I just took a call. Teddy Vickers phoned from the Featherbed House B and B. He says he needs four take-out lunches for some of their guests who want to take a day trip to Sullivan’s Island.”
“You want me to help package up those lunches?”
“Already did it,” Haley said. She tilted her head to indicate four indigo-blue bags sitting on a shelf. “All you have to do is pop them in a shopping bag and hand them over when Teddy’s guests show up.”
“You’re a wonder, Haley.”
Haley picked up two wooden spoons, did a little twirl, and smacked the lid of a kettle as if it were a snare drum. “Aren’t I just?”
• • •
The pace of this Monday’s lunch felt just right to Theodosia. Not so busy that they were overwhelmed, but not slow and draggy, either. In fact, she’d just jotted down what she figured would be her last luncheon order when the front door opened and Opal Anne stuck her head in. The girl looked tentative and a little apprehensive. As if she didn’t know what to expect.
“Are you busy?” Opal Anne asked. “Because I can
come back later if you’re . . .”
“Don’t be silly,” Theodosia said, hurrying over to greet her. “Please come in. Have you eaten lunch yet?”
“Not really.” Opal Anne was dressed in a black cashmere sweater and camel-colored skirt. She looked like she’d just escaped from an upscale private girl’s school.
“Then kindly sit down and let me bring you something,” Theodosia said. “What kind of tea do you like?”
Drayton smiled over at Opal Anne. “Perhaps something with a hint of fruit? Peaches and ginger?” He held up a purple tea tin. “Indian spice?”
“Indian spice sounds great,” Opal Anne said.
“Coming right up,” Drayton said.
“Let me run this order in to Haley and grab us a couple of scones and tea sandwiches,” Theodosia said. “But you go sit. Take that little table right there by the fireplace. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
When Theodosia returned a few minutes later, with luncheon plates for both of them, Opal Anne was sipping her tea and looking around expectantly. Whatever it was, the cardamom and spices in the tea, or the warmth of the fire, she seemed considerably more relaxed.
“Your shop is absolutely charming,” Opal Anne said, her face practically lighting up as she spoke. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”
“Well, now that you’re no longer a stranger, we can welcome you back anytime you want,” Theodosia said. She gently pushed a plate in front of Opal Anne. It held two tea sandwiches, a scone, and a pouf of Devonshire cream. “Please, help yourself.”
But the girl was still looking around, taking in the cozy environs of the tea shop.
“What’s all that on your highboy over there? Oh, I see. You sell all sorts of jams and jellies and honey, don’t you? And I adore the wreaths on the walls. They’re so squiggly and fun. Are they made from grapevines?”
“Vines that I picked and dried at my aunt Libby’s plantation,” Theodosia said.
“And then you decorated them with ribbon and fancy teacups.”
Theodosia waved a hand. “The teacups are a snap to find at tag sales around the county.”
“But how clever. I mean this place is so adorable. You must love it here.”
“I do,” Theodosia said, and she meant it. “I love it more than anything.”
“Have you always done this? Owned a tea shop, I mean?”
“No, I started out in marketing, playing that game for a number of years. But the pace was a little too intense, a little too twenty-four/seven for me.”
“So now you work here twenty-four/seven,” Opal Anne said, laughing.
“I do, but now I work for myself.”
“That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” Opal Anne said. “You have to find your passion and go for it.” She picked up a tea sandwich and then paused. “I graduated with a major in business administration, but I’m still trying to figure out my passion in life.”
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m twenty-two.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“You’ve got time.”
“I know.” Opal Anne laughed. “But I’m getting antsy.”
They chatted casually as they ate their lunches, never mentioning Doreen or the dearly departed Beau. But once they were finished, Opal Anne got down to business.
“I have to apologize for Doreen’s theatrics yesterday. She’s still overcome with grief, so it’s difficult for her to think straight.”
“That’s only natural,” Theodosia said. “Beau’s death was a terrible shock to her. To all of us, really.”
“The good thing is, she’s a fairly tough and resilient lady.”
“I can see that,” Theodosia said. “Which means she’ll get through this. It won’t be easy, but she’ll come out the other side. Maybe even stronger than before.” Just as long as she’s not a poisoner who ends up doing time in prison.
“You’re very perceptive,” Opal Anne said.
“Thank you. But I have a feeling you didn’t just come here to flatter me. Or have lunch.”
Opal Anne looked down at her hands and said, “I have some rather unpleasant information that I think you should know about.”
“Concerning . . . ?”
“Reggie Huston, Beau’s business partner at Gilded Magnolia Spa. Maybe you noticed him? He was sitting at her table the day of the tea.”
“Okay.” Theodosia had a fleeting recollection of the man named Reggie. Perhaps they’d been introduced the other day? Then again, maybe not.
“I’m fairly sure that Reggie’s been embezzling money from the company,” Opal Anne blurted out.
7
Didn’t this just come zinging out of the blue, was Theodosia’s first thought.
“Even though the spa’s only been open for a few months?” she asked.
“Reggie Huston works fast,” Opal Anne said.
“And you came to this conclusion . . . how?”
Opal Anne ducked her head, as if talking about Reggie was painful. “For one thing, I know Reggie. He’s a guy who drives a Porsche and an Audi, enjoys expensive golf vacations, and fancies a very luxe lifestyle. He doesn’t come from money, so the money has to come from somewhere. I’m guessing he’s using Gilded Magnolia Spa as his own personal bank account.”
“I see.” Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “Do you have any idea how much . . . ?”
“How much money he’s managed to abscond with?” Opal Anne lifted her shoulders. “I don’t really know. I don’t even know if Reggie’s guilty for sure. I’m only making an educated guess. Trying to connect the dots and put it all together. But I work out at the club on a fairly regular basis—do Pilates and spin classes—so I hang around, talk to the trainers, shoot the breeze with the spa managers.” Her brows knit together. “I hear things.”
“Have you questioned the bookkeepers?”
“No,” Opal Anne said. “Reggie’s outsourced all the bookkeeping and accounting. Anything related to finances seems to be a deep dark secret.”
“What does Doreen know about this, if anything?” Theodosia asked. “Is she aware of Reggie’s larger-than-life lifestyle?”
“Doreen doesn’t have a clue. She likes Reggie, considers him an okay guy. Last night she even mentioned that she might want to step in and run the spa along with him.” Opal Anne shook her head. “Then Reggie could really suck her dry. Doreen’s idea of running a business would mean breezing in at eleven o’clock, waving at the hired help, and then going out for a two-hour lunch with the girls. She’d expect the spa to operate by itself and for cash money to come pouring in.”
“That sounds fabulous,” Theodosia said. “How do I get in on that?”
“Exactly.”
Theodosia got serious then. “Do you think Reggie could have killed Beau? To kind of . . . get him out of the way?” There really wasn’t a delicate way to phrase it.
“If Reggie was desperate enough, yes. I think he could have killed my stepdad. Especially if Beau was starting to suspect that Reggie might be embezzling money.”
“Did Reggie and Beau have any kind of partnership agreement?”
“Nothing beyond the usual,” Opal Anne said. “But it just seems incredibly suspicious to me that Reggie was blithely siphoning money from his business partner. And then . . . boom . . . that partner is suddenly murdered. How convenient.”
“Do you think Beau suspected that Reggie was bleeding him dry?”
Opal Anne looked disheartened. “Who knows? You heard Doreen yesterday. Beau wasn’t the wealthy, hotshot businessman his public persona made him out to be. Even I didn’t know how bad things were, and he was my stepdad!” She snuffled loudly and went on. “Apparently Beau was throwing lots of Doreen’s money at several really bad investments. So he might not have realized that Gilded Magnolia was running
at a deficit.” She dabbed at her eyes. “And we’ve got the grand opening party coming up this Saturday. Some party that’s going to be.”
“Doreen seems very angry about Beau’s bad investments,” Theodosia said slowly.
“She’s furious with him.” Opal Anne placed both hands flat on the table and stared at Theodosia. “But she didn’t kill him. I know what you’re thinking, that Doreen might have snapped and decided to get rid of him. To put a stop to his spending once and for all. But she’s not that kind of crazy. She’s a good person, a kind person. And she loved Beau very deeply.”
Theodosia reached over and placed her hand on top of Opal Anne’s hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. That you had to watch your stepdad collapse and die like that.”
“Thank you,” Opal Anne said, her voice getting hoarse and her eyes reddening even more. “This is like living some awful nightmare. I’m not trying to be obsequious or anything, but you’ve been the only bright spot in this whole thing. You and Drayton.”
“I’m just not sure how much we can help,” Theodosia said. She felt like a louse for hedging her words like that.
“Doreen has faith in you.” Opal Anne pulled a hankie from her bag and wiped tears from her eyes. “And so do I. We loved Beau, you know. We loved him with all our hearts.”
• • •
“Okay, now I feel like a complete rat,” Theodosia said.
“What’s the problem now?” Drayton asked. He was standing behind the front counter, searching the floor-to-ceiling shelves for a missing tin of Tieguanyin oolong tea. It was a small tin, because the tea was expensive, almost sixty-five dollars a pound.
“I upset Opal Anne. She’s pretty sure we’re looking at Doreen as a prime suspect.”
“And she’s right. Unfortunately.”
“Yes, but I still don’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings. She’s suffered enough.”
“It’s a murder investigation,” Drayton said. “Feelings are going to get trampled. Drat, where is that tea?” He looked positively owlish as he peered over his tortoiseshell half-glasses, scanning the shelves.