by Laura Childs
“Business,” Riley said. “And I wanted to see you.”
“I’m flattered,” Theodosia said. “But perhaps we should take care of business first?” She liked this detective who seemed dedicated and sincere, but also had a sense of humor.
Riley reached for a brown envelope and pulled out a half-dozen black-and-white photos. He laid them carefully on the table. “I was wondering if you might recognize any of these people?”
“This is a kind of lineup?”
Riley nodded. “Yes.”
“You’re wondering if I recall seeing one or another of these people at the rat tea?”
“That’s exactly it.”
Theodosia studied the photos carefully. They were all men who had the hard-eyed, unyielding look of what she assumed was a dangerous criminal. The kind of guys who were probably wanted by police in five states. Or maybe by the FBI.
“I’ve never seen any of these men before. I think I might remember if I had.”
“It was a long shot,” Riley said. He started to gather up the photos.
Theodosia put a hand out to stop him. “Wait a minute. Who are they exactly?”
“A cast of very unsavory characters.”
“Known criminals?”
Riley tapped one of the photos. “This guy is wanted for extortion.” He pointed to another. “This sweetheart is a drug dealer. Do you really want me to go on?”
“And you think one or more of these men might have been involved in Beau Briggs’s death? Are they known for being hired killers?”
“No,” Riley said. “Let’s just say they’re morally flexible.”
“Why these six?” Theodosia indicated the photos.
“Because they’re probably in the area right now.”
“Lucky us.” Theodosia picked up a butter knife and twiddled it. “Have you gone back to question the rat waiters? To see if one of them remembered seeing something fishy?”
“We’re working on that,” Riley said. “You know, your scones are absolutely delicious.”
“Thank you. I have a question concerning the Whitleys.”
Riley gave her a blank stare. “Who are the Whitleys?”
“You should know the name,” Theodosia said. “They were guests at the rat tea.”
Riley touched a finger to his forehead. “Okay, maybe I do recall that name. Why are you asking about them?”
“Because they’ve been lobbying hard to buy Doreen’s house.”
Riley gave a slow reptilian blink. “What?”
“They’ve been trying . . .”
He held up a hand. “I heard what you said. What I meant was . . . um . . . why on earth didn’t I know about this?”
“I have no idea.”
“These Whitleys are seriously trying to buy Doreen Briggs’s house?”
“So they can turn it into a B and B,” Theodosia said. “They want to link it up with the place they own right next door.” She paused. “Do you think that could have been a motive for murder?”
“You mean, like, a death in the family could prompt a quick sale?”
“That would be one scenario, yes,” Theodosia said. “Doreen doesn’t know which way to turn, so the Whitleys sweep in and rescue her.”
“I guess it’s been known to happen,” Riley said.
“Come on,” Theodosia chided. “Don’t act so cool about this. I can tell by the way your eyes are moving back and forth that you think there’s a very real possibility here.”
“Okay, maybe I am a bit interested,” Riley said. “This is the first I’ve heard about the Whitleys. It’s a lot to digest.”
“And I’m sure you’ve had time to question Reggie Huston, the business partner?”
Riley gazed at her. “We’ve had a conversation, sure.”
“Rumor has it he’s using Gilded Magnolia Spa as his personal checkbook.”
Riley frowned as he took a quick sip of tea. “May I ask exactly where you’re getting your information?”
“I . . . hear things,” Theodosia said.
“You’re investigating,” Riley said.
“Noooo,” Theodosia said, knowing full well she was telling him a little white lie. Maybe not the best way to start a relationship. Wait a minute, was there a relationship? Have to wait and see.
Riley wasn’t buying her answer. “You know, Tidwell warned me about you.”
Now Theodosia’s curiosity was amped. “He did? What did Tidwell say about me?”
Riley leaned forward in his chair and gave her a level gaze. “He told me you were very smart. But to watch out.”
“I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or offended.” When Riley didn’t respond, Theodosia said, “May I offer you some more tea?”
Riley shook his head no.
“Another scone?”
“No, thank you.”
Theodosia glanced over at the two bakery boxes that sat on the counter. “How about a slice of chocolate opera cake?”
Riley’s staid look slowly morphed into a sheepish grin. “Choc . . . ho boy, you really don’t play fair, do you?”
Gotcha, Theodosia thought.
• • •
“You certainly had a cozy little confab with Detective Riley,” Drayton said. They were in the middle of their lunch rush, Drayton brewing endless small pots of tea, Theodosia taking orders as well as delivering plates from the kitchen.
“He didn’t have a clue about the Whitleys,” Theodosia said.
“But you very capably steered him in their direction?”
“Of course.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Drayton asked. “What if they’re just an innocent but highly enterprising couple?”
“Then they’ve got nothing to worry about,” Theodosia said. “But until they’re cleared, they’ll remain on my suspect list.”
“I suppose on mine, too,” Drayton said. “They did seem awfully solicitous.”
“Maybe a little too eager to put in yet another offer on Doreen’s home?”
“Agreed,” Drayton said, measuring out two scoops of gunpowder green tea and dumping them into a floral teapot.
Lunch continued at a fairly brisk pace. But by one fifteen, almost every guest had their luncheon order in front of them and was sipping tea and contentedly munching away.
Good thing. Because that’s when Doreen and Opal Anne showed up.
Doreen was dressed in a black skirt suit covered in frilly ruffles and wore a jaunty black hat with a floppy veil that hid her eyes. To Theodosia it looked like something you might wear to the Ascot races, should you be invited to sit in the Queen’s private box.
“We want to thank you so much for helping out last night” were Opal Anne’s first words. She was dressed in tan slacks and a navy blazer. In other words, normal.
“No problem,” Theodosia said. “I’m just happy everything worked out the way it did.” She led them to a corner table and got them seated. “How about a slice of quiche and a citrus salad?” she asked.
“That would be wonderful,” Doreen said. “Planning a funeral is hard work.” She looked tired, but didn’t seem as discombobulated as she’d been the night before.
“Before we get started,” Opal Anne said, “we have a request.”
“Surely,” Theodosia said.
“We were wondering if you could cater our family funeral luncheon on Thursday?” Opal Anne asked.
“I know it’s a little late to ask,” Doreen said, jumping in. “But the idea just occurred to us.” She made a little mewling sound, like a sick kitten. “I can’t seem to keep a single thought in my head these days.”
“Of course we can handle the catering,” Theodosia said. “Did you have something specific in mind?” She pulled out a pen and paper and sat down at the table with them.
Do
reen gazed at Opal Anne.
“Tea and scones?” Opal Anne ventured. “Maybe salad and quiche? Something easy.”
“For how many people?” Theodosia asked.
Again Doreen turned to Opal Anne.
“I’m guessing two or three dozen people at most,” Opal Anne said.
“Would this be a sit-down luncheon or . . . ?” Theodosia started.
“Nothing fancy,” Doreen said. “A luncheon buffet would be fine. You could just set everything out on the dining room table and people could help themselves.”
“That sounds fairly easy to manage,” Theodosia said. She knew Haley could prep all the food, and she could transport it and maybe even set up by herself. “We’ll be happy to handle your luncheon.” She thought about the box of sad little tea bags she’d found in Doreen’s pantry. The box that had probably been sitting there since disco was king. “And I’ll bring along some tins of fresh tea as well.”
• • •
When Theodosia returned with luncheon plates for them, Drayton was standing at their table, pouring cups of Lung Ching, or Dragon Well, tea. It was a delicate Chinese green tea that he brewed when he wanted to impress someone, and Theodosia figured he still had his heart set on getting a nice big grant from Doreen.
“Thank you, Drayton,” Doreen said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you. You’ve been such a comfort.”
“Kind of you to say,” Drayton said. He backed away from the table, flashed a knowing look at Theodosia, and then returned to the front counter.
“And Theodosia,” Doreen said. “I have those lists you requested.” She dug in a black purse that was roughly the size of a bread box and pulled out a stack of paper.
“Excellent,” Theodosia said. She placed their luncheon plates in front of them, scurried to the front counter to grab a bowl of Devonshire cream for the scones, and then sat down with them. “I hope the lists didn’t pose too much of a problem for you.”
“It wasn’t much fun,” Doreen said, drawing a shaky breath. “I brought the guest list, of course, the whole entire thing. Then I drew up a list of possible suspects.” She hesitated. “People that I either didn’t know all that well, or people who had dealings with my husband.”
“In other words,” Theodosia said, “people who were Beau’s invited guests.”
“I guess you could say that.”
That was the list Theodosia was particularly interested in. But when she scanned the list, she didn’t recognize a single name. “Were any of these possibles sitting at your table?” she asked. “Or at nearby tables?”
“Not really,” Doreen said. “Oh, I also brought along some financial information.” She lowered her voice. “It’s what I could find concerning, you know, some of Beau’s more recent investments.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia said. “That information could prove very helpful.”
“I felt awful writing people’s names down for that hit list you wanted,” Doreen continued. “But . . . well, you asked. And Opal Anne said I had to do it. That it was the right thing to do. The smart thing to do.”
Theodosia smiled at Doreen. “Opal Anne is right.”
“But I want to tell you,” Doreen said. “I don’t feel good about any of this.”
Theodosia wanted to say, Imagine how bad Beau feels. But of course, the man was dead. He couldn’t feel anything.
Instead, Theodosia said, “You’ve told me about the people who were sitting right there at the table with you. But what about your guests at the nearby tables?” She knew that many of them had been clustered around Beau just before he sputtered and died.
“What about them?” Doreen said.
“We’re going to need their names,” Theodosia said.
“Told you so,” Opal Anne said.
Doreen rapped the table with her knuckles. “You want me to write down the names of my dear friends as well as business associates?”
“If you could,” Theodosia said. She dug the pen from her pocket and handed it to Doreen.
Doreen wrinkled her nose, clearly upset. “I suppose,” she said. While Opal Anne enjoyed her scone and lentil soup, Doreen laboriously printed out eight names. When she was done, she shoved the paper toward Theodosia and said, “There. Happy now?” Doreen looked decidedly unhappy.
“I’m sorry this is so trying for you,” Theodosia said.
Doreen took a sip of tea and turned a fairly hard gaze on Theodosia. “I’m hoping for some answers, you know? Drayton promised me answers. He said that you were exceedingly smart. Scary smart.”
“I’ve been working on this,” Theodosia said, suddenly feeling as if she’d been called on the carpet. “I’ve spoken with the Charleston PD several times, met with the caterer, and will be checking out the waitstaff. I’ll also be investigating the costume company that provided the rat costumes.” What she didn’t mention was that she’d turned over a box of rat poison to the Charleston PD. And that Doreen was still on her radar as a possible suspect.
“Well . . . okay,” Doreen said, a bit grudgingly. “It sounds as if you have been busy.”
“Theodosia was busy last night as well,” Opal Anne pointed out. “She didn’t have to come to the funeral home and play referee.”
“That was . . . generous,” Doreen said.
Drayton was suddenly back at their table, pouring refills of tea.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Theodosia was just giving us a rundown on her investigation so far,” Doreen said. “It sounds like she’s been busy.”
“She’s been nose-to-the-grindstone busy,” Drayton said. “Working nonstop.”
“That’s good,” Doreen said. “The more progress we make, the better your chance of getting that grant.”
“Of course,” Drayton said. But Theodosia could tell from the pinched look on his face that he was biting his tongue.
“One more thing,” Doreen said as she dug into her handbag and pulled out a half-dozen small slips of paper. “I brought along some spa passes.” She handed them to Theodosia. “Give some to your friends if you want—they’d probably enjoy having a massage or a manicure. Gilded Magnolia Spa does a fabulous job.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia said. She was suddenly feeling like the hired help. And didn’t much like it.
“And of course I expect you’ll want to take a complete tour of the spa,” Doreen said. “I’ll phone Cindy, our client services manager, and make the arrangements.” She gazed at Theodosia and blinked rapidly. “When would be good for you? How does your schedule look first thing tomorrow morning?”
Theodosia thought for a moment. They had their Madame Pompadour Tea at noon, but if she dropped by the spa early enough . . . “I think I could manage that,” she said.
“Good,” Doreen said. “And I’ll be sure to inform Reggie Huston that you’ll be dropping by for a visit.”
“That’s right,” Opal Anne cut in. “You’ll definitely want to talk to Reggie.” She threw a meaningful glance at Theodosia.
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “I’ll do that. Take the tour, I mean. And talk to Reggie.” For some reason she felt rattled and under a good deal of pressure. Then again, she was doing this for Drayton, right? And because she wanted to? Because she’d been curious?
Or was something else plucking at her? Some misplaced sense of justice?
12
Theodosia was sitting in her office, going over the lists Doreen had given her. They included the guest list, suspect list, and Doreen’s hand-printed list of people who’d been sitting at her table as well as the nearby tables.
“I thought you might like some lunch,” Drayton said. He was standing in the doorway, holding a small tray. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”
“Did you lose your appetite because of Doreen?” Drayton
asked. “I was wondering how you felt after that meeting.”
“Are you kidding? I felt as if Doreen’s boot was planted squarely in the middle of my back,” Theodosia said. “I didn’t realize she could be so pushy and aggressive. Those are not the nicest traits in a woman. Or in anyone, for that matter.”
“I had no idea everything would become so complicated,” Drayton said. “First it was just about helping Doreen. And securing a grant for the Heritage Society in return.”
“Now it’s a lot more tricky,” Theodosia agreed. “Doreen’s become a suspect, other suspects have emerged from the shadows, and there are a few business deals involved. To top it all off, Doreen seems to take delight in dangling that grant over our heads.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not a bait and switch,” Drayton said. He set down his tray and said, “Soup and a scone. Plus some chamomile tea, which is always conducive to relaxation.”
“Thank you.” Theodosia tapped her pen against the hand-printed list she’d been studying. “The thing is, Doreen hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with her information. Her initial suspect list didn’t even include the people who’d been seated at her table.”
“But she did finally part with those names,” Drayton said.
“Still, it was like yanking teeth.” Theodosia turned the list around for Drayton to read.
“Reggie Huston,” he said, reading aloud. “Robert Steele.” He frowned. “Who’s Robert Steele?”
“I’ll tell you who Robert Steele is,” Theodosia said. “I’ve been going through these financial papers that Doreen gave me, and it turns out Robert Steele is a financial muckety-muck who owns a company called Angel Oak Venture Capital.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Drayton said.
“Well, Beau Briggs did. As a matter of fact, he invested seven hundred thousand dollars in Angel Oak VC.”
“Are you serious?” Drayton looked surprised at the huge sum.
“Not only that, according to these papers, Beau was trying to get his money back.”
“Did he? Get it back, I mean?”