by Laura Childs
Glass held up a finger as though he had more hot news. “And . . . lying next to the wire was a crumpled-up business card that belonged to that PR lady.”
“What!” Theodosia said. “You mean Starla Crane?”
“No!” Drayton said, suddenly coming alive.
Theodosia was completely dumbfounded by Glass’s revelation. Was that the answer right there? Was Starla Crane the killer? Had Starla poisoned Beau Briggs and then hanged Marcus Covey?
“You mean the police actually found Starla’s business card along with the wire used to hang Covey?” Theodosia finally gasped out.
Glass aimed a finger at her. “You catch on fast, tea lady.”
“Wha . . .” Theodosia was stumbling over her own words. “So what’s going on? What are the police . . . ?”
“What are the police doing about it?” Drayton asked, jumping in.
“Unfortunately, the cops didn’t get around to examining the car trunk until last night,” Glass said. He rolled his eyes. “Stellar police work, huh? Anyway, I understand the police will be hauling Miss Crane in today to ask her some very tough questions.”
Theodosia cocked her head at Drayton and said, “Starla? Could it have been her all along?”
Drayton shrugged. “It sounds like . . . maybe.”
“But why?” Theodosia asked. “What was her motivation?”
“She was trying to play Svengali?” Drayton said. “Get Doreen under her control so she could . . . I don’t know . . . influence how all her money was spent? Or maybe even con Doreen out of her money?”
“Or take over the spa?” Theodosia said. Fresh in her mind was Starla Crane screaming at the models and videographers yesterday afternoon, trying to get some sort of corporate video rushed through for tomorrow’s big event. A video that might have showcased her skills? Or her leadership ability?
“This is big-time, huh?” Glass said, grinning at Theodosia like a demented Cheshire cat.
Theodosia gave an absent nod. “This is truly . . . puzzling.”
• • •
Theodosia was still ruminating over the Starla factor a few hours later as she rushed about the tea shop. When she stopped at the front counter to grab a pot of chocolate mint tea, she said, “Is it possible Starla could have murdered both Beau and Marcus Covey?”
“It doesn’t feel exactly right,” Drayton said as he measured out scoops of Madoorie Estate tea into a floral teapot. “But, yes, I suppose it’s possible.”
“You’re right,” Theodosia said.
Drayton stopped measuring. “Wait a minute. I’m right about what?”
“You’re right that it doesn’t feel right. If that makes any sense.”
“Theo, your logic has always made perfect sense to me.”
“Just not to me,” Theodosia said.
• • •
Lunchtime came and customers rolled in like crazy. A couple of neighborhood shopkeepers, six ladies from the Broad Street Garden Club who were in the throes of planning a garden tour, a few art students who had found their way in after spending the morning sketching at the Gibbes Museum of Art.
Haley had whipped up some fabulous offerings: mini chicken potpies, avocado tea sandwiches, shrimp salad, and popovers.
Of course, she was saving the best for tonight’s Candlelight Tea. She’d shared a bare-bones menu with Theodosia and Drayton, but promised that she had a couple of big surprises up her sleeve. One being a tipsy cake for dessert. Which in Southern parlance meant a fruit and pudding trifle.
After the last few days, Theodosia wasn’t sure she was ready for any more surprises.
At two o’clock, with the luncheon crowd departed and a small-to-middling afternoon tea crowd, Theodosia said, “I’m going to run over to the Cabbage Patch and grab our candles.”
Drayton looked up from behind the counter. “We need candles? I thought we had an entire stash of candles.”
“We do. But those are mostly tea lights and a handful of tapers. If we’re going to hold a Candlelight Tea, we have to do it right.”
“What about the box of red candles that’s under the counter?” Drayton asked.
“If you want this place to look like Benito’s Pizza Parlor, that’s fine with me. But if we want to impart an elegant, old-world atmosphere, if we want this tea shop to shimmer and glow, we’re going to need better candles.”
Drayton touched a hand to his tortoiseshell half-glasses and pushed them up his nose. “You’ve convinced me. I surrender to your judgment and good taste.”
• • •
The Cabbage Patch Gift Shop was only two doors down from the Indigo Tea Shop, and Leigh Carroll, its owner, was ready for her.
“I’ve got your candles,” Leigh said as Theodosia stepped through the door and into her eclectic little gift shop. Leigh was a pretty African American woman, midthirties, with almond eyes, sepia-toned hair, and beautifully burnished skin.
“And I’ve got a cup of rose hips tea for you,” Theodosia said. “Along with a couple of maraschino cherry scones.”
Leigh put a hand to her heart. “Be still my heart.” She was a raving tea fanatic. Favored everything from Japanese Gyokuro to Russian country blends. “I love this tea.” She grabbed the cup, snapped off the lid, and took a sip. “Delicious.”
“We still have room tonight if you want to come.”
“I want to but I can’t,” Leigh said. “Not tonight, but next time you have a big event.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Theodosia said. She glanced around the shop at Leigh’s spectacular inventory. She saw beaded purses, antique linens, elegant pottery, silk kimonos, tea towels, and French perfume. And candles. Theodosia pointed at a candle arrangement. “Are those the kind of candles you ordered for us?”
Leigh shook her head. She grabbed a white cardboard box that sat at her feet and hoisted it onto the counter. “I’ve got your candles right here. Take a look.”
Theodosia peered into the box. “Wow. These are great.” She lifted out a tall cream-colored pillar candle. “Are they all the same?”
“Oh no. I made sure to get you a nice assortment. There are pillar candles in three different sizes, some candles in small square tins, a few twisted tapers, and candles in apothecary jars. They’re all different kinds, too. Some are beeswax candles, a few are honey candles, and some are even soy candles.”
Theodosia touched the candle to her nose. “But unscented.”
“That’s right. I made sure they’re all unscented so they won’t compete with your wonderful tea aromas. And the good thing, the really cool thing, is that they’re all the exact same creamy color. So when you light them and douse your overhead spotlights, you’ll get a nice, warm, even glow.” She waved a hand. “Imagine an elegant little chapel just outside of Paris. No incandescent lights, just flickering candles to illuminate that most contemplative of places where you can say your prayers and offer up a blessing.”
“Wow,” Theodosia said. “I wish you could come tonight and weave that little story to our guests. I think they’d be mesmerized.”
• • •
“Abracadabra,” Theodosia exclaimed as she stepped into the Indigo Tea Shop. “It looks as if you two have worked quite a bit of magic in here.”
Drayton and Haley glanced up from where they were laying out plates and teacups. In Theodosia’s short absence they’d covered the tables with cream-colored French linens, added Belleek Basketweave plates and teacups, and set out Waterford crystal water glasses.
“All our customers took off so we decided to close the tea shop and get cracking,” Drayton said.
“Be honest, Drayton,” Haley said. “You did exert a subtle amount of pressure.”
Drayton straightened up and favored Haley with a mousy grin. “Don’t you know by now that I’m the master of subtle?”
“O
h,” Haley said. “We had a couple of deliveries. The flowers arrived from Floradora. Roses, very pale and creamy, exactly as you requested. They’re in your office, Theo, sitting in big buckets just waiting to be arranged in glass vases.”
“Which I shall attend to as soon as we place these candles on the tables,” Theodosia said. “And what else came?”
“Something that’s all wrapped up and looks like it might be a painting,” Haley said.
“Just one?”
“Were there supposed to be more?”
“I asked for three oil paintings on approval from the Dolce Gallery down the street. Oh bother, I suppose I’ll have to run down there later and see what the problem is.”
“Have fun, kiddies,” Haley said, giving a wave as she twirled away from them. “Because I’ve got to duck back in the kitchen and tend to my cookin’.”
“These are lovely candles,” Drayton said. He’d pulled one of the pillar candles out of the box to admire it. “Mmm, beeswax. The very best kind.” He placed it carefully in the center of a table. “How many candles did you get all told?”
“There should be two dozen,” Theodosia said. “But all different kinds.”
They worked the rest of the afternoon, polishing and primping. Theodosia arranged the roses and then stocked all the shelves of her highboy. As they worked, the aromas drifting out from Haley’s kitchen just kept getting better and better.
Finally, when everything seemed just about perfect, Theodosia pulled three grapevine wreaths off the wall and replaced them with the large oil painting. The painting was of two women from the late eighteen hundreds sitting at an outdoor French café. The lighting was very soft and moody, the surface of the painting covered with tiny cracks.
“That painting looks very elegant in here,” Drayton said. “And you say there were supposed to be a couple more?”
Theodosia adjusted the painting so it hung straight. “They promised me two more. If you don’t mind, I’m going to run down to the Dolce Gallery and see what the holdup is.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Drayton said. “Seeing as how that painting adds a very sophisticated note to our tea shop.”
22
“Mr. Ritter,” Theodosia sang out as she pushed through the front door of the Dolce Gallery. “It’s Theodosia. From the tea shop?”
She dodged around an enormous easel that held an oil painting of Charleston Harbor and gazed around the small shop. The walls were a mosaic of paintings, classic as well as contemporary. Smaller paintings were displayed everywhere. On table easels and hung on half walls that made the small shop look like a Chinese puzzle. Dozens more paintings leaned against each other in antique wooden crates.
“Just the one painting got delivered today and you said that . . .”
Theodosia pulled up short. She’d almost run smack-dab into the back of a tall, well-dressed gentleman who was standing in the tiny gallery, holding a painting at arm’s length and studying it intently.
“Oops, sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t see you,” Theodosia said. “I was looking for . . .”
The man turned around to stare at her. Then a flash of recognition lit his face and his jaw muscles tightened.
Theodosia experienced that same electric flash. “Oh jeez,” she said, a little too loudly. “It’s you. Again.” Robert Steele, CEO of Angel Oak Venture Capital was standing right there in front of her. Then, before she could catch herself, she blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
Steele favored her with a slow, quizzical smile. “I’m considering whether I should buy this painting. But a better question might be, what are you doing here?”
“This is my block. Well, what I mean is, my tea shop is just a couple of doors down.”
Steele studied her. “Your tea shop.”
“That’s right, the Indigo Tea Shop.” She glanced around, saw Mr. Ritter, the owner of the gallery, standing in the back room, talking on his phone.
A slow smile had spread across Steele’s face. “You run a tea shop and you’re an investor?”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Why not?” She had the feeling Steele wanted to put her on the defensive. Well, good luck with that, bub. She wasn’t afraid to stand up to him and dish it right back.
“Did you qualify for your mortgage yet?” Theodosia asked.
Steele’s brows pinched together, indicating that she’d scored a direct hit.
“Now, why would my mortgage be any of your business?” he asked.
Theodosia took a deep breath and decided to go for the jugular. After all, how many chances would she get to confront him?
“Curiously, it is my business,” she said. “I’ve been asked by Doreen Briggs . . . you remember Doreen, don’t you? As I mentioned last night, you were sitting at her head table when her husband, Beau, dropped dead after being poisoned.”
“Excuse me?”
Theodosia waved a hand in the air, as if to casually erase her somewhat inflammatory statement. “But that’s not my point.”
Steele’s face had become a thundercloud. “Then what is?”
“Doreen Briggs would like to have her husband’s investment returned. I’m referring to the seven hundred thousand dollars that Beau handed over to your company, Angel Oak.”
“Wait. What?”
“I think you heard me,” Theodosia said. “Because my request is really quite simple. Doreen would like you to refund her husband’s money.” She bobbled her head from side to side, as if sorting through her words. “Actually, it was Doreen’s money . . . the money that Beau handed over to you. Now she’d like it back.”
“Why are you inquiring about Doreen Briggs’s personal finances?”
“Because Doreen asked me to. As a personal favor. And because Doreen is completely overwhelmed right now. You were at the funeral yesterday morning, Mr. Steele. You saw how she was holding up. About as well as a two-legged stool.”
“And that’s my problem?” Steele asked.
“It is if you don’t refund her investment. Yes, it most certainly would be your problem.”
Steele set down the painting. “That sounds decidedly like a threat.”
“Please try to think of it as a friendly request.”
“Not so friendly,” Steele said.
“I’m afraid that’s your perception.” Goodness, Theodosia thought to herself, this man does like to verbally joust. Was she getting anywhere at all with him? She certainly hoped so.
“I can understand that Doreen might want her investment back,” Steele said. “But papers have been signed.”
“Perhaps they could be unsigned,” Theodosia said.
Steele shook his head slowly. “That would present certain difficulties.”
“I’m sure it would. But I’m positive the right attorney could help us overcome those difficulties.”
“Please don’t . . .”
But Theodosia kept right on talking. “For openers, we could start with the state attorney general.” She shook her hair back and smiled. “Although that might be a bit heavy-handed.”
“I don’t threaten easily,” Steele said.
“It wasn’t intended as a threat,” Theodosia said. “Merely a way to help extricate all parties from what may or may not be a legally binding contract.”
“What’s your game, exactly?” Steele asked. “You say tea shop, but you sound more like a lawyer.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Theodosia said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the law firm Browning and Alston?”
Steele gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“My late father and his brother were the founding partners. My father, God rest his soul, has passed, but my uncle is still very much alive and kicking. I’m sure if I put a bug in his ear he’d be willing to take this case on.”
“Jeremy Alston?” For the first time, Steele l
ooked nervous.
Theodosia smiled sweetly. “That’s right. You might recall that he served as lieutenant governor a decade or so ago? Well, he’s back once again with the law firm. And still very well connected, I might add.”
“I told you, Miss Browning,” Steele said through gritted teeth, “I don’t respond well to threats.”
“And I’m generally not a name-dropper,” she shot back at him. “But if I need to pull out the big guns, I will.”
Steele fixed her with a cold stare.
“Perhaps you could give Doreen a quick call?” Theodosia said. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear from you.” She turned on her heel. “And thank you, Mr. Steele, for your cooperation. Thank you very much.”
• • •
“Where are the paintings?” Drayton asked when Theodosia slipped through the front door.
“Oh, those?” Theodosia said. “I decided we didn’t need them after all.”
Drayton shrugged. “Very well. Oh, Haley and I decided to put out those decorated sugar cubes.”
“The ones by the lady in Savannah? With the tiny flowers and ladybugs?”
“That’s right. And I thought it might be fun to use the silver water pitchers we bought when the Hotel Continental went defunct.”
“Sounds right to me,” Theodosia said.
“You’re in a good mood,” Drayton said.
“I guess I’m just looking forward to tonight.”
“Mmm.”
Theodosia glanced around the tea shop. “Before we change into our evening duds, do you think we should try a test run?”
“Why not?” Drayton said.
They turned off all the lamps, as well as the small overhead chandelier, and then lit the candles. The result was transformative. The Indigo Tea Shop shimmered and glowed like a cottage from the magical village of Brigadoon, come back after a hundred-year respite.
“This is spectacular,” Drayton declared.
Theodosia nodded. “The candles, dinnerware, the linens and things, they really set the mood. I think our guests will be favorably impressed.”
Even Haley came out to see the special effects they’d wrought. She let out a low whistle. “Wow. It’s like a really cool dance club or something.”