Shades of Earl Grey

by Laura Childs

  As if the death of Captain Buchanan wasn’t enough of a tragedy, the issue of the missing ring had also been a sore point. She’d been informed by one of the Buchanans that they had been in contact with the Charleston Police Department and were awaiting a complete report on the accident.

  Thank goodness the entire Buchanan clan seemed to believe the whole thing had been an accident! Delaine thought to herself. A tragic accident that could be chalked up to an old greenhouse and an unfortunate lightning strike.

  But the whole time she’d been in Savannah, the conversation she’d had with Drayton and Theodosia had spun hopelessly about in her head, playing like an endless loop on a VCR. She recalled their hunch, their supposition, that someone could have come crashing through the old greenhouse roof and landed squarely atop Captain Buchanan’s head.

  There were about a million times during the visitation, the funeral service, and the sad reception afterward when she felt she’d simply burst with this knowledge. There were a thousand times when she thought she should just sit down and share these terrible suspicions with Captain Buchanan’s family.

  But then what?

  Then she’d have to prove everything. Maybe they’d even expect her to try to find the person responsible. And bring them to justice!

  Delaine touched her right hand to her temple as if the very thought was enough to trigger a migraine.

  She couldn’t resolve any of this mess. Of course not. There was no way she could ever accomplish that type of Herculean task.

  But Delaine had the proverbial ace in the hole. Theodosia and Drayton had searched high and low for the missing wedding ring and, in so doing, had become intrigued by the mystery of its disappearance.

  Especially Theodosia. She had an adventuresome heart and a fearless soul, Delaine reminded herself. And Theodosia commanded the ear of Burt Tidwell, one of Charleston’s finest detectives!

  Thank goodness!

  Tidwell, bless his snoopy, inquisitive little heart, had stopped by her shop this morning. Early, just after she’d first arrived, before she could even steam the wrinkles from that new line of hand-knit sweater jackets and get them out on the floor. Tidwell had pussyfooted around a bit, asking her this and that. Inquiring whether she remembered anything unusual, asking about any strangers hanging around that terrible night, and did she know the waiters who had worked the party?

  Of course she hadn’t. But Tidwell’s probing had stirred in her a germ of an idea. And given her a ray of hope.

  If Theodosia had been guardedly persuasive in her argument about a possible intruder—and now Burt Tidwell was snooping around—then there must be something to it!

  Of course, Theodosia was completely convinced that Burt Tidwell hated her. That Tidwell regarded her as a bit of an airhead.

  Delaine knew that nothing could be further from the truth. She’d seen the way Burt Tidwell looked at Theodosia Browning.

  Not because he had any silly romantic notions. Oh no. Absolutely not. Burt Tidwell was far too professional for that. But Tidwell did admire Theodosia, did respect her thoughts and opinions. Valued her keen intelligence and remarkable intuition.

  Which meant Burt Tidwell might just go out of his way to help her.

  Delaine clutched her buttercup yellow cashmere cardigan around her as though it were protective garb. No, she couldn’t venture to dream of getting to the bottom of this all by herself. But if she enlisted Theodosia’s aid, really encouraged her to keep investigating, then . . . then she just might have a fighting chance.

  “Delaine, you’re back from the funeral.” Haley stood holding a green Staffordshire teapot, pouring a stream of amber tea into white take-out cups.

  Delaine smiled a sad smile, touched a delicately manicured finger to her lips in a gesture that said shoosh. Then, choosing the small table closest to the counter, she slid quietly into a chair. “I don’t really want to talk about it with everyone in the place,” she told Haley. “I’m keeping a low profile for now.”

  “Theodosia and Drayton have been worried about you,” continued Haley. “We all have.” Gee, Haley thought to herself, this is one bristly lady when she wants to be. And what’s this low-profile stuff? Delaine has never kept a low profile in her life!

  “But I would like to speak with Theo and Drayton,” she told Haley. Delaine glanced down at the bare wooden table as though she expected to find a teacup, linen napkin, and silverware all set up for her. “Just a cup of black tea this morning, dear. Irish breakfast tea.”

  “Sure thing,” said Haley.

  “How was the funeral?” asked Theodosia. Sitting in her office, she had heard Delaine’s voice and immediately come out to speak with her.

  Delaine plucked a handkerchief from her leather bag and daubed at her eyes. “Heartbreaking. Captain Buchanan’s mother and sisters never stopped crying for one instant.”

  “Oh, no,” said Theodosia as she slipped into the chair across from Delaine.

  “At the church, they had poor Captain Corey’s casket covered with an American flag and a military honor guard standing by. The service was very somber, of course, and his brother read a poem by Walt Whitman. I think it was In Paths Untrodden. Afterwards, the honor guard escorted the casket out of the church to the cemetery. After the minister said his final words, they fired a twenty-one-gun salute. Then a lone bugler played taps. Such a mournful sound.”

  Theodosia nodded. On the few occasions she’d attended military funerals, the playing of taps at the end had always seemed so sad and lonely. The bugler’s haunting notes a signal that the service was over, the deceased committed to the earth for eternity.

  “What’s Camille going to do now?” asked Haley.

  Delaine glanced down at her wrist nervously and Theodosia noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual jewel-encrusted Chopard watch. Probably left it at home for the funeral. Too showy.

  “She’s going to stay in Savannah for a while,” said Delaine. “Captain Corey’s sister, Lindsey Buchanan, runs a travel agency and Camille is going to work for her.”

  “That’s nice,” said Theodosia.

  “It will give everyone a chance to heal,” said Delaine. “Hopefully.” Delaine reached for her teacup, finally took a sip of tea. “So sad,” she murmured. “I was going through a few things at my shop late yesterday afternoon, after I got back. And I came across Camille’s wedding veil.” Tears welled up in Delaine’s eyes and threatened to spill down her flawless pink cheeks. “The base of the veil was this tiny little feathery cap, like something a ballerina might wear if she were going to dance Swan Lake. So pretty and feminine, with just a bit of dainty lace in front.”

  “When did you get back from Savannah?” asked Theodosia, eager to guide Delaine to a more neutral and less heart-wrenching subject.

  “Yesterday. Early afternoon,” said Delaine. “I went to the store because we had a big shipment coming in. But then I couldn’t seem to get my head back into it.”

  “That’s understandable,” said Theodosia. “You’re still in shock. Still in mourning.”

  “I just let Janine tend to things,” explained Delaine. Janine was her sales assistant who’d been with her for quite a few years. “I went out and took a walk. I ended up over at Heart’s Desire, talking to Brooke and Aerin.”

  “Those two were in here yesterday,” said Haley. “Very nice ladies.”

  “You know,” said Delaine with careful deliberation, “they are saying there’s a cat burglar at work.”

  “Who’s they?” asked Theodosia. “Brooke and Aerin?”

  “Not exactly,” said Delaine evasively. “But everyone up and down the length of Church Street seems to have mentioned it in one way or another. And Brooke and Aerin are both scared to death their shop might be targeted.”

  “Yes, I know she’s concerned,” said Theodosia, recalling her conversation with Brooke yesterday.

  “You know,” Delaine added, “their vault is just overflowing with valuable estate jewelry. Brooke confided to me that she
just received a shipment of fire opals from Brazil. And she’s also a master goldsmith, so she plans to set them in eighteen-karat gold. Won’t that make for an absolutely stunning necklace? Fire opals and gold? With matching earrings as well?”

  “Delaine, maybe you shouldn’t be talking about this,” Theodosia cautioned.

  “I’m only telling you,” replied Delaine peevishly. “It’s not like I’m dashing about the entire historic district telling everyone I run into!”

  No, Theodosia thought to herself, but you could let this information slip to someone like Cooper Hobcaw. And that might not be the most prudent thing right now.

  The fax machine on the counter next to them suddenly beeped sharply.

  Startled, Delaine jumped at the intrusion, then put a hand to her heart. “What was that?” she asked.

  “Lunch orders,” announced Haley, who headed for the counter, suddenly all business.

  “Listen, Theo,” said Delaine, now that the two of them were alone. “Remember what we talked about a few days ago? The cat burglar?”

  Theodosia nodded.

  “Now I am convinced that you were right.” Delaine peered at Theodosia, her green eyes sparkling with intensity.

  “What changed your mind?” asked Theodosia. She was curious whether Delaine was having an emotional reaction after the funeral or if she’d actually obtained some useful information.

  “If there isn’t a cat burglar at work, why would everyone be talking about it? And why would Detective Tidwell have been at my shop this morning?” There, thought Delaine with satisfaction, that will certainly throw open this whole mess now.

  “Tidwell came to your shop?” said Theodosia. This was an interesting turn of events.

  “Indeed, he did,” cooed Delaine. “And, I daresay, the ordeal was quite upsetting.”

  “Why was that, Delaine?” Theodosia tried to manage a note of sympathy even though her curiosity was at a fever pitch.

  “Well, Tidwell played it very close to the vest, of course,” replied Delaine. “You know how absolutely maddening the man is. He said he wasn’t investigating per se, merely poking around, looking at things. But I got the very distinct impression that Detective Tidwell shares your sentiment. He does not view Captain Buchanan’s death at the Lady Goodwood as an accident!”

  Fascinated, Theodosia waited for Delaine to continue.

  “You see,” said Delaine, “he inquired about the waiters. ”

  So Tidwell has taken me seriously, thought Theodosia. But the waiters, that was an angle I hadn’t considered.

  “Delaine, what did Detective Tidwell want to know about waiters?” said Theodosia.

  “Oh, he wanted to know who I’d hired to work at the reception, serving champagne and such. But of course, I told him the folks at the Lady Goodwood had taken care of all that. They’d hired the waiters.”

  “Did he ask about specific waiters, Delaine?”

  “Not really. He just rattled off some names.” Delaine dug in her purse. “I wrote down their names, though. It seemed like the right thing to do.” She pulled out a scrawled list on a sheet of Cotton Duck stationery. “I guess not all of the waiters were working at the engagement party, but they were all on the premises that night. There was another function going on in the dining room. A sales meeting or something. For some computer company.”

  Theodosia scanned the list of names. There wasn’t one she recognized.

  “Can I keep this list, Delaine?”

  “Well . . . I don’t suppose it would hurt if you made a copy of it.”

  “Great,” said Theodosia. “Be right back.”

  At the counter she literally bumped into Drayton, who had just let himself into the tea shop via the back door.

  “I’ve got Hattie Boatwright working on the most delightful centerpiece for tomorrow,” he told her excitedly. “It’s part Japanese ikebana, part Southern luxe. That lady really has exceptional talent. Now if I could just convince her to join our bonsai group, I think she’d be a natural.”

  “I thought the whole idea of bonsai was that they weren’t natural,” quipped Haley as she emerged from the kitchen. “Stunted trees twisted into bizarre shapes and forced to live in tiny pots. What’s natural about that?”

  “It’s a highly evolved art form,” argued Drayton. “One that’s been around for more than a thousand years. The style and context of bonsai are highly representational.”

  “Well, they’re cute little things anyway,” allowed Haley. She paused to watch Theodosia slide Delaine’s list into the fax machine. “Are you trying to make a copy?” she asked.

  Theodosia nodded.

  “You have to hit the function button first, then press copy. Here, I’ll do it.” Haley’s slim fingers flew over the keys and the piece of paper began to feed through.

  “Tidwell asked Delaine about the waiters who worked at the Lady Goodwood the night of the engagement party,” explained Theodosia. “Apparently he shared this list of names with her in the hope that something might pop out.”

  “You don’t say,” said Drayton as he watched a grayish page emerge from the bottom of the fax machine and slide into the waiting tray. But as he glanced at the list, his look of mild interest suddenly changed to one of alarm.

  “I recognize a name on this list,” he said quietly so Delaine wouldn’t overhear.

  “No way,” said Haley.

  Drayton slid his finger halfway down the list as Theodosia and Haley crowded in closer. “There. Graham Carmody. I think he might have been a waiter at the Heritage Society that night.”

  “That night?” asked Haley excitedly. “You mean last Saturday night when that fancy necklace disappeared?”

  Drayton nodded gravely.

  “You really think so?” said Theodosia. She was a little surprised that something had even come of Tidwell’s list.

  “I’m positive it was this fellow,” said Drayton. “In fact, I think he was the one I asked to fetch a drink for Delaine.”

  “Did she ever get her drink?” asked Theodosia.

  Drayton scratched his head. “I honestly don’t recall.”

  Lunch was a rush again. They had a full house, then a gaggle of tourists who’d just been dropped off by one of the sightseeing jitneys came pouring in right in the middle of things. Because there weren’t enough tables available, Haley had to pack up box lunches for the dozen or so tourists to carry to nearby White Point Gardens.

  Delaine hung around for a while, looking alternately morose and sweetly sad, then finally wandered off after consuming a luncheon plate of chicken salad and marinated cucumbers.

  And all the while Theodosia fretted. As if Cooper Hobcaw and Claire Kitridge didn’t look suspicious enough, what about this waiter, Graham Carmody? He’d attended both functions! The engagement party and the Heritage Society’s member’s-only party. Well, not attended as a guest, but he’d been working there. Which gave him far more freedom and latitude than an ordinary guest. After all, a waiter could slip in and out and no one would really pay him any undue attention. Waiters were even supposed to be a trifle surreptitious, she decided.

  In the early afternoon, the antique secretary that Drayton had ordered from Tom Wigley’s antique shop was delivered and everyone crowded around to ooh and aah. It was a handsome piece, just as Drayton had promised. Hand-crafted of a lovely burled walnut with a fine array of shelves, nooks, and cubby holes. Theodosia decided it would make a perfect display case for the T-Bath products.

  “And it doesn’t take up a lot of space,” said Haley, pleased with their new acquisition. “I won’t be bumping my keester every time I lug a tray of tea to somebody’s table.”

  “Haley,” said Drayton, “if your attitude is such that you’re merely lugging trays of tea, perhaps the time has come to investigate a new career path.”

  “All right, smarty, you know what I mean,” she shot back. “I just meant that the secretary was an economical piece of furniture. It doesn’t stick way out into the room.” She gav
e an exaggerated frown and shook her finger at Drayton. She knew that he knew exactly what she meant.

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Miss Dimple as she arrived with an armload of ledger books. “Every time I stop by, you folks have something new going on.”

  “Hey there, Miss Dimple,” called Haley. “I’ve got one plate of chicken salad left. It’s got your name on it.”

  “Thank you, Haley,” said the small, rotund woman. “Chicken salad sounds delightful.”

  “And maybe a muffin to go along?” tempted Haley. “We’ve got cranberry and orange blossom today.”

  “Orange blossom,” announced Miss Dimple.

  “Oh, Miss Dimple,” said Theodosia, “you’re going to have to sit out here today. My office is not only crammed with boxes, we’re going to have to start unpacking and hauling things out.”

  “That’s right,” said Miss Dimple, settling herself down at a vacant table. “Your T-Bath products. I’ve heard so much about these products, I can’t wait to try them for myself. There’s nothing more rewarding for the soul than a good soak.”

  “You’re coming tomorrow, right?” asked Haley as she set the chicken salad and muffin down in front of her.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “Jessica Sheldon from Pinckney’s Gifts is planning to stop by, too.”

  “Good,” said Theodosia. She gazed at the ledgers. “So everything’s tallied and balanced?”

  Miss Dimple put a chubby hand on one of the ledgers as she chewed a bite of chicken salad. She swallowed, cleared her throat, was suddenly all business. “Shipshape,” she told Theodosia. “Profits are up and the only debt you’re carrying is for the manufacture and production of the T-Bath products. As we’ve seen, they did extremely well when you test-marketed them on your web site, so there’s no reason to believe they won’t do just as well in a retail setting.” And with that bit of good news delivered, Miss Dimple dove back into her chicken salad.