Shades of Earl Grey

by Laura Childs

  “Oh, my,” said Theodosia, “this is very impressive. You and Timothy and the rest of the crew have worked absolute wonders.”

  “Tasty pickings, no?” said Drayton. “And look over here.” He guided Theodosia to a fall-front mahogany Chippendale desk that was lit from above by pinpoint spotlights. On it sat a collection of antique desk ware—a silver inkwell and matching pen, an ornate French clock of gilded bronze, a silver snuffbox. Propped in front of those accouterments was a bound leather stamp album and displayed on a tiny glass pedestal next to it was the one-cent Z grill stamp. In the dim room, with just the lights from above, the blue stamp with the somewhat stern portrait of founding father Benjamin Franklin did look rather tantalizing. Especially in light of the rather boastful write-up it had received.

  Theodosia’s mouth twitched in a grin. “It’s perfect,” she declared.

  “Does it look like bait?” asked Drayton under his breath.

  Theodosia nodded. “I’m itching to grab it myself.”

  Reaching into the pocket of his gray wool suit, Drayton pulled out an antique pocket watch. “Eight o’clock on the noggin,” he said. “So everything is in place for our little game?”

  “Jory Davis is stationed outside Claire Kitridge’s house even as we speak,” said Theodosia. “Jory’s got his cell phone, so he’ll call and let us know if anything’s going on. We don’t expect Claire to show up here tonight, but if she does leave her house and heads for the Heritage Society . . . or anywhere, for that matter . . . we’ll be the first to know.”

  “Outstanding,” said Drayton. He gazed about the room, let his gray eyes settle once again on the display case that held the rare postage stamp. “Well,” he said. “We know that Graham Carmody is here tonight—”

  “You’ve seen him?” interrupted Theodosia. “You’re sure he’s here?”

  Drayton nodded. “Last I peeked he was restocking crackers and tidbits of cheese at the buffet table.”

  “And we know Cooper Hobcaw is here because we just saw him with Delaine.”

  “Right,” said Drayton. “So . . . we’ve got all our bases covered.”

  “We hope they’re covered,” said Theodosia as her cell phone beeped from inside her beaded evening bag.

  She fished the phone out and pushed the receive button. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

  “It’s Jory,” Theodosia whispered to Drayton. “You’re still at Claire Kitridge’s house?” she asked with a shiver of anticipation.

  “Not exactly,” replied Jory. “Claire came out of her house about twenty minutes ago and jumped in her car.”

  “She’s headed here!” cried Theodosia.

  “No,” said Jory, chuckling. “I tailed her for a couple miles until she pulled into some church parking lot. The Divine Redeemer, I think it was. Anyway, I think Claire’s in there with some women’s tatting group.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t sneak out the back?” asked Theodosia.

  “Her car’s still here.”

  Theodosia suddenly felt deflated. She’d been sure that if Claire was on the move, she’d be heading for the Heritage Society. “You’re positive she’s still inside?” she asked, disappointment in her voice.

  “Yes, I’m sure she’s in there,” said Jory. “There’s lacy stuff spread out all over the place.”

  Theodosia slid her cell phone back into her purse and looked around for Drayton. He seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but Timothy Neville was standing nearby, giving a glowing history of the Napoleon French Empire card table to a young couple.

  “Timothy,” she called.

  Timothy excused himself and came over to Theodosia.

  “Everything looks wonderful,” she told him.

  “Appearances are so deceptive, are they not?” he said as he pulled a letter from his jacket pocket. “Because things are not wonderful in the least.”

  “Timothy, what’s wrong?” asked Theodosia.

  “I received an envelope via messenger a few minutes ago. From Claire Kitridge.” He handed the envelope to Theodosia. “Perhaps you’d like to see for yourself.”

  Theodosia flipped open the envelope. Inside a folded letter was a faded photograph, a black-and-white photo of two women standing in front of what looked to be a car from the early sixties. Big hood ornament, fins on the rear fenders. Theodosia continued to study the photo carefully.

  “Oh no,” she said finally.

  “Oh yes,” said Timothy.

  Theodosia stared into Timothy’s old face and saw sadness. “She’s wearing the antique brooch,” said Theodosia.

  “In a photo that appears to have some age on it,” added Timothy.

  “So this is pretty much proof positive that the brooch did belong to Claire Kitridge.”

  “Read the letter. She states how the brooch has been in her family for quite some time. Passed down from her great-aunt.”

  “This still doesn’t explain why Delaine’s watch was found in her desk drawer, but it certainly clears her on the rumor of possibly selling stolen goods,” said Theodosia slowly. She bit her lip. Still . . . this was not good. Not good at all. A lot of people had jumped to conclusions and now Claire Kitridge was left to pay the price. Feeling a bit sheepish, she decided she’d have to call Jory immediately and tell him to abandon his vigil at the church.

  “I should never have listened to the executive committee,” lamented Timothy. “I feel totally responsible for this.”

  “It’s not your fault, really,” said Theodosia. “A lot of us jumped to conclusions.”

  Timothy continued to look unhappy.

  “Do you think you could persuade Claire to return to her job at the Heritage Society?” asked Theodosia. “Once this watch business is cleared up?”

  Timothy shrugged. “Claire may still be upset and feel that unfair accusations will always be hanging over her head.”

  “Then what?” asked Theodosia.

  “Then it’s our profound loss,” said Timothy.

  Two hours rolled by and still nothing happened. Graham Carmody and the rest of the waiters began packing up all the dirty serving platters and leftover food and carried everything out to a white caterer’s van that said BUTLER’S EXPRESS on the side. Now, as Theodosia and Drayton peered out the window at Graham Carmody, he was standing in a puddle of light with two other waiters, smoking a cigarette.

  Theodosia made a quick appraisal of him. His tie was loosened, his shock of ginger-colored hair slightly disheveled, and he seemed tired. In fact, Graham Carmody didn’t look at all like a professional cat burglar who was biding his time, poised to strike. He looked like a slightly pooped waiter who was about to go home, put his feet up, and catch the late-night headlines on CNN.

  “You think he’s going to make a move?” asked Drayton hopefully.

  “Are you kidding? The man looks like he’s barely able to move,” said Theodosia.

  Drayton yawned. “I know the feeling.”

  “What a washout,” said Theodosia. “I was sure something was going to pop tonight.”

  “Let’s go back and check the two galleries,” said Drayton. “Make sure.”

  “Okay,” agreed Theodosia.

  On their way back through the kitchen and down the hallway, they ran into Delaine and Cooper Hobcaw. Delaine was still flitting about like a social butterfly, chitchat-ting with guests, bragging about ticket sales, but Cooper Hobcaw looked as if he was ready to pack it in for the evening.

  “Having fun?” Theodosia asked him.

  Cooper Hobcaw stifled a yawn. “I’m out on my feet and Delaine here is still going strong.”

  “No jogging tonight?” said Theodosia.

  “No nothing tonight,” he told her.

  Timothy was suddenly at Theodosia’s side, touching her arm. Pulling her aside, he cast a glance about. When he was sure no one would overhear their conversation, he spoke.

  “That waiter you had suspicions about?” said Timothy
.

  “I spoke with him just a few moments ago. He was telling me how much he enjoyed the Treasures Show. It seems he’s an amateur antique dealer himself. Spends every free moment scouring estate sales and flea markets for various items.”

  “Yes . . .” said Theodosia, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Then he sells them on the Internet,” said Timothy.

  “Graham Carmody told you this?” asked Theodosia.

  “Yes,” said Timothy. “He mentioned that he used to have a booth in one of the North Charleston antique malls, but now he does far better selling his finds on the Internet auction sites.”

  Oh, lord, thought Theodosia. Did we leap to conclusions about Graham Carmody, too?

  “Did you mention this to Drayton?”

  Timothy nodded. “Yes, I just spoke to him.” He cast a quick glance over Theodosia’s shoulder. “Here he is now.”

  “So Timothy’s told you?” asked Drayton. “About Graham Carmody?”

  “Afraid so,” said Theodosia.

  The three of them drew deep breaths and stared at each other for a few moments.

  “Let’s look at the positive side,” said Theodosia. “We’ve just eliminated Claire Kitridge and Graham Carmody as suspects.”

  “At least for tonight,” added Drayton. “I suppose any one of them could still be our thief.” If anyone could sound down but still hopeful, it was Drayton.

  “What about this Cooper Hobcaw fellow?” asked Timothy. “You were so suspicious of his late-night jogs.”

  “Cooper Hobcaw didn’t even seem to notice any of the objects,” said Drayton. “He just followed Delaine around with a slightly morose look on his face.” Drayton looked about quickly. “If you ask me, Hobcaw’s not as charmed by Delaine as he once was.”

  “Maybe, just maybe,” said Theodosia, “our cat burglar decided it was far too risky to hit the Heritage Society a second time.”

  “Maybe,” said Drayton, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Thank God,” said Timothy, relief apparent on his face.

  Theodosia reached for the old man’s hand. “Timothy,” she said, “thank you for letting us set this up tonight. I know you took a terrible risk.”

  “Theodosia,” Timothy replied, his eyes bright with intensity, “if you can do anything, and I do mean anything to help get the Blue Kashmir necklace returned, I will be forever grateful.”

  It was eleven o’clock by the time Theodosia made her way upstairs to her apartment above the Indigo Tea Shop. She’d talked with Jory Davis on her cell phone one last time, thanked him profusely for keeping tabs on Claire Kitridge, then bid him good night.

  She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and pushed her way into her kitchen before realization dawned that she’d forgotten to swing by Haley’s apartment to pick up Earl Grey.

  “Oh rats,” she said out loud, then stopped suddenly in her tracks.

  Did I leave the light on in the dining room?

  She thought she’d turned everything off except for the little light over the kitchen sink. That light was still on, winking at her. But there was a definite glow coming from beneath the door that led to the dining room.

  Okay, then. Maybe Haley already let Earl Grey in. And he’s in there now, curled up on his bed. Or on the couch. That hadn’t been part of their plan, but with Haley, who knew what could happen? She was like a miniature sidewinder, always going off in different directions.

  Well, decided Theodosia, only one way to find out.

  Her heart pounding mildly, she pushed open the swinging door that led from the kitchen to her dining room and stepped gingerly into the room.

  Every light in the dining room and adjacent living room was on! The cut glass chandelier hanging above the polished oak dining table blazed brightly.

  And there, in the dead center of her dining room table, sat a tea caddy!

  Theodosia stared at it, barely daring to breathe. The mild pounding in her chest suddenly accelerated to double time.

  Is that the tea caddy that was stolen two days ago from the Hall-Barnett House? she wondered. She stared at the highly polished tortoiseshell. Has to be.

  What is it doing here? Better yet, how did it get here?

  Figure all that out later, her brain suddenly flashed. Just get out! And get out now!

  Theodosia whipped down the stairway, made a mad dash across the cobble stone alley, and pounded on the door of Haley’s small garden apartment. Theodosia could see that a light was still on and she could hear faint music.

  “Haley, let me in!” Theodosia called.

  “Is that you, Theo?” came Haley’s voice from the other side of the door.

  “It’s me,” Theodosia answered. “Open up. Hurry!”

  “Oh, hi,” called Haley as the lock was unlatched and the chain unhooked from the door. The door swung open inward and Haley appeared, dressed in pajamas and fluffy slippers. “Come for your good dog, I suppose . . .” began Haley. Then she stopped, her smile frozen in place as she caught the look of fear and utter confusion on her dear friend and employer’s face.

  “Theodosia,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Remember that sleepover we talked about?”

  Haley nodded.

  “This is it. Someone’s been inside my apartment.”

  “They broke in?” Haley asked, horrified, as she grabbed Theodosia by the arm and pulled her quickly inside.

  “I . . . I think maybe the lock might have been picked,” said Theodosia.

  “Oh my god, we’ve got to call the police!” exclaimed Haley as she threw her apartment door closed, quickly turned the dead bolt, and scrambled to refasten the chain.

  Theodosia watched as Haley dove for the phone. I’m in a mild state of shock, Theodosia decided. Things seem a little hazy and it feels like everything’s happening in slow motion. She shook her head, tried to clear her brain.

  “Do you remember the note that someone left yesterday morning?” Theodosia finally asked Haley.

  “The twinkle twinkle little bat note?” said Haley. She stood, poised, ready to dial 911.

  “I think it might have been the same person,” said Theodosia. “Only this time they didn’t leave a note. They left a tea caddy.”

  “What?” exclaimed Haley. She put a hand to her forehead in a gesture of incredulousness. “The one that . . . ?”

  Theodosia pumped her head in agreement. “I think it’s the exact same tea caddy that was stolen from the Hall-Barnett House.”

  “Wow,” breathed Haley and her eyes were round as saucers. “This whole thing is getting very, very weird.”

  CHAPTER 23

  THE KNOB RATTLED, then pounding sounded on the door of the Indigo Tea Shop. “Are you open?” called a voice from outside. “Can we come in for tea?”

  Drayton went to the door, peered through the leaded pane at the little group of visitors that stood on the doorstep.

  “I’m sorry,” he told them. “We’re closed today.” He glanced over at Theodosia, who sat sprawled at the table nearest the little stone fireplace. The lights were on, a tea kettle was whistling and bubbling, but they were most definitely closed. He also had the distinct feeling that if these strange events didn’t come to a head sometime soon, they might be closed for a few more days.

  Last night had been a nightmare for Theodosia. The police had shown up and scouted through her apartment looking for signs of a forced entry. They had found none.

  They’d been equally puzzled over the mysteriously appearing tea caddy that sat on her dining room table. Halfheartedly accepting Theodosia’s story that it had been stolen earlier, they’d checked back with headquarters at her urging and confirmed that, yes, indeed, a tea caddy fitting that same general description had disappeared some two days earlier from the historic Hall-Barnett House.

  Theodosia had been at a loss to explain the sudden appearance of the tea caddy in her home and the police hadn’t pressed her for details. Just took the tea caddy into their poss
ession and requested that she sign a receipt acknowledging their removing it as evidence.

  She and Earl Grey had spent a restless night at Haley’s. And first thing this morning, Theodosia had given Drayton a call. It had been his suggestion that they meet at the Indigo Tea Shop and try to figure out a next step.

  “Did you call Jory about this?” Drayton demanded as he poured a cup of Assam for Theodosia.

  “No, I didn’t want to worry him,” said Theodosia.

  “That’s precisely why you should call him,” responded Drayton. “Because he will undoubtedly be very worried about you.”

  “I know,” she said, taking a sip of the hot tea, letting the sweet, slightly malty flavor refresh and revive her. “Gosh, this is good. Really hits the spot.”

  “Towkok Estate,” Drayton told her. “I thought we deserved to treat ourselves, today of all days.”

  Drayton knelt down, constructed a little pile of kindling in the fireplace, struck a match to it, and fanned the flames briskly. Once the kindling was crackling nicely, he added a couple of medium-sized logs to the fire.

  “Drayton,” said Theodosia, “I think that tea caddy was meant as another taunt.”

  He stood up, looking remarkably poised, and pocketed the matches. “I’m sure it was.”

  Theodosia peered at him anxiously. “Is it someone close to us?”

  Drayton frowned. “Hard to say,” he said, staring into the fireplace. “Maybe we miscalculated with the stamp,” he said finally.

  “What do you mean?” asked Theodosia.

  Drayton rocked back on his heels, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, jingled his change. “Not enough of a lure?” He pulled his hands from his pockets, fidgeted some more. “To be perfectly honest, this whole charade made me extremely nervous. And people did ask a lot more questions than I thought they would last night. I felt like I had to keep explaining things.”