by Laura Childs
“You’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Who should I talk to, then?” Glass asked. “Meredith Doyle?”
His words stopped Theodosia cold. “No,” she said sharply. “You leave Meredith alone. She’s got enough problems without you badgering her.”
“You mean because she’s one of the suspects?”
“Why on earth would you think that?” Theodosia tried to keep her voice perfectly neutral.
Glass’s smile was smarmy and self-assured. “I have my sources.”
Theodosia didn’t want to waste precious time verbally jousting with Bill Glass, so she poured him a take-out cup of Darjeeling and placed a lemon scone in a waxed paper bag.
“Here,” she said, shoving everything into his hands. “A takeaway tea party. Have fun. Enjoy.”
“Is this a subtle way of asking me to leave?” Glass opened the bag and took a big bite out of his scone. “Oh yeah, tasty.”
“I’m afraid we’re frantically busy and have to prepare for an event tea. So, yes, kindly leave us to our mania,” Theodosia said. She was firm with Glass but not unkind.
“Okay, tea lady, but I’ll be back,” Glass said. His mouth was so crammed full of pastry it sounded like, I’ll buh buk. In fact, he was still chewing vigorously as he strolled toward the front door.
Theodosia watched as Glass pulled open the door, cried, “Whoops!” and did a comical sideways maneuver to allow a messenger carrying a ginormous cardboard box to step through the doorway.
“Wow,” Glass called back to her. “Looks like you guys got some kind of supersized delivery.” He waved. “Okay, see ya.” Nobody waved back.
Theodosia was happy to see that her rented costumes from Big Top Costumes over on Fulton Street had arrived.
“Whatcha got?” Miss Dimple asked as Theodosia tipped the messenger then muscled the large box onto the counter.
“Our costumes are here,” Theodosia said. Thank goodness.
“Is there one in there for me?”
Theodosia opened the box and pulled out a canary yellow dress with puffed sleeves and a flouncy, ruffled skirt. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to Miss Dimple. Her hand dipped back into the box. “Oh, and a fan to go along with it.”
“What if the dress doesn’t fit?” Miss Dimple stage-whispered. “I don’t exactly have my girlish figure anymore.”
“The dresses all lace in back,” Theodosia said.
“Thanks be praised.”
A second later, Haley was also there, sniffing around. Haley loved a good theme party as much as the next guy.
“Got a costume for me, too?” Haley asked.
Theodosia pulled out a peach-colored dress and passed it to Haley. “How about this one?”
“Fab,” Haley said as she held her costume against her and smiled.
Theodosia glanced at Drayton, who’d been suspiciously quiet. “We’ve got a costume for you, too, Drayton.”
Drayton frowned. “Great Caesar’s ghost, you don’t expect me to wear a costume, do you? What if I spilled tea on it? What if I . . . ?”
“Get with the program, Drayton,” Haley said. “We’re all wearing costumes.” Sweet little Haley could be a stickler for order, a little martinet issuing commands, when she wanted to be.
“I’d feel foolish,” Drayton said.
Haley laughed. “Good grief, Drayton, it’s only a tie and tails. It’s not like we’re asking you to strip to your skivvies and put on a bright-yellow SpongeBob costume or something.”
“SpongeBob?” Drayton said. “What is . . . ?”
“Aw, forget it,” Haley said.
Drayton poked a finger in her direction. “Gotcha.”
* * *
* * *
Once their morning customers had departed, everyone buckled down to make sure the tea room was perfect for lunch. Tables were draped in white linen tablecloths, shawls were placed artfully across the backs of chairs, and table centerpieces consisting of pots of magnolias, lace fans, diamond earbobs (faux, of course), and copies of Gone with the Wind were added to the tables.
Theodosia selected silver candelabras and added white tapers, then chose Chelsea Garden dinnerware by Spode and Gorham Buttercup sterling flatware to add even more Southern grace to their tables. She always tried to create the perfect tea shop experience for her guests. In Theodosia’s mind, teatime wasn’t a luxury at all, but a basic requirement for both body and soul.
Moments later, amid raucous laughter and a few groans, they all slithered into their costumes. Theodosia ended up wearing a green-and-white dress, similar to the one Scarlett O’Hara wore to the Twelve Oaks barbecue, Haley looked splendid in her pink dress, Miss Dimple was the picture of a fine Peachtree Street doyenne, and Drayton wore his tie and tails like a true Charleston gentleman.
As the pièce de résistance, a life-size cutout of Rhett Butler was placed near the front door.
“Stand over there next to Rhett,” Haley instructed Drayton. “I want to get a picture of the two of you.”
“There’s a top hat here, too,” Theodosia said, pulling a hat from the bottom of the box.
Drayton put it on obediently, then stood next to Rhett and draped an arm over his cardboard shoulder.
“Hurry up and take the picture,” Drayton begged. He was fast losing his good humor.
“Just one more,” Haley said, adjusting her camera phone. “Smile now. I want to make sure I get a really good shot of you guys to post on our Facebook page.”
Drayton’s smile turned to absolute shock. “Post on our . . . Wait! . . . What?”
10
After considerable coaching and kibitzing from Theodosia, Haley, and Miss Dimple, Drayton stood at the front door greeting their guests with “Good morning, ladies,” as he tipped his hat and gave a roguish wink.
Theodosia smiled, checked off guests’ names from her list, then led them to the appropriate tables, where Miss Dimple hovered with steaming pots of tea. The guests had come for tea, and by golly, she was going to make sure they were served their tea—fresh and hot and aromatic.
Theodosia greeted Brooke Carter Crockett, the owner of Hearts Desire Jewelers, as well as Maggie Twining, her Realtor, and Angie Congdon from the Featherbed House B and B down the block. Then another dozen of her regulars showed up—Jill and her daughter Kristen, as well as their friends Linda and Judi and Jessica.
Finally, when almost all the guests were seated and the Indigo Tea Shop buzzed with excitement and friendly conversation, Meredith and Fawn arrived.
They weren’t exactly garbed in old-fashioned mourning clothes, but they were wearing dark tailored clothing, and their demeanor was fairly subdued as Theodosia led them to a table for two near the window that looked out upon Church Street. She hoped this lovely view would help lift their spirits.
“Thank you,” Meredith said as she took her seat. “I’m praying this tea party will be a welcome prescription for us. A quiet respite in what’s been a horrid couple of days.” She smiled faintly at Fawn, who nodded obediently.
“Is there any news?” Theodosia asked. “Anything at all?” She told herself she wasn’t prying; she was simply curious. Especially after Guy Thorne’s shocking revelation last night, coupled with the argument she’d overheard outside the Lady Goodwood’s solarium.
Meredith smoothed her skirt and pursed her lips. “Perhaps,” she said.
“Tell her,” Fawn urged. “Tell Theodosia what’s going on. You asked for her help, practically begged her. Now you’ve got to keep her in the loop.”
“What’s going on?” Theodosia asked. Something happened?
Fawn shot a meaningful look at Meredith, who still seemed reluctant to say anything.
“Then I’ll tell her,” Fawn said. She gazed at Theodosia with a determined expression on her normally placid face and pushed back a hank of curly brown hair. “As of this morning, Sheriff Burney is officially investigating Jack Grimes, the caretaker.”
You could have knocked Theodosia ove
r with a feather.
“Jack Grimes!” Theodosia exclaimed. “Investigated for murder?” She was practically sputtering now. “But I thought Grimes had been with your family . . . that he’d worked at Creekmore Plantation for ages.” She looked pointedly at Meredith. “In fact, when I saw your husband and Grimes together this past Sunday, organizing the group, getting the dogs and gear all set up, I had the feeling they were quite close.”
“They were. At one time,” Meredith said.
“He’s the one who shot Pop,” Fawn said under her breath. “I just know it.”
“We don’t know anything for sure,” Meredith said in a cautionary tone. But she didn’t look like she was about to rush to Grimes’s defense anytime soon.
“Here now,” Miss Dimple said, coming up to the table, a teapot in each hand. “You have your choice of Lapsang souchong or a black tea citrus blend. What’s it to be, ladies?”
“The citrus blend,” Meredith said. “For both of us.”
As Theodosia wandered through the tea shop, greeting her guests, checking to make sure everyone was comfortable and cozy, she couldn’t help but think about Meredith and her prowess with guns.
Meredith could have been the shooter. Or, for that matter, so could Guy Thorne. There was something about Thorne that was . . . unsavory. But now, strangely enough, the blame seemed to have tipped in the direction of Jack Grimes. So . . . with several key suspects on the line, she had a lot to think about. But first, there was a tea party that needed hosting.
Thankfully, Drayton already had the audience well in hand.
“Ladies,” Drayton said as he stepped to the center of the tea room, “if I could have your attention please.” The tea room instantly quieted down. “Scarlett O’Hara may have demanded that her biscuits and gravy be taken back to the kitchen so she could eat her fill at the barbecue, but I can guarantee”—he glanced around the tea room—“that once you hear today’s luncheon offerings, you won’t want to send anything back.”
Now there was hearty laughter.
Drayton gave a sweeping bow and said, “Theodosia, will you do the honors?”
This was Theodosia’s cue to step into the middle of the room.
“Welcome, everyone,” she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. “I’m delighted you could join us today for our first-ever Gone with the Wind Tea. Because Ashley Wilkes famously said he liked to see a girl with a healthy appetite, we’ll be starting our luncheon service with a sweet potato scone accompanied with honey and jam.”
There were giggles and a spatter of applause.
“Fiddledeedee,” Theodosia said. “It sounds as if you like everything so far.” She gave a deep curtsy and continued. “We’ll follow with an apple-pecan salad, and for your main entrée, we’ll be serving our famous Twelve Oaks barbecue sandwiches with caramelized onions. For dessert, you shall have your choice of Georgia peach cobbler or Scarlett O’Hara cake—this particular cake being a rich red velvet cake highly reminiscent of Scarlett’s infamous red dress.”
There were audible sighs along with appreciative murmurs.
Then Drayton stepped in again and said, “For your sipping pleasure, we’ll be pouring my special peach and black tea blend as well as peach iced tea.”
That was the signal for Miss Dimple and Haley to emerge from the kitchen, balancing trays with the first course. They served piping hot sweet potato scones along with honey and jam while Theodosia patrolled the tea room, checking every detail, making sure everyone was not only satisfied, but thoroughly enjoying themselves.
“I love your dress.” Theodosia’s friend Brooke grabbed her arm and pulled her in close. “In that frock you look like you’re ready to dance up a storm with the Tarleton boys.”
“But first I have to stomp my foot and throw a plaster figurine at Rhett,” Theodosia responded.
“I love it!” Brooke shrieked.
“Excuse me, ladies, but did I hear my name mentioned?” Drayton drawled. “I hope it was in a favorable context.”
“You make a very dashing Rhett Butler,” Brooke told him.
Drayton tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
The luncheon was a hit. After the scones, the apple-pecan salads were eaten and exclaimed over, and then the barbeque sandwiches drew absolute raves. Haley had outdone herself with her topping of caramelized onions sautéed in a spicy, honeyed sauce. The barbecue meat, served on puffy, oversize buns, was both sweet and savory, imparting just enough heat that guests drank cup after cup of tea.
“It’s all going awfully well, don’t you think?” Drayton whispered to Theodosia.
“Couldn’t be better,” she whispered back.
In no time at all, they were ferrying their dessert courses of peach cobbler and red velvet cake to all their guests.
Except for Meredith.
When Miss Dimple brought two pieces of cake to Meredith’s table, she shook her head adamantly and rose from her chair. Then she gave an imperious glance about the tea room and crooked a finger at Theodosia.
Who, me?
Theodosia hurried over to Meredith’s table. “Is there a problem? A different dessert or sweet that I can bring you instead?”
“Not a thing, dear,” Meredith said. “Your food and hospitality have been absolutely unparalleled. It’s just that I have to leave.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You’re going to miss out on a couple of truly sinful desserts.”
“Give my share to Fawn,” Meredith said. She pulled a fur scarf around her neck and tied it. “Unfortunately”—she dropped her voice to a low whisper—“I have to deal with certain arrangements.” She carefully enunciated the word arrangements as if she were discussing classified CIA documents.
“The funeral,” Theodosia said.
Meredith shook her head. “It won’t be a funeral per se. My idea is to create an event that’s far more upbeat. Such as . . . a memorial.”
Same thing, Theodosia thought.
“It’s scheduled to take place at the Heritage Society this Thursday morning,” Fawn said. She’d already dug into her red velvet cake and showed no intention of abandoning her dessert to leave with Meredith.
“So I was wondering,” Meredith continued as she patted the scarf at her neck. “Could you possibly cater a small luncheon for us? I mean, transport the food—maybe tea sandwiches and such—from here to the Heritage Society? Set it up and make it look elegant?” She peered at Theodosia expectantly. “Would that be a problem?”
“Not at all. We’ve catered dozens of events at the Heritage Society,” Theodosia said. “They even have a small kitchen that’s quite serviceable.”
“Wonderful,” Meredith said. “That’s one problem solved.”
“How many people will be attending this, uh, memorial?”
“I’ll have to let you know, dear. Right now I’m . . .” Meredith glanced at her bejeweled Chopard watch as she started for the front door. “I’m terribly late.”
* * *
* * *
More tea was poured, and a few guests even opted (begged) for a second dessert, which Haley was happy to oblige. By one thirty, two-thirds of the guests had departed, and the final third was milling about the tea room, shopping for tins of tea, jars of honey, and quilted tea cozies, as well as admiring shelves of giftware and the wall filled with grapevine and teacup wreaths.
Theodosia positioned herself behind the counter, where she could ring up purchases, thank departing guests, and remind a few of them about the Lavender Lady Tea on Saturday.
When only a handful of guests were left, Theodosia noticed that Fawn was one of them. She was perusing the label on one of the T-Bath products but going about it in a somewhat listless fashion.
Oh no. Problem?
Theodosia stepped away from the counter and walked over to join Fawn.
“Fawn, you seem suddenly pensive,” she said in a kind, concerned voice. “Are you okay? Would it help to talk about it?”
Fawn stared at Theodo
sia, then a strange, crooked smile appeared on her face. “You think I’m upset about Reginald, don’t you?”
“Aren’t you?” Theodosia asked.
Fawn shook her head, her long gold earrings swishing against her neck. “My father-in-law and I weren’t particularly close.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. Then what could be wrong? Where was this conversation going? Was it about to turn into some sort of confessional? Because it seemed as if Fawn wanted to say more. A lot more.
Finally, she did.
“It’s just that . . . things haven’t been good at home,” Fawn said.
“You mean at Creekmore?” Theodosia asked.
“I mean between me and Alex,” Fawn said. She was suddenly swallowing hard and struggling to hold back a flow of tears.
“Oh, honey,” Theodosia said. “All newlyweds have problems in their first year of marriage.”
“But Alex has a temper,” Fawn whispered. “A really horrible temper.”
Theodosia’s heart immediately went out to the girl. “Fawn, why don’t you come with me.” She took Fawn by the hand and led her back to the office. When Fawn was settled in the big, cozy brocade chair they’d dubbed the Tuffet, Theodosia handed her a box of Kleenex tissues and said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Fawn shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Theodosia plunged ahead anyway. Because clearly something was wrong.
“Fawn, do you . . . Are you . . . in an unsafe environment?” There, she’d spoken the dreaded words.
Fawn’s chin quivered. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Honey,” Theodosia said as she watched a sudden torrent of tears spill down Fawn’s face. “Is Alex . . . He hasn’t been physically abusive to you, has he?”
“He hasn’t hit me, if that’s what you mean.” Fawn gave a loud hiccup as she dabbed at her eyes. “But he screams at me all the time. Tells me how stupid and ridiculous I am.”
“That’s abuse,” Theodosia said. Her heart ached for the poor girl. How fast could verbal abuse turn into physical abuse? Probably in the blink of an eye. “Have you told anyone about this? Talked to Meredith? Someone in your family? A close friend?”