Lavender Blue Murder

by Laura Childs

  “I have another question,” Theodosia said.

  Meredith blew her nose. “Yes?”

  “What does Alex do?”

  “Do?”

  “You know, for a living,” Theodosia said.

  “Oh, well, Reginald got him a job at Wentworth Bank. He’s an executive there, a financial wunderkind.”

  “And he’s doing what, exactly?” Theodosia asked.

  Meredith started to cry again. “Alex is a junior loan officer. But he’s working his way up.”

  “Perhaps Meredith should go back to her hotel suite and lie down?” Drayton suggested.

  “Yes. Yes, I think she should,” Jacoby said. “In fact, I’ll take her there myself.” He turned toward Meredith. “Meredith, honey, do you want to go back to the hotel?”

  Meredith gave an offhand shrug. “I suppose. Since there’s no definitive news about poor Fawn. But let me . . . let me grab a few things out of my office first.”

  When Meredith disappeared, Theodosia said to Jacoby, “Will Meredith be okay? Financially, I mean?”

  “She’ll be more than okay,” Jacoby assured her. “Meredith stands to inherit all of Reginald’s shares in the company as well as a seat on the board of directors.” He looked thoughtful and added, “She’ll end up a very wealthy woman.”

  * * *

  * * *

  “So according to Bill Jacoby, Meredith stands to inherit a great deal of money,” Theodosia said to Drayton as they drove back to the Indigo Tea Shop.

  “And property. Real estate,” Drayton said.

  “Don’t forget Trollope’s Restaurant. I suppose Meredith owns half of that place now.”

  “I don’t think she cares about any of that at the moment.”

  “Meredith’s losing her focus,” Theodosia said. “Between the murder, the fire, and now Fawn’s disappearance, she’s having a lot of trouble coping.”

  “I can understand why. There are so many strange disparate issues at play.”

  “I know,” Theodosia said. “The whole thing makes my eyeballs hurt.” She drove along, thinking about all the craziness they’d been drawn into, then said, “How do you feel about Meredith’s revelation that Alex isn’t Reginald’s biological son?”

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather. First I’ve ever heard of that,” Drayton said.

  “It could certainly give Alex motive. He’s filled with so much acrimony, it’s practically shooting out his ears.”

  “You think he wanted Reginald out of the way?” Drayton said. “To hurry up his inheritance?”

  “And then there’s Fawn.”

  “Where do you suppose she disappeared to?”

  “Hopefully, she’s not at the bottom of Charleston Harbor,” Theodosia said.

  “That’s too horrible to even contemplate,” Drayton whispered. He glanced over at Theodosia. “Please, Theo, tell me you’re not going to quit this investigation.”

  “If I was going to quit, I’d have quit when I was ahead.”

  “So . . . your answer is no?”

  “Does it look like I’m ahead?” Theodosia asked. She turned from Atlantic Street onto Church Street. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. Something that, looking back now, could be relevant.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Monday night, after we had dinner at Trollope’s, and after you walked Meredith back to the Lady Goodwood Inn . . .”

  “Hmm?” Drayton said.

  “I took Earl Grey for a run. In fact, we passed by the back of the Lady Goodwood Inn where they built that new solarium. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I heard Meredith talking to someone in there. Arguing with them.”

  Drayton’s brows knit together. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “I figured that. But who could it have been? Alex? Guy Thorne? Jack Grimes? Somebody else?”

  “You mean there might be someone we don’t even know about who factors into this investigation? This murder?”

  “Could happen.”

  Drayton didn’t look happy. “Good grief.”

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Theodosia and Drayton got back to the Indigo Tea Shop, midmorning tea was well underway.

  “We had a customer who requested a pot of Darjeeling tea,” Miss Dimple told Drayton in a hushed voice. “And I suddenly panicked, trying to figure out the brewing time.”

  “So what did you do?” Drayton asked.

  Miss Dimple tapped a finger against her forehead. “Then I remembered that you once told me a First Flush Darjeeling should only be brewed for about three minutes. And that the water temperature should be just short of boiling. So that’s what I did.” She gave an eager smile. “And that was right, huh?”

  “It’s spot-on,” Drayton said. “You’re a very quick study.”

  “Anything else to worry about?” Theodosia asked as she slipped an apron over her head.

  “No, that’s about it,” Miss Dimple said. “Oh, and we had a huge take-out order for scones. Angie Congdon from the Featherbed House called and asked for three dozen scones along with Haley’s famous pear butter.”

  “Did Angie pick them up yet?” Theodosia asked.

  Miss Dimple nodded. “The scones walked out the door ten minutes ago. Now Haley is baking a brand-new batch for lunch.”

  “I think I’ll go check on her,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  “What’s going on?” Haley asked. “Did you guys find Fawn? Or figure out what happened to her?”

  Theodosia stepped into their small kitchen. The air was redolent with baking scones while a pot of French onion soup bubbled on the stovetop. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Do you think she drowned?”

  “Drowned? No, I don’t think so.” Theodosia wasn’t sure why she thought Fawn might be somewhere else; she just did. You could call it a hunch, intuition, or just plain hope.

  “There’s something important that I gotta tell you,” Haley said as she stepped away from her stove. Her hands moved anxiously as she twisted her white apron into knots.

  “What’s wrong?” Theodosia scooped up an errant carrot stick and munched it.

  “I heard something about, you know, that dead guy’s partner. The one who pretty much runs Trollope’s Restaurant.”

  “You mean Guy Thorne?”

  Haley nodded vigorously. “That’s the one. Yup.”

  Theodosia was instantly on alert. “Haley, what did you hear?”

  “Rumor has it that Thorne is way behind in paying his bills. That he owes a lot of money to food and liquor suppliers all over town.”

  “Who’s been spreading those rumors? Wait, how exactly did you come by this information?”

  “Most of Trollope’s suppliers are the same ones we do business with.”

  Theodosia digested this new information along with her carrot stick.

  “So you’re telling me that Guy Thorne is seriously hurting for money.”

  “Apparently so,” Haley said. Then, “Doesn’t the FBI list financial stress as a key motivating factor when it comes to murder?”

  “Haley! Where did you pick up that bit of information?”

  Haley gave a sheepish smile. “From you?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Lunch got underway with a menu that featured mushroom quiche, French onion soup, shrimp salad with Haley’s special tomato-dill dressing, cream cheese and green olive tea sandwiches, and chicken breasts with caper sauce. Theodosia was pleased that Miss Dimple was there to help out. With the addition of more take-out orders, plus two large tables of guests from the Windsor Tea Club, they were busy, busy, busy.

  Then, when the Indigo Tea Shop was practically filled to capacity, Delaine Dish came strolling in.

  “Theo-do-sia,” Delaine sang out in her pay-attention-to-me voice. “I am so crunched for time I can barely breathe! Plus, my dear niece Bettina is with me today, so if you could seat us immediately, s’il vous plaît, we would be most g
rateful.”

  “Delaine . . . yes,” Theodosia said. Delaine was perpetually crunched, stressed, tense, or jittery. Her adorable and well-stocked boutique, Cotton Duck, kept her in a state of high anxiety, as did her work with various charities, her rotation of boyfriends, her cats, and all her imagined emergencies. Delaine spoke too rapidly, peppered her sentences with italics and exclamation marks, was a notorious flirt, and chronically worried about her weight. Today her small frame was squeezed into a sample size 0 white knit dress that showed off her prominent collarbone and hip bones to perfection.

  “This is sweet of you to work us in without a reservation,” Delaine said breathlessly as Theodosia led them to a table. “We so appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem,” Theodosia said, because it really wasn’t. She focused her gaze on Bettina, who’d recently graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. Bettina had a coltish figure and luminous brown eyes. Her hair, which a few months ago had been curly and brown, was now shorter, spiky, and streaked with highlights (undoubtedly Delaine’s doing). Delaine had also coaxed Bettina into an intense internship that could only be considered slave labor.

  “How are you doing, Bettina?” Theodosia asked.

  “Good,” Bettina said.

  “Still having fun?” Theodosia knew that Bettina was working her tail off at Cotton Duck, trying her best to gain hands-on experience in retail sales and merchandising.

  “It’s been really cool. Aunt Delaine is an excellent teacher,” Bettina said.

  Delaine’s pretty, heart-shaped face assumed a slightly pinched expression.

  “Best to just call me Delaine. Aunt makes one sound so terribly ancient and haggard.”

  “If you ladies are in a rush,” Theodosia said, “may I recommend our French onion soup and a shrimp salad?”

  “That sounds great,” Bettina said.

  “Just the salad,” Delaine said.

  “How about a couple of cream scones?” Theodosia asked. “Haley just baked a fresh batch.”

  “Yes, please,” Bettina said.

  “Carbs.” Delaine scowled.

  Theodosia circled back to their table a couple of minutes later with a pot of chamomile tea. Though it was more an infusion than tea, chamomile was known to exert a calming effect. And heaven knows, Delaine could use a little calming.

  Five minutes later, Theodosia delivered their luncheon orders.

  “These scones are low-carb, right?” Delaine asked.

  “Uh . . . sure,” Theodosia said. How much could a little white lie hurt, anyway? Besides, hers was a tea shop that served traditional scones, muffins, biscuits, crumpets, and breads, along with quiches, salads, soups, and whatever entrée Haley deigned to whip up. None of them—not Theodosia, not Drayton, not Haley—had a paleo-keto-vegan bone in their body.

  “And what is this?” Delaine asked. “Raspberry jam?” She was already slathering a gob of it on her scone along with a generous helping of Devonshire cream.

  “It’s cranberry-orange marmalade.”

  Delaine took a bite, chewed hungrily, and said, “I heard via the grapevine that you’ve been poking your nose into Reginald Doyle’s murder.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Theodosia asked.

  Delaine gave a little sniff. “Around.” Then added, “Did you know that Meredith and Fawn are customers of mine? Good customers. I actually dressed both of them for the Opera Ball last spring. Oh, you should have seen Meredith in her de la Renta gown. So sleek and pretty . . . to die for.”

  “You probably haven’t heard this piece of news yet, but Fawn has gone missing,” Theodosia said.

  Delaine flapped a hand, seemingly unconcerned. “Why am I not surprised? It’s about time Fawn dumped that stick-up-his-backside husband of hers.”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” Theodosia said. “Nobody knows where Fawn is. They found an empty sailboat bobbing around in Charleston Harbor this morning, and her family is extremely worried.”

  “That’s awf—” Bettina started to say. But Delaine interrupted her.

  “I’m sure Fawn will turn up somewhere,” Delaine said. “She always struck me as a savvy and highly resourceful girl. Oh, Theo, dear, do you have our reservations for your Lavender Lady Tea on Saturday? I e-mailed you the other day. We’re absolutely dying to taste Drayton’s special blend. And did you hear that Franny Moultrie has been keeping company with a man who’s ten years younger than she is? Isn’t that totally cray-cray? And why do some women have all the luck?”

  Theodosia was mildly interested in sticking around and listening to Delaine’s gossip and musings until a new customer walked through her front door and surprised the heck out of her. It was Susan Monday, the Lavender Lady herself. Theodosia hurried over to greet her.

  “Susan,” Theodosia said. “Welcome to the Indigo Tea Shop.”

  “If I’m going to be part of your Lavender Lady Tea this Saturday, I figured I’d better brush up on my tea shop knowledge,” Susan said.

  “How would you like to start with lunch?”

  Susan grinned. “That would be fantastic. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Theodosia seated Susan Monday on the far side of the tea shop, away from Delaine and Bettina, where there wouldn’t be any distractions. Then she brought Susan a pot of Formosan oolong tea, a strawberry scone with Devonshire cream, and a shrimp salad.

  “Your place is so adorable,” Susan said between bites. “I love the wooden floor and beamed ceiling. And this food is delicious! I’m not sure what I was expecting—maybe an oversize bran muffin like in those hustle-bustle coffee shops—but this is fantastic. As good as what’s served in any of the fancy bistros around town. Maybe even better!”

  “We have an even more elaborate menu planned for Saturday,” Theodosia told her.

  “Saturday,” Susan said, squinting at her. “Just what would you like me to do?”

  “After we welcome our guests and detail the menu, I’d like you to do a two- or three-minute talk on lavender. About its relaxing properties, how it can be infused in tea and food and lotions, that sort of thing.”

  “I can surely do that.”

  “Then we’ll have you sit at one of the larger tables so you can chat with our guests, get acquainted, and answer any questions.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Susan said. She broke off a piece of scone, slathered it with jam, and said, “The lavender tea isn’t the only reason I showed up here today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Here’s the thing. Sheriff Burney came to my farm yesterday afternoon and asked me a whole bunch of questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” Theodosia asked.

  “About my farm and its borders. About the orphan strip of land. How well I got along with Reginald Doyle and my other neighbors. And, this is kind of strange, but he wanted to know if I owned a pistol.”

  Theodosia’s heart caught in her throat as she asked, “Do you?”

  15

  Susan shook her head vigorously. “No. And I never have.” She fixed Theodosia with a mild, questioning gaze. “Why do you think the sheriff interrogated me like that?”

  “Probably because Reginald Doyle was killed with a pistol,” Theodosia said.

  Now Susan looked anxious. “Is someone pointing a finger at me? Trying to make me a suspect in Doyle’s murder?”

  “There’s a lot of finger-pointing going on right now,” Theodosia said.

  “By Meredith Doyle? Or her son, Alex?”

  “It’s possible they could have mentioned your name,” Theodosia hedged. “Meredith is terribly upset and super stressed right now. I’m sure you’ve heard that her daughter-in-law, Fawn, is missing?”

  Susan shook her head. “I did not know that.”

  “The Coast Guard found Fawn and Alex’s J/22 floating in the harbor.”

  Susan put a hand to her mouth in shock. “Do they think she drowned?”

  “It’s possible. Anyway, Alex is one of the suspects—well, he is to me
in any case.”

  “He is? For sure? Why?”

  “Because I know for a fact he wasn’t getting on very well with Fawn.”

  “That’s . . . so bizarre. Weren’t they newlyweds?”

  “They are . . . were.”

  “So a murder, a fire, and now a possible drowning. This has turned into a complicated situation, hasn’t it?” Susan said.

  Theodosia gave an uneven smile. “You have no idea. So, to circle back and answer your question, Alex could have easily pointed a finger at you and whispered nasty innuendos in Sheriff Burney’s ear.”

  “Wow.” Susan thought for a moment. “Is it possible that Alex murdered Reginald? And then made Fawn disappear?”

  “I have no proof of anything like that, but Alex does seem to be stirring the pot like crazy—pointing out potential suspects and then throwing up smoke screens to shield himself.”

  Susan looked grim. “Lies and innuendos are not what I need right now. I haven’t shared this with many people, but my goal is to open a small shop called Lavender & Lace right here in Charleston. If word gets out that I’m a suspect in a murder case, it won’t do my reputation any good. Landlords won’t want to rent to me, customers will avoid me like the plague. I’d be cooked before I even got started!”

  “I don’t believe Alex has spread the sort of rumors that would damage your reputation,” Theodosia said.

  “Maybe not yet. But he could. I mean, what about my lavender farm? That place means everything to me. A ripple of nasty rumors could hurt me there as well.” Susan’s brows knit together. “I’ve poured my heart and soul into Blue Moon Lavender Farm, working hard to build my reputation, taking extra care with the pruning and harvesting. And I never use dangerous pesticides like some of my neighbors do, because I care passionately about the environment.”

  “I can see that,” Theodosia said.

  Susan was wound up and venting like crazy. “Did you know that right here in South Carolina, all over the low country, the Pine Barrens tree frog is now on the endangered species list?”