Lavender Blue Murder

by Laura Childs

  Delaine whispered with Meredith for a few moments, then turned to greet Theodosia.

  “Theo,” Delaine said, dabbing at her nose. “You remember my Tody?”

  “Of course,” Theodosia said, turning to look at a tall man with slicked-back hair, a slight hawk nose, and darting eyes. He was wearing a blue golf jacket with a Daniel Island Club logo on it. “Nice to see you again.”

  Slawson gave a brief smile. “You, too.” He was clearly bored out of his skull that Delaine had dragged him down here tonight and was making no effort to conceal his feelings.

  Theodosia decided that perhaps the two of them were perfectly suited for each other. They both had the attention span of a gnat.

  “I can only stay a few minutes,” Delaine said, speaking softly and touching a hand to Theodosia’s arm. “But I wanted to come and show my support for Fawn’s safe return.”

  “Sweet of you,” Theodosia said. “But Delaine . . .” She fixed her with a stern look.

  “What?”

  “A séance, Delaine? Really?”

  “It was either that or crystals. And I’ve found crystals to be sadly ineffectual. Besides, it’s so difficult finding good pink tourmaline these days.”

  “I see your point,” Theodosia said. There was no arguing with Delaine. Because if you did, she would only spew nonsense.

  As Delaine stared past Theodosia, she picked someone out in the crowd and her eyes narrowed. “Uh-oh, I need to leave right now before that awful Cynthia Munier comes bounding over here like a crazed puppy dog. Do you know Cynthia once bought a dress from me, tucked in the tags so she could wear it to a party, and then tried to return it?”

  “Cheeky of her,” Theodosia said.

  “She’s not like Fawn,” Delaine continued. “Fawn was one of my best and most favorite customers.” Delaine’s eyes misted over slightly as she spoke. “She was always popping in to buy a new dress or piece of jewelry or check out our newest stash of cashmere pashminas. Now with Fawn missing . . . hopefully not dead . . . I can only wait for news about her with bated breath.”

  “Uh-huh,” Theodosia said.

  Slawson touched a hand to Delaine’s shoulder. “We really should be going, dear,” he said.

  But Delaine’s brain had bing-bang-bonged its way onto yet another happy memory.

  “I remember this one truly fabulous dress that Fawn bought,” Delaine said, her mood turning brighter. “I think it was for Angela Rockler’s black-tie gala during last year’s Spoleto Festival. The designer, Marco Milano, called the gown jonquil yellow, but it was more a pale shimmery gold. Fawn looked just like a golden goddess in that dress. Like she was walking in moonlight.”

  Theodosia had a sudden thought.

  “Did Alex accompany Fawn on these shopping trips?” she asked.

  Delaine tilted her head from one side to the other, as if deep in thought. “Alex, the husband,” she murmured to herself. Then, “No, I don’t believe he ever did visit the shop with Fawn. In fact, I can’t seem to recall her mentioning his name. Strange, yes?”

  “You tell me,” Theodosia said.

  Delaine looked genuinely puzzled. “But now that you mention it, there was a gentleman who sometimes waited for Fawn outside the shop in his car.”

  “Do you know who it was? Could it have been Alex? Or her Uber driver? Or someone else?”

  Delaine blinked. “No idea.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The first thing Theodosia did when she arrived home was snap on Earl Grey’s leash and take him for a quick walk. As they spun down Meeting Street, she said, “I should have taken you with me to White Point Garden tonight. I know it’s one of your favorite spots.”

  Earl Grey tossed his head as if in agreement.

  They jogged four blocks down, then four blocks back, keeping pace with each other. The chill night air and the gossamer mist that had seeped in made everything—enormous homes and gardens, the glowing globes of wrought-iron streetlamps—look almost dreamlike.

  Then Theodosia said, “I almost forgot to tell you the best news of all. Haley won the Judge’s Favorite award in the Sugar Arts Show today. She created the most amazing fondant sculpture.” They stopped to let a car go by on Atlantic Street, crossed over, and then headed back down their own alley.

  “And the sculpture was of you,” Theodosia exclaimed. “A sugar-sweet miniature Earl Grey.”

  The last of Theodosia’s words were lost in an enormous roar as her neighbor, Robert Steele, screamed past them in his Porsche. Engine practically redlined, he spewed an almost lethal emission of oil and gas fumes. Halfway down the alley, tires squealed, brake lights flared, and laughter—or was that the radio?—merged with an earsplitting volley of backfires. The Porsche bucked once and shot into the three-car garage, what used to be the carriage house.

  Moonlight, magnolias, and motor oil, Theodosia thought. That’s some mash-up.

  The phone was ringing as Theodosia opened the back door. She and Earl Grey both tried squeezing though the doorway at the same time and collided in a jumble of paws, knees, and legs.

  Theodosia won out, grabbing for the phone and almost killing herself as she tripped over a pile of lumber that was haphazardly stacked in the middle of her kitchen.

  “Yes. Hello?” She was practically breathless.

  “It’s me.”

  It was Pete Riley.

  “Hey there, what’s up?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I mean, you can’t breathe a word to anyone.” Riley’s voice was jazzed but intense. “And you can never reveal that this came from me!”

  “You haven’t told me anything,” Theodosia said.

  “I overheard a call on my scanner.”

  Theodosia’s ears perked up. Okay, now she was interested. Maybe this could be something.

  “A call concerning what?” she asked.

  There was a slight hesitation, and then Riley said, “A body just turned up in Charleston Harbor. A woman’s body.”

  23

  Theodosia squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. “A body floating in Charleston Harbor?” She felt dizzy. And a little sick to her stomach. Was this it? Was this the definitive answer on Fawn?

  “That was the Coast Guard’s initial report, yes,” Riley said. “But the transmission was hurried and filled with static. And it’s dark as a coal mine out there on the water, so it could be anything. Could be a turtle or large fish that got snagged in a net.”

  “Dear Lord,” Theodosia said. “I was just down there. At White Point Garden for Fawn’s vigil.”

  “Well, we don’t know anything for sure until it’s completely checked out and the Coast Guard issues an official statement.”

  “When would they do that?” Theodosia asked. “Wait, where would they do that? At the Coast Guard Station?”

  “Don’t go over there.”

  “I think I have to.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Please, yes. I really need to know. A lot of people are anxiously waiting to hear this news.”

  There was a long pause, and then Riley said, “It would be the Coast Guard Station just off Tradd.”

  “Thank you,” Theodosia breathed.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Theodosia pulled into the parking lot and stepped out of her Jeep, the night seemed even darker and a biting wind was sweeping in from the Atlantic. Where the sky had been lit with bright sprinkles of stars earlier, now there were only roiling dark clouds.

  Shivering, Theodosia felt an intense sense of foreboding. Her eagerness was suddenly tamped down as damp sea air wrapped around her like an unwelcome sweater. Across the harbor, the faint drone of a foghorn sounded at Patriots Point.

  The foghorn was there to warn ships. To tell them to beware. But who had been there to warn poor Fawn? Theodosia wondered.

  Peering through the darkness and ever-increasing fog, Theodosia saw that a Coast Guard ship was just pulling up to its dock. It was one o
f their cutters, a large gray boat that looked like a phantom as it emerged from the fog.

  Theodosia walked out onto the dock, ignoring the official black-and-white sign that warned COAST GUARD PERSONNEL ONLY, and watched as the Coast Guardsmen tossed out their fenders. Then the cutter bumped gently against the dock, and two Coast Guardsmen jumped off to tie up their lines.

  Anxious and practically quivering with nerves, unable to wait one single second more, Theodosia stepped forward.

  “The body you just pulled in,” Theodosia said, breathless, her words practically jumbling together. “Do you know who it is?”

  The first Coast Guardsman, whose name tag read BURDICK, looked at her and said, “Ma’am, you shouldn’t be here. This dock is restricted to Coast Guard personnel only.”

  “I understand that,” Theodosia said. “And I apologize for trespassing like this. But, please, it’s important. For the family’s sake, I have to know. Was it Fawn Doyle? Is that whose body you found?”

  “We don’t know, ma’am,” said the second Coast Guardsman. “We were belowdecks when it happened.”

  Heavy steps thudded down the gangplank as a third man joined them. This one had stripes on his sleeves. A master chief whose name tag read SCOTT.

  “Is there a problem here?” Scott asked.

  “This young lady is asking about a body,” Burdick said.

  The master chief’s head snapped sideways. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing, sir!” both men cried at once.

  “It came over the police scanner,” Theodosia explained. “And I . . . I have a source. A contact. So I know you pulled a body out of the water.”

  The master chief just stared at her.

  “Again, I apologize for invading your space like this,” Theodosia said in a rush. “But I have to know. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “This is really important to you?” Scott asked.

  Theodosia nodded. “Very.”

  “Here then, you can take a look for yourself,” the master chief said. His expression was unreadable.

  Theodosia tiptoed to the edge of the dock, reached for the rail, and stepped aboard the cutter. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her breath came in short gasps, and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. To make things worse, the howling wind flipped and whipped her hair into auburn streamers even as the Coast Guard flag with its motto of SEMPER PARATUS snapped from the top of the tall mast.

  “Show her,” Scott called to one of the Coast Guardsmen on deck.

  The Coast Guardsman looked over at his superior officer and then to Theodosia. He said, “This way, ma’am,” and led her over to what appeared to be a small pile of debris on the foredeck.

  Crossing the deck slowly, very deliberately, Theodosia grimaced as the ship shifted beneath her and so did her stomach. Then she took a deep breath and stared down at a sodden blue blanket.

  “You ready?” the Coast Guardsman asked.

  Theodosia nodded.

  He slowly pulled back a corner of the blue blanket.

  A cracked face stared up at her. Blue eyes, sightless, with long curling lashes. Dirty, ragged clothing clung to the small figure.

  Theodosia could hardly believe what she was seeing.

  “A doll!” Theodosia cried. It was an ugly, cracked plastic doll. She was so relieved that she gripped the arm of the Coast Guardsman and sagged against him.

  “A waterlogged doll,” the Coast Guardsman said. “One of our stranger finds.”

  “But nothing else was dredged up?” Theodosia asked. “So the radio transmission was inaccurate? You never found an actual person floating in the harbor?”

  The Coast Guardsman touched a finger to his cap. “Not yet, ma’am. But we’ll keep looking.”

  “Thank you, thank you all so much,” Theodosia practically whispered. She lurched her way off the cutter and onto the dock.

  “Take care now,” Master Chief Scott said after her.

  Theodosia nodded as she staggered away. She slowly crossed the parking lot and leaned up against the side of her car. The battering wind, the frantic worry, and the constant tension had chilled her to the bone and given her the shakes.

  But thank you, dear Lord, that it wasn’t Fawn. Sing hallelujah for that.

  Theodosia climbed into her Jeep, turned on the heat, and waited for the tension to drain away. She’d have to call Pete Riley when she got home and tell him what strange item the Coast Guard had found floating in the harbor.

  Or maybe he already knew? Maybe a more complete report had already been radioed in since that initial one?

  Either way, Theodosia felt as if she’d escaped some sort of horror show. At least for the time being. Okay, so now what?

  I’ve got to go home. Go home and get some sleep.

  Putting her car in gear, Theodosia pulled out of the parking lot and turned down Bay Street. She drove carefully and methodically, like someone who feared getting stopped for a minor traffic ticket. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that she began to wonder:

  Was this just a stupid doll that had been bobbing around Charleston Harbor for weeks? Or could this have been a deliberate and very cruel prank?

  24

  Drayton bent forward over the counter, listening intently as Theodosia hastily brought him up to speed on last night’s strange happenings—the vigil for Fawn at White Point Garden, the phone call from Riley, her frantic mission to the Coast Guard Station.

  When she got to the part about pulling back the blanket, Drayton paused, his teacup halfway to his mouth.

  “And then?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “It wasn’t her, was it? I mean, you would have called me immediately, right?”

  “It was a doll.” Theodosia shuddered at the memory of it. “A horrible life-size doll with a chipped face, sodden clothes, and weird blue eyes.”

  “Have mercy!” Drayton clapped a hand to the side of his face. “You must have jumped out of your skin.”

  “I almost did,” Theodosia said. “You know those spooky doll movies with Chucky and Annabelle?”

  Drayton shook his head. No, he didn’t know. But Theodosia was on a roll and was going to tell him anyway.

  “Well, that’s what it was like. Like some creepy horror show doll that suddenly becomes animated.” The terrible image from last night was still seared in Theodosia’s brain. She’d even had nightmares about it.

  “Cool,” Haley said. She’d snuck in to eavesdrop on Theodosia’s story.

  “Not cool,” Theodosia said.

  “But what a blessing that it wasn’t Fawn,” Drayton said.

  “Where do you think Fawn disappeared to?” Haley asked. “She has to be somewhere. Was she kidnapped by pirates? Did she run off to start a new life? And do you think her disappearance is somehow connected to Reginald Doyle’s murder?”

  “All good questions,” Drayton said.

  “But we don’t have any good answers,” Theodosia said. After all her sleuthing and snooping, she felt a terrible dread welling up inside her. What if she continued to come up empty? What if no murderer—no perpetrator—was ever caught and brought to justice? The notion chafed against Theodosia’s sense of right and wrong.

  “Do you think Fawn might really be dead?” Haley asked.

  “Bite your tongue,” Drayton said.

  “I’m praying she’s not,” Theodosia said.

  “But what do you think?” Haley asked. “What does your gut tell you?”

  “My gut feeling is that she didn’t drown,” Theodosia said.

  “But you were worried enough that you hurried over to the Coast Guard Station last night,” Haley said.

  “And then I was proved wrong,” Theodosia said.

  “Thank goodness for that.” Drayton set his teacup into his saucer with a resounding clink. “And now, if you’ll both allow me to get on with my morning endeavors, I need to select and brew a few wonderful, exotic teas that will enchant and warm our guests. Who will, I believe”—he flicked hi
s wrist and glanced at his antique Patek Philippe watch—“be darkening our doorstep in less than ten minutes.”

  “More like five,” Theodosia said, suddenly feeling the time crunch. “Since your watch always runs a tad slow.”

  Haley rushed back to her kitchen while Theodosia did a final check of the tea room. Small tea light candles were lit, cream and sugars set out on each table, fresh zinnias bobbed their shaggy heads in crystal vases. She’d set the tables with Pembroke by Aynsley plates and teacups, loving how the bluebirds and flowers seemed to complement what was turning into a bright sunshiny day. Even though her mood wasn’t quite there yet.

  Because it was Friday, the Indigo Tea Shop turned out to be extra busy this morning. A plethora of tourists had arrived in Charleston for the weekend, eager to bed down in fancy B and Bs, as well as visit the Historic District, the French Quarter, Rainbow Row, and maybe even take in some fall colors.

  Theodosia welcomed and seated her guests, took orders, poured tea, and then delivered their goodies. They were offering a special cream tea this morning, which included a small pot of Earl Grey white tip tea paired with a maple scone, Devonshire cream, and a fruit cup. Haley had also baked raspberry scones and banana-chocolate muffins.

  The local shopkeepers popped in, too. Leigh Carroll, the owner of the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop just down the block, was a pretty African-American woman who’d developed a taste for tea. Today, she’d brought along her own ceramic mug.

  “I’m guessing you’d like me to fill that up?” Drayton said. “I’ve just brewed a luscious Chinese green tea from the Hunan province that I think you’d enjoy.”

  Leigh smiled at him with her lovely almond eyes and said in honeyed tones, “Will it keep me going all day?”

  “If it doesn’t, just pop back in here for a refill, dear lady.”

  When the morning mail arrived, Julie, their mail delivery person, handed over a thick stack of letters and magazines to Drayton who, in turn, put a takeaway cup of Darjeeling (Julie’s favorite tea) into her hand.