by Laura Childs
“This was quite unreasonable,” Delaine complained as the two men talked. “They didn’t even want my two cents’ worth.”
“You should be thankful for that,” Drayton said. “We were practically grilled.” He pulled out a folded white hankie and wiped his brow.
Tidwell stalked over to where they were all sitting, Riley right behind him.
“All right, everyone, listen up,” Tidwell said.
They sat there, alert and ready to listen.
“We’ll have a plan in place shortly,” Tidwell said with a small amount of bravado and flourish.
“A plan that will carefully address this ransom business,” Riley said. He came across as thoughtful, and at times sardonic, to Tidwell’s outright bluster.
“Now I ask for each of you to remain absolutely mum on the subject,” Tidwell said. “Don’t tell anyone what happened here today or what you think might happen tomorrow. Is that clear?”
Tidwell’s beetle brows descended over his eyes like window shades.
Everyone noted his intensity and nodded politely.
“Good. Excellent,” Tidwell said.
“It looks as if our Robbery and Homicide Division has its work cut out for it,” Riley said.
Theodosia raised a hand. “If I could just—”
“No, you cannot,” Tidwell cut in. “Nope, nada, no way. Now it is time for you, Miss Browning, to bow out gracefully. We—and by that I mean Detective Riley and myself, with the aid of Sheriff Burney and a number of other officers—will handle this case by ourselves. From here on out. Is that understood?”
Again, everyone gave pleasant nods and murmurs. Including Theodosia. She figured it was better to go along to get along. Detective Tidwell’s words didn’t sit well with her, but right now there wasn’t much she could do about it. But maybe tomorrow . . .
As Tidwell and Riley turned to leave, Meredith grabbed Theodosia’s arm and pulled her aside.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming to your Lavender Lady Tea tomorrow. Using it as a kind of security blanket.”
“It should be fine,” Theodosia said. She tried to sound amiable and agreeable, even though she was screaming a little bit inside.
“And I’m praying that it’s okay to bring Alex and Bill Jacoby with me, too.” Still visibly shaken, Meredith licked her lips and quickly added, “I thought maybe they could serve as my guardian angel posse. Would that be a problem?”
“No, I’ll just squeeze in another few chairs.” Along with the police officers that will be hiding under the tables and in the cupboards.
Meredith’s relief was palpable. “Bless you for your kindness.”
* * *
* * *
Friday night and Theodosia paced inside her own home. This was usually date night for her and Riley. Take in a movie, check out a new restaurant, cozy up in front of the fireplace with a good bottle of wine. Except tonight Riley was working. Or rather, Tidwell had him on overtime, probably riding him like a rented mule.
Would Riley call her? Bring her up to speed on the plan—whatever that plan might be?
Probably not.
Rats.
Theodosia fed Earl Grey and warmed up some leftover lentil soup for herself. With time hanging heavy, she tried to read a book, lost interest in that, and turned on the TV. But found nothing that appealed to her.
Finally, at quarter to nine, Riley called.
“What?” Theodosia practically yelled into the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Not much at the moment.”
“No clues? Nothing?”
“Clues and forensic evidence are critical, but most breaks come when somebody talks.”
“Is anybody talking?”
“No.”
“But surely you people must have drawn up a suspect list by now. Somebody close to Meredith, to Reginald Doyle.” Theodosia rattled on, breathless now. “Because what I’m thinking is this . . . the killer is also the kidnapper. So there have to be some distinct possibilities. And . . . and you must have traced that phone call.”
“We tried, but the phone turned out to be a burner. The kidnapper probably bought it at the local Walmart, used it once, then dumped it in a trash can somewhere.”
“Could it have been Jack Grimes, the caretaker?”
“We already checked him out. He’s gone. Moved to Georgia. Some place in Clutch County.”
“Clinch County,” Theodosia said.
“You know where he relocated? Jeez, Tidwell was right. You are way too involved.”
“What about Guy Thorne?”
“What about him?”
“He’s a good possibility,” Theodosia said. “We know the man is financially strapped.”
“Thorne has been working at his restaurant all day,” Riley said. “Trollope’s is jam-packed with customers, plus there’s some kind of prewedding event going on in their private dining room.”
“But maybe . . .”
“Also, we’ve been watching him. We got a court order and tapped his phones.”
“So he . . .”
“Didn’t do it,” Riley said. “Like I said, he’s been honchoing a busy restaurant but hasn’t, to our knowledge, called in any kind of ransom demand.”
“Carl Clewis or Alex, then,” Theodosia practically shouted. “Either of them could have easily made that ransom call.”
“You can’t just keep throwing out names,” Riley said. “There has to be some supporting evidence.”
“Alex, then. He and Fawn weren’t getting along. Plus, he despised Reginald.”
“Maybe so,” Riley said. “But our plan right now is to sit tight until the ransom demand is made. Then we . . .”
“Follow the money,” Theodosia said. “I know.”
“Trust me, we’ve got this under control.”
No, Theodosia thought, nobody’s got this thing under control. Except perhaps that one shadowy figure who was out there on the fringe, jerking everyone’s chain.
And come tomorrow, hopefully not mine as well.
27
On Saturday morning Theodosia’s head was spinning with questions as she worked to get her tea shop decorated and ready for their Lavender Lady Tea. Was Fawn still alive? Was her kidnapping connected to Reginald’s death? Who was playing evil puppeteer and creating all this havoc?
She was sipping a cup of gunpowder green tea, tapping a foot, when her cell phone burped in the pocket of her apron.
She looked at the screen. Riley.
“Hey, there!” Theodosia cried as she answered the phone. Maybe he had news?
“Do you remember when you asked me to check on Carl Clewis’s whereabouts for last Sunday afternoon?” Riley asked. “Well, I finally got around to doing that.”
“Where was he? What was Clewis doing?”
“Giving a guest lecture on restoring wetlands to the McClellanville Upland Grouse Club.”
“Oh.” Theodosia hadn’t expected to hear such an ironclad alibi. “That’s . . . Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then it looks as if Clewis is out of the equation.” Theodosia felt disheartened. Clewis had seemed like such a logical suspect. For Reginald’s murder as well as Fawn’s kidnapping and ransom demand.
“In my book, Clewis is in the clear,” Riley said. “Unless he’s got a twin brother stashed somewhere.”
“So what happens now? I mean, today, with Meredith?” With her prime suspects dropping like flies, Theodosia didn’t feel one bit encouraged.
“We have a team that will cover Meredith Doyle while she makes a stop at her bank to collect the money. Then we’ll have eyes on her constantly as she makes her way to your tea shop. A veritable tag team of officers. What time is your Lavender Lady Tea supposed to kick off?”
“Twelve sharp.”
“We’ll be set up there by ten thirty, then,” Riley said. “Possibly even earlier.”
“You’ll be outside? Inside?” Knock, knock, didn’t I ask this question yesterday?
> “Our plan is to remain fluid,” Riley said. “So we’ll let you know.”
“Well, let me know sometime soon, will you?”
* * *
* * *
“What dishes do you want me to put out, honey?” Miss Dimple asked. She had shown up at the Indigo Tea Shop some fifteen minutes ago and was bustling about, doing her best to assist Theodosia. They’d arranged the tables and set them with white linen place mats and crystal stemware, but that was it so far.
“Grab those lavender toile dishes out of the cupboard, will you?” Theodosia asked.
Miss Dimple stood on tippy-toes and pulled down a stack of plates. She looked at them and smiled.
“Toile,” she said. “A French convention, yes?”
“That’s exactly right,” Theodosia said. “Toile de jouy was originally a pattern on French linen and canvas. But now that it’s grown so much in popularity, the word toile pretty much refers to any repeated pattern that depicts a lovely scene.”
“Such as this delicious garden scene,” Miss Dimple said, studying one of the plates. She turned it over. “Who made these?”
“They’re by Staffordshire, but lots of different makers do toile designs. You’ll see pastoral scenes, Chinese pagodas, Venetian gondolas, horses and carriages, and even picnic scenes.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’ve got the perfect lavender dishes for your Lavender Lady Tea!”
“You wouldn’t believe all the sets of china Drayton and I have collected over the years. If you look hard enough, you’ll find them stashed all over the place,” Theodosia said. “Even upstairs in Haley’s apartment.”
Miss Dimple grinned. “A treasure hunt. What fun.”
“While you set out the dishes, I’m going to run into my office and grab the lavender candles and sachets.”
Theodosia pushed through the celadon velvet curtain that separated the front of the tea shop from the back. She glanced right, saw Haley bent over her stove, and continued into her office, where the phone started ringing.
“Hello?”
It was George Huntley from Huntley’s Ltd.
“You can toss that invoice in the trash, Miss Browning. It was a mistake, pure and simple, just as I thought.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “That’s great. Thanks.”
She was about to hang up the phone when Huntley said, “The mix-up came about because we were also asked to custom design a concealed pistol holster.”
“What?” Theodosia said. Had she heard him right?
It would seem so.
“And you see,” Huntley continued, “the pistol holster that we crafted in a lovely soft Brazilian suede was delivered to the same place as your shooting vest.”
Theodosia’s heart started hammering inside her chest. “Excuse me, you mean delivered to Creekmore Plantation?”
“That’s correct. So, obviously, you can see how a mix-up might occur.”
“Yes, I can.” Theodosia was so excited, so nervous, she could barely speak a word. “Thank you, Mr. Huntley, for straightening that out.”
Theodosia hung up the phone and stared down at her desk.
A concealed pistol holster. Delivered to Creekmore Plantation.
Warning bells clanged inside her head. She put a hand up and massaged her forehead.
And Reginald Doyle just happened to be shot with a pistol.
Theodosia reached out and punched in George Huntley’s number. A minute later, she had him back on the line.
“About that pistol holster. Can you tell me who ordered it?” Theodosia asked.
“I suppose I could . . . Just let me, um, take a peek here,” Huntley said.
Theodosia shifted from one foot to the other, feeling anxious and half-afraid that she was about to learn the name of Reginald Doyle’s killer. She could hear Huntley riffling through papers at the other end of the line.
“That’s funny,” Huntley said, “but we don’t seem to have a name here. Just a delivery address. Which is very strange indeed. I guess I’m going to have to do some digging if I intend to get paid.”
Theodosia hung up, even more convinced that one of her prime suspects—someone dangerously close to Meredith—had murdered Reginald Doyle.
Yes, someone who carried a long gun last Sunday must have also used a concealed pistol holster. But who?
Worse yet, was this the same person who’d kidnapped Fawn?
And the big sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was—should she divulge this new information to Tidwell? Or to Riley?
Probably. Maybe.
Or should I wait and see?
* * *
* * *
Theodosia carried the box filled with lavender candles and sachets out to Miss Dimple, then walked to the front counter and crooked a finger at Drayton.
He leaned forward, a tin of tea in hand. “Yes?”
“Guess what.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“I just received a call from Huntley Ltd., the company that custom designed your shooting vest. And, lo and behold, they were also tapped to design a concealed pistol holster.”
“A . . . pistol holster? Did I hear you correctly?”
“The operative word being concealed pistol holster. George Huntley can’t find the name of the person who ordered it, but he assures me the finished piece was delivered to Creekmore Plantation.”
Drayton’s facile mind took about two seconds to make the connection.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As serious as a heart attack.”
“So you’ve been right all along! Someone in the shooting party killed Reginald Doyle,” Drayton said.
“Or someone nearby.”
“But who?”
“Take your pick,” Theodosia said. “Guy Thorne. Jack Grimes. Susan Monday. Or it could have even been Meredith or Alex.”
“But Fawn’s disappearance . . .”
“Is part and parcel of this whole murder mystery.”
Drayton thought for a moment. “You just rattled off a list of suspects. But what about Carl Clewis?”
“He has an alibi that checks out,” Theodosia said.
Drayton pried the top off a tin of Assam golden tips tea. “You realize Susan Monday will be here in a couple of hours.”
“And then so will Meredith and Alex,” Theodosia said. “I really hate to say this, but any one of them could have pulled off that murder.”
Drayton started to scoop up tea leaves and promptly spilled them. “Mother of pearl, have we unwittingly set up some kind of disaster? A weird convergence of the various players?”
Theodosia locked eyes with him. “I sincerely hope not, Drayton.”
“Now I’m so rattled I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Are you going to share this information about the concealed pistol holster with Detective Tidwell? Or your friend Detective Riley?”
Theodosia was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think I pretty much have to.”
* * *
* * *
But before a horde of law enforcement could descend upon the Indigo Tea Shop, tables needed to be set and there was a small matter of decorating.
“Should I tie these lavender sashes on the backs of all the chairs?” Miss Dimple asked.
“Yes, just make a big floppy bow in back,” Theodosia said.
“I love all these fancy touches. What else are you going to do?”
“Let’s see,” Theodosia said. “We need to put out the lavender bundles and sachets for favors. Tie ribbons around the long-stemmed bunches of lavender and put them in vases. Add the lavender candles to the tables. Oh, and we can’t forget champagne glasses. This is also a champagne tea.”
“You can’t go wrong with bubbly and brewed tea.” Miss Dimple laughed.
“I hope not,” Theodosia said. But she wasn’t thinking about champagne and tea at the moment. Her mind was spinning with worry about everything else.
28
Luckily, there were no worries about the food they were serving. Haley had powered through with a spectacular menu. One that Theodosia almost couldn’t believe, given the size constraints of their kitchen.
“I’m blown away, Haley,” Theodosia said. She stared at Haley’s scribbled menu card in her hand. “This is spectacular.”
Haley lifted a shoulder and grinned. “Hey, spectacular is my middle name.”
“It certainly has been this week.”
Haley looked serious again. “Do you think our guests will like everything I came up with?”
“Haley, they’re going to be delighted.”
“Because I could always—”
KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Back door!” Theodosia and Haley cried in unison.
Theodosia darted out of the kitchen, ran through her office, and pulled open the back door. Detective Pete Riley stood there flanked by two uniformed officers who carried official-looking black leather cases.
“Come in,” Theodosia said as her heart did a fast blip-blip. This is it. Now it starts.
“Thank you, Miss Browning,” Riley said. He was being formal, playing it by the book.
“Where do you intend to . . . ?”
“Set up?” Riley asked. His eyes roved about her office. “Right here, if that’s okay with you.”
“And there’ll be . . .”
“An unmarked car parked in the alley out back as well as three more cars on Church Street,” Riley said.
“But no police officers will be attending the tea,” Theodosia said. She wanted to be absolutely clear on this.
“None will be in the tea room per se,” Riley said. “But Officers Bowie and Smithson will be here with me.”
“Guns at the ready?” Theodosia asked.
Riley shook his head. “I’m doubtful it will come to that. But if you don’t mind, we’re going to set up a couple of listening devices.” He glanced at Officer Smithson. “Smitty? You go ahead.”
Theodosia followed Officer Smithson into the tea room and watched as he pulled a couple of minuscule devices from his case.