Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13 (11 page)

“Let’s hope so,” said Theodosia. “For your sake.”

“So about tomorrow,” said Haley, tapping her pen. “I’m mixing up crab salad and chicken salad here, then assembling tea sandwiches once we get to Aunt Libby’s.”

“So two kinds of sandwiches?” said Theodosia.

“Mmm, actually there’ll be three,” said Haley. “I’m doing turkey with cranberry relish, too. And there’ll be Swiss cheese quiche and strawberry scones. I’m able to get fresh strawberries now from Strawberry Hill up in Chesnee, so it looks like we’re set for the coming summer.”

“And, Drayton,” said Theodosia, “you’ve settled on which teas to serve?”

“Strawberry Darjeeling,” said Drayton, “to complement Haley’s scones. As well as a nice Viennese blend of Earl Grey. Both teas have wide appeal and aren’t too tricky to brew.” He removed hishalf-glasses and polished them on the lapel of his linen jacket. “Since we’ll be a traveling tea party, it’s best to keep things simple.”

“And we’ve got Miss Dimple and her brother coming in to handle the tea shop tomorrow,” said Theodosia. She was a little nervous about this. Miss Dimple was their bookkeeper and often worked part-time in the tea shop. Still, it wasn’t often that she left someone else completely in charge of her baby.

“But all they have to do is serve morning scones and tea,” said Haley. “By the time lunch rolls around, I’ll be back here to honcho things.”

“So we’re both running on skeleton crews,” laughed Drayton.

Still, the day
was far from concluded. Because twenty minutes later, Miss Josette and her nephew, Dexter, dropped by with a stack of sweetgrass baskets.

Miss Josette was an African American woman, probably in her late seventies, but who could easily pass for early sixties.
She had bright, intelligent eyes; the skillful, facile hands of an artist, and smooth skin the color of rich mahogany.

Dexter, who drove his aunt around on her deliveries, was tall, thin, and athletic-looking. He’d had a basketball scholarship to Charleston Southern University and now worked as an elementary school teacher.

Theodosia greeted them warmly, then said, “Are these all for us?”

“Only if you want them,” said Miss Josette, adjusting thepale-blue shawl that wrapped around hersea-green dress. Sweetgrass baskets were unique to Charleston and the surrounding environs, and Miss Josette was one of the premier basket makers. Elegant and utilitarian, her baskets were woven from long bunches of sweetgrass, pine needles, and bulrush, then bound together by strips from native palmetto trees.

“We want them all,” said Drayton, joining them.

“I told her you’d say that,” said Dexter, smiling. “She thought we’d be making three stops today, but I told her it’d be just this one.”

“That’s because we can’t keep them in stock,” said Theodosia. She took the top basket off the stack, a traditional round Gullah bread basket, and turned it gently in her hands. “We actually have a waiting list.” Over the years, sweetgrass baskets had become celebrated pieces of art in the low country. A collection of them was even on display at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.

“I hope you can stay for tea,” said Theodosia. “We may be a little light on scones and desserts, but tea we’ve got.”

“We can’t,” said Miss Josette. “Dexter has to drive over to Wadmalaw Island, where he works at a golf course.”

“Golf?” said Drayton. “I thought you taught here in town at Heritage Elementary.”

“Now I’ve got two jobs,” said Dexter.

“He’s working the second job so he can earn extra money
to fund a kind of local clubhouse,” Miss Josette explained. “For the kids. You know, to hang out at. After school and weekends.”

“We already have a pretty nice space,” said Dexter. “It’s only three hundred dollars a month to rent and it’s huge. But it’s still just raw space, so we plan to fix it up as we go along. Plus we need to buy sports equipment, a TV, CD player, that kind of stuff.”

“He’s doing a bang-up job, too,” Miss Josette said. “I’m so proud of him. He’s keeping the kids active and out of trouble. Teaching them, too.”

“What are some of your activities?” Theodosia asked.

“We just hang out and do interesting stuff,” Dexter explained. “Sometimes we play soccer, sometimes we read books, sometimes we listen to music. And not just rap or rock, either, but good music like Charlie Parker, Earl Hines, and Beethoven.”

Miss Josette beamed. “Last week Dexter borrowed a bus from the Gullah tour folks and took the kids to the Gibbes Museum.”

“We had a ball,” grinned Dexter. “Checked out the paintings by Thomas Hart Benton and Georgia O’Keeffe. Even saw some Japanese woodblock prints.”

“You know,” said Theodosia, “if you filed for 501(c)3 status, you could become an official nonprofit and be eligible to receive any number of grants and donations.”

Dexter hunched his shoulders forward. “Takes money to do that,” he said. “To file with the state and pay attorney’s fees and accountants and stuff.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Theodosia. It was strange, she decided, that it cost money to become a nonprofit. Seemed like yet another concept at odds with itself. Like army intelligence or educational TV.

“When we were at the museum,” said Dexter, “they had a
great big glass fishbowl practically overflowing with cash. And not just dollar bills, but twenties and fifties.”

“Sure,” said Theodosia, “their donation fishbowl.” She’d seen that same fishbowl many times. In fact, this month the museum had adopted Tuesday’s Child as their charity du jour. Very nice for Tuesday’s Child, but tough for guys like Dexter, who also had his heart in the right place but wasn’t quite as organized or skilled in PR.

“Well, good luck to you,” said Drayton. “That club of yours sounds quite wonderful.”

“I know I
warned you to stay away from the investigation,” said Tidwell. He sat across the table from Theodosia, looking slightly discombobulated. “But something rather bizarre has come up.”

“You found the murderer,” said Theodosia. Her heartbeat ratcheted upward and she felt a surge of excitement.

“No,” said Tidwell. “Nothing quite that earth-shattering.”

“Then what?”

Tidwell’s mouth puckered into a slight grimace. “Mr. Scully had a will.”

“Probably,” said Theodosia.

“No, he definitely did,” said Tidwell. “And only a few hours ago I became privy to the contents of that will.”

Theodosia wasn’t sure where this was going. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes and no,” said Tidwell. He shifted his bulk in the chair and said, “As it stands now, Shelby McCawley stands to inherit Solstice restaurant and one million dollars in insurance money.”

“Excuse me?” said Theodosia. She’d heard his words quite clearly, but they didn’t seem to register in her brain. “What?”

“Shelby McCawley is the beneficiary,” Tidwell told her.

“The girlfriend?” said Theodosia. “That’s utterly bizarre.”

“Call it what you may,” said Tidwell, but that seems to be the state of affairs at the current time.”

Theodosia’s brows pinched together and she said in a rush, “But why wouldn’t Parker have left the restaurant to his family?” She was practically shouting now. “His brother, Charles, in particular?”

“Who knows what neurochemicals are released within the brain when a man is besotted.” Tidwell’s mouth did a minuscule uptick at the corners.

His statement shocked Theodosia into silence. And also got her thinking.
Was that what Parker had been? Besotted? By Shelby? Seriously?

“Interestingly enough,” Tidwell continued, “you’d been his previous beneficiary.”

Theodosia put her head in her hands and gently massaged her temples. “You’re freaking me out,” she told him.

“Not my intention,” said Tidwell.

“But you have to agree this is all incredibly bizarre,” said Theodosia. “Leaving a restaurant and bar business to someone who’s completely inexperienced in the hospitality industry. Leaving it to such a young woman.”

“She’stwenty-seven,” said Tidwell.

“Like I said,” said Theodosia, sounding exasperated.

Tidwell pursed his lips. “All right, yes. Like you, I find Parker Scully’s choice of beneficiaries a trifle strange. But certainly not illegal.”

“But what was he thinking?” murmured Theodosia. She drew a deep breath and said, “In light of these new developments, would you indulge me by taking a closer look at Shelby? Run a background check or whatever?”

“I already have,” said Tidwell, “because I knew you would ask.”

“And?” Theodosia lifted a hand and waggled her fingers.

“Nothing,” said Tidwell. “The girl appears to be squeaky- clean.”

“Appearances can be so deceiving,” said Theodosia.

“In some instances, that’s true.”

“But not in this instance?”

Tidwell tipped his head to one side. “Like I said, we’ve discovered nothing unusual about the girl.”

Theodosia sat there for a few moments, thinking. Then she said, “Does this make Shelby a suspect?”

“It could,” said Tidwell.

Tidwell’s somewhat circumspect answer caused Theodosia’s brain to tick back to her meeting with Shelby. The girl had come to her asking for help. Then, after she’d made a few inquiries, Shelby had subtly pointed Theodosia in the direction of Joe Beaudry. Had Shelby been setting up a smoke screen? Constructing a dandy alibi? Was she that smart, that diabolical, that guilty?

Theodosia mulled this over for a few minutes. “Shelby was probably seeing Parker almost every day. She was in and out of his office. Do you think…do you think Shelby could have removed the contents of the Current Projects file?”

“You mean stolen?”

“Yes,” said Theodosia.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Tidwell replied. “We’ve asked her about it and she claims to have no knowledge of it.”

“But she could have,” Theodosia mused. She leaned back in her chair and put a hand at the back of her neck, at the root of her tension. Rubbing gingerly, trying to ease her sore muscles, she said, “The question is…why? What would have been in that file that Shelby so desperately wanted?”

“I don’t know,” said Tidwell. He peered thoughtfully at Theodosia, his dark eyes deep pools of contemplation. “But perhaps…” He drew a long breath. “Perhaps you might want to ask her that yourself.”

Theodosia stuck a
wooden spoon in her pot of chicken and rice soup and stirred thoughtfully. As she stood in the kitchen of her little cottage, her mind felt like it was buzzing in a thousand different directions. There was Parker’s murder, of course, with no solid leads as of yet. Lyle Manship was perched at the top of her list, but Joe Beaudry, Peaches, and Shelby had also earned honorary mention.

Theodosia was also feeling a wave of helplessness and sadness. Which would no doubt intensify when she attended Parker’s funeral tomorrow morning.

There was also the Coffee & Tea Expo to deal with. That event kicked off in just two days’ time. As a reminder, and because her office at the tea shop was jam-packed to the rafters, she had umpteen cases ofprivate-label tea and T-Bath products piled up around her kitchen.

Taking up precious space. And switching up the feng shui in my kitchen, too.

As if reading her mind, Earl Grey padded over and sniffed
at the boxes. Then he turned baleful eyes on Theodosia, as if to ask,
Why is this stuff cluttering our lovely home?

“Are you bugged, too?” she asked. “Because I promise this will all be gone by tomorrow night. Haley has some new guy she’s dating who drives a van. So they’re going to come by and schlep it all away.”

Earl Grey continued to gaze at her. “Rwwr?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” Theodosia promised, “and it can’t happen soon enough for me, either.”

She poured her soup into ablue-and-white Chinese bowl, placed it on a wicker tray, then decided she might like a couple of rye crackers as a crunchy counterpoint. But when she went to grab some, the cupboard was bare.

“Great,” said Theodosia. Her arms flew up and flapped at her sides.

“Woof!” said Earl Grey, letting loose a sharp, high-pitched bark.

At that exact moment, a loud knock sounded at her back door.

Somebody knocking on my back door? Came in the back way through my garden? That’s a little strange.

Startled, Theodosia stood there for a few moments, just gazing at the curtain that covered the window, as if she could somehow divine who her visitor might be. Then she stepped briskly to the door and reached for the doorknob. But just before she tugged open the door, she looped the chain across. Couldn’t be too careful these days.

Delaine was peering in. And looking slightly perturbed at being made to wait.

“Delaine!” Theodosia exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Tiptoeing through your magnolias,” said Delaine. “Though they’re not the only thing in your garden that could use some judicious pruning. Oh, and that so-called fishpond of yours?” She rolled her eyes. “There’s so much green gunk growing in there, it looks like the Okefenokee Swamp!”

Theodosia wanted to say,
What are you, the patio police?
But didn’t. Thought better of it. Why provoke her?

“Anyway,” Delaine continued, “I popped over to deliver a sort of impromptu invitation.”