Shades of Earl Grey (13 page)

Suddenly, whoever it was, dove around the corner into the bathroom and slammed the door.

In a flash, Theodosia was pulling at the bathroom door.

It stuck for a moment, then flew open. Nobody there! Too late! It was a shared bathroom and the menacing visitor must have dashed into the room next door.

Theodosia and Earl Grey pushed through to the adjoining room, found it empty. Without hesitation, they charged out into the hallway . . . . . . And got there just in time to see the door to the stairwell swing shut!

“Cecile, call Security,” Theodosia yelled.

“What?” came a startled voice.

“Security!” yelled Theodosia as she dropped Earl Grey's leash and pushed the door to the stairwell open. “C'mon, fella. Downstairs! Follow him!”

As they charged down the stairs, Theodosia could hear the door at the bottom clang shut.
But which door?
Theodosia wondered as they hit the first-floor landing.
The door that led to the lobby or the emergency exit that opened outside?

Has to be outside.
Theodosia decided as she lowered a shoulder and hit that door hard.

Cool air greeted them as they rushed out.

They found themselves in back of the hospital. Dark and deserted, there appeared to be a thin line of trees and what looked like a small garden where patients could go and sit.

That garden was in deep shadows now, but Theodosia could just make out a figure slipping in among the trees.

“Go get him!” she told Earl Grey. “Stop him!” She'd never taught him
those
commands before, but the dog responded like a champion, dashing off toward the small woods.

Theodosia ran after her dog.
Just maybe,
she thought,
Earl Grey can catch him and run him down like a rabbit.
Because whoever had been lurking in Harlan Wilson's room had certainly been up to no good.

Dashing into the thin line of trees, Theodosia leapt over a fallen log, almost stumbled, then broke out of the woods into the parking lot of the Dixie Quick Market.

From somewhere nearby came the cough of a car ignition turning over, then a loud squeal of tires.

Theodosia ran out to the street. Earl Grey was standing there, tail low, hackles up, still growling. Together they watched as red taillights receded in the distance.

DRAYTON FROWNED AS
he carefully measured several spoonfuls of dragon's well tea into a blue willow teapot. Haley always chided him for wanting to “match” teas to teapots.
Well, so what if I do?
he thought to himself.
Would you really want to serve this fine sweet tea from central China in a Japanese tetsubin? No, of course not. No tea lover in their right mind would. The traditional metal tetsubin should be reserved for Japanese green tea like bancha or gyokuro. Or even better, a nice first-flush sencha.

But Haley's good-natured chiding wasn't what was chafing at Drayton this morning. No, he decided, it was Theodosia's visit last evening to Saint Anne's. And the fact that she had chased, actually
pursued,
some strange intruder down the stairwell and into the dark.

He'd always known Theodosia had a wild streak in her. But this last incident seemed positively reckless!

On the other hand, the fact that some lunatic had been lurking in Harlan Wilson's room seemed to confirm the fact that the guard had actually
seen
the thief at the Heritage Society the other night. So maybe they'd really have something to go on now. That would certainly be welcome news to poor Timothy Neville, who seemed to be waiting on pins and needles for the ax to fall on his head.

“I can't believe you actually chased this fellow,” Drayton said to Theodosia. “Did you alert the security staff at the hospital, too?”

Theodosia nodded. “I went back afterwards and talked to them.”

“And . . .” said Drayton.

“Someone had fiddled with Harlan Wilson's oxygen line.”

Drayton's face blanched white. “Good lord! This intruder really did mean to do harm!”

“It looks that way,” said Theodosia. “Apparently Mr. Wilson didn't exactly need the oxygen, it was supplemental, but the intruder didn't know that.”

“So the intent was still to harm him,” persisted Drayton.

“Looks like,” said Theodosia. She glanced up from the counter, where she and Drayton had both been fixing pots of tea. Haley seemed to have all the tables under control. All she needed were the fresh pots of dragon's well and English breakfast tea that were now steeping.

“Has Mr. Wilson been able to say much of anything?” asked Drayton.

“I'm afraid not,” said Theodosia. “He's still pretty woozy.”

“And you didn't get a good look at the intruder?” asked Drayton.

Theodosia shook her head sadly. “Not really.”

“Was he tall or short?”

“Not sure.”

“Skinny or heavyset?”

Theodosia sighed. “I'm afraid I couldn't say either way. Sorry. I know if I'd been more alert, or a tad faster, we'd have something to go on.”

“No, no,” said Drayton. “I didn't mean to imply you'd done a poor job of it. You just got caught unawares. Usually when one enters a hospital room, there isn't a malevolent figure lurking in the dark.” Drayton gave her a commiserating look. “You really should call Detective Tidwell again,” he urged.

“Don't you think he already knows?” said Theodosia. “The hospital is going to put a guard on Mr. Wilson's room.”

“But that doesn't mean Tidwell's in the loop,” said Drayton. “He told us those two other fellows . . .” Drayton paused, trying to recall the names of the two men from the Robbery Division.

“Gallier and Delehanty,” filled in Theodosia.

“Right,” said Drayton. “Tidwell said they were handling the alleged robbery at the Lady Goodwood and the disappearance of the sapphire necklace. The various departments don't necessary communicate with each other.”

“You're right,” agreed Theodosia.

“Is that tea ready yet?” asked Haley.

Theodosia grabbed both teapots and passed them over to her. “Yes, sorry we're taking so long.”

“I kind of heard what you guys were whispering about,” said Haley. “This is all getting very frightening.”

“I know what you mean,” said Theodosia. “I was scared out of my wits Sunday night when Cooper Hobcaw came running up behind me in an alley.”

“What?” said Drayton. “He must have strayed pretty far from home.”

“He's kind of a weird guy,” said Haley. “I'm not sure I trust him.”

Drayton's eyes sought out Theodosia's. “You don't suppose . . .” he said.

“What?” asked Haley as she stared at the two of them. “You think
he's
somehow involved in all this?”

“Probably not,” said Theodosia, although she couldn't seem to shake the notion from her head that Cooper Hobcaw seemed to conveniently appear in so many different places.

The bell over the door tinkled and all of them turned to look.

Drayton's face broke into a wide grin. “It's Brooke,” he said. “From Heart's Desire. Oh quick, Theo, she's a true devotee of Goomtee Estate tea. Brew up one of those two-cup pots while I go and greet her, will you?”

Theodosia nodded even as she pulled a small silver tin down from the shelf and went to work. Goomtee Estate was a classic, smooth Darjeeling, light in color with a delicate, sweet aroma and gentle hint of muscatel flavor. Most people favored it as an afternoon tea, but Brooke was an exception. She liked it in the morning, hot and black, with no milk or sugar.

“This should steep another minute or so,” said Theodosia as she delivered the small pot of tea to Brooke's table.

“Aren't you a love,” said Brooke. “Drayton said you were brewing a pot of Goomtee just for me.”

“And I have the perfect accompaniment,” said Drayton as he hovered over her with a plate. “Fresh-baked baps.”

“Scottish breakfast bread!” exclaimed Brooke. “My granny used to bake baps.”

“Well, these are made according to one of Haley's traditional low-country recipes, or receipts as we South Carolinians like to say. Not too sugary, not too sweet, but always delightful with a pat of butter and some good sourwood honey.” And Drayton scampered off to fetch more baps for the rest of the customers.

“Theo,” asked Brooke as she pulled her pot of tea toward her. “Do you have a moment?”

Theodosia slipped into the chair opposite Brooke. “Certainly.”

Brooke Carter Crockett was a self-reliant woman. She had owned Heart's Desire for some fifteen years and had seen it thrive as a small business. Brooke had also offered inspiration and invaluable help to Theodosia when she'd first opened the tea shop. It had been wonderful to receive mentoring from a small business owner who'd already endured her baptism by fire.

Now Brooke seemed to be searching for just the right words. She shook her sleek mane of white hair, brushed it back behind her ears, revealing a pair of canary yellow diamond stud earrings.

Have to be three full carats each,
thought Theodosia.
And marquis cut at that. Stunning, really stunning.

“Theodosia,” began Brooke, “I'm just going to ask this flat out. Do you think there's a cat burglar at work in the historic district?” Brooke curled a hand delicately around the handle of the small teapot, poured a steaming stream of the golden-red liquor into her teacup, and waited for an answer.

“Honestly,” said Theodosia, “I don't know. I
think
there might be, but it's just supposition. A hunch at best.”

“Drayton mentioned something strange to my associate, Aerin Linley, the other night. At the Heritage Society's members-only party.”

“What did he tell her?” asked Theodosia.

“Just that you didn't think the death of that poor Buchanan boy was any accident. That you suspected someone might have been up there on the roof.”

“Well, the whole incident did have a strange feel to it. Not exactly
engineered,
but not a complete accident either.” She knew exactly where Brooke was heading with this line of questioning. With Heart's Desire specializing in high-end estate jewelry, Brooke was understandably nervous about being a possible target. Theodosia wondered if she should tell Brooke about the hospital last night.
No,
she decided,
better to keep that little incident to myself.

“Brooke,” Theodosia said, suddenly getting a germ of an idea. “Do people just walk in off the street with jewelry and offer to sell it to you?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely,” said Brooke. “Dealers, antiquers, just regular folks. Of course, we get lots of locals. You'd be amazed at the people who come in. There are some folks who put on an impeccable appearance, yet are poor as church mice. They've been selling off inherited jewelry and heirlooms for years in order to maintain a certain standard of living. Naturally, Aerin and I try to be extremely discreet. We wouldn't maintain much of a customer base if we blabbed about who sold this or bought that.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said Theodosia. “But do you ever”—she hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her question—“do you ever get just a tiny bit suspicious of someone who's selling a very expensive piece of jewelry?”

Brooke hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose I have in a couple instances. I don't really feel I can go into detail, though . . .”

“That's okay,” said Theodosia hastily, “it was just a random thought. Forget I even brought it up.”

But Brooke continued to pick at the thread of their conversation. “When a seller
does
act a bit nervous or suspicious, I try to get a quick Polaroid of the jewelry they're offering for sale. Then I check with the Police Department to see if anything similar has been reported stolen. Now, of course, there are several Internet web sites that specialize in the recovery of art and high-end jewelry. You can post stolen, suspicious, or recovered items with them.”

“And there are also web sites where you can sell goods, no questions asked,” said Theodosia.

“Yes,” sighed Brooke, “there are
lots
of those. Antique auction sites, sellers' marts, what have you.”

“Can I offer you a little more honey?” asked Haley as she deposited a small silver dish on the table filled with the sticky gold liquid.

“Thank you, Haley,” said Brooke. “Your biscuits are delicious. Nice and light, and really great with this honey.”

“It's from DuBose Bees,” responded Haley. “They're one of our best suppliers and specialize in all different flavors of honey. Sourwood honey, apple honey, melon honey . . .”

“How on earth do you get melon honey?” asked Brooke.

Haley wrinkled her button nose and smiled. “It's really kind of neat. The grower puts his beehives right smack dab in the middle of a field of melons. Apparently, once the bees pollinate the flowers, their honey begins to take on this sweet melon flavor. Works the same way with apples and peaches.”

“I never dreamed it was done that way,” said Brooke, genuinely fascinated. “I always thought they just added flavoring or something.”

Haley glanced up as the bell over the door tinkled. “Hey there, Miss Dimple,” she said in a chirpy voice.

Short and plump, edging up into her high seventies, Miss Dimple flashed a big smile at Haley and Theodosia as she swished in wearing a purple wool poncho slung over her purple and red dress. She had worked in the building next door to the tea shop, the Peregrine Building, as a personal assistant to old Mr. Dauphine, the building's owner, for many years. When Mr. Dauphine died of a heart attack last year, Miss Dimple, in a state of anxiety and desperately needing a job, was encouraged by Theodosia to pursue freelance bookkeeping. Now Miss Dimple had a new career handling payables and receivables for several small businesses on Church Street such as the Chowder Hound Restaurant and Turtle Creek Antiques. She even worked behind the counter from time to time at Pinckney's Gift Shop.