Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (10 page)

Theodosia loved her
little cottage. When she approached it from the street, the gabled roof, cobblestone walk, and tumble of ivy always set her heart to racing. When she was cozied up inside, her heart slowed to a warm and satisfied pitty-pat.

The living room featured a rustic beamed ceiling, polished parquet floor, and brick fireplace set into a wall of beveled cypress panels. Tucked around a small coffee table, her chintz sofa and damask chairs made for a cozy seating arrangement. In the small but adequate foyer, hunter green walls were hung with antique brass sconces and the floor was red brick.

Her kitchen, however, left something to be desired. The appliances were old but adequate, the linoleum floor not so good, and the cabinets just plain awful. Unfortunately, the kitchen wasn’t something that could be corrected piece by piece. Two general contractors had told her that the kitchen renovations should really be done in one fell swoop and she believed them. Max was of the same opinion, so there you go.

Still, as Theodosia sat at her kitchen table, picking through a stack of photos, thinking about creating a couple of scrapbook pages of past themed teas, the overall feeling in the kitchen was one of hominess and comfort. Her collection of teapots helped foster that impression, of course, as well as her perfect little kitchen table. She’d found it in an antique shop over in Goose Creek. A lovely traditional-style mahogany table that had some real age on it. She’d teamed it with a pair of Hepplewhite chairs that still needed refinishing. Of course, the grandness of the ensemble was tempered somewhat by the presence of Earl Grey’s enormous dog bed stuffed beneath it. Still, it was his house, too. So what could you do?

Bang, bang, bang!

Earl Grey stuck his head out from what he considered his dog cave and gazed up at her. He wanted to know who on earth was banging away at their back door. Should he get up and woof, do his homeland security routine, or just stay curled up and chill?

“It’s Delaine,” Theodosia told him. “She said she’d drop by tonight with my evening gown.”

Bang, bang, bang!

“Yup, that’s definitely Delaine,” Theodosia said again. Always impatient, always in an all-fired hurry. She decided she’d better let Delaine in before she tried to bundle up her gown and stuff it through the dog door.

Theodosia hurried to her back door and pulled it open.

“Good heavens!” cried Delaine. “What on earth are you doing cooped up inside your house on a gorgeous night like this? Do you know there’s going to be a full moon tonight? Really, you should be outside on the patio enjoying the soft twilight and your lovely garden.”

“Nice to see you, too,” said Theodosia.

Delaine thrust a large black garment bag into her hands. “Here’s your gown, in the perfect size, exactly as promised.” She looked around for Earl Grey, stretched a hand out, and just like that, Earl Grey sauntered over to greet her.

If Delaine was brusque and officious with people, she was the polar opposite when it came to cats and dogs. Then she had patience, love, and empathy to spare. And animals responded amazingly well to her. Case in point, Earl Grey was suddenly rolling over on his back, legs akimbo, to get his tummy scratched.

“He loves that,” said Theodosia.

“Of course he does. Dominic and Domino love getting tickled, too.” Those were Delaine’s two Siamese cats that she was head over heels in love with. She considered them a cuter version of children and even had a meow ringtone on her cell phone.

“Would you like a glass of lemonade or sweet tea?” Theodosia asked.

“Mmn,” said Delaine, considering. “I think the lemonade.”

“Coming right up.”

Delaine eyed Theodosia’s outfit carefully. “Excuse me, but are you actually wearing
spandex
?”
She said it with scorn, as if Theodosia were dressed in long skirts and pantaloons, like Nellie in
Little House on the Prairie.

“I was about to go for a
run,”
Theodosia told her. She poured two glasses of lemonade and then they all trooped outside to sit on the patio. Delaine took a sip of her drink, sighed deeply, and seemed to suddenly let go and collapse in on herself.

Theodosia saw the tiredness etched on her face and reflected in her body language. “You must be exhausted after today.”

“I’m brain dead and my feet are killing me,” said Delaine. “But I have to say it was all worth it. After expenses, we raised almost twenty-two thousand dollars.”

Theodosia gave a low whistle. “That’s very impressive for just an afternoon show.”

“And thank goodness the event people I hired are doing the teardown and cleanup at my shop. I don’t think I could bear to spend one more moment facing down all that glittery Mylar.”

“But it looked great on the runway,” said Theodosia.

“It did.” Delaine massaged the back of her neck as she glanced around at the garden. “I see most of your plantings finally took hold.” Her brows pinched together. “It’s not like you have a green thumb or anything.”

“Just lucky to have a favorable climate,” said Theodosia. Her backyard had been decidedly straggly and bereft of landscaping. Under Delaine’s goading, she’d put in dozens of new trees, shrubs, and plants. Now she knew that if she wasn’t careful to keep things pruned, the plants would grow and creep and turn the place into a veritable jungle. Then again, Delaine might like that. She’d consider it exotic and verdant.

Delaine tilted her head back, looked sideways, and then did a sort of surprised double take.

“Eep!” Her lips pursed together and she emitted a shrill sound like a little mouse.

“Now what’s wrong?” asked Theodosia.

Delaine was staring fixedly across the brick wall that separated Theodosia’s cottage from Dougan Granville’s former home. “I just got startled because there are . . .” She put a hand to her heart. “There are
lights
burning in Dougan’s old house!”

“Oh,” said Theodosia. “Not to worry. There’s a showing tonight.”

Delaine’s face crumpled a little. “Oh no.”

“The realtor . . . I’m sorry. I probably should have mentioned it to you.”

“No,” said Delaine. She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Are you sure? We can go back inside if this is going to upset you.”

Delaine gave a quick shake of her head. “It’s just that thinking about poor Dougan still makes me very sad.”

“I’m sure it does,” said Theodosia. “It takes time to recover from that kind of heartbreak.” Dougan Granville had been murdered on what would have been Delaine’s wedding day.

Delaine dropped her head forward and let her shoulders sag. “Yes, it does take time.” She sighed. “Probably a
lot
of time.”

“Hey!” an exuberant male voice called out. “Hey, Theodosia!”

Earl Grey raised his head and let loose a suspicious
woof.

“My goodness,” said Delaine, lifting her head, suddenly alert. “I think someone is shouting your name over that fence.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d have to say that’s rather rude.”

There was the distinct sound of crunching gravel and a rustle of leaves, and then Andrew Turner’s head poked inquisitively over the fence.

“Hey there!” Theodosia called back. She lifted a hand in a friendly wave.

“Oops, sorry,” said Turner as soon as he noticed Delaine sitting next to her on the patio. “I had no idea you had company. Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude or go all Peeping Tom on you.”

“No problem,” said Theodosia. “Why don’t you come on over.”

Turner’s head disappeared and they could hear footsteps scuffing against cement as he darted out into the alley. Then a few seconds later he strolled through Theodosia’s back gate, a big smile on his handsome face. As Theodosia quickly made introductions, to Delaine and to Earl Grey, she noticed that, halfway through all the pleasantries, Delaine seemed to have brightened considerably.

“So lovely to meet you,” Delaine murmured. “You’ve been . . . ah . . . touring the house next door?”

“Yes, I have,” said Turner. “And it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It’s stunning,” said Delaine. “Oh course, the previous owner did have some decorating help.”

“The realtor mentioned the designers at Popple Hill,” said Turner.

“As well as
others
who gave creative input,” Delaine said pointedly.

“You’re sure that house isn’t too big for you?” said Theodosia.

“It’s roomy, I’ll give it that,” said Turner. He glanced toward Delaine and studied her for a long moment. “Delaine Dish . . . I know a Hughes Dish from over near Goose Creek. Is he any relation to you?”

Delaine’s eyes crinkled as she nodded. “Oh yes, cousin Hughes. He’s what you might call a shirttail relative. A second cousin once removed.”

“Anyway,” said Turner, still focused in on Delaine, “your cousin, once removed that he is, bought a print from my gallery.”

“Andrew is the proprietor of The Turner Gallery,” Theodosia explained. “Over on Hopper Street.”

“Of course,” said Delaine. A dreamy look had spread across her face. Suddenly her tension lines were erased and she didn’t look quite so exhausted. In fact, she looked downright pert.

Turner persisted. “So, um, is Dish your
married
name?”

Delaine dimpled prettily and her eyes lit up as if South Carolina Electric & Gas had just thrown their master switch. “I’m not married,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Ah,” said Turner. He gave it the kind of inflection that indicated keen interest. “Now isn’t that a piece of luck.”

Theodosia looked from Turner to Delaine. They seemed to be gazing at each other with curiosity, eagerness, and a tiny bit of hunger thrown in for good measure.

“Mr. Turner,” said Theodosia. “Can I interest you in a glass of lemonade?” She studied the two of them still smiling intently at each other, pretty much ignoring her. “Or maybe I should break out a bottle of wine?”
And leave the two of you alone?

Delaine was the first one to break the spell. “Theo, darling,” she said, “I’d love to stay and chat with you and your charming friend, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check.” Her eyes wandered back to Turner’s face. “I’d
adore
the chance to stay and get better acquainted, but I have two more dresses I promised to deliver this evening.”

“Of course,” said Theodosia. “Another time then.”

“We’ll definitely make it another time,” said Turner.

“I’d like that very much,” said Delaine. “It’s been . . . delightful to meet you, Mr. Turner.”

“Andrew. Please, call me Andrew.”

Delaine gathered up her clutch purse and tottered across the patio on sky-high stilettos. She stopped at the back gate, waggled her fingers at him, and said, “And you can call me anytime!”

“She seems awfully nice,” said Turner. He was still staring at the rustic wooden gate as if hoping that Delaine might materialize once again. But she didn’t. “Do you know—and I hope you don’t think this is too forward on my part—but do you know if your friend Delaine has a date for the Art Crawl Ball?”

“I don’t believe she does,” said Theodosia. She was about to tell Turner that Delaine was in mourning. That her fiancé had been murdered only a few short months ago. Then she bit her tongue and decided not to. Because, really, Delaine had her moments of sadness. But had she been in full-bore sackcloth and ashes mourning? No, she had not. That just wasn’t Delaine’s style or way of thinking.

“Do you think it would be presumptuous if I invited her to the Art Crawl Ball?” Turner seemed to be fumbling his words a bit. “No, I guess what I’m really saying is, do you think it’s too
late
to ask her to the Art Crawl Ball? Because I certainly don’t want to insult her with a last-minute invitation.” He gave a rueful smile. “Some women can be kind of prickly about that.”

“I don’t think Delaine would be one bit insulted,” Theodosia told him. Truth be told, she knew that Delaine would be over-the-moon thrilled by Turner’s invitation. Delaine had even confessed to her last week that she was dying to go to the ball.

“So you think she’d go with me?”

“I think,” said Theodosia, “that if you called Delaine at five o’clock on Saturday afternoon, she’d still say yes.”