Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (19 page)

“What on earth
was that woman babbling about?” said Drayton as he watched Georgette push her way through the crowd. “Do you really think she knows something?”

“It’s more likely she suspects someone,” said Theodosia. “But then again, don’t we all harbor our own suspicions?”

“I suppose so,” said Drayton.

Feeling a little unsettled by Georgette’s words, Theodosia took another sip of wine and glanced around. That was when she spotted a strange-looking man slinking through the crowd.

“Oh my,” said Drayton. He’d spotted him, too.

“What?”

“Flagg,” said Drayton. “You know, the writer?”

Dressed in a pair of too-tight khaki slacks and a red polo shirt, Harvey Flagg moved through the crowd like a nasty virus on a crowded cruise ship. He was back-slapping and high-fiving any number of people who could easily serve as fodder for the next juicy story in Bill Glass’s
Shooting Star.

When Flagg noticed Theodosia and Drayton watching him, he casually sauntered over to them.

“Hey, Drayton,” Flagg said in an annoying bray. “Sorry I didn’t make it to your lunch thing the other day.”

“Don’t be,” said Drayton. “Our idea of publicity doesn’t include one of your nasty little stories filled with gossip and innuendo.”

“Or one of your photographs of someone in an unflattering pose,” Theodosia added.

Flagg smiled crookedly at Theodosia. “You must be Theodosia.” Though he was short and overweight, he had a narrow, pinched face and one eye that never seemed to focus completely.

“Run along,” said Drayton. “We’re not interested in your brand of gossip.”

Flagg reared back as if highly offended. “Don’t get all holier than thou on me, folks. There’s a good reason gossip rags outsell old school magazines like
Newsweek
and
Time.
Readers want dirt. In fact, they crave it. Who doesn’t want to know what celeb’s got a coke problem, or who just got kicked off a movie set.” He winked. “Even locally, our audience is dying to know who’s coveting whose neighbor. Or which fat cat’s fancy house just slid into foreclosure!”

“If you were looking for a salacious story,” said Theodosia, “it’s too bad you missed the barrel tasting at Knighthall last Saturday.”

Flagg suddenly looked as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

“That’s right,” Drayton echoed. “You missed a heck of a scoop.”

“Couldn’t you smell the blood in the air?” said Theodosia. “Or have we all been giving you just way too much credit?”

Flagg’s mouth pulled into a wolfish snarl and his eyes blazed. “I’ll have you know I
am
writing a story about that! In fact, I’m talking to a few people who seem to be flying way, way under the radar. You just wait and see.” He glanced around quickly, then added in a slight wheedling tone, “You know, if you’ve got a couple of minutes right now, I wouldn’t mind interviewing the both of you. I hear you’re thick as thieves with Jordan Knight.”

“Doubtful,” said Theodosia, turning away from him.

Drayton flapped a hand. “Run along, we’re simply not interested.”

Flagg was about to say something else when a loud blast of static pierced the air. Theodosia glanced around and saw Georgette Kroft, microphone in hand, standing atop a makeshift stage. She was smiling like she was about to announce the new Miss America.

“May I have your attention in three?” Georgette boomed. The crowd quieted a little. “May I have your attention in two?” The crowd was nearly silent except for a few giggles. “May I have your attention in one?” she asked. Now the crowd was silent.

“Here we go,” Drayton whispered to Theodosia.

“Friends,” Georgette began. “Thank you all for coming tonight. Oak Hill Winery is supremely honored to host so many local dignitaries. I’d love to name names, but I’m sure I’d miss someone.”

The crowd laughed on cue.

“We are also incredibly pleased to share our exquisite new Syrah with you tonight,” Georgette continued. “No, you haven’t had the pleasure of tasting it yet, but in a matter of moments you’ll get your chance. Waiters will be coming through the crowd to offer you a taste of our new Palmetto Prestige Syrah.”

As she said the name, a cadre of waiters appeared in two lines from each side of the stage. Then they moved into the crowd, their trays rattling with wineglasses. Immediately, a waiter with a long dark ponytail stopped in front of Theodosia and Drayton and offered them a glass.

“Thank you,” said Theodosia as they both accepted wineglasses filled with the Prestige Syrah. She saw that the wine was reddish-orange, almost copper in color, seeming to defy the notion of what was a traditional Syrah.

“Friends,” Georgette boomed again, “you don’t need to get your eyes checked. This is most definitely a Syrah, but it’s our own unique spin on what we’re calling a white Syrah. Palmetto Prestige is made from a combination of home-grown Sangiovese grapes and special Cannaiolo grapes that were imported direct from Italy.”

“Different,” muttered Drayton.

“When I barrel tested this wine,” said Georgette, “I picked up some lovely hints of cinnamon and pomegranate. And I can’t wait to hear
your
learned opinions. So please . . . raise your glasses and enjoy!”

Theodosia sipped gently. While she couldn’t quite place the pomegranate, she did detect a wonderful, creamy nectarine flavor. “It’s awfully good,” she told Drayton.

“Unusual,” said Drayton. “But you’re right, it’s really quite good.”

• • •

An hour later,
after a few friends were greeted, more wine was imbibed, and some honey-barbecued ribs consumed, Theodosia and Drayton headed for the parking lot.

“All in all an enjoyable evening,” said Drayton as they strolled through a garden gate beneath a wooden trellis that hung heavy with swirls of purple Clematis.

“It was nice,” said Theodosia.

The gravel parking lot, just a few steps ahead of them, was now practically half empty. The evening had drawn to a close, people had left. Still there were a heroic number of Lexus, Audi, and Mercedes automobiles left in the lot.

“Take a look at all the high-end cars,” said Theodosia. “Georgette surely knows the right people to invite.”

“Maybe even more than Jordan did,” said Drayton. “Besides, people who drive luxury cars are not exactly the type who buy three-dollar wine at Trader Joe’s.”

“Maybe that’s the key to Georgette’s success,” said Theodosia. “Knowing the right people.”

“I suppose it never hurts,” said Drayton.

“Or maybe she prices her wine higher,” said Theodosia.

As they climbed into the Jeep, Theodosia wished that Max had been able to join them. Oh well, some other time. This week he had his hands full with the Paint and Palette Art Crawl and, of course, the Art Crawl Ball. And from all indications, the Art Crawl had been wildly successful thus far.

Off to her left, an engine roared to life, throaty and rumbling, breaking up the subtle night music of the crickets and tree frogs. A loud voice shouted out as the engine revved louder. Then tires spun wildly in the gravel and Theodosia heard little bits of gravel tick-ticking and pelting against the nearby cars, like a hail of buckshot.

Suddenly, a red sports car burst past her, swerving madly as its tires struggled for purchase in the loose gravel. More cars were pelted with gravel and a tiny rock pinged off her own windshield.

“Silly hot dogger,” Drayton muttered.

But Theodosia had caught sight of the car just as it shot off into the darkness. It was a red Porsche! Just like Drew Knight’s car!

“Did you see that?” she asked. “The car!”

“Yes,” said Drayton. “A crazy person who probably drank too much wine. It’s a pity we didn’t catch his license plate number.”

“That was a Porsche!” said Theodosia.

Drayton gazed at her as they pulled away. “Yes?”

“Drew Knight’s Porsche went missing. Remember? And Carl Van Deusen just mentioned that Drew had loaned him his car?”

“Good heavens, you don’t think . . .”

“I don’t know what to think.” Theodosia clutched the steering wheel as she rolled out of the parking lot and headed down the ribbon of road in the darkness. She thought about what Janet at Virtuoso Staffing had told her about Carl Van Deusen—that he’d been acting strangely that night at Knighthall. Was Van Deusen a drug user, too? Could he offer some insight into a possible drug deal that Drew had been involved in? Did he know who Drew’s dealer was? And could this drug dealer be the actual killer?

Theodosia decided she definitely needed to have a one-on-one with Carl Van Deusen. And pretty darned soon.

“Dark out here,” murmured Drayton. He’d been sitting quietly in the passenger seat not making a peep. “And getting foggy. Makes it difficult to see the road in spots.”

“It is getting tricky,” said Theodosia. All around them the dark crept closer and closer, barely kept at bay by her halogen high beams. This was an area that had once been inhabited by rice plantations, back when Carolina gold had been the premier cash crop. So there were still plenty of old dams, swamps, hills, and twisting roads to be had.

Theodosia tried to focus on her driving, not on problem solving. But as she climbed a slight rise, she caught sight of two bright lights coming up fast behind her. They crested a hill behind her, and then disappeared from view in her rearview mirror. Thirty seconds later, they were right behind her again. This time a little closer. She checked her speed and saw the needle hovering at sixty. Which meant the speed demon car behind her was flying along at perhaps seventy or eighty miles an hour.

“What’s wrong?” Drayton asked, sensing something was amiss.

“Just a crazy driver behind me. A speed demon.”

“There’s somebody ahead of you, too,” he said.

“I think it’s that Porsche that blew out of the parking lot just ahead of us. Maybe . . . Van Deusen.”

“Maybe,” said Drayton. He turned his head. “That car behind you is coming up awfully fast.”

“I see that,” said Theodosia as her heart skipped a little beat. Her instinct told her that the speed demon behind her wasn’t an intentional threat. Still, moving at such a super high speed, he was a hazard to anyone sharing this deserted stretch of road.

“Goodness!” said Drayton, still glancing back over his shoulder. “Now he’s almost on top of us!”

Theodosia didn’t need an announcement from Drayton to tell her that. The speed demon was a mere fifty yards behind her and closing at a very rapid rate.

“I think he’s going to pass us,” said Theodosia. They were approaching a fairly steep hill and the solid yellow lines clearly marked a no-passing zone.

That didn’t stop the speed demon car as it whipped past them, its overtaxed engine whining loudly.

“Whoa!” said Drayton, gripping instinctively for a door handle.

“It’s okay,” said Theodosia as they topped the hill. “He’s gone. He’s way past us now.” Theodosia tapped her brakes as they rolled down a gentle hill and boggy swampland stretched out on either side of them. “Gonna bug somebody else.”

“Look!” said Drayton, pointing at the curving road ahead. “There he is. Gracious . . . I think he’s going to pass that other car, too!”

“Pass that Porsche,” said Theodosia, peering ahead. “Yeah, looks like it.”

But just as Theodosia’s nemesis rolled up alongside the Porsche, he jerked hard to the right and swerved directly into the Porsche, hitting it and sending it careening wildly.

“Speed demon hit that car!” Theodosia yelped. She could barely believe her eyes!

There was a mad flashing of taillights and then a horrendous squealing of tires.

“Did you see that?” Theodosia cried. “Swerved right into him!”

The car that had been hit was fishtailing wildly, its rear end shaking like crazy as it struggled to hold the road. It seemed to hover for a moment, trying hard to regain traction, then it bounced up and seemed to lift right off the ground.

Theodosia and Drayton watched helplessly as the stricken car torqued and spun sideways in the air. Then it flew off the right side of the road and tumbled, end over end, down a steep embankment.

Meanwhile, the speed demon had disappeared down the road.