Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (22 page)
Read Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) Online
Authors: Laura Childs
Pandora blew her nose discreetly, gave a little hiccup, and added, “And now maybe have a little lunch.”
“Of course,” said Theodosia. “Shall I put something together for you?”
“Why don’t you surprise us,” said Pandora. She was still fiddling with her hanky.
Theodosia got to her feet and said, “Give me a minute.” She had more questions for them, but this was neither the time nor the place. Jordan and Pandora were finally acting civil to each other and they’d both just endured a terrible shock. So later. Later she’d delve a little deeper into what they might know about the Drew Knight–Carl Van Deusen relationship.
“And we need to thank Drayton, too,” said Jordan. “What a friend—” His words were choked short by his emotions.
“Certainly,” said Theodosia.
• • •
“Jordan wants to
talk to you,” Theodosia told Drayton. “He’s pretty torn up because of Van Deusen’s arrest last night, but he seems to think we’re the ones who cracked the case.”
“Didn’t we?” said Drayton.
She shrugged. “Not really. I think we more or less just stumbled into things.”
“Well, let’s not go into major denial mode. If Jordan wants to be grateful and think we had a hand in solving his son’s murder, let’s let him have his moment.”
“Fine with me,” said Theodosia.
She went into the kitchen and quickly assembled a tea tray for Jordan and Pandora. Two salads, slices of quiche, a couple of tea sandwiches. As a special treat for the eyes, she grabbed a box of edible flowers from the cooler and sprinkled a few petals on the two-tiered tray. Then she carried it to the table, where Drayton was deep in conversation with Jordan and Pandora.
“They’re meeting with Sheriff Anson later this afternoon,” Drayton told Theodosia. “He’s going to try to fit all the pieces together.”
Good luck with that
, Theodosia thought. But said instead, “Sounds good.”
“And then we’ll let you know what we know,” said Jordan.
Theodosia set her tea tray down. “That would be great.” But what she was really thinking was,
Unless I get to Sheriff Anson first.
• • •
The minute lunch
was over, Theodosia hastily cleared off four tables and pushed them together so they could seat six tea-blending students at each table. Drayton, meanwhile, was measuring out some basic black and white teas into small bowls. Then he also set out bowls of lemon grass, hibiscus flowers, lemon peel, wild cherry bark, dried apple bits, and lavender.
“Do you think I have enough ingredients?” Drayton asked.
“I think so,” said Theodosia. “You don’t want to overwhelm their taste buds, after all.”
Drayton peered at her. “Excuse me, but you’re looking a tad glum for such a lovely Friday.”
“Still noodling over the murder . . . the investigation.”
“You know,” said Drayton. “Jordan and Pandora consider you the hero of the hour—they think you solved Drew’s murder!”
“It doesn’t feel like I had much of a hand in it at all.”
“Of course you did, dear girl,” Drayton chortled. “And just wait until Detective Tidwell comes in for tea. Why, the story I’m going to tell him! The man will be pea green with envy!”
• • •
Drayton’s class on
microblending tea was a huge hit. His amateur tea sommeliers blended white tea with hibiscus and lavender and came up with what they called their Book Club Blend. And then they blended a rich black Ceylon tea with bits of apple, citrus, and lemon grass and dubbed it their Orchard Tea Blend.
Theodosia watched from the sidelines, but was clearly restless.
“What’s wrong?” Haley asked.
Theodosia shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just at sixes and sevens.” She was still hoping that Sheriff Anson would call her back. And she hadn’t forgotten about Jack Alston, too. She figured his investigation into Higashi Golden Brands might help shed some light on things.
“Yeah,” said Haley, “you seem awfully preoccupied.”
“Sorry,” said Theodosia.
“Don’t be. You have a right to be. It’s been a pretty strange week around here.”
Theodosia nodded. “Listen, do you mind if I bug out early? There’s something I want to do.”
“No problem with me,” said Haley. “All I’m going to do is bake a couple batches of date and walnut cookies for Angie’s open house tonight. You’re still going to that, huh? At the Featherbed House?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
• • •
When Theodosia arrived
at Virtuoso Staffing, Linda Hemmings was sitting at the front desk, signing payroll checks and stuffing them into envelopes.
When Linda looked up and saw Theodosia, she said, “See how glamorous it is to own your own business?”
“Tell me about it,” said Theodosia. “I was down on my hands and knees the other day, restocking all our shelves.”
“Humbling, isn’t it?”
“You know,” said Theodosia, “I kind of like it that way.”
Linda nodded. “Keeps you grounded anyway.” Then she got serious and said, “I read in this morning’s
Post and Courier
about how you chased Carl Van Deusen into a swamp and cornered him single-handedly.”
“It wasn’t quite as dramatic as all that,” said Theodosia.
“And you saved him from drowning?”
“Really, I just held his head up.”
“Still,” said Linda. “It sounds as if Drew Knight’s murder has been solved, thanks to your quick work.” When Theodosia didn’t respond right away, Linda frowned and said, “I have to admit, though, I feel pretty awful about Carl. I never glimpsed that dark side of him. I guess it just goes to show that you never really know someone. You never can tell what’s hidden deep down in their heart.”
“Maybe so,” said Theodosia.
Linda gazed at her. “Is there a problem?”
Theodosia bit her lip. “Let me ask you something. What time did your staff arrive at the winery last Sunday?”
Linda thought for a moment. “I think they had a five o’clock call. Yeah, that was it. An hour to get changed and prepped, then the event started at six. Why are you asking?”
“From what I’m hearing—and this is from several people—no one saw Drew after two o’clock.”
“What does that mean?” Linda asked.
“What if Drew was already dead by the time Carl and the other waiters showed up? Could that be possible?” She knew Sheriff Anson had checked the timelines. But still . . .
Linda was suddenly excited. “It is possible! Would that mean that Carl might not be the killer?”
“Maybe,” said Theodosia. “Maybe so.”
• • •
Once she was
back in her car, Theodosia put in another call to Sheriff Anson. And glory be, this time she was able to get through!
“Sheriff Anson? This is Theodosia Browning. Do you remember me from last night? I was the one who—”
“Yes, yes,” said Anson. “I remember, I surely do. That was good work on your part. You were very brave to jump in the water and hold that boy’s head up. I don’t think I ever gave you the proper thanks you deserved.”
“It was the least I could do,” said Theodosia. “Anyone would have done the same thing.” She hesitated. “I was wondering . . . when the autopsy was done on Drew Knight, did the ME know how long he’d been dead?”
“Best guess was four or five hours,” said Anson.
“Does that jibe with the timeline of when Carl Van Deusen showed up at the winery?”
“It’s a little off, but Van Deusen could have arrived earlier.”
“I see,” said Theodosia. “And . . . Van Deusen’s still in the hospital? Unconscious?”
“That’s right. We haven’t been able to talk to him yet.”
“I’m assuming the hospital has had a chance to run toxicology tests and such on him?” she asked.
“Yes,” Sheriff Anson said slowly.
“I was wondering, did they find any drugs in his system?”
The sheriff hesitated for a moment, and then said, “No, they did not.”
“Really,” said Theodosia. For some reason, this didn’t come as any big surprise to her. “But you found his stash of drugs?” she continued. “I mean, you searched his car and home and everything, right? He was dealing drugs, wasn’t he?”
There was silence on the line and then Sheriff Anson said, “We haven’t located any drugs yet.”
“Nothing at all?” Theodosia wondered what kind of a drug dealer Van Deusen could be if he didn’t have any drugs. A little prickle of anxiety rolled up her spine. “Excuse me, Sheriff, but you know that another car drove Van Deusen off the road last night, don’t you? In all the confusion, I hope I made that point completely clear to you.”
There was more silence on the line.
“Sheriff Anson?” said Theodosia. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yes,” said Sheriff Anson. “I’m afraid I did.”
• • •
Theodosia started her
car, shifted into first, and then put it back into park. There was one more call she wanted to make. One more follow-up on a remark that had been made last night.
“Georgette?” she said, once she had Georgette Kroft on the line.
“Theodosia!” said Georgette. “I heard all about your wild rescue last night! Jumping into the swamp and such. Aren’t you just the hero of the hour!”
“Not really,” said Theodosia. “Georgette . . . I need to talk to you about something.”
“Ooh, I’m so sorry we didn’t get to chat more last night. Now, of course, I’m feeling a bit muddle-headed.” She giggled. “Probably from drinking a little too much of my own wine.”
Theodosia plunged ahead. “Last night you told me you had your own suspicions about who killed Drew Knight.”
“I did? Yes, I suppose I did. But that’s all a moot point now, isn’t it? Now that Carl Van Deusen’s been arrested.”
“I’d still like to hear your thoughts anyway. Because I’m guessing you weren’t suspicious of Van Deusen.” She couldn’t have been, Theodosia decided, since Van Deusen had actually been working there last night.
“Oh,” said Georgette, “my guess was that awful liquor distributor.”
“Alex Burgoyne?”
“Yes, the silent partner. Or quasi-partner, or whatever you want to call him.”
“Tell me,” said Theodosia. “Why would you suspect him?”
“Probably because he’s sleazy,” said Georgette. “Because he’s been involved in more than a few unsavory deals.”
“Is this hearsay?” Theodosia asked. “Or has he really had legal issues?”
“It’s what I know!” snapped Georgette.
“And he distributes your competitor’s wine,” said Theodosia.
“There’s that, too.”
Of all the
B and B’s located in the historic district, the Featherbed House was Theodosia’s favorite. Not just because her friend Angie Congdon owned it, but because it personified the charm, graciousness, and gentility that was Charleston.
Tonight, lights shone brightly in the windows on all three floors and guests drifted back and forth on the ample porch that extended around three sides of the inn’s main building.
Theodosia mounted the steps, crossed the porch, and pushed her way into the reception area. And was amazed at the changes the dear old place had undergone.
The walls were now painted a pale yellow, but they’d been shellacked or glazed so they fairly glistened in the light from dozens of flickering candles and the overhead Italian chandelier. A persimmon red Oriental carpet covered the polished wood floor, and wing chairs and a traditional sofa, newly covered in yellow chintz, invited guests to come sit a spell.
The geese were still there, just as Angie had promised. Needlepoint geese pillows, a hand-carved wooden goose standing guard by the fireplace, bronze goose lamps, and an entire flock of white ceramic geese.
And Angie Congdon was there, too. Standing behind the mahogany reception desk, smiling and nodding and checking in guests even as her open house party swirled about them. Theodosia stood there for a few moments, waiting. And then Angie looked up and saw her, and a big grin spilled across her face.
Angie was cute and petite with a dynamic personality. In her past life she’d been a commodity trader in Chicago. But she’d given up that crazy, stress-filled life for a slightly slower pace in Charleston. Still, Angie was the only person Theodosia knew who could prune an apple tree, set out an elegant spread of wine and cheese, fluff up six guest rooms, and then greet you with good grace and charm, all without breaking a sweat. When Angie’s husband, Mark, had been murdered a few years ago, Angie had been forced to take stock of things and make a conscious decision to move the business forward. And from the looks of things, she’d certainly managed to do that.
“Theodosia!” Angie exclaimed as she rushed to greet her friend. “I’m so glad you came!”
The two women embraced and Theodosia noticed that Angie’s hair color, which had been fairly dark a year or so ago, had gradually lightened over time. With help from what had to be a great colorist, she was practically strawberry blond now, which made her look years younger and more chic than ever.
“All I ever hear from Drayton,” said Theodosia, “is about the fabulous changes you’ve been making. And that you built an addition onto the carriage house?”
“First we spruced up the reception area, parlor, and dining room,” said Angie. “That turned out so well we decided to do a major overhaul on all the guest rooms. We freshened everything with paint, new coverlets and rugs, and new artwork. Then I took a careful look at my business plan and decided I was actually ahead of schedule. So I called my contractor and gave him the go-ahead to start building the addition I’d been noodling around inside my head.” She grinned. “Now, six months later, it’s become a reality.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” said Theodosia.
“What are we waiting for?”
Angie grabbed Theodosia’s hand and pulled her through the crowd, into the warm, steaming kitchen, and out the back door. The backyard was a veritable park, with its groupings of palm trees, flagstone patio, rose arbor, fish pond, and small greenhouse. There had been a fire, right on the heels of the death of Angie’s husband, that had completely destroyed their old greenhouse. Now a new greenhouse stood in its place, a lovely circular affair with a fanciful, peaked roof. Thanks to Angie’s care and hard work, it was now stocked to the rafters with orchids and bromeliads, all twining and growing in the South Carolina heat and humidity, putting out luscious blooms in her husband’s memory.
“Remember how the old carriage house was?” said Angie. “With that ugly gazebo stuck up against it and the awkward cement apron?”
Theodosia remembered.
“Well, we tore all that out and built our addition,” said Angie. She waved a hand to indicate the lovely Colonial-style addition with its beaded clapboard siding and high-pitched gable roof. “We added three new rooms and a big two-room suite with a hot tub.” She grinned. “We call our new suite the Gosling Suite.”
“You’ve done amazing things with this place,” said Theodosia. “I’m so impressed. You should be awarded a bunch of Michelin stars or something.”
“Don’t I wish,” said Angie. “Of course, Harold’s been a huge help. And we still have Teddy Vickers as our manager.”
“Teddy’s always going to be here,” said Theodosia. “He’s practically a permanent fixture.” She paused. “But Harold. That relationship is sounding a bit serious.” Harold was Angie’s new boyfriend of a few months.
Angie blushed. “Well, it is. Harold’s charming and funny and makes me very happy. And he’s extremely smart and well connected when it comes to business and finance.”
“I’m not sure I even know what business your friend is in.”
“Oh, Harold is a senior partner at a market research firm,” said Angie. “Data Metrics. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
“I have, but the only thing I know about Data Metrics is what I’ve read in the business section of the newspaper. Just a capsule review and a few press releases. Since I’ve been out of the marketing arena, I don’t keep up all that much.”
Angie looked skeptical. “Are you kidding me? You’re the most marketing-savvy person I know. Look at all the cutting-edge events you do for your business—your tea tastings and mystery teas and such, plus your website and T-Bath products. You’re miles ahead of all your competitors and you always seem to figure out clever ways to snatch little bits of publicity. Whether it’s a mention in the food and wine section of the newspaper or a guest appearance on a radio or TV show.”
“Well, thanks,” said Theodosia, laughing. “I guess if you ever need any advice . . .”
“I know who to ask,” said Angie. She glanced toward the patio, where a group of people were sipping wine around a fire pit, and lowered her voice. “You’ve certainly been in the media lately.”
“Oh that,” said Theodosia.
“You were at Knighthall Winery when that poor boy was discovered in the dregs of that wine barrel.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And then last night . . .” Angie gave a little shiver. “Theo, the whole historic district is buzzing about that.”
“News travels fast,” said Theodosia. “Unfortunately.”
“It sounds like you were right there in the thick of things,” said Angie.
“I try not to make it a habit . . .”
Angie reached out and touched her arm. “Be careful, huh? You seem to, um, get pulled into a lot of craziness.”
Theodosia knew there was no sense in pretending. “I don’t mean to, but I suppose I do.”
“Just please take extra care,” said Angie. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I’m always careful.” But she knew her words sounded a little hollow.
Theodosia stayed for another fifteen minutes or so. Chatting with friends from the neighborhood, getting reintroduced to Angie’s boyfriend, Harold Affolter, and making marketing small talk with him, having a quick nibble of the date and walnut cookies that Haley had baked for tonight.
But Theodosia was anxious to get home, too. It had been a long, trying day and she was tired. Wanted nothing more than to crawl between soft cotton sheets and let her dreams carry her away. So when the time seemed right, she slipped down the front walk. And in the soft darkness, with glowing street lamps illuminating her path, she headed for home.
• • •
Just as Theodosia
was passing in front of the Kingstree Mansion, the house Andrew Turner was so interested in buying, she noticed a car parked in front of her house.
Now what?
Theodosia wondered with a start. She suddenly remembered the speed demon from last night, the car that had come out of nowhere to drive Van Deusen off the road. Could this be him? If so, why would he be after her? Just because she’d been investigating Drew’s murder?
But as Theodosia drew closer, she realized that this dark car, with its reinforced bumper and side spotlight, suddenly looked more than a little familiar.
A Crown Vic? Don’t tell me . . .
Theodosia stepped out into the street and walked quietly up to the driver’s side window. She bent down, peered in the open window, and found herself staring into the bright, beady eyes of Detective Burt Tidwell.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked him.
A corner of Tidwell’s mouth registered the slightest of twitches. “Let’s just call it house arrest for now,” he said in his trademark big cat growl. Then he paused. “May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Burt Tidwell was the brash and rather brilliant detective who headed the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department. He was beefy and bulky and possessed a heroically oversized head with slightly protruding eyes. His personality was outsized, too, and his temperament often ranged from that of an angry grizzly bear to that of a slightly disgruntled walrus. Tonight, even though the weather was warm, Tidwell wore a slightly frayed tweed jacket with a matching vest, which stretched tightly across his bulging stomach.
Tidwell followed her into her house, stepping lightly for such a large man through her living room, dining room, and finally, into the kitchen.
Earl Grey rose from his bed to give Tidwell an inquisitive meet-and-greet sniff and then calmly retreated. He’d met this man before. No problem, no threat.
Tidwell, who barely fit between the stove and the refrigerator on the opposing wall, gave a cursory glance around and said, “Nice. Homey.”
“It needs some work,” said Theodosia.
“The cupboards,” said Tidwell, nodding.
“Yes, they’re old and tired.”
“Still,” said Tidwell, “you wouldn’t want to compromise the character of your house.” That was the thing about Tidwell. He was a brilliant cop and an all-around smart guy, too.
NCIS
meets HGTV.
Theodosia pulled a tin of Nilgiri tea down from a shelf. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. Then decided something stronger might be in order. “Or perhaps a glass of wine?”
“Wine,” said Tidwell. “That does seem to be the problem, doesn’t it?”
Theodosia turned to stare at him. “Why exactly are you here again?” she asked. “Because this doesn’t strike me as a social call. And let’s face it, Detective, you’re not exactly anyone’s idea of a welcome wagon.”
“I’m here because Drayton asked me to come and talk to you,” said Tidwell. She and Drayton had befriended Tidwell over the past few years. She had gotten involved in a few of his cases—well, dragged in, actually. And Tidwell had subsequently started showing up on the doorstep of the Indigo Tea Shop. He had a nose for tea and a never-ending appetite for scones.
“Drayton called you? Really?” Theodosia didn’t know if she should be thankful or a little offended.
Tidwell strolled over to the kitchen table and poked a fat finger at a pot of purple violets. “Did you grow these?”
“Yes. Well, after I brought them home from the garden store, I did.”
“Gardening,” said Tidwell. “Nothing like it. Thrusting your hands into the rich, dark soil. Teasing life into tiny, new buds.”
“Excuse me,” said Theodosia. She somehow doubted that Tidwell ever got down on his hands and knees to plant rhododendrons or pull weeds. He was merely smoke screening or pontificating or whatever. “But Drayton called you?”
“Yes, he did. In fact, your erstwhile tea blender and quasi-partner made it sound like a matter of utmost importance. Life and death.” He spun and faced her. “Thus . . . here I am.”
“It’s nice that the two of you are so concerned about me.”
Tidwell tilted his head. “Please do not take this lightly,” he told her. “It seems that you have once again embroiled yourself in a rather nasty murder investigation.”
Theodosia shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I kind of noticed that.”
Tidwell continued. “And I believe Mr. Conneley was hoping you might heed my sage advice.”
“Which is?” said Theodosia.
“Stay out of it.”
“You already said I was in it. And you do know about last night, don’t you? The crash in the swamp?”