Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 18

Theodosia pulled the head off the ceramic Scooby-Doo cookie jar and measured out two cups of dried kibbles for Earl Grey. She poured it into his metal dish, topped it with a tablespoon of olive oil for his coat, and set it down on the yellow rug next to his water dish.

Earl Grey responded as he always did. He gave Theodosia a look that somehow conveyed his doggy thank you, then went facedown into his dinner.

Theodosia did not go facedown. Rather, she stood in front of the open refrigerator, pondering supper. An oatmeal and raisin cookie, eaten at four o’clock, had left her relatively satisfied. Still, if she didn’t eat now, she’d be hungry later on.

She stuck her head farther inside the refrigerator, investigating. There was some leftover pasta, a couple pieces of cold chicken, fresh hamburger. Nope, nothing tripped her trigger yet. She knew the freezer compartment contained lamb chops and maybe some frozen shrimp that could be quickly steamed and put on top of rice.

No, she thought, that would be fussy, and fussy was the last thing she needed right now. Now that decisions had been made regarding holiday teas, the conversation she’d had with Delaine earlier in the afternoon came back in her mind. Delaine was a dear, gentle soul who had shockingly good taste when it came to merchandising her clothing store, Cotton Duck. But Delaine also thrived on gossip and excitement and didn’t always get her facts straight.

Theodosia pulled a small carton of cottage cheese from the refrigerator shelf. She dumped half of it onto a plate and grabbed a fork from the drawer and two bagel crisps from a glass jar on the counter.

Wandering into her living room, she eased herself down onto the couch, suddenly feeling a wave of relaxation flow over her. It was this apartment that ultimately contributed to her happiness and sense of well-being. Though small, it contained all the essential elements for a proper and genteel Charleston home. Fireplace, cove ceilings, bow windows, tiny balcony, French doors leading to a small but elegant dining room, and a cozy bedroom with a surprisingly ample closet for her many clothes.

She had decorated the place in what had become her own brand of Charleston shabby chic. The philosophy behind shabby chic appealed to her. It held that an item had to be both beautiful and functional. So that was what she strove for. Elegance married with practicality. It was a concept that worked well with the antique furniture and accessories she’d always been so passionate about, and which were easy to come by in Charleston antique shops and flea markets. Charleston was the mother lode when it came to English furniture, vintage fabrics, antique chandeliers, old prints, and silverware.

Aunt Libby had been amazingly generous, too, in helping to furnish her cozy abode, gifting her with a lawyer’s bookcase, rocking chair, oriental rug, silver tea service, antique quilt, and some terrific old oil paintings. The paintings were dark, brooding seascapes in wonderfully ornate, gilded frames. Everyone who saw them tried to buy them from her.

Before she’d purchased the Indigo Tea Shop, she had lived in a sleek, modern building. Lots of squared-off angles, floor-to-ceiling windows, black countertops, white walls. Very contemporary, very boring.

This was infinitely better.

Theodosia finished her cottage cheese and offered Earl Grey the last morsel of bagel crisp. He chewed thoughtfully, gazing at her with brown, intelligent eyes.

“Want to go for a ride?” she asked him. Earl Grey’s ears pricked forward, and his tail beat a syncopated rhythm on the pegged floor boards.

King Street, between Beaufain and Queen Streets, is often referred to as Charleston’s antiques district. Here antiques aficionados will discover such shops as English Patina, with their fine collection of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century furniture, Perry’s Estate Jewelry, and Helen

S. Martin Antique Weapons. Down a narrow walkway at 190 King Street is Gates of Charleston, an eclectic little garden shop with wrought-iron planters, statuary, and quirky sundials.

It was 208 King Street that Theodosia was searching for as she cruised the picturesque street with its palm trees, white turreted buildings, and black wrought-iron touches. Since it was early evening, traffic was light, and she was able to drive slowly, scanning the numbers above the tall, narrow doorways as Earl Grey sat serenely in the passenger seat of the Jeep Cherokee.

208 King Street was where Griffon Antiques was located. The Griffon Antiques where Cordette Jordan had supposedly overheard an argument between Hughes Barron and his partner, Lleveret Dante, of Goose Creek Holdings. Of course, Jory Davis had told her that the two partners had their office at 415 Harper Street.

Okay, Theodosia told herself, in about two minutes we’re going to find out exactly who was right.

She saw the sign for Griffon Antiques even before she could read the street address. A large, ornate, wooden sign with a griffon, that strange mythical eagle-cum-lion, painted in gold and black, hung out over the sidewalk from what appeared to be a four-story building. Theodosia took her foot off the accelerator, let the Jeep glide over to the curb, and studied the shop.

The large front windows were filled with English and French antique furniture. All genuine pieces, no reproductions. A hand-lettered sign hanging in the glass door said Sorry We Missed You, Please Return Tomorrow.

There was no Harper Street nearby. In fact, she wasn’t even familiar with Harper Street. To the best of her knowledge, the next street up was Market Street. Sure, that had to be the sign for Market Street just ahead. Without bothering to pull into traffic, Theodosia eased the Jeep along the curb, up to the corner. She gazed up at the street sign.

It read Harper Street!

What?

She checked for traffic, then took the Jeep into a slow right turn. She found Harper Street wasn’t really a street at all, just a narrow lane that seemed to lead to a small garden. She could venture in with the Jeep maybe twenty feet, then she’d have to back out.

Well, wasn’t this interesting. There really was a Harper Street. And the reason it didn’t sound at all familiar was because it wasn’t really a through street. Harper Street was one of the myriad little lanes that snaked through the historic district and the antiques district, lanes that often didn’t have names. Sometimes they were private and therefore not on official city maps. They could have their names changed at the whim of the property owner. These streets had probably been little passages that led to carriage houses at one time. Now they appeared on tourist walking guides that gift shops and B and Bs handed out.

“Sit tight,” she told Earl Grey as she hopped out of the Jeep. Rounded cobblestones poked at the soft leather soles of her Todd loafers as she ambled down the little lane toward an arched doorway flanked by a pair of stone lions. She stopped in her tracks and looked up. Over the arched doorway was a sign that read Hayward Professional Building, 415 Harper.

A tingle of excitement ignited within her. So 208 King Street and 415 Harper were one and the same! The city might not be aware of it, but, knowing the tangled bureaucracy that ministered over Charleston, chances were the postal service did. That meant that the offices of Goose Creek Holdings were here, after all. And that maybe, just maybe, Delaine’s secondhand story had been correct!