Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 39

“Theodosia, please,” began Delaine, “someone’s got to tell you, and it may as well be me.”

“Tell me what, Delaine?” Theodosia slipped into the chair across from Delaine Dish. She was still rankled by Tidwell’s attitude and shocked at his revelation that the Heritage Society was suddenly on the receiving end of poor Mr. Dauphine’s generosity. This certainly was a surprising turn of events.

Delaine cocked her head in mock surprise. “Surely you’re aware of Timothy Neville’s mud-slinging campaign. It has reached epidemic proportions.”

So Delaine hadn’t come here to talk about Mr. Dauphine. She still had a bee in her bonnet over Timothy Neville. Theodosia settled back in her chair and gazed at Delaine. She was dressed head to toe in cashmere, pale pink cowl-neck sweater that draped elegantly, and matching hip-skimming skirt. Even her handbag was cashmere, a multicolored soft baguette bag in coordinating pinks, purples, and reds. Theodosia slid her chair back a notch and peeked at Delaine’s shoes. Ostrich. Holy smokes. The clothing business must be good these days, very good. Certainly far better than the tea shop business.

“Delaine,” said Theodosia tiredly, “I have so much going on right now. I appreciate your concern, but—”

“Theodosia, I cannot stand idly by and tolerate this much longer. The man is spreading lies. Lies!”

Theodosia smiled and nodded as Angie Congdon from the Featherbed House entered the shop. “Hello, Angie,” she called, then turned back to Delaine. “What kind of lies?” Theodosia asked, the smile tight on her face.

Delaine Dish leaned forward eagerly. “Innuendoes, really. About the night of the Lamplighter Tour.”

“Oh, that,” said Theodosia.

“About your snooping around inside his house during one of his concerts.” Delaine’s cupid lips were curled in a smile, but her look clearly questioned the truthfulness of this allegation.

“He said that?” Theodosia tried her best to appear injured and innocent.

“That’s what Timothy told George Harper when he stopped by the Antiquarian Map Store.”

“Really,” said Theodosia. So maybe Timothy Neville had been the one who’d opened the door that night, she thought. Come to check if she was snooping about. And she cowering in the dark. Truly, another proud moment in what had been an insane last couple weeks. “What else, Delaine?” Theodosia asked.

Delaine looked pained. “Something about the young woman who served as an intern at the Heritage Society. Now works for you.”

“Bethany.”

“That’s the one.”

“Let me guess, Delaine. Timothy Neville is convinced Bethany had some kind of relationship with Hughes Barron.”

“Yes, he is!” said Delaine, enormously pleased that Theodosia seemed to be finally getting into the spirit of this juicy discussion.

“Forget it,” said Theodosia. “It’s not true. None of it’s true.” Well, she reluctantly admitted to herself, the snooping part was true, but she wasn’t about to confess her sins to Delaine Dish. If she did, they’d be headline news all over Charleston.

“I know that, Theodosia,” assured Delaine. “But Timothy Neville carries a lot of clout around here. You do, too, of course. Your family is almost as old as his. But he is being verbal. You remain silent.”

“I do not need to dignify his lies with a rebuttal.”

“Oh, hello, Angie,” said Delaine excitedly. She turned in her chair, the better to greet Angie Congdon. “Wasn’t it a shame about Mr. Dauphine? Such a pity. Dear, do you have just a moment?” Delaine stood in a swirl of perfect pink and reached out to catch Angie’s arm. “I just received the most tantalizing shipment of silks in the most amazing jewel tones and, of course, I immediately thought of your olive complexion and dark hair.” Delaine was off and running.

Theodosia rose and began clearing the table, all the while pondering what Delaine had just related to her. As much as she wanted to, perhaps she couldn’t ignore these issues any longer. Maybe she had to do something about Timothy Neville. The question was, what?

If he had been the one who left the note last night, it meant he was truly dangerous, a threat to everyone at the tea shop. But she still didn’t have any hard evidence to use against him.

It was obvious now that Timothy Neville had been secretly fearful that Hughes Barron’s offer on the Peregrine Building would be accepted. If the Peregrine Building had been sold before the event of Mr. Dauphine’s death, the Heritage Society would have lost out completely.

Was that motive enough to do away with Hughes Barron? Perhaps.

And now, with Mr. Dauphine’s very convenient death, the deed to the property slid over to the Heritage Society, no questions asked. Timothy Neville would, once again, look like a shining star in the eyes of his board of directors and roster of high-profile donors.

So did that make Timothy Neville a double murderer? It was a chilling thought.

There was yet another dark possibility. Only yesterday, Mr. Lleveret Dante had put forth an offer on the Peregrine Building. But what if Mr. Dauphine had turned him down flat? Could being rebuffed have sent Lleveret Dante into a vicious rage? A rage that prompted him to kill Mr. Dauphine?

Not knowing about Mr. Dauphine’s will, Lleveret Dante might have assumed that, with the aging owner’s death, the property would have been sold off hastily. He was already the likely suitor, already in a position to pounce on the Peregrine Building!

Her theories reminded Theodosia of the logic course she’d taken in college. If A equals D, then B equals C. Logic hadn’t made any sense to her then, and her suppositions on Hughes Barron’s murder or Mr. Dauphine’s death weren’t yielding anything constructive, either. They were just puzzles within puzzles that made her head spin.

The phone shrilled on the counter next to her, and Theodosia automatically reached for it. “Indigo Tea Shop, how may I help you?” she said.

“Theodosia, Tanner Joseph here. Good news. I’ve just finished your labels.”

“Wonderful,” she said in a flat voice.

“Hey, don’t sound so excited.”

Tanner Joseph’s tone was upbeat and breezy. A far cry, Theodosia thought, from the anger and hostility he’d radiated when she’d made mention of Hughes Barron the day before. She suddenly wondered if he knew something about the Peregrine Building. Everyone else certainly did.

“Will you be home this evening?” Tanner asked her. “I’m driving into the city, and I could easily drop them—”

“No,” interrupted Theodosia. “Don’t bother. I prefer to come pick them up.” She thought quickly. “You’ll be at your office tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Tanner said, “but there’s really no need to—”

“It’s no trouble,” said Theodosia and hung up the phone.

The labels. Damn. She’d forgotten about them for the moment. They were one more futzy detail to follow up on, one more reminder that she wasn’t really tending to business here. Theodosia stared out into the tea shop where Delaine was still deep in conversation with Angie Congdon.

“Do we need to talk?” Drayton, reaching for a fresh jar of honey, saw consternation mingled with weariness on Theodosia’s face.

Theodosia nodded. “My office, though.”

When the two were alone, Theodosia related her conversation with Delaine.

“Pay no attention,” counseled Drayton. “Everyone knows Delaine is a confirmed gossip.” He peered at her, knowing something else was gnawing at her. “Did Burt Tidwell say something to you as well?”

“Drayton,” said Theodosia, “you’re on the board of directors of the Heritage Society. Were you aware that Mr. Dauphine had willed the Peregrine Building to the Heritage Society?”

“He did?” Drayton frowned. “Seriously? No, I knew nothing. It’s news to me.”

“So board members aren’t privy to such information?”

“That kind of thing comes under the category of directed donation. So usually just the board president, in this case Timothy Neville, and the Heritage Society’s legal counsel are privy to details.”

“I see.”

Drayton gazed at her. “You’re getting frown lines.”

“Not now, Drayton,” she snapped.

“Oh, we’re going to be that way, are we?” he said. “Once again, you have assumed the entire weight of the world on your small but capable shoulders.” He continued even as she glowered at him. “As you wish, Theodosia. I shall play along, then.” He crossed his arms and tried to appear thoughtful. “Let me guess. Suddenly you are envisioning a scenario where Timothy Neville also decides to hasten the death of Mr. Dauphine?”

“It’s a possibility,” admitted Theodosia.

“Perhaps. Or a second scenario might place our mystery man, Lleveret Dante, at the scene of that crime as well. Mr. Mustard in the library, so to speak.”

“It’s no joking matter, Drayton.”

“No, it’s not, Theodosia. I’m as concerned as you about everything that’s gone on. And I certainly don’t take the threat against Earl Grey lightly, either. I hope you informed Detective Tidwell about that incident.”

He took her silence as a no.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said wearily.

“Last night, you said you were in this with me,” she cried.

“That was before Mr. Dauphine turned up dead!” He rolled his eyes skyward as if to implore, Heaven help me.

“I’m not afraid,” murmured Theodosia. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Really,” said Drayton. He planted both hands on her desk and leaned toward her. “Then, pray tell, why did you spirit Earl Grey off to your Aunt Libby’s in the middle of the night?”