Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 42

Tables pushed together, empty gold tins laid out upon them, glinting under overhead lights, the group was ready to begin.

“Okay,” began Drayton, “this is going to be assembly-line style. Haley and I will begin at opposite ends. She’ll measure out the black currant blend, and I’ll do the Indian spice. You two—” he nodded at Theodosia and Bethany— “have to keep tabs and let each of us know when we’ve filled two hundred fifty tins. Then we’ll put covers on and restack the filled tins back in their original cartons to await the labels.”

Bethany looked at the daunting task that loomed ahead. “Machines can’t do this?” she asked.

Drayton snorted disdainfully. “Can machines create the perfect blend? Can machines add just the right touch of bergamot oil? Can machines impart care and love into each tin? I hardly think so.” Drayton dipped a glass scoop into the twenty-gallon canister, filled it to equal approximately six ounces of tea, and began pouring tea into tins at his end of the table.

“Trust me, dear,” said Theodosia. “It won’t feel like love an hour from now. It will just feel like a sore back.”

“You got that right,” agreed Haley, who’d done this chore for the last two years.

“And remember,” warned Drayton, “when you close up the filled tins and put them back into the cartons, mark each carton carefully as to the blend. We don’t want to mix them up!”

“Yes, Drayton,” said Theodosia obediently, and the two girls chuckled.

They worked quickly and efficiently. Soon the aroma of the spicy teas filled the air, and bits of loose tea clung to their clothing.

“This is like working in an aromatherapy factory,” joked Haley. “There are so many different essences and aromas swirling around, I don’t know whether to feel relaxed or invigorated.”

“Just feel diligent,” said Drayton. His personality was so task-oriented that, once he started a project, he doggedly kept at it until he finished.

“My back is killing me,” complained Haley. She had just added a fourth layer of filled tins to one of the cartons and was bending over it, about to close it up.

“We’re almost done,” said Drayton. “It can’t be more than...” He carefully surveyed the table of empty tins. “Perhaps forty more tins to fill with cranberry orange blend.”

“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “Why don’t you let me finish up?”

“Okay,” agreed Haley. She was tired and ready to throw in the towel.

“But we’re almost done,” protested Drayton.

“Exactly,” said Theodosia. “It’s late. It’s been a long day. I don’t mind finishing myself. It’ll be fun.”

“Well . . .” said Drayton. “Be sure to mark each...”

“I’ll mark each carton, Drayton,” she assured him. “Now, you folks scoot!”

Theodosia breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the latch on the door.

It was nice to be alone in the tea shop, she decided. Nice to be able to finish this chore at her own pace instead of whipping along, trying to keep up with Drayton’s production line.

She turned on the radio and found a station that was playing a whole set of songs by Harry Connick. She sang and hummed along, thoroughly enjoying herself. It took her almost an hour to finish filling the tins, replace the lids securely, pack them up, and stack the boxes in her office. When she was done, she enjoyed a real sense of accomplishment. All that was needed now were the printed labels.

Drayton was right, Theodosia decided as she surveyed the wall of floor-to-ceiling cartons. She did need a hard hat and forklift. What a huge amount of tea to sell. She definitely had to buckle down to business!

Once upstairs in her apartment for the evening, Theodosia’s thoughts turned to her date tomorrow night. She was determined to find just the right moment to tell Jory Davis all about her private sleuthing and what she’d uncovered. He was a smart man, a lawyer. It would be valuable to get his input and hard-nosed advice. She certainly didn’t seem to be making much headway. Maybe Jory Davis would see an angle that had eluded her.

Now, she asked herself, what would she wear? Jory Davis had specified black tie, so that narrowed it down. And the weather was still cool, so that was a factor, too. Were we talking black cocktail dress and beaded jacket or long gown with velvet opera cape? she wondered. Even though a long gown was technically not black tie, women in Charleston did tend to favor them. Especially for opening night at the opera. Oh, and there was that wonderful hand-painted velvet jacket hanging in her closet, too. Could she wear it with black velvet slacks and get away with it? Hmm... probably not. Might be just a tad casual. Better to go with the black dress and beaded jacket. That outfit would be classy and slimming.

Now, what about jewelry? Small, tasteful diamond stud earrings or glitzy drop earrings?

Just as she was beginning to think she should get Delaine on the line and do a quick consultation with the fashion police, Theodosia straightened up, cocked an ear. She’d heard a noise downstairs. A slight rattle. Subtle. Surreptitious.

Rattle? Like someone trying to open the back door? Maybe the same someone who left a threatening note two nights ago?

Panic gripped her heart. Her hand flailed for the light switch and hit it, dousing the lights. Now she pressed her face up close against the window and peered down into the alley.

There was a car down there, all right. Its lights were off, but she could hear the low throb of an engine. It sounded almost as loud as the pounding in her chest.

She contorted her head, trying to see more. A shadowy figure moved from her doorway to the car and climbed inside.

What to do? Where was the security guard? She had a phone number to call—should she dial it? Yes!

She scurried into the living room, fumbled through her purse, and found the number. Grabbing the phone, she punched in digits.

Someone picked up on the first ring. “Gold Shield Security.”

“This is Theodosia Browning at the Indigo Tea Shop.” Her words tumbled out, one on top of the other. “Someone’s downstairs in the alley. Right behind my shop. Someone who shouldn’t be.”

“Calm down,” replied the voice. “Let me check my screen.” There was a pause. “Miss Browning, the security guard patrolling your area is about three blocks away. I’ve flashed him a message. Is the prowler still in the alley?”

“Just a minute.” Clutching the cordless phone, she scurried back into the bedroom and pressed her face against the window. “Yes,” she whispered into the phone.

“Stay on the line, please. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get a response. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Then Theodosia was standing there in the shadows, watching the dark car in the alley below, hoping the prowler hadn’t ducked back in his car for a lock pick or sledgehammer, praying he wasn’t going to step across the alley to Haley’s and Bethany’s apartment and knock on the door. Because, trusting souls that they were, they’d probably let him in!

“Miss Browning, our guard should be there any moment. Do you see anything?” asked the voice on the phone.

“No . . . yes!” She suddenly saw a car turn in to her alley, glide swiftly toward her shop. But now the prowler’s car below suddenly flashed its lights on and gunned the motor. The driver hit the accelerator, and the tires screeched horribly for a few seconds, then found purchase on rough cobblestones. Roaring ahead, the prowler’s car fishtailed, gaining speed. But the response car was right behind, searchlight on, accelerating full bore.

The words in hot pursuit formed in Theodosia’s brain, then she sat down heavily on the bed.

“Miss Browning, everything okay there?” came the voice again in the phone.

“Yes, your security guard is in pursuit.”

“We have him on our screen. A second security guard is en route and should be there within two minutes. He will remain parked outside your home through the night. If we get any information on your prowler, we’ll call you.”

“Thank you,” said Theodosia gratefully.

She went to the window again and waited for what seemed like an eternity, although it probably was just two minutes, until the second security guard pulled up.

She flipped the bedroom lights back on and looked at the black dress hanging on her closet door. Well, at least she’d have an interesting story to tell over cocktails tomorrow night!