Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 5

“Poison!” exclaimed Haley. “Sshh!” Drayton held a finger to his lips. “The customers,” he mouthed in an exaggerated gesture, although a couple patrons had already turned in their chairs and were staring inquisitively at the three of them clustered at the counter.

“Tidwell thinks someone poisoned Hughes Barron?” said Haley in a low voice, her eyes wide as saucers.

“That’s his notion so far,” said Theodosia. “He’s already sent the contents of Hughes Barron’s teacup to the state toxicology lab.”

“What absolute rubbish!” declared Drayton. “We had nothing to do with the man’s demise. Are you sure those paramedics checked the man’s heart? Big fellow like that might’ve had a bad ticker.”

“I’m sure they’ll perform an autopsy and clear everything up eventually,” said Theodosia.

“The problem is,” said Drayton, “what do we do in the short term?”

Damage control, Theodosia thought to herself. That was our PR department’s job when I was still at the agency. They'd get a positive spin working before anything negative could grab hold.

“Your point is well taken,” said Theodosia. “As outrageous as the notion is that our tea killed the man, Hughes Barron’s death is fertile ground for wild rumors.”

“Rumors that could cast a veil of suspicion over all of us,” added Haley.

“Actually,” said Theodosia as she stared into the worried eyes of her two dear employees and friends, “I’m more concerned with Bethany right now. Tidwell has her down at the police station.”

Haley’s eyes welled with tears, and she bit her lip to keep from bursting into sobs. “Just who is this man, Hughes Barron? I’ve never even heard of him before!”

“Well,” said Drayton, his dark eyes darting from side to side, “I don’t mind telling you that Church Street is positively buzzing about him today.” His back to the customers, Drayton edged closer to the small counter and faced Theodosia and Haley.

“I spoke earlier with Fern Barrow at the Cottage Inn. She had heard about the disturbance at last night’s Lamplighter Tour and seemed to know quite a bit about our Mr. Hughes Barron.”

“Really?” said Theodosia, intrigued.

“Apparently, he was born and raised in Goose Creek, just north of here, but lived in California most of his life. Santa Monica. Fern said Hughes Barron made a tidy profit out there as a real estate developer. Mostly condos and strip malls.” Drayton rolled his eyes as though he were talking about organized crime.

Theodosia flashed on her conversation with Delaine yesterday afternoon. “God knows what sins a developer with Barron’s reputation might wreak,” she had said.

“Anyway,” continued Drayton, “Hughes Barron moved back to the Charleston area about two years ago. He bought a beachfront home on the Isle of Palms. You know, Theo, near Wild Dunes?”

Theodosia nodded.

“Since he’s moved back, Hughes Barron’s big hot project has been developing some truly awful time-share condominiums,” said Drayton. “Out on Johns Island.”

Johns Island was a sleepy agricultural community known mostly for its large bird refuge.

“That couldn’t have been terribly popular,” said Theodosia.

“Are you kidding? He was almost pilloried for it!” said Drayton. “He was picketed and protested before the bulldozers scooped a single shovel of dirt. The people who opposed the development kept the pressure going all through the construction phase, too. But, of course, the condos were built anyway. They weren’t able to block it.” Drayton sighed. “Hughes Barron must have had powerful connections to get that land rezoned. We’re talking statehouse level, of course,”

“I do remember hearing about that development,” said Theodosia. “And you’re right. There was major opposition from environmental groups as well as the local historical society.”

“Nothing they could do, though.” Drayton sighed again. “Excuse me,” called a woman seated at one of the tables. “Could we please get a little more tea here?”

“Certainly, ma’am.” With a quick rustle and a cordial smile, Haley flitted across the tea room. Besides refilling the teapot, she brought a fresh pitcher of milk and, much to the delight of the party of three women, also produced a plate of caramel-nut shortbread. On the house, of course.

“Drayton.” Theodosia slid the cash register drawer closed. Something was bothering her, and she had to know the full story.

Drayton Conneley had pulled a little step stool out from beneath the counter. Now he was balanced on it, stacking jars of creamed honey from the local apiary, DuBose Bees. He peered down at Theodosia in midstretch. “What’s needling you?” he asked.

“Did Bethany really have words with Hughes Barron at a Heritage Society meeting?”

Drayton’s mouth opened as if he meant to speak, then he seemed to think better of it. To say anything from his lofty perch would be to broadcast trouble they didn’t need right now. Drayton held up an index finger and clambered down.

“Let me put this in perspective,” he said.

Theodosia looked out over the tea room, where all her customers seemed content and taken care of, and nodded.

“I’m not sure how clued in you are about this,” said Drayton, “but Hughes Barron had recently become a new board member at the Heritage Society.”

“So it would seem.”

“I don’t have exact details on who sponsored him or what the final vote was on accepting him, because, as you recall, I was up in Boston when all that took place.”

Theodosia nodded. Drayton had been at Chatham Brothers Tea Wholesalers on a buying trip.

“Suffice it to say, however, that Hughes Barron was voted in by a small margin, and Timothy Neville, our board president, was extremely displeased. Well,” continued Drayton, “last week, this past Wednesday evening to be exact, was our most recent board meeting. Because I had never met Hughes Barron before, I decided it was only fair to reserve judgment on the man. I wasn’t privy to his background or what his motivations for joining the Heritage Society were. For all I knew, they could have been totally altruistic. So I maintained an open mind. Until, of course, Hughes Barron got up to speak and jumped on his own personal bandwagon concerning new development in the historic district.” Drayton suddenly looked unhappy. “That’s when it all started.”

“When what started?” asked Theodosia. “I’m afraid we got into a row with Hughes Barron,” confessed Drayton.

“Who did?” asked Theodosia. “All of you?” She knew any kind of new development in the historic district was one of Drayton’s pet peeves. He himself resided in a 160year-old home once occupied by a Civil War surgeon.

“Timothy Neville, Joshua Brady, and me. Samantha and Bethany threw their two cents in as well. But mostly it was Timothy. He had a particularly ugly go-round with Hughes Barron.” Drayton lowered his voice. “You know how cantankerous and judgmental Timothy can be.”

Indeed, Theodosia was well aware of Timothy Neville’s fiery temper. The crusty octogenarian president of the Heritage Society had a reputation for being bull-headed and brash. In fact, she had once seen Timothy Neville berate a waiter at the Peninsula Grill for incorrectly opening a bottle of champagne and spilling a few drops of the French bubbly. She had always felt that Timothy Neville was entirely too full of himself.

“So Timothy Neville took off on Hughes Barron?” said Theodosia.

“I’d have to say it was more of a character assassination.” Drayton looked around sharply, then lowered his voice an octave. “Timothy denounced Hughes Barron as a Neanderthal carpetbagger. Because of that condo development.”

“Just awful,” said Theodosia.

Drayton faced Theodosia with sad eyes. “I agree. A gentleman should never resort to name-calling.”

“I meant the condos,” Theodosia replied.