Dragonwell Dead

7

Hot crab casserole was one of Theodosia’s favorite luncheon entrées. Loaded with good Carolina blue crab, the dish was creamy, cheesy, and sinfully rich. All the attributes Theodosia loved in food, but probably should be wary of. Plus, Haley was serving her crab casserole with traditional southern spoonbread. What a delightful combination!

“This looks fabulous, Haley,” exclaimed Theodosia. She’d ducked in through the back door and dumped her handbag on top of a landslide of catalogs and correspondence that was mounded atop her perpetually messy desk. Now Theodosia slipped an apron over her head and threaded the strings around her waist as she admired Haley’s cooking prowess.

“The crab casserole’s a cinch,” said Haley, pulling her first pan, all golden brown and bubbling, from the oven. “And the spoonbread’s just plain fun—there’s no niftier way to combine butter, milk, cornmeal, and eggs. Anyway, I thought the combo would make for a nice luncheon duo today. Oh, and there’s chilled crab salad, too. Just in case some folks prefer cold instead of hot.”

“You hit the fish market this morning,” observed Theodosia.

“Oh yeah,” said Haley, who was a stickler for buying fresh food as well as making full use of local produce. On almost any given morning you could find Haley Parker, wicker basket in hand, stalking the open air farmer’s markets. Prodding the red snapper, casting a watchful eye out for the best flounder, cobia, and bluefish. Haley picked up jars of local honey and jam, too. And knew a special few vendors who ventured out into the woods hunting for tasty yet short-seasoned morels. Of course, Haley’s careful and discerning eye paid off big time. The customers who flocked to the Indigo Tea Shop were always delighted by Haley’s traditional recipes as well as her imaginative nouvelle creations.

Theodosia glanced at her watch. It read eleven-thirty. “When will you be ready to serve?” she asked.

“Be about five minutes,” replied Haley. “Drayton’s already taken the orders, so maybe just go out and check that everyone’s teacups are filled. Oh, and I made a pitcher of strawberry slush tea, too. It’s chilling in the fridge.”

“Haley, you’re a wonder,” said Theodosia as she slipped between the velvet drapes and out into the tea room.

“Well, hello there,” said Drayton. He was behind the counter, ringing up a take-out order of tea and scones.

“Everything go okay?” he asked once he’d packed the order in one of their signature indigo-blue bags and handed it over to the customer.

“Yes and no,” said Theodosia.

Drayton raised an eyebrow. “Do tell,” he said.

“Mark’s things had already been packed by the time I got there,” said Theodosia. “So the only real work was carting a couple boxes down to my Jeep, which Bobby Wayne kindly helped with.”

“I don’t see the problem,” said Drayton as he ladled a scoop of rich black Darjeeling tea into a blue-and-white teapot. Wait a minute,” he mumbled to himself. “Did table six want the Jungpana Estate or the Singel Estate?” He thought for a minute. “Jungpana.” He glanced over at Theodosia. “Okay, now I’m listening.”

“This was all done under the suggestion of Leah Shalimar, one of their VPs,” said Theodosia.

“I think I remember Mark mentioning her once,” said Drayton. “Said she was a firecracker. Or maybe it was a pistol.”

“She’s got firepower all right,” said Theodosia. “In fact, now that poor Mark is out of the picture she’s taken over all his accounts.”

That got Drayton’s attention. “Is that a fact?” he said. He stared at Theodosia, waiting for more. But she was silent.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” said Drayton.

“I got a strange . . . what would you call it? A strange vibe from Leah Shalimar.”

“Good vibe or bad vibe?” asked Drayton.

“Not one hundred percent good,” admitted Theodosia.

“Fact is, she didn’t seem all that distressed by Mark’s passing. And Bobby Wayne let slip that Leah and Mark had been up for the same job.”

“Hmm,” said Drayton. “Interesting. You don’t suppose this Leah Shalimar could have . . . um . . .” He stopped, unwilling to finish his sentence.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” said Theodosia.

“And I have no earthly clue.” She lifted the glass top off their pastry display, took out a peach scone, and placed it on a small Chinese-patterned blue-and-white plate. “But I’m sure as heck going to sniff around some more.”

Just when things couldn’t get any busier, Theodosia got a phone call. Haley called her name across the tea shop, trying to make herself heard above the chirp of tea kettles, the chatter of happy customers, and the gentle clink of teacups against saucers.

“Can you take a message?” Theodosia mouthed to Haley. She was pouring refills and balancing what she figured had to be their final tray of entrées to dispense.

Haley shook her head and her long blond hair swished about her shoulders. “It’s important,” she mouthed back.

Turns out, it was.

“Miz Browning?” came Sheriff Billing’s booming voice once Theodosia had dashed into her office. “This is Sheriff Ernest T. Billings. We spoke yesterday?”

“Yes, of course,” said Theodosia. When she’d called him late yesterday afternoon, Sheriff Billings had been somewhat skeptical about finding any kind of significant evidence on the broken painted glass.

“I’ve been noodling around what you said, so I made a phone call to the state crime lab? They think it might be helpful to analyze those broken pieces after all.” He paused, mindful that he’d all but blown her off earlier.

“Plus one of the docs at the hospital ran some new kind of test on Mr. Congdon’s blood and tissue samples. Trying to narrow the diagnosis down a bit more.” There was another pregnant pause. “So . . . do you still have those pieces?”

“I do,” said Theodosia, her heart skipping a hopeful beat.

The wheels of justice turned slowly, but at least they were turning. She could picture Sheriff Billings in her mind, looking slightly bulky in his khaki uniform, running a finger through thin, graying hair, his square jaw set firmly as he made this request and delivered his sort-of apology.

“Would you be willing to drop those pieces by my office?” asked Sheriff Billings.

Theodosia glanced around the tea shop. They were just finishing up lunch and had a tea-tasting group coming early afternoon. Plus she had to clue Drayton and Haley in about Leah Shalimar’s special luncheon tomorrow.

“I’m awfully busy right now,” she told Sheriff Billings. “But I could certainly drive out after work.”

“That’d be just swell,” said Sheriff Billings. “Just leave the whole shebang at my office, okay? You know where that is? Corner of Boone and Hopper? A couple of my boys will be there unless something else happens out this way. And I pray it does not.”

“I’ll deliver it,” Theodosia assured him. “And you’ll have the analysis done as soon as possible?”

“I’ll send it to the state crime lab first thing tomorrow,” promised Sheriff Billings.

Theodosia didn’t get a chance to tell Drayton about Sheriff Billing’s call until lunch and his tea tasting were over. But he was still wildly enthusiastic.

“That’s wonderful news,” said Drayton. “We should run right down and tell Angie.”

“Are you sure we should both go?” asked Theodosia. She was torn between giving Angie her much-needed privacy and being a caring, supportive friend.

“Angie’s already highly suspicious about the circumstances surrounding Mark’s death,” said Drayton. “It’s just that she’s still too stunned to do anything about it.”

“So that’s where we come in,” said Theodosia.

“Exactly,” said Drayton. “Besides, you wanted to give her Mark’s address book . . .”

“Oh, man, I’ll have to dig that out of my Jeep,” said Theodosia, suddenly embarrassed that she’d forgotten all about the address book.

“And I need to fill Angie in on a few more details concerning Thursday’s service,” said Drayton.

“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Then let’s do it.”

Teddy Vickers met them at the front door of the Featherbed House. He was carrying an armload of fresh towels and looked tired and grumpy. “Back again?” he asked.

“Is Angie around?” asked Drayton, ignoring Teddy’s strangely brusque manner.

Teddy spun on his heels. “I’ll get her.”

Theodosia wondered why Teddy was so snarly. With no guests booked at the inn, he certainly couldn’t be all that busy. After all, Drayton was pretty much handling all the details for the funeral service. Maybe, Theodosia decided, Teddy had been closer to Mark than she thought. And just displayed his grief in a different way.

“You’re not going to believe this,” said Angie, once the three of them were seated in the lobby again and she had Mark’s address book clutched tightly in her hands. “Harlan Noble dropped by to see me not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

Drayton frowned and adjusted his bow tie. “Are you serious? For what reason?”

Angie looked more than a little perturbed. “It seems Mr. Noble wants to purchase Mark’s orchid collection.”

“His orchids?” said Drayton, trying to digest what Angie had just told them. “You mean all of them?”

Angie nodded. “That’s what he said. The entire collection, lock, stock, and barrel. But I got the feeling he was most interested in the monkey-face orchid.”

“Good heavens,” exclaimed Drayton. “Harlan is certainly a persistent fellow. What on earth did you tell him?”

“I thanked him for his offer and told him I’m not up to making any major decisions at this time,” said Angie. “And I’m not.” She followed her statement with a slightly worried frown. “And, frankly, I didn’t much appreciate Mr. Noble’s aggressiveness. Even though his offer was couched in a gesture of sympathy, I could tell what his true agenda was.”

Theodosia shook her head. “Harlan Noble had no business coming over here and asking about Mark’s orchids. He should be mindful of your privacy right now.”

“I suppose he’s dying to exhibit that monkey-face orchid in Saturday’s big show,” said Drayton. He gazed at Angie and shrugged, almost apologetically. “It is a lovely plant.”

“It is,” agreed Angie. She lifted her head and focused her gaze intently on Drayton. “Which is why I want you to exhibit it.”

“What?” said a surprised Drayton, his voice suddenly rising a full octave. “Are you serious?”

“I couldn’t be more serious,” said Angie. “In fact, I want you to have the entire collection.”

“Oh, no,” stammered Drayton. “I’m truly touched, but I couldn’t accept such a magnanimous gift.”

“Of course, you could,” said Angie. “You were Mark’s friend and you have the skills necessary to keep the orchids going. If they stay here in our little greenhouse I’m sure I’ll either under water or overfeed them, causing them to just wither away.”

“It’s too much,” said Drayton, still protesting. He fingered his bow tie and gazed at Theodosia, hoping for moral support.

But she was firmly on Angie’s side.

“You can do this, Drayton,” urged Theodosia. “You’ve got the proverbial green thumb. Look how good your cultivation know-how is when it comes to Japanese bonsai.

You’re always winning awards at various exhibitions. Orchids might be a little trickier, I suppose, but I have complete faith that you can keep Mark’s collection going.

Besides, Drayton, your caring for Mark’s orchids would be a kind of . . . well . . . a living tribute to him.”

“A truly fitting memorial,” agreed Angie.

“Goodness,” said Drayton, still stunned. “I suppose when you put it that way . . .” He paused, wiped at the corner of one eye. “I’m just so very touched and honored. I mean, Mark’s got a Fen orchid and a Southern Twayblade. Either one would be spectacular to own. But both of them. All of them!”

“Then it’s settled,” said Angie, looking slightly hopeful for the first time in days. “Besides, passing the orchids on to you is the least I can do. You’ve given me so much help in planning Mark’s service at the cathedral.”

“Oh, I’m happy to,” said Drayton. “Well, not exactly happy, but . . .” Drayton stopped abruptly, looking supremely flustered.

Angie patted his hand gently. “That’s okay, Drayton, I know what you mean.”

Once Theodosia and Drayton had said their good-byes and were standing on the front sidewalk, Drayton decided he wanted to pop into Mark’s greenhouse. So they followed a stone footpath around the side of the large wooden inn to the secluded back garden.

Alternating squares of lush green lawn and redbrick patio were framed by well-tended flower beds. In the center a small pond teemed with goldfish. Wrought-iron tables and chairs and benches of woven river willow completed the relaxing scene.

The small greenhouse sat underneath the second-story walkway that connected the main house to the carriage house.

“This is amazing,” exclaimed Theodosia as they pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside. Brilliant green foliage highlighted by bright blooms stood out like neon against the whitewashed windows. Gravel crunched underfoot.

Drayton nodded. “Like we’ve been instantly transported to a magical, tropical garden.”

On either side of them large wooden tables were jam-packed with orchids, all in various stages of growth and bloom. Above their heads, flowering orchids were contained in wire baskets stuffed with sphagnum moss. Many of the longer roots dangled down, trailing in the air.

“Look at this white cattleya,” said Drayton. “So simple, yet so magnificent. And over here, a Jewel orchid.”

“What’s this one?” asked Theodosia, indicating a small orchid with brilliant magenta spots spattered against yellow-green petals.

“Don’t quote me,” said Drayton, “because I’m still an amateur when it comes to orchid culture. But it’s probably a Vandopsis.”

Theodosia’s eyes continued to take it all in hungrily.

“And are these bromeliads?” she asked. Reaching out, she touched the tip of her finger to a stiff, spiny plant that boasted a brilliant purple-pink flower in the center.

“They are,” said Drayton. “Sort of orchid second cousins.”

“Everything looks so healthy,” remarked Theodosia.

“Mark must have been an amazingly gifted horticulturist.”

“He was very particular about using only rainwater or distilled water,” said Drayton.

“And the aroma in here is simply heavenly,” sighed Theodosia. Inhaling the heady scents from the orchids reminded her of the poppy field scene in The Wizard of Oz.

Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion are all seduced by the heady scents from the flowers and decide to curl up and take naps. Almost forgetting about their visit to Emerald City.

“Just think,” said Theodosia, gazing at the riot of blooming plants. “These all belong to you now.”

Drayton shook his head, a perplexed frown suddenly descending. “Too much,” he muttered. “It’s simply too much.”

When they finally got back to the tea shop, Theodosia coaxed Drayton into helping her unload the Jeep.

“Sure, sure,” agreed Drayton. “No problem.” He still seemed completely stunned by Angie’s generous gift to him.

She led him around to the back alley where her Jeep was parked outside the back door, then popped open the back hatch.

“Just these two boxes?” asked Drayton, grappling for the two cardboard boxes that had come from Loveday and Luxor.

“Right,” said Theodosia. “That smaller box is the one with the broken glass.”

“Good lord,” said Drayton as he struggled to pull out the boxes. “Just having those glass fragments around makes me nervous.”

“After tonight you won’t have to worry,” she promised.

“Hey,” said Haley as they tromped into Theodosia’s office. “Good thing you guys came back. We just got a mongo delivery from FedEx! Five big boxes!”

“My new teas are here,” exclaimed Drayton. “Outstanding!” He unceremoniously dumped Theodosia’s boxes on top of her desk and dashed toward the front of the shop.

Theodosia, who’d been following in Drayton’s footsteps, tried to stem the miniature landslide he’d set into motion on her desk. “I’ve just gotta clean this stuff up,” she vowed to herself.

“You want a strawberry muffin?” Haley asked Theodosia.

“There’s still a few left and I just latched the front door, so they’re yours if you want ’em.” Haley paused. “And there’s profiteroles, too. I could fill a couple with chocolate ice cream and top them with whipped cream.”

“Just a muffin is great,” said Theodosia as she slid her fingernails under the tape and pulled open the top of one of the cardboard boxes. “I’ll be right out.”

“Gotcha,” said Haley, disappearing into her kitchen.

Theodosia dug into the box, wondering if there was anything else of Mark’s that Angie might need right away. She sifted through a stack of business magazines and a week’s worth of the Financial Times. “This can all be tossed,” she muttered to herself, knowing it would be unproductive and wearing for Angie to sort through old publications.

Under a box of Cohiba cigars, Theodosia found an unused plane ticket, an invitation to an opening at the Cameo Gallery, and a brochure for the Plantation Ramble.

She glanced at these three items idly as she carried them out into the tea shop, ready to sit down and enjoy her muffin and probably sample one of the new teas that had just arrived.

True to his nature, Drayton already had a teapot steeping as he hurriedly ransacked through the rest of his boxes.

“Here you go,” said Haley as she hustled out and set a small plate that bore a single muffin in front of Theodosia.

“Enjoy.”

Theodosia took a nibble of strawberry muffin as she continued to glance at the three items she’d grabbed. The plane ticket was for a trip to Nassau in the Bahamas. She didn’t know if it was related to business or pleasure, so she decided she’d better hand the ticket over to Angie. Let her decide.

The invitation was for a fancy art opening last week, so that could just be tossed.

Theodosia studied the final item, the Plantation Ramble brochure. It was a four-color foldout piece that was fairly well produced. Good paper stock, decent printing, lots of color photographs. She’d seen these same flyers all over town and out at Carthage Place Plantation, but had never really looked at one close up until now.

“Have some butter,” said Haley, setting another small plate on the table. “It’s unsalted.”

“Thanks,” said Theodosia. She picked up a tiny silver knife, carved out a small slice of butter, and spread it on her muffin. “Mmm . . . good,” she remarked.

“What’s in the two boxes?” asked Haley. “Junk from Mark’s office?”

Theodosia nodded. “Stuff I was supposed to pack up, but got packed for me.”

“You want me to carry ’em upstairs to your apartment?” asked Haley. “In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have a lot of extra room in that office of yours.” Haley was a neat-nik of the first magnitude and was always fighting to banish clutter.

“I think the boxes are pretty heavy,” replied Theodosia. At least Drayton had made them seem so.

“I’ve been studying martial arts,” bragged Haley. “Tae Kwon Do. So I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

“Well, okay,” said Theodosia. “Just be careful. Don’t hurt your back or anything.”

“Hey,” said Haley, “you want me to get you another muffin? There’s more left.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” said Theodosia as she perused the brochure with its impressive list of gardens at Carthage Place Plantation. Just as Delaine had mentioned, there was a rose garden, an English garden, a hedge maze, and a water bog. But there were more gardens listed here, too. A butterfly garden, an herb garden, and . . .

A small wrinkle insinuated itself between Theodosia’s normally placid brows. Something had just struck her as odd. “Does anybody know about this nightshade garden?” she suddenly asked out loud.

“Hmm?” said a distracted Drayton. He was like a kid on Christmas morning, unpacking his new shipment of Darjeeling, Assam, and Nilgiri teas that had just arrived from India.

“The nightshade garden,” repeated Theodosia. “At Carthage Place Plantation. Haley?”

“Don’t know,” murmured Haley as she moved off to clear the last of the tables.

“Drayton?” asked Theodosia.

“Not sure,” he said, balancing a tin of Singbulli Estate Darjeeling in one hand and a tin of Doomni Assam in the other. “I’d imagine it’s their contemplative garden. Probably very low-key and lovely, filled with lilies and evening primrose and such.”

Nightshade, Theodosia thought to herself. That doesn’t sound all that contemplative. In fact, it sounds a little ominous.

“I’d like to go out there and take a peek,” Theodosia said to Drayton.

At hearing her words, Drayton spun around. She’d finally captured his attention. “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Well, I have to deliver that broken glass . . .”

“And . . . ?” prodded Drayton.

“Chalk the rest up to curiosity,” said Theodosia.

Drayton pulled a single furry eyebrow into a quivering, disapproving arc. “If you recall,” he told her in a somber voice, “curiosity killed the cat.”

And maybe even Mark Congdon, Theodosia thought to herself.