Shades of Earl Grey

Chapter 3

Friday morning at 9:00 A.M., the Indigo Tea Shop was packed. Besides their Church Street regulars, a tour group led by Dindy Moore, one of Drayton’s friends from the Heritage Society, had decided to begin their walking tour of the historic district with a breakfast tea. And now the group easily filled four of the dozen or so tables.

Drayton hustled back and forth, a teapot in each hand, pouring steaming cups of Munnar black tea and English breakfast tea. Haley had come in early, even though she’d been deeply upset by the news of Captain Corey Buchanan’s death, and still managed to bake a full complement of pastries. This morning the customers at the Indigo Tea Shop were enjoying steaming apple-ginger muffins, blueberry scones, and cream muffins, which in any other part of the country would rightly be called popovers.

Standing behind the counter, Theodosia busied herself by handling take-out orders, always in big demand first thing in the morning.

After the horror of last night, she felt reassured and armed by the atmosphere of the tea shop. A fire crackled in the tiny stone fireplace as copper teapots chirped and whistled. The scent of orange, cinnamon, and ginger perfumed the air around her.

Teas were like aromatherapy, Theodosia had long since decided. The ripe orchid aroma of Keemun tea from Anhui Province in China was always slightly heady and uplifting, the bright, brisk smell of Indian Nilgiri seemed to calm and stabilize, the scent of jasmine always soothed.

Finally, when the morning rush seemed to settle into a more manageable pace, Theodosia slipped through the dark green velvet curtains and into her office at the back of the shop.

This was her private oasis. Big roll-top desk wedged into a small space, wall filled with framed mementos that included photos, opera programs, and tea labels. A cushy green velvet guest chair faced her desk, a chair that Dray-ton had dubbed “the tuffet.”

Sitting at her desk, Theodosia thought about the hellish events of last night. Did someone actually crash through the roof and steal the antique wedding ring or am I just trying to rationalize a terrible event? When bad things happen to good people, that sort of thing?

She thought about it, tried to dismiss her somewhat strange theory.

But it wouldn’t go away. Stuck in her mind like a burr.

All right, she thought to herself, then I’ve got to tell someone. Who, though? The police? Hmm, seems a little alarmist. No, she decided, Delaine will come by. She always does. I’ll run it by Delaine and then, if it still holds water, Delaine can take it to the police.

She wasn’t about to get pulled into this, was she? No, of course not.

Haley was always kidding her that she liked nothing better than a good mystery to poke her nose into. Well, she was going to leave this incident well enough alone, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she?

Theodosia sighed. On the other hand... from the moment she’d climbed that ladder last night, she’d felt as if she was being pulled slowly and inexorably into what appeared to be a web of intrigue.

What was this strange fascination she had with murder? Why did she have this dark side?

Enough, she decided as she flipped open her weekly planner and studied her calendar. This weekend looked relatively quiet. Tomorrow, Saturday night, was the members-only party at the Heritage Society to celebrate the opening of next week’s big Treasures Show. And then her calendar was fairly clear until the following Thursday afternoon when they were scheduled to have an open house at the tea shop.

The open house. She had to start thinking seriously about that. The Indigo Tea Shop was about to kick off its new line of tea-inspired bath and beauty products and she had to decide exactly what refreshments they’d be serving, what theme this little launch party should follow.

Theodosia had experienced a brainstorm not too long ago about packaging green teas, dried lavender, chamomile, calendula petals, and other tea and herb mixtures into oversized tea bags for use in the bath. She had commissioned a small batch to be manufactured by a highly reputable cosmetics firm and then tested the feasibility of those products on her web site. Much to her delight, the T-Bath products, as she had named them, had sold remarkably well, so she expanded the line to include lotions and oils as well. This coming Thursday, their open house would serve as the official product launch for the new T-Bath line. She’d already been interviewed by the Charleston Post & Courier and a fairly in-depth article about her new bath products would be running in their

Style Section sometime next week.

“Theodosia?”

Theodosia looked up to find Haley standing in her doorway. She wiggled her fingers, gesturing for Haley to come in.

“Delaine’s here,” Haley told her. “She’d like to talk to you.”

“How is she?” asked Theodosia.

“Sniffly. Subdued,” said Haley. “Same as us.”

“You’re a real trooper for coming in,” Theodosia told her. “Last night was pretty rough.”

“That’s okay,” said Haley. “I feel better now. Sad for poor Camille, of course.” Haley shook her head as if to clear it. “Strangely enough, Delaine is dressed to the nines. Anyone else would have thrown on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I guess Delaine’s brain doesn’t operate that way.”

“She probably just came from her store,” said Theodosia. “So she had to dress up.”

Delaine’s store, Cotton Duck, was just down the block from Theodosia’s tea shop. Over the past ten years, Delaine had built it into one of the premier clothing boutiques in Charleston. Cotton Duck carried casual cotton clothing to take you through the hot, steamy Charleston summers, rich velvets and light wools for the cooler months, and elegant evening fashions for taking in the opera, art gallery openings, or formal parties in the historic district. In just the last year, Delaine had begun carrying several well-known designers and was now featuring trunk shows several times a year.

“Don’t think ill of Delaine,” added Theodosia. “It’s just her way. Whenever there’s a crisis, she dresses up for the part.”

Delaine was sitting at the table by the fireplace, wearing a camel-colored cashmere sweater and matching wool slacks, sniffling into her cup of Assam tea. She looked up with red-rimmed eyes as Theodosia approached.

“Delaine,” said Theodosia, “how are you?” She sat down across from her and clasped her hands, feeling a bit like a brown wren in her sensible workday gray slacks and turtleneck.

“Holding up,” said Delaine. “Of course, last night was an absolute horror. First we couldn’t find out anything from the doctors, then they informed us that Captain Buchanan had actually died en route to the hospital.” She bit her lip in an attempt to stave back tears. “Apparently, his respiration and spinal cord had been affected.”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Drayton. After taking a quick check of customers, who all seemed to be sipping tea and happily munching Haley’s fresh-baked muffins and scones, he had joined them at the table. “How awful,” he said.

“If Captain Buchanan had lived,” said Delaine in a hoarse whisper, “he would have been a quadriplegic.”

“Oh, my,” said Drayton, shaking his head sadly.

“How’s Camille doing?” asked Theodosia.

“Terrible,” said Delaine. “She just sat next to Captain Buchanan’s poor body and cried and cried all night. She wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t even take a sedative when one of the doctors offered it. Poor lamb, she’s absolutely heartbroken.”

“And Captain Buchanan’s family has been notified?” asked Drayton.

“Yes,” said Delaine. “Cooper Hobcaw called and spoke with them first. He’s not as... close...to this tragedy as we are, so he was able to maintain a certain calm and decorum. Then Camille got on the line, too.” Delaine fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief, unfurled it, blew her nose loudly. “We’re all just so sad. Camille is planning to accompany Captain Buchanan’s body back to Savannah later today. That’s where the funeral will be.” Delaine blew her nose again and glanced about helplessly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m just so very upset.”

Drayton reached over and patted her shoulder gently. “We know you are, dear.”

“Thank you for staying last night,” said Delaine. “I knew I could count on the two of you.”

Theodosia and Drayton exchanged quick glances.

“Camille is planning to take the wedding ring back with her today and return it to the family,” said Delaine. “Of course it’s the only acceptable thing to do. After all, there won’t be any . . .” Delaine’s voice trailed off and she dissolved into tears once again.

Theodosia threw Drayton a quick what do we do now? glance.

He gave a helpless shrug.

Delaine, sensing the subtle exchange between them, suddenly looked up.

“You did recover the ring, didn’t you?” she asked.

Drayton, usually eloquent, fumbled for a moment. “Actually, Delaine, we ...uh...”

“There was a problem?” she asked. Now there was a distinct edge to her voice.

“The problem was,” said Theodosia, deciding honesty was the best policy, “we never actually found the ring.”

Delaine was incredulous. “But Cooper said you were going to look for it. Surely you . . .”

“We did look,” Drayton assured her. “We searched high and low, practically tore the premises apart. But . . .” He hesitated, steepled his gnarled fingers together, then pulled them apart slowly, as if to indicate a lack of resolution. “Alas, no ring,” he said.

One of Delaine’s French-manicured hands fluttered to her chest. “My goodness, this is quite a shock.”

“It was to us, too,” said Theodosia. “We really did search everywhere.”

“What do you suppose happened to it?” asked Delaine. She frowned, twisted her handkerchief in her hands, stared at the two of them, obviously expecting an answer.

“We think, that is, Theodosia thinks . . .” began Dray-ton.

“Spit it out, Drayton!” said Delaine suddenly. “If something’s gone wrong, I have a perfect right to know!”

Theodosia glanced about the tea shop to make sure her guests hadn’t overheard Delaine’s somewhat indelicate outburst. “Of course you do, Delaine,” Theodosia assured her. “It’s just that all we’re going on right now is a sort of theory.”

“Then kindly explain this theory,” demanded Delaine. She arched her eyebrows, sat back in her chair with an air that was dangerously close to imperious, and waited for an explanation.

“It involves theft,” said Drayton delicately.

“Of the ring?” said Delaine in a high squeak.

“Well... yes,” said Theodosia. Why is it so difficult to just come right out and say it?

“Oh my goodness,” cried Delaine, sinking back in her chair. “You think the ring has been stolen?” she said in a whisper.

“We’re not positive,” said Drayton, “but it looks that way.”

Delaine’s face crumpled and she was seconds from another outpouring of tears.

“Remember, this is just a wild supposition on our part,” said Theodosia, “but from the looks of things, it’s possible a thief might have had his eye on Camille’s ring. After all, it was rather beautifully displayed on that baroque silver calling card receiver.” Now why did I have to say that? Theodosia thought to herself. Darn, this isn’t going well at all.

“And all that beautiful old silver was sitting right next to it,” said Drayton. Old silver that’d been in the Good-wood family for generations.

“Crafted by Jacob Hurd,” Theodosia added helpfully.

Delaine nodded tightly. “Of course, I remember the silver. It’s all very old, very elegant. I specifically requested it for just that reason.”

“Anyway,” continued Theodosia, “we think someone might have been prowling across the roof top.”

“And taken a misstep,” said Drayton.

“Which caused him to come crashing down through the roof,” added Theodosia.

“On top of poor Captain Buchanan,” said Drayton, grimacing. He knew the two of them sounded like they were doing some kind of tag-team routine.

Delaine peered at Theodosia and Drayton in disbelief. “You’re not serious,” she said in a choked voice.

“And that’s when the ring was stolen,” said Drayton. “Or might have been stolen,” he added. “We’re still not sure.”

Delaine sat stock-still as their words washed across her. She frowned, leaned forward, put a hand to her mouth. “Then Captain Buchanan was murdered,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Drayton hastily. “After all, the roof could just as easily have collapsed on its own.”

“But the ring is gone,” said Delaine slowly. “Nowhere to be found, as you say. Doesn’t that prove your theory?” She leaned back in her chair again. “Oh my,” she murmured to herself, “this is simply awful. We’ll need to contact the police.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” admitted Theodosia. She would have done it herself last night, but the idea of the thief on the roof hadn’t completely gelled in her mind. It had been a theory, a decent one at that. But of course, there was no concrete proof.

Delaine suddenly clutched Theodosia’s hand. “Theodosia, you’ve got to help me!”

“Oh, no, . . .” protested Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Delaine, clutching Theodosia’s hand even more forcefully and digging in with her nails. “We need to get to the bottom of this, figure out what really happened. Like you, I simply don’t want to believe this was all just a horrible accident.” Delaine’s pleading eyes bore into Theodosia. “Oh please, you’re so terribly good at this kind of thing. You helped figure out who killed poor Oliver Dixon last summer when that horrible pistol exploded at the picnic.”

“She did do a fine job with that, didn’t she,” said Dray-ton, admiration apparent in his voice.

Theodosia frowned at Drayton. “That was a very different set of circumstances,” she protested. “I was standing right there and had just witnessed a rather strange argument between . . .” She hesitated, decided she’d better shift her line of conversation back to the here and now. “Delaine, I really wouldn’t have a clue as to where to begin. If my theory does hold water, it really was a motiveless murder.”

Delaine lifted her head and gazed at Theodosia mournfully. “But that’s just it. It was murder!”

“No,” said Theodosia, trying to back-pedal as best she could. “I stand corrected then. It was an accident. The kind of accident the police need to investigate. Let them determine if there were any suspicious people lurking about in the lobby last night. Any cars seen speeding away from the Lady Goodwood Inn. Any clues left on the rooftop. That sort of thing.”

“But we’ve got to get that ring back!” shrilled Delaine. “Camille is my niece. I’m responsible.”

“I’m sure Captain Buchanan’s family won’t hold you personally responsible,” said Drayton.

“Of course they won’t,” added Theodosia. “Because there really is nothing to go on,” said Theodosia. “No way to get a bead on this mysterious intruder.”

“If there even was one in the first place,” Drayton added.

Delaine sat there toying with her own ring, a giant moonstone that glimmered enticingly. “But there is a way,” she said slowly. “At least, there might be.”

Theodosia and Drayton exchanged startled glances.

“What do you mean, honey?” asked Drayton.

“You said the burglar was probably after the ring. Maybe even had his eye on the antique silver,” began Delaine.

“Probably being the operative word,” said Drayton.

“Well, what if this person really is a practiced thief,” said Delaine. “Then this wouldn’t be the end of it, would it? This person, this thief who prowls about in the night, wouldn’t just stop cold turkey, would he? This, whatever-he-is, cat burglar, would keep stealing, wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose so,” said Theodosia slowly.

Drayton set his teacup down with a loud clink. There was a distinctly funny look on his face. “Where are you going with this, Delaine?”

“I was thinking about tomorrow night,” she said. Now a sly look lit her face. “You know, the preview party at the Heritage Society. For the Treasures Show. There’s going to be that whole cache of European jewelry on display.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t go there, Delaine,” said Drayton. He pursed his lips and his lined face assumed a pained expression. “Really hoping you wouldn’t go there.”

Delaine continued to toy with her ring. “Well, Drayton, honey, I just did. So there. And you two know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looked up in triumph, then glanced back and forth, from Theodosia’s face to Drayton’s. “Don’t tell me the same thought hasn’t crossed your minds. You know darn well that any thief who was attempting to steal an heirloom ring might also have his eye on that European Jewel Collection!”

With that, Delaine put her handkerchief to her face and began emitting little sobs.

Theodosia sat back in her chair and studied Delaine. Are these crocodile tears or genuine tears of sorrow and frustration? Probably a little of both, she decided. Delaine was genuinely upset over the death of her niece’s fiancé as well as the apparent loss of the antique wedding ring.

On the other hand, if Delaine thought she could goad her and Drayton into helping, then she would. She’d use every trick in the book.

Theodosia sighed. Problem was, Delaine’s remark about the Treasures Show at the Heritage Society was a point well taken. Would a cat burglar stop with just one item? No, probably not. Would the European Jewel Collection at the Treasures Show be enough of a lure to bring him out again? Hmm... that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Drayton, what are you doing?” shrieked Haley in alarm.

Standing behind the counter, Drayton was dumping teaspoon after heaping teaspoon of Lapsang Souchong into a Victorian-style teapot.

“Hmm?” he asked. It was early afternoon and the luncheon crowd had just departed. Haley had whipped together chicken salad with pecans and served it mounded on lettuce cups with a wedge of banana bread spread with softened cream cheese. Every plate had sold out.

“You’ve dumped almost a dozen spoonfuls into that pot!” she told him. “Your tea is going to be so strong it’ll take the finish off!”

Drayton gazed down in horror. “Good lord! I completely lost track there, didn’t I?”

“Here,” Haley said as she elbowed Drayton out of the way, ready to take charge. “Let me do this. You get out the step stool and pull a couple jars of DuBose Bees Honey down from the shelf. You see that lady over there in the yellow sweater?”

Drayton scanned the tea room then nodded obediently, still lost in thought.

“Well, she adored the DuBose honey so much on her scone that she wants to take a couple jars home.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Really,” huffed Haley, “it seems like everyone’s lost their mind today.”

“Who’s lost their mind?” asked Theodosia as she emerged from the back carrying a fresh plate of scones.

“Drayton has,” said Haley. “He was about to make a superstrong pot of tea. As if that stuff isn’t strong enough to begin with,” she sniffed.

“Look at our little Haley,” said Drayton. “Two years ago she didn’t know a Darjeeling from a Yunnan. Now she’s an expert.”

“That’s enough sarcasm, Drayton,” Haley snapped. “I wasn’t the one who was about to send one of our guests into anaphylactic shock with a gigantic overdose of caffeine.”

The bell over the door tinkled as a group of tourists pushed their way into the shop. Haley, sensing that Dray-ton still wasn’t himself, immediately hustled over to seat them.

“Still feeling discombobulated?” Theodosia asked Drayton.

He nodded. “I keep thinking about what Delaine said regarding the members-only party tomorrow night at the Heritage Society. Granted, the installation of the entire Treasures Show won’t be completed until next weekend when the public opening occurs. But the traveling European Jewel Collection will be there tomorrow night. For all to see.”

“Including our so-called cat burglar.”

“Right,” said Drayton. “And if this thief had his eye on Camille’s ring, he might also be honed in on the European Jewel Collection. It certainly has received enough publicity.”

Indeed, there had been a splashy write-up in the Arts Section of the Charleston Post & Courier and Drayton had even been interviewed on the Good Morning, Charleston radio show.

“If it makes you feel any better, Drayton, those same concerns have been bouncing around in my head, too,” Theodosia told him.

“Unfortunately, there really isn’t much we can do,” said Drayton. He assumed a glum expression. “Something like this, you have to wait and see what happens.” He paused, reached behind him for a cup of tea he had brewed earlier for himself, took a sip.

“Chamomile?” asked Theodosia. Chamomile was a tried-and-true remedy for nerves.

Drayton nodded. “Do you know if Delaine talked with the police yet?”

“I just got off the phone with her,” said Theodosia. “She was on her way over to the Lady Goodwood Inn to meet with two detectives from the Robbery Division.”

“Too bad your friend, Detective Tidwell, couldn’t be of help.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend,” responded Theodosia.

Burt Tidwell, one of the Homicide Detectives in the Charleston police force, had once insinuated that Bethany Shepherd, one of Theodosia’s former employees, had been involved in the poisoning of a slightly shady real estate developer during a historic homes tour. Theodosia had worked with Detective Tidwell, if one could call it that, to resolve the case and bring the true culprit to justice.

“Besides, Tidwell’s in the Homicide Division,” added Theodosia. “Last night’s event is being assessed as a robbery.”

“Right,” said Drayton. He set his teacup down, picked up the two jars of honey, balanced them in his hands as though he were weighing something. “Anyway, I’m still worried about tomorrow night.”

“What if we spoke with Timothy Neville?” said Theodosia. “Suggest to him that the Heritage Society might want to take some extra precautions?”

Timothy Neville was the president of the Heritage Society and a good friend of Drayton’s. Timothy’s great-greatgrandmother had been one of the original Huguenot settlers in Charleston back in the seventeen-hundreds and her descendants had become wealthy plantation owners, growing rice, indigo, and cotton. Timothy resided in a magnificent Georgian-style mansion over on Archdale Street.

Drayton nodded. “Timothy might go along with the idea. Should go along with it, anyway. It would certainly be in his best interests.”

“So you’ll speak to him?” asked Theodosia. “Share our concern without completely alarming him?”

“Absolutely,” said Drayton, making up his mind. “I’ll call Timothy this instant.”