Pekoe Most Poison Read online

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Childs

  Tea Shop Mysteries

  DEATH BY DARJEELING

  GUNPOWDER GREEN

  SHADES OF EARL GREY

  THE ENGLISH BREAKFAST MURDER

  THE JASMINE MOON MURDER

  CHAMOMILE MOURNING

  BLOOD ORANGE BREWING

  DRAGONWELL DEAD

  THE SILVER NEEDLE MURDER

  OOLONG DEAD

  THE TEABERRY STRANGLER

  SCONES & BONES

  AGONY OF THE LEAVES

  SWEET TEA REVENGE

  STEEPED IN EVIL

  MING TEA MURDER

  DEVONSHIRE SCREAM

  PEKOE MOST POISON

  Scrapbooking Mysteries

  KEEPSAKE CRIMES

  PHOTO FINISHED

  BOUND FOR MURDER

  MOTIF FOR MURDER

  FRILL KILL

  DEATH SWATCH

  TRAGIC MAGIC

  FIBER & BRIMSTONE

  SKELETON LETTERS

  POSTCARDS FROM THE DEAD

  GILT TRIP

  GOSSAMER GHOST

  PARCHMENT AND OLD LACE

  CREPE FACTOR

  Cackleberry Club Mysteries

  EGGS IN PURGATORY

  EGGS BENEDICT ARNOLD

  BEDEVILED EGGS

  STAKE & EGGS

  EGGS IN A CASKET

  SCORCHED EGGS

  EGG DROP DEAD

  Anthologies

  DEATH BY DESIGN

  TEA FOR THREE

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc

  Excerpt from Shadow Girl copyright © 2017 by Gerry Schmitt

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Childs, Laura, author.

  Title: Pekoe most poison / Laura Childs.

  Description: New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2017.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016031063 (print) | LCCN 2016037965 (ebook) |

  ISBN 9780425281680 | ISBN 9780698197398 (ebook)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.H56 P45 2017 (print) | LCC PS3603.H56 (ebook) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016031063

  First Edition: March 2017

  Cover art by Stephanie Henderson

  Cover series design by Lesley Worrell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Childs

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Recipes

  Tea Time Tips

  Excerpt from Shadow Girl

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Sam, Tom, Allison, Amanda, Lesley, Danielle, Roxanne, Bob, Jennie, and all the amazing people at Berkley Prime Crime and Penguin Random House who handle design, editing, publicity, copywriting, bookstore sales, and gift sales. Heartfelt thanks, too, to all the tea lovers, tea shop owners, bookshop folks, librarians, reviewers, magazine editors and writers, websites, broadcasters, and bloggers who have enjoyed the Tea Shop Mysteries and have helped to spread the word. You make this all possible!

  And I am especially indebted to you, dear readers. You have embraced Theodosia, Drayton, Haley, Earl Grey, and the rest of the tea shop gang (even mad-as-a-hatter Delaine!) as family. For that, I am eternally grateful and pledge to bring you many more Tea Shop Mysteries!

  1

  Palmettos swayed lazily in the soft breeze, daffodils bobbed their shaggy heads as Theodosia Browning stepped quickly along the brick pathway that wound through a bountiful front yard garden and up to the polished double doors of the Calhoun Mansion. Pausing, she pulled back the enormous brass boar’s head door knocker . . . nothing wimpy about this place . . . and let it crash against the metal plate.

  Claaaang. The sound echoed deep within the house as the boar’s eyes glittered and glared at her.

  Turning to face Drayton, her friend and tea sommelier, Theodosia said, “This should be fun. I’ve never visited Doreen’s home before.”

  “You’ll like it,” Drayton said. “It’s a grand old place. Built back in the early eighteen hundreds by Emerson Calhoun, one of Charleston’s early indigo barons.”

  “I guess we’re lucky to be invited then,” she said. Their hostess, Doreen Briggs, also known to her close friends as “Dolly,” was president of the Ladies Opera Auxiliary and one of the leading social powerhouses in Charleston, South Carolina. Theodosia had always thought of Doreen as being slightly bubbleheaded, but that could be a carefully cultivated act, aimed to deflect from all the philanthropic work that she and her husband were involved in.

  A few seconds later, the front door creaked open and Theodosia and Drayton were greeted by a vision so strange it could have been a drug-induced hookah dream straight out of Alice in Wonderland. The man who answered the door was dressed in a powder blue velvet waistcoat, cream-colored slacks, and spit-polished black buckle boots. But it wasn’t his formal, quasi-Edwardian attire that made him so bizarre. It was the giant white velvet rat head perched atop his head and shoulders. Yes, white velvet, just like the fur of a properly groomed, semi-dandy white rat. Complete with round ears, long snout bristling with whiskers, and bright pink eyes.

  “Welcome,�
�� the rat said to them as he placed one white-gloved hand (paw?) behind his back and bowed deeply.

  At which point Theodosia arched her carefully waxed brows and said, as a not-so-subtle aside to Drayton, “When the invitation specified a ‘Charleston rat tea,’ they weren’t just whistling Dixie.”

  • • •

  It was a rat tea. Of sorts. Drayton had filled her in on the history of the quaint rat tea custom on their stroll over from the Indigo Tea Shop, where they brewed all manner of tea, fed and charmed customers, and made a fairly comfortable living.

  “Seventy-five years ago,” Drayton said, “rat teas were all the rage in Charleston. You see, at the advent of World War Two, our fair city underwent a tremendous population explosion as war workers arrived at the navy shipyard in droves.”

  “I get that,” Theodosia had said. “But what’s with the rats specifically?”

  “Ah,” Drayton said. “With the increased populace, downtown merchants were thriving. Because they were so frantically busy, they began tossing their garbage out onto the sidewalks, which immediately attracted a huge influx of rats. The local public health officials, fearing some kind of ghastly epidemic, quickly spearheaded a ‘rat torpedo’ campaign. Volunteers were tasked with wrapping poisoned bait in small folded bits of newspaper and sticking them in alleys and crawl spaces.”

  Theodosia listened, fascinated, as Drayton continued his story.

  “These rat torpedoes were so effective,” Drayton said, “that prominent society ladies even held fancy ‘rat teas’ to help promote the campaign.”

  “And the rats were eventually eradicated?” Theodosia had asked.

  “Charleston became a public health model,” Drayton said. “Several major cities even sent representatives to study our method.”

  • • •

  The blue rat at the door was still nodding to them as Theodosia and Drayton stepped inside the foyer. Here, they were greeted by a second rat wearing a pastel pink coat. This rat was equally polite.

  “Good afternoon,” pink rat said.

  “I feel like I’ve been drinking to excess,” Theodosia said. “Seeing pink rats instead of pink elephants.”

  “This way, please,” pink rat said to them in carefully modulated tones.

  They followed him down a long, red-tiled hallway where oil paintings dark with crackle glaze hung on the walls and the hum of conversation grew louder with each step they took. Then pink rat turned suddenly and ushered them into an enormous sunlit parlor where fifty or so guests milled about and a half-dozen elegant tea tables were carefully arranged.

  Pink rat consulted his clipboard. “Miss Browning, Mr. Conneley, you’re both to be seated at table six.”

  “Thank you,” Drayton said.

  “Do I know you?” Theodosia asked pink rat. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and her voice was slightly teasing. She was a woman of rare and fair beauty even though she’d be the first to pooh-pooh anyone who told her so. But with her masses of auburn hair, English rose complexion, and captivating smile, she certainly stood out in a crowd.

  “I don’t think so, ma’am,” pink rat said as he spun on the heels of his buckle boots and hastened off to escort another group of guests to their table.

  “Who was that?” Theodosia asked as her eyes skittered around the rather grand room, taking in the crystal chandelier, enormous marble fireplace, gaggle of upscale-looking guests, as well as tea tables set with Wedgwood china and Reed & Barton silver. “He sounded so familiar. The rat guy, I mean.”

  “No idea,” Drayton said as he regarded the table settings. “But isn’t this lovely? And what fun to stage a madcap homage to the rat teas of yesteryear.” Drayton was beginning to rhapsodize, one of the most endearing qualities of this debonair, sixty-something tea sommelier, while Theodosia was suddenly fizzing with curiosity. Why had she been invited when she had just a nodding acquaintance with Doreen Briggs? And who were these white rat butlers, anyway? Professional servers shanghaied from a local catering company? Or actors who’d been hired to wear costumes and playact a rather bizarre role?

  These were the kind of things Theodosia wondered about. These were the things that kept her brain whirring at night when she should have been fast asleep.

  • • •

  “Drayton!” an excited voice shrilled. Theodosia and Drayton turned to find Doreen Briggs closing on them like a five-foot-two-inch heat-seeking missile. She charged up to Drayton, rose on tiptoes to administer a profusion of air kisses, and then flashed an enormous smile at Theodosia. “Theodosia,” she said. “So good of you to come.” Doreen gripped her hand firmly, pumped her arm. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Theodosia said. “And I must say, you have a very lovely home.”

  “It is cozy, isn’t it?” Doreen said. Her green eyes glinted almost coquettishly; her reddish-blond hair cascaded around her face in a forest of curls that didn’t seem quite natural for a woman in her late fifties.

  “We’re thrilled to be here,” Drayton added.

  Doreen, who was stuffed into a pastel pink shantung silk dress with a rope of pearls around her neck, waved a hand that was festooned with sparkling diamond rings, and said, “Don’t you think this is jolly fun? The rat tea theme, I mean? Aren’t my liveried rats just adorable?”

  “Charming,” Theodosia responded. Truthfully, she thought the rats—she’d seen at least four of them chugging officiously around the room—were a little strange. But this was a woman who supported the arts, gave money to service dog organizations, and was on the verge of bequeathing a sizable grant to Drayton’s beloved Heritage Society, so she was willing to cut her a good deal of slack.

  “Where’s Beau?” Drayton asked. “He’s certainly here today, isn’t he?” Beau Briggs was Doreen’s husband, a self-professed entrepreneur who owned apartment buildings in North Charleston and was a partner in the newly opened Gilded Magnolia Spa on King Street.

  Doreen pushed back a strand of frizzled hair. “He’s around here somewhere. Probably bending the ear of one of our guests, talking about one of his pet business projects.” She put a hand on Theodosia’s arm and said, “Isn’t it cute when men work themselves into a tizzy over business? I love how they think they’re masters of the universe when it’s really we women who run things.”

  “And a fine job you ladies do,” Drayton said.

  “Aren’t you the most politically correct gentleman yet,” Doreen fawned. “You’ll have to indoctrinate Beau with some of your fine, liberal ideas.” She managed a quick sip of air and said, “We’re sitting right here.” Then she waved a chubby hand. “Your table is right next to us.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your husband,” Theodosia said. She’d heard so much about the man who’d helped create Gilded Magnolia Spa. Magazines had run full-color spreads, health and beauty editors had rhapsodized about it in articles, and the ladies-who-lunch types, who shopped at Bob Ellis Shoes and Hampden Clothing, had been exchanging whispers about the spa’s gold foil facials and amazing electrostim lifts.

  “I imagine Beau will pop up any moment,” Doreen said as she glanced around the room. Then her face lit up and she cried, “There he is.” She waved a hand as bracelets clanked. “Beau!” Her voice rose higher. “Yes, I’m talking to you, hunky monkey . . . who do you think I’m waving at like a crazy lady? Get over here and say hello to Theodosia and Drayton.”

  Beau Briggs, who was forty pounds overweight, with slicked-back red hair, the jowls of a shar-pei, and perfectly steam-cleaned pores, came huffing over to join them.

  “Dolly,” he said. “What?” His pink sport coat was stretched around his midsection, the gold buttons looking about ready to burst and go airborne. Theodosia decided Beau might partake of his own spa’s skin care regimen, but not their low-cal smoothies and fruit salads.

  “These are the people I was telling you
about,” Doreen said. “Theodosia and Drayton. They run that lovely Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street. You remember, they bake those chocolate chip scones that you adore so much?”

  Beau turned an expectant smile on them. “I hope you brought some along?”

  Doreen gave him a playful slap. “Silly boy. You know our caterers are handling the scones and tea sandwiches today. Theodosia and Drayton are our guests. They’re here to partake of tea, not serve it.”

  “A respite,” Drayton said, trying to be jocular.

  “Then sit down, sit down,” Doreen said as all around them guests began taking their seats. “Oh!” She spun around to position herself at the head table, all the while looking a little scattered. “I suppose it’s high time I get this fancy tea started.” She glanced down, looking slightly perturbed. “Now, where did I put my silver bell?”

  • • •

  The tea turned out to be a lovely affair, albeit a trifle strange. The rat theme continued as everyone took their places and more liveried rats came scurrying out of the kitchen. They carried steaming teapots in white-gloved hands, pouring out servings of Darjeeling and Assam tea. By the time silver trays overflowing with cinnamon and lemon poppy seed scones arrived, Theodosia was well past her initial surprise. In fact, she was able to sit back and enjoy herself as Drayton did the heavy lifting, chatting merrily with all the guests at their table, most of whom she had only a nodding acquaintance with. Then again, Drayton was a stickler for politeness and decorum. And tended to be a lot more social than she was.

  Let’s see now, Theodosia thought after they’d gone around the table and made hasty introductions. The two blondes, Dree and Diana, were on the board of directors for the Charleston Symphony. The woman in the fire-engine red suit . . . Twilby . . . Eleanor Twilby? . . . was the executive director of . . . something. And then . . . well, she just wasn’t sure. But the crab and Gruyère cheese quiche she was digging into was incredibly creamy and delicious.

  Doreen turned in her chair and tapped Theodosia on the shoulder. “Having fun?” she asked.

  Theodosia, caught with a bite of food in her mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed. “This quiche is incredible!” She really meant it. “I’ll have to get the recipe. Haley would love it.” Haley was her chef and chief baker back at the Indigo Tea Shop.