Scones & Bones Read online

  Tea Shop Mysteries 12

  Scones & Bones

  Laura Childs

  Copyright © 2011

  by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc.

  For Elmo, dear departed family dog who served as the model for Earl Grey.

  Many thanks to Sam, Tom, Niti, Bob, Jennie, Dan, and the fine people at Berkley who handle design, publicity, copywriting, bookstore sales, and gift sales. A special thank-you to all tea lovers, tea shop owners, bookstore owners, librarians, reviewers, magazine writers, websites, and radio stations who have enjoyed the ongoing adventures of the Indigo Tea Shop gang.

  This may be book twelve, but there are many, many stories yet to tell and so many marvelous teas to be brewed!

  1

  A smirking human skull, all hollow eye sockets and pronounced parietal bones, grinned diabolically at Theodosia. A second skull, this one with crooked teeth clenched in an agonized grimace, wasn't quite as mirthful.

  "Some of these images are a little bizarre," Theodosia murmured to Drayton.

  “Jolly Roger flags were meant to frighten," Drayton replied. "The pirates who flew them wanted their designs to inspire fear and dread."

  Theodosia took a step backward and gazed at the diverse collection of antique pirate flags that hung inside the shallow glass case. There were skulls and crossbones, full-sized skeletons, even skeletons dancing a jig.

  "Actually," said Theodosia, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth, "they're just the kind of thing today's graphic designers and tattoo artists would groove on."

  It was Sunday night at the Heritage Society in Charleston, South Carolina, and the grand opening of the Pirates and Plunder show. Theodosia Browning, proprietor of the Indigo ' Tea Shop, had been cajoled into attending the event by Drayton Conneley, her master tea blender and all-around Heritage Society booster.

  "Take a look at this drinking cup," said Drayton, nudging her with the shoulder of his tweedy jacket. "It's the one ' that was featured in the Charleston Post and Courier's arts and i entertainment section a few days ago."

  Theodosia moved to a freestanding glass display case to gaze at what was certainly a bizarre curiosity-a genuine human skull that had been transformed into a drinking cup. The cranium had been pared away, a silver web surrounded the skull on four sides, and a silver handle jutted out. But the piece' de resistance was the enormous diamond snugged beneath the skull's chin. A diamond that, to Theodosia's curious eyes, '; had to weigh at least ten karats, if not a whopping twelve.

  "This piece was owned by a pirate as well?" Theodosia asked. She pushed back her tousle of auburn hair and bent even closer to get a good look. Set on a black velvet cushion, the skull cup was horrifying, sensational, and awe inspiring, all at the same time.

  "I assume this bizarre little beauty belonged to a pirate," said Drayton, "though a diamond of such magnitude was no ' doubt plucked from the necklace or bracelet of some hapless noblewoman who ventured onto the high seas." He straightened up and gave a quick smile.

  "Gives new meaning to the phrase killer diamond," Theodosia responded. She could just imagine standing on the foredeck of one of His Majesty's clipper ships, bound for Charles Town and a new life in the New World. Then gray mists parted, a giant black galleon rose up, and screaming pirates bore down upon you. Grappling hooks clamped the rails, murdering brigands swung onto your ship to ...

  Theodosia shook her head, aware that her overactive imagination had carried her far, far away, into a different, high-adventure realm. Then again, Theodosia looked like she might have slipped in from an earlier century. Her abundance of auburn hair could have inspired Raphael; her fair English skin seemed tempered by the cool, rainy weather of the Salisbury Plain. Theodosia's blue eyes sparkled with barely contained energy, and her face, with its high cheekbones and full mouth, was agile and expressive. Theodosia never bothered to keep a tight rein on her passions, whether they be ire or mirth. She wore her heart and her feelings on her sleeve and crashed through life at full tilt.

  Drayton slipped on a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses and inclined his dignified, graying head. "Let's read the description card for this oddity," he mumbled to himself. He was a sixty-something history buff who loved nothing better than to delve into the provenance of an obscure object.

  "What's it say?" asked Theodosia. She smiled to herself at Drayton's bounding enthusiasm. He was an almost-partner, dear friend, and quirky sidekick. Not necessarily in that order.

  "Whoa-ho," said Drayton, nodding his head with approval. "This wasn't just owned by a pirate, it is a pirate!"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Says here it's reputed to be Blackbeard's skull." Drayton took a step backward and blinked in surprise. "My goodness."

  "Are you serious?" said Theodosia. Blackbeard was, after all, the big daddy of pirates. A man with dozens of grisly legends attached to him and a fierce and fascinating character who'd entertained and inspired for practically two centuries. Growing up in Charleston and the surrounding low country, Theodosia had heard endless tales about the swashbuckling pirates and brigands who'd plied the Carolina coast right up until the nineteenth century. Many had roamed all the way from South America up to Canada, terrorizing merchant and passenger ships and enjoying a wild, freewheeling life on the high seas. Some had been captured by U. S. naval ships and met their fate on a gallows just a few blocks from here, on the Battery near White Point Gardens. Of course, the gallows was long since gone, while the gardens were now a frothy riot of magnolias and dogwood.

  "I had no idea Timothy possessed such an amazing collection of pirate memorabilia," said Theodosia. Timothy Neville was the director of the Heritage Society, a crusty octogenarian who had a knack for twisting donors' arms and a keen, calculating memory that could recall exactly which old skeletons lay in uneasy repose in which Charleston attics.

  "Although the Heritage Society owns a few of these pieces, most are actually on loan," Drayton explained. "Cajoled from antique dealers and private collectors."

  "Really quite spectacular," said Theodosia, leaning forward to admire gold doubloons that spilled from an old wooden chest, a parchment map that depicted the Carolina coasts and shipwreck locations, and other maps that hinted at where treasure might still be buried. And, of course, there was that ubiquitous collection of pirate flags.

  "I'm also told," said Drayton, "that this show was inspired by one of the curators stumbling upon an interesting stash of pirate memorabilia in the downstairs storage rooms. Items they didn't even realize were in their possession!"

  "This show really does have the wide appeal of a museum blockbuster," said Theodosia. "I mean, who doesn't like pirates?"

  "They are fascinating," agreed Drayton.

  "Blackbeard and Bluebeard," said Theodosia. "And Captain Jack Sparrow." She chuckled as she glanced around. Though Theodosia had been immediately swept up in pirate legend and lore, most of the guests here tonight seemed much more focused on the champagne and hors d'oeuvres that were being served by tuxedoed waiters out in the great hallway.

  As if to underscore her thoughts, a piercing shriek suddenly echoed through the almost-empty gallery.

  "Good grief!" said Drayton.

  Theodosia and Drayton turned in unison to find Delaine Dish and her crazy sister, Nadine, running playfully toward them. Close on Nadine's heels was Bill Glass, the scummy writer of an even scummier weekly tabloid known as Shooting Slur.

  "Theo-do-sia!" Delaine demanded, in her strident, pay-attention-to-me voice, "you're missing all the fun!" Delaine was the owner of Cotton Duck clothing boutique and a confirmed social gadabout. With her heart-shaped face, swirl of dark hair, and piercing eyes, Delaine was a striking beauty. Yet her appeal was undermined by her abrasiveness and constant need to know,

/>   "You're missing the show," Drayton replied in a curt tone. Delaine gave a clumsy shrug, splashing a few drops of champagne onto her pale yellow suit. "Oops. Clumsy me," she said, obviously a little tipsy.

  Nadine, who was dressed in a bright purple suit, giggled loudly. "Maybe you should give us a quick lecture, Drayton. After all, you're on the board of directors here.”

  "Yeah," said Bill Glass, gesturing offhandedly at one of the displays, "tell us about these crazy black-and-white flags.”

  "The Jolly Roger," said Drayton, pulling himself to full height, "is derived from the French phrase jolie rouge, meaning ‘pretty red.’ "

  But they really weren't listening. Instead, Delaine had her nose pressed tightly against a glass case, gazing starry eyed at v glittering array of gold doubloons.

  "Pirate's booty," she murmured.

  At which point Bill Glass slung his arm around Nadine's waist and gave a wolfish grin. "This is my idea of booty!" This was followed by shrieks of uproarious laughter from both Delaine and Nadine.

  That did it for Drayton. Disorder and double entendres in the hallowed halls of the Heritage Society were high treason to him. He clenched his jaw so tightly the muscle quivered and his brows shot up. With a stoic yet pained expression, he turned to Theodosia and said, "Time for a refreshment?"

  Theodosia immediately agreed. "My thought exactly."

  "A terrific show," Theodosia told Camilla.

  "Very impressive," offered Drayton.

  Camilla Hodges, the Heritage Society's office-manager-slash-secretary-slash-membership-director gave an appreciative smile. "Thank you," she said. "It took a fair amount of work to pull this off." Camilla was fifty-something with a waft of bluish hair and thighs that were permanently encased in Lycra. She was also enveloped by a constant cloud of perfume. But always a classic scent, like Shalimar by Guerlain or joy by Jean Patou.

  "You received some great publicity, too," said Theodosia. Before she stepped off the business merry-go-round to become chief bottle washer and proprietor of the Indigo Tea Shop, Theodosia had worked as an account executive in a large Charleston marketing firm. She'd waged constant war to snag her fair share of publicity and newspaper articles, so she knew how important the photo and accompanying blurb in the Post and Courier had been for the Heritage Society.

  "Thank you," said Camilla, raising her champagne glass and clinking it against Theodosia's and Drayton's glasses. "Now that our budget's been snipped yet again, I think they've added the title of PR director to my already long list of responsibilities."

  "Well, you did a masterful job," said Drayton.

  Camilla reached out and grabbed the arm of a young man who was standing nearby and pulled him into their circle. "This is Rob Commers," she told them. "One of our history interns and all-around good guy who pretty much functioned as my right-hand man."

  Rob, a string-bean, earnest-looking college kid who couldn't have been a day over twenty, blushed furiously.

  "You're getting your degree in history?" Theodosia asked him.

  "I am," said Rob. He had cropped dark hair and long dark eyelashes, the kind Theodosia would have killed for. "And since I've been interning here, I found out how much I don't know." He gave a rueful grin. "Which means I should probably go on for my master's."

  "Nothing wrong with that," said Drayton.

  "Rob was an enormous help in organizing this show," Camilla continued. "He did a fantastic job at handling the mailing list and invitations."

  "It worked," said Theodosia. "Because you got a great turnout." Indeed, they were standing elbow to elbow in the great hallway.

  "I just wish more guests were looking at the displays," said Camilla. Her brows puckered in a frown, and she shrugged. "What can you do?"

  "I'm afraid it's see and be seen," said Theodosia. Much as she loved Charleston, it was largely populated by social animals. Folks who wanted to go out, rub shoulders with others, be recognized, and get their photo in the society section. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except for the fact tat you could end up rubbing shoulders with the same old shoulders week after week.

  "Maybe we could somehow cajole a few guests to take a quick peek in the gallery?" suggested Drayton.

  "Better wait until Delaine and Nadine come out," said Theodosia. Then she caught sight of Delaine's heart-shaped face and flashing violet eyes and said, "Oh, here she comes now."

  "What if we turned down the lights in the gallery?" suggested Rob. "Make it a little more sexy and inviting."

  "Not a bad idea," said Theodosia. "Just have the overhead pinpoint spots on." She recalled the spectacular jade exhibit in Chicago's Field Museum where the lights were positively cocktail lounge low. But the moody, intimate atmosphere packed visitors in like crazy.

  Camilla grabbed Rob's elbow and said, "We'll be back in a minute. As soon as we find the rheostat."

  "We'll save you a lobster roll," said Drayton, eyeing an approaching waiter who carried an overflowing tray of appetizers.

  "And maybe a cream cheese wonton," said Theodosia, as the waiter stopped and tilted his tray toward them. "Fantastic!" exclaimed Drayton, helping himself to a small, golden roll.

  "Better yet," said Theodosia, grabbing a bright blue toothpick, "I'm going to have one of these lovely pink shrimp." But just as she stabbed a giant cooked shrimp, there was a loud shatter of glass followed by a bloodcurdling scream!

  2

  Stunned, Theodosia dropped her shrimp and shoved her champagne glass into Drayton's outstretched hand. Then she spun about and sprinted for the gallery. Just as she reached the doorway, she collided head-on with Nadine, who had rushed out, screaming bloody blue murder and jigging wildly as if possessed by demons.

  "She's, she's, she's ... !" jabbered Nadine.

  What's going on?

  Theodosia placed her hands firmly on Nadine's shoulders and shoved her to one side. She was faintly aware of an exit door slamming and a loud security buzzer going off.

  "Don't g-g-g-g-g-go in!" Nadine stuttered as she dropped to her knees.

  Theodosia stared into the newly dimmed gallery and took in the horrific scene. Camilla Hodges was sprawled on the floor, moaning and making feeble motions with her legs, as if she were trying to run in slow motion.

  Rob, the intern, lay in a crumpled heap just beyond Camilla! "Dear Lord," muttered Theodosia. She was at Camilla's side in a heartbeat, grabbing her hand and feeling for a pulse. Camilla had one, but her eyes were fluttering and she seemed about to descend into unconsciousness.

  "Call 911!" Theodosia barked out, then turned to see a dozen terrified faces staring blankly at her. "Call 911 now!" she barked again. "We need an ambulance!" She glanced over at Rob. "Two ambulances!"

  The security buzzer was still buzzing frantically as everything seemed to descend into slow-motion chaos. Feeling like she'd suddenly fallen down an unwelcome rabbit hole, Theodosia pulled herself up, stumbled to Rob, and tried to do a quick assessment. Tried to remember what she'd learned in her long-ago Girl Scout first-aid course.

  Because the situation wasn't good.

  Rob was barely breathing and blood seemed to be leaking from his side in copious amounts.

  Stabbed? He's been stabbed?

  The notion finally registered in Theodosia's overstimulated brain. "He's been stabbed!" she shrilled.

  Drayton was suddenly kneeling beside her, ripping off his Brooks Brothers tie.

  "Use this," he told her. "Try to squelch the bleeding.” Theodosia fumbled with Drayton's tie, rolling it into a ball, then pressing it firmly against Rob's side. "Ambulance?" she asked, her teeth chattering.

  "On its way," Drayton told her.

  Blood continued to leak out. "This is bad," Theodosia told him. "It's real bad." She knew she was babbling a little bit herself. "Got to keep the pressure on. Got to keep ... is the ambulance coming?"

  "On its way," Drayton said again. He looked gray and stricken, as if he'd been injured himself.

  Theodosia pushed the bunched-up t
ie harder against Rob's wound. "Camilla?" she asked.

  "Being taken care of," said Drayton.

  "This kid is barely breathing," Theodosia murmured. "Wood's leaking out of him like crazy!" Drayton's tie was warm with blood and completely soaked through now. "We need something else, something better. A towel maybe . . ."

  Somebody passed her a black pashmina, and Theodosia hastily wadded it up and pressed it against Rob.

  But like sand from an hourglass, the blood continued to ooze from Rob's injured body. Fifteen seconds later, Theodosia stared down at his ashen face, at his long, soft eyelashes, and felt the life go out of him.

  "Noooo!" Theodosia moaned, rocking back on her knees. "Noooo!" Just as she let loose her mournful howl, the buzzer suddenly, mercifully stopped.

  Drayton's hand was on Theodosia's shoulder, pressing gently. "The boy's gone, Theo. You did everything you could. You did everything right."

  "Maybe the ambulance guys . . ." Theodosia cried, unwilling to give up. "The EMTs, they're trained for . . ."

  Drayton reached a hand forward and gently closed Rob Commers's eyes.

  "You're sure?" asked Theodosia. "You're absolutely sure?" Her voice was racked with emotion, her face damp and streaked with tears.

  Drayton nodded silently.

  "But why?" Theodosia wailed.

  "That's why." The scratchy, otherworldly voice of Timothy Neville floated above her. Timothy might have run the Heritage Society with an iron fist, but no amount of will or power could undo this terrible deed. He'd stumbled into the gallery, looking like a broken old man.

  "Dear Lord!" Drayton cried to Theodosia. "Timothy's right. Look at the case!"

  Startled, reeling from the assault on Camilla as well as Rob's bizarre, untimely death, Theodosia lifted her head and gazed at the glass case.

  The square display case was shattered, as if it had been battered with a heavy instrument. The lower shelves were littered with shards of glass.

  And the skull cup with its large diamond was nowhere in sight!