Dragonwell Dead
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
FAVORITE RECIPES FROM
TEA TIME TIPS
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Bestselling Tea Shop Mysteries by Laura Childs
Featured Selection of the Mystery Book Club “Highly recommended” by The Ladies’ Tea Guild
“You’ll be starved by the end and ready to try out the recipes in the back of the book . . . Enjoy!”
—The Charlotte Observer
“A page-turner.” —St. Paul Pioneer Press
“Tea lovers, mystery lovers, [this] is for you. Just the right blend of cozy fun and clever plotting.”
—Susan Wittig Albert, national bestselling author of Spanish Dagger
“Delightful” —Tea: A Magazine
“The luscious descriptions of Lowcountry cuisine will make your mouth water.” —Publishers Weekly
“Engages the audience from the start . . . The right combination between tidbits on tea and an amateur-sleuth cozy.” —Midwest Book Review . . .
“A delightful cozy that will warm readers the way a good cup of tea does. Laura Childs describes the genteel South in ways that invite readers in and make them feel welcomed . . . Theodosia and her friends are a warm bunch of characters . . . A delightful series that will leave readers feeling as if they have shared a warm cup of tea on Church Street in Charleston.” —The Mystery Reader
“Along the way, the author provides enough scrumptious descriptions of teas and baked goods to throw anyone off the killer’s scent.” —Library Journal
“This mystery series could single-handedly propel the tea shop business in this country to the status of wine bars and bustling coffeehouses.” —Buon Gusto
“If you devoured Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden, this new series is right up your alley.” —The Goose Creek (SC) Gazette
“Gives the reader a sense of traveling through the streets and environs of the beautiful, historic city of Charleston.”
—Minnetonka (MN) Lakeshore Weekly News
Tea Shop Mysteries by Laura Childs
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
Scrapbooking Mysteries
by Laura Childs
KEEPSAKE CRIMES
PHOTO FINISHED
BOUND FOR MURDER
MOTIF FOR MURDER
FRILL KILL
Anthologies
by Laura Childs
DEATH BY DESIGN
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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.
DRAGONWELL DEAD
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2007 by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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eISBN : 978-0-425-22045-0
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
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This book is dedicated to Tickle Bee.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to Sam, Samantha, Bob, and Jennie. And to the many booksellers and tea shops who have not only carried my mysteries but recommended them. This whole crazy process—writing, marketing, selling—is so very much a contact sport.
1
Theodosia Browning stared at the fluttering green wall in front of her and frowned. She’d taken what she thought was the correct turn and still hit a dead end!
Biting her lower lip, Theodosia pushed back a swirl of thick auburn hair and considered the English hedge maze that surrounded her. It certainly hadn’t looked difficult when she and Drayton had wandered in on a lark some twenty minutes earlier. Yet here she was, confounded by this twelve-foot-high ivy maze that twisted and turned in all directions and held them unwilling captives on the grounds of Carthage Place Plantation.
Birds twittered overhead, an insect droned in her ear. And Theodosia could distinctly hear the laughter of guests floating ab
ove her. Pushing up the sleeves of her cream-colored cashmere sweater, Theodosia’s broad, intelligent face, with its peaches-and-cream complexion and intense blue eyes, settled into a perplexed yet slightly bemused look. Here she was, stuck in a puzzle maze when hundreds of guests wandered about freely so very close by.
“Any luck?” asked Drayton as he came panting up behind her. Drayton, who was sixtyish and dapper, had tagged along with Theodosia today, happy to partake in the annual Plantation Ramble out here on Ashley River Road. This was the spring weekend when a half dozen privately owned plantations threw open their doors to the public and invited local church and civic groups onto their grounds to host teas, flower shows, and rare plant auctions. This was also the weekend the camellias, jasmine, magnolias, and almost every other species of South Carolina flora and fauna were in full and glorious bloom.
“Another wrong turn,” Theodosia told Drayton. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” said Drayton, tilting his patrician gray head back to survey their leafy prison. “I thought it would be child’s play to wander through this old labyrinth.” He paused, as though pondering his words. “Obviously I was wrong.”
“What time is the rare plant auction?” Theodosia asked him.
“Three o’clock sharp,” said Drayton. He glanced at the ancient Patek Philippe that graced his wrist and grimaced. “Which means I have barely ten minutes to figure out some sort of escape route. If I miss a chance to bid on a Cockleshell Orchid or even a Machu Picchu, I’ll never forgive myself!”
“I got you into this,” said Theodosia, trying to keep her game face on. “So I’m going to get you out.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” asked Drayton, curiosity evident in his voice. After all, he hadn’t figured a way out either.
Theodosia lifted her chin and let the warm afternoon sun caress her face. “We’re going to follow the basic tenets of any seasoned explorer,” she told Drayton.
“Which is?” he asked, cocking his head sideways.
“Navigate by the sun.”
“Ahh . . .” said Drayton.
“And,” said Theodosia, holding up an index finger, “I propose we use your watch as a compass.”
“Like they did in Civil War times!” said Drayton excitedly. “Well, aren’t you the clever one.” He pushed up his shirtsleeve, anxious to give Theodosia’s suggestion a try. “Since we know the sun is in the southwestern quadrant of the sky, we’ll say southwest is somewhere between eleven and twelve.” Drayton made a couple mumbled calculations. “So west is at one o’clock . . .”
“And east is at seven,” finished Theodosia.
Drayton’s face split into an eager grin. “I should have figured this out myself.”
Two dozen twists and turns later, they came upon a black wrought-iron grate set into the green turf.
“We passed this before,” said Theodosia.
“Indeed we did,” agreed Drayton. “I remember hearing the faint sound of running water.”
Theodosia leaned forward and peered down into the grate, but could see only darkness. “Must be an old well or cistern,” she mused as a low gurgling echoed in her ears.
“There used to be thousands of acres of rice fields around here,” said Drayton as they stepped around the grate. “With a very complicated series of rice dikes. So this is probably part of the old drainage system. After all, the Ashley River is just a mile or so over.”
“Had to be part of it,” said Theodosia. Back in the middle 1800s this entire area had served as the world’s leading producer of rice. Fine Carolina gold, as it was called, was sent out on clipper ships to countries all across the globe.
They rounded the next turn and stopped in their tracks.
“Well, I’ll be,” exclaimed Drayton, a slow smile spreading across his lined face.
“Success,” breathed Theodosia.
Not quite ten feet away was the entrance—or, in this case, exit—to the maze. A wrought-iron arch looped above a most welcome six-foot-wide gap in the hedge of ivy. The ornate scrollwork of the arch made it a companion piece, almost, to the grate they had inspected earlier.
“Good work,” Drayton told Theodosia, as he consulted his watch a final time. “And we made it with two minutes to spare.”
“Better hurry,” Theodosia urged as Drayton hustled off. Just down the hill she saw that a large wooden stage had been erected specifically for this event. And crowds of eager bidders were jostling about, surveying plant-covered tables even as they jockeyed for a position on the semicircle of folding chairs that spread out around the stage.
“Where on earth did you run off to?” demanded the imperious voice of Delaine Dish. Attired in a flouncy white eyelet dress and large straw hat, Delaine stood poised behind a whitewashed tea stand that was festively strung with white twinkle lights and floral garlands.
“Long story,” Theodosia told her friend tiredly as she slipped into the booth.
“Here,” said Delaine, holding out a tall, frosty glass garnished with a fresh sprig of mint. “Your tea is quite excellent, but we’re woefully short on pitchers.” Consternation showed in Delaine’s violet eyes and on her flawless heart-shaped face.
Theodosia accepted the glass of sweet tea and took a sip. It was excellent, of course. Drayton, as master tea blender and clever visionary of all things tea at the Indigo Tea Shop, had invented this sweet tea recipe on the spur of the moment. In this particular instance, Drayton had combined delicately flavored Dragonwell green tea from China’s Chekiang Province with fresh-squeezed lemon juice and locally grown honey. And each glass served today was accented with the customer’s choice of fresh mint leaves, sprigs of lemon balm, or small stems of edible flowers.
“So you’ve been busy?” asked Theodosia. Probably, she decided, Delaine had been kept hopping. The day was warm, the event well attended, and sweet tea was always a major crowd pleaser.
“You don’t know the half of it.” Delaine sighed dramatically. “I could really use another pair of hands here. And these dinky little pitchers and teapots . . .” She indicated the teapots that sat on the counter, then made a most unbecoming face. “I have to keep filling them up.”
“I brought the largest ones we had,” Theodosia told her. As proprietor of the Indigo Tea Shop in Charleston’s historic district, Theodosia was used to scooting around her tea room with an elegant bone china teapot clutched in each hand. Perfect, of course, for refilling customers’ dainty cups, but probably not so suitable for the Plantation Ramble where everyone was hot and thirsty and expected a tall, cold glass of tea.
“While you and Drayton have been wandering through these lovely gardens,” sniffed Delaine, “I’ve been working my fingers to the bone.” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers as if to confirm her statement. “I’ve been pretty much stuck here when all I really want to do is visit the build-your-own-bouquet stand before all the prettiest flowers are snapped up.”
“Sorry,” said Theodosia, even though she wasn’t all that sorry. Earlier today, she and Drayton had given up several hours of their time to help set up this tea stand as a favor to the Broad Street Garden Club. Delaine, as vice president of that club, had decreed that the club maintain a “formidable presence” at today’s Plantation Ramble. Of course, Delaine had also volunteered Theodosia and Drayton to prepare the gallons of iced tea, known throughout the Southern states as sweet tea.
Now, the members of the Broad Street Garden Club were nowhere to be found and Delaine was upset that the task of manning the booth had fallen to her.
Delaine’s unhappiness suddenly morphed into sweetness and light as two customers approached the booth, eager for tall glasses of sweet tea. “Sweet tea?” she asked pleasantly. “And how about a lovely garnish of edible violets?” She turned toward Theodosia with a proprietary flourish. “Do we have more flowers and herbs?”
“Sure thing,” said Theodosia, popping the lid off a plastic container and fishing out a tangle of greenery.
“
There you go,” said Delaine, as she sent her customers on their way, then gazed off, studying her surroundings. “Isn’t Carthage Place Plantation an absolute wonder?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you just adore living out here?”
“It is beautiful,” admitted Theodosia. Even though she loved this lush, wooded country, she herself lived in a cozy upstairs apartment over her tea shop on Church Street, smack-dab in the middle of historic Charleston. With her dog, Earl Grey, as roommate.
Seemingly in a good mood now, Delaine continued to rhapsodize. “Besides the spectacular old plantation house and that adorable English maze, there’s also a rose garden, water bog, and english garden. Really, this place is just too Old World and gracious for words!”
Theodosia’s eyes traveled about the plantation grounds. They were, as Delaine said, quite lovely and gracious. Spread out from an enormous Georgian-style home with hipped roof and elegant columns was the undulating green of impeccably manicured grounds broken up by numerous flower beds, gardens, and fountains. And today, of course, dozens of food tents and flower stands as well. Past the main house and a half dozen wooden outbuildings, a hardwood forest rose up to form a dramatic backdrop.