Shades of Earl Grey Page 10

  “Has Mr. Wilson been able to say much of anything?” asked Drayton.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Theodosia. “He’s still pretty woozy.”

  “And you didn’t get a good look at the intruder?” asked Drayton.

  Theodosia shook her head sadly. “Not really.”

  “Was he tall or short?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Skinny or heavyset?”

  Theodosia sighed. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say either way. Sorry. I know if I’d been more alert, or a tad faster, we’d have something to go on.”

  “No, no,” said Drayton. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d done a poor job of it. You just got caught unawares. Usually when one enters a hospital room, there isn’t a malevolent figure lurking in the dark.” Drayton gave her a commiserating look. “You really should call Detective Tidwell again,” he urged.

  “Don’t you think he already knows?” said Theodosia. “The hospital is going to put a guard on Mr. Wilson’s room.”

  “But that doesn’t mean Tidwell’s in the loop,” said Drayton. “He told us those two other fellows . . .” Drayton paused, trying to recall the names of the two men from the Robbery Division.

  “Gallier and Delehanty,” filled in Theodosia.

  “Right,” said Drayton. “Tidwell said they were handling the alleged robbery at the Lady Goodwood and the disappearance of the sapphire necklace. The various departments don’t necessary communicate with each other.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Theodosia.

  “Is that tea ready yet?” asked Haley.

  Theodosia grabbed both teapots and passed them over to her. “Yes, sorry we’re taking so long.”

  “I kind of heard what you guys were whispering about,” said Haley. “This is all getting very frightening.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Theodosia. “I was scared out of my wits Sunday night when Cooper Hobcaw came running up behind me in an alley.”

  “What?” said Drayton. “He must have strayed pretty far from home.”

  “He’s kind of a weird guy,” said Haley. “I’m not sure I trust him.”

  Drayton’s eyes sought out Theodosia’s. “You don’t suppose . . .” he said.

  “What?” asked Haley as she stared at the two of them. “You think he’s somehow involved in all this?”

  “Probably not,” said Theodosia, although she couldn’t seem to shake the notion from her head that Cooper Hobcaw seemed to conveniently appear in so many different places.

  The bell over the door tinkled and all of them turned to look.

  Drayton’s face broke into a wide grin. “It’s Brooke,” he said. “From Heart’s Desire. Oh quick, Theo, she’s a true devotee of Goomtee Estate tea. Brew up one of those two-cup pots while I go and greet her, will you?”

  Theodosia nodded even as she pulled a small silver tin down from the shelf and went to work. Goomtee Estate was a classic, smooth Darjeeling, light in color with a delicate, sweet aroma and gentle hint of muscatel flavor. Most people favored it as an afternoon tea, but Brooke was an exception. She liked it in the morning, hot and black, with no milk or sugar.

  “This should steep another minute or so,” said Theodosia as she delivered the small pot of tea to Brooke’s table.

  “Aren’t you a love,” said Brooke. “Drayton said you were brewing a pot of Goomtee just for me.”

  “And I have the perfect accompaniment,” said Drayton as he hovered over her with a plate. “Fresh-baked baps.”

  “Scottish breakfast bread!” exclaimed Brooke. “My granny used to bake baps.”

  “Well, these are made according to one of Haley’s traditional low-country recipes, or receipts as we South Carolinians like to say. Not too sugary, not too sweet, but always delightful with a pat of butter and some good sourwood honey.” And Drayton scampered off to fetch more baps for the rest of the customers.

  “Theo,” asked Brooke as she pulled her pot of tea toward her. “Do you have a moment?”

  Theodosia slipped into the chair opposite Brooke. “Certainly.”

  Brooke Carter Crockett was a self-reliant woman. She had owned Heart’s Desire for some fifteen years and had seen it thrive as a small business. Brooke had also offered inspiration and invaluable help to Theodosia when she’d first opened the tea shop. It had been wonderful to receive mentoring from a small business owner who’d already endured her baptism by fire.

  Now Brooke seemed to be searching for just the right words. She shook her sleek mane of white hair, brushed it back behind her ears, revealing a pair of canary yellow diamond stud earrings.

  Have to be three full carats each, thought Theodosia. And marquis cut at that. Stunning, really stunning.

  “Theodosia,” began Brooke, “I’m just going to ask this flat out. Do you think there’s a cat burglar at work in the historic district?” Brooke curled a hand delicately around the handle of the small teapot, poured a steaming stream of the golden-red liquor into her teacup, and waited for an answer.

  “Honestly,” said Theodosia, “I don’t know. I think there might be, but it’s just supposition. A hunch at best.”

  “Drayton mentioned something strange to my associate, Aerin Linley, the other night. At the Heritage Society’s members-only party.”

  “What did he tell her?” asked Theodosia.

  “Just that you didn’t think the death of that poor Buchanan boy was any accident. That you suspected someone might have been up there on the roof.”

  “Well, the whole incident did have a strange feel to it. Not exactly engineered, but not a complete accident either.” She knew exactly where Brooke was heading with this line of questioning. With Heart’s Desire specializing in high-end estate jewelry, Brooke was understandably nervous about being a possible target. Theodosia wondered if she should tell Brooke about the hospital last night. No, she decided, better to keep that little incident to myself.

  “Brooke,” Theodosia said, suddenly getting a germ of an idea. “Do people just walk in off the street with jewelry and offer to sell it to you?”

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely,” said Brooke. “Dealers, antiquers, just regular folks. Of course, we get lots of locals. You’d be amazed at the people who come in. There are some folks who put on an impeccable appearance, yet are poor as church mice. They’ve been selling off inherited jewelry and heirlooms for years in order to maintain a certain standard of living. Naturally, Aerin and I try to be extremely discreet. We wouldn’t maintain much of a customer base if we blabbed about who sold this or bought that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” said Theodosia. “But do you ever”—she hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her question—“do you ever get just a tiny bit suspicious of someone who’s selling a very expensive piece of jewelry?”

  Brooke hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose I have in a couple instances. I don’t really feel I can go into detail, though . . .”

  “That’s okay,” said Theodosia hastily, “it was just a random thought. Forget I even brought it up.”

  But Brooke continued to pick at the thread of their conversation. “When a seller does act a bit nervous or suspicious, I try to get a quick Polaroid of the jewelry they’re offering for sale. Then I check with the Police Department to see if anything similar has been reported stolen. Now, of course, there are several Internet web sites that specialize in the recovery of art and high-end jewelry. You can post stolen, suspicious, or recovered items with them.”

  “And there are also web sites where you can sell goods, no questions asked,” said Theodosia.

  “Yes,” sighed Brooke, “there are lots of those. Antique auction sites, sellers’ marts, what have you.”

  “Can I offer you a little more honey?” asked Haley as she deposited a small silver dish on the table filled with the sticky gold liquid.

  “Thank you, Haley,” said Brooke. “Your biscuits are delicious. Nice and light, and really great with this honey.”

  “It’s from DuBose Bees,” responded Haley. “
They’re one of our best suppliers and specialize in all different flavors of honey. Sourwood honey, apple honey, melon honey . . .”

  “How on earth do you get melon honey?” asked Brooke.

  Haley wrinkled her button nose and smiled. “It’s really kind of neat. The grower puts his beehives right smack dab in the middle of a field of melons. Apparently, once the bees pollinate the flowers, their honey begins to take on this sweet melon flavor. Works the same way with apples and peaches.”

  “I never dreamed it was done that way,” said Brooke, genuinely fascinated. “I always thought they just added flavoring or something.”

  Haley glanced up as the bell over the door tinkled. “Hey there, Miss Dimple,” she said in a chirpy voice.

  Short and plump, edging up into her high seventies, Miss Dimple flashed a big smile at Haley and Theodosia as she swished in wearing a purple wool poncho slung over her purple and red dress. She had worked in the building next door to the tea shop, the Peregrine Building, as a personal assistant to old Mr. Dauphine, the building’s owner, for many years. When Mr. Dauphine died of a heart attack last year, Miss Dimple, in a state of anxiety and desperately needing a job, was encouraged by Theodosia to pursue freelance bookkeeping. Now Miss Dimple had a new career handling payables and receivables for several small businesses on Church Street such as the Chowder Hound Restaurant and Turtle Creek Antiques. She even worked behind the counter from time to time at Pinckney’s Gift Shop.

  “Miss Dimple,” said Theodosia, popping up from her chair. “How was your vacation in Coral Gables?”

  Miss Dimple toddled over to her in a pair of too-tight shoes and grasped Theodosia’s arm. “Wonderful,” she gushed. “Do you know they still have those water skiers? I saw them back in 1958 and they’re still doing amazing stunts, standing on each other’s shoulders and skiing backwards.”

  “Guess you’re not a Six Flags kind of gal, huh, Miss Dimple?” said Haley with a mischievous grin.

  “You’re a wicked girl, Haley Parker,” scolded Miss Dimple. “You know my brain would be in an absolute spin if I went on one of those topsy-turvy rides. No, just watching water skiers is excitement enough when you get to be my age,” she said as she followed Theodosia into the back of the shop.

  When they had passed through the green velvet curtains and were in Theodosia’s private office, Miss Dimple said in a loud whisper, “I hear you’ve had some excitement around here again.” Her old eyes sparkled. “That theft at the Heritage Society must have put Drayton in a dreadful state. Timothy Neville, too. Neither one has what you’d call a tranquil personality.”

  “They were both pretty upset,” agreed Theodosia. “Still are.” She rummaged through the stack of papers that had somehow accumulated with amazing speed on top of her desk, searching for the previous week’s receipts so Miss Dimple could bring their books up to date.

  “I was so sorry to hear about the death of Delaine’s niece’s fiancé, too.” Miss Dimple paused. “That’s a mouthful, now isn’t it?”

  “It was a tragedy,” said Theodosia. “His death and the missing ring have us all on edge.”

  “Missing ring?” asked Miss Dimple, suddenly perking up. “I didn’t hear about that.”

  Theodosia gave up looking for the receipts for a moment. “Camille’s heirloom wedding ring is still unaccounted for. But keep that under your hat, will you? The fact that the ring might be related to the disappearance of that sapphire necklace at the Heritage Society is really just a theory we’re going on.”

  “The theory being . . .” said Miss Dimple.

  “Well . . . that the two incidents are related,” said Theodosia.

  Miss Dimple gazed at her with eyes big as saucers. “Do you know Chessie Calvert?” she asked suddenly.

  Theodosia shook her head.

  “Two weeks ago, just before I went on vacation, somebody broke into Chessie’s house and stole her collection of Tiffany Favrile vases,” said Miss Dimple. Favrile vases were among the early efforts of Louis Tiffany. Highly colorful and often fancifully shaped like flowers, Tiffany vases were renowned for their jewel-like brilliance.

  “No kidding,” said Theodosia. This was a bit of a bombshell.

  “Now when I say collection, I mean a total of three vases,” said Miss Dimple. “Still, they were gorgeous pieces. Inherited from her Grand-Aunt Polly and worth a pretty penny. Chessie was heartbroken.”

  “So there have been thefts before,” said Theodosia. “Camille’s ring wasn’t the first.”

  “Could be a nasty trend,” said Miss Dimple.

  “Did your friend, Chessie, report this theft to the police?” asked Theodosia.

  “Oh yes,” said Miss Dimple. “And they sent a—what-do-you-call-it? —an e-mail to the folks at that Art Theft Association in New York. The police theorized that Chessie’s pieces might show up at auction somewhere. Apparently there’s a huge demand for Tiffany collectibles.”

  Theodosia drummed her fingers on her desk. “This isn’t good.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Miss Dimple. She studied Theodosia with a cool, appraising look. “Let me guess,” she said, her old eyes narrowing. “In light of the rather bizarre occurrences with Camille’s ring and the necklace at the Heritage Society, you’ve decided to launch your own investigation.” She tossed the word investigation out as though she were Watson chatting it up with Sherlock Holmes.

  “It’s more just looking into things than anything,” said Theodosia, offering a hasty explanation. “Delaine was awfully upset. And Timothy’s worried sick about losing his job.”

  “Yes, but bully for you, dear,” said Miss Dimple. “Besides jumping in to help, you show a real intuition for this line of work.” She nodded approvingly at Theodosia. “If I were to place a bet, I’d put my money on you instead of the police.”

  “Thanks for your confidence, Miss Dimple, but like I said, I’m really . . . oh, here they are!” Theodosia grabbed the packet of receipts that had been clipped together and then somehow buried under a mound of tea catalogs, invitations, recipes, and marketing ideas.

  Miss Dimple took the receipts from Theodosia and opened her purse to put them in. “I don’t know if what I told you about Chessie Calvert’s Tiffany vases has helped or hurt,” she said.

  “Definitely helped,” said Theodosia. “It means there’s been a pattern. That’s not great news, of course, but it means my theory has credence.”

  “So you’re going to keep investigating?” asked Miss Dimple.

  “Absolutely,” said Theodosia. Three instances of valuables stolen, maybe more? You better believe I’m going to keep going.

  “Oh!” Miss Dimple suddenly exclaimed. “What’s wrong with me? I almost forgot.” She plunked herself down in the chair across from Theodosia and rifled through her handbag. “I found this in a darling little shop in Key Largo and thought it would be absolutely perfect for you!” Miss Dimple pulled out a gift wrapped in pink tissue paper and handed it to her.

  Theodosia accepted the gift, peeled back the paper. It was a wrought iron trivet in the shape of a teapot.

  “Thank you,” said Theodosia as a smile lit her face. She was touched by Miss Dimple’s thoughtfulness. “It’s lovely. Perfect for the tea shop, too. We keep setting hot pots down and scorching our nice wooden counter.”

  “It’s you who deserves the thanks,” said Miss Dimple. “If you hadn’t pushed me into this freelance gig, I’d be just another old gal sitting alone in her house conversing with fifty cats.”

  “You don’t really have fifty cats, do you?” asked Theodosia in mock horror.

  “No, just the two. Sampson and Delilah. But loneliness can drive a person to do strange things.”

  “Here,” said Haley after Miss Dimple had left. She placed a tall, frosty glass filled with cinnamon-scented froth in front of Theodosia. “Try this.” Pulling a postcard advertising the historic district’s upcoming Lamplighter Tour from the mound of papers on Theodosia’s desk, she added, “Use this as a coaster.
”

  “And what is this?” asked Theodosia, intrigued by the interesting concoction that now sat before her.

  “A tea smoothie,” said Haley proudly.

  Theodosia couldn’t help but grin. Any smoothie she’d ever had usually consisted of fruit, low-fat milk, and yogurt. Trust Haley to come up with a smoothie using tea. “Okay, what’s in it?”

  “Take a sip and find out,” said Haley. She was fairly dancing on the balls of her feet, waiting for Theodosia to taste her new recipe.

  Obediently, Theodosia took a sip. “Mmn,” she said. “Apples and cinnamon for sure . . .”

  “That’s Drayton’s blend of apple-cinnamon tea,” said Haley in a rush. “I whipped it in a blender with some frozen yogurt then added an extra dash of cinnamon.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she gazed at Theodosia. “Like it?”

  “It’s terrific,” said Theodosia. “I’ll bet we could even sell these at lunchtime. Or as afternoon pick-me-ups.” She took another sip, feeling pleased. This was what running a small business was all about. Everyone pitching in, everyone contributing new ideas. And doing it in an atmosphere that was fun, fluid, and not a bit stuffy or inhibiting.

  “Actually,” said Haley. “I was hoping to add a couple smoothie offerings to our menu. I’ve got an idea for a Moroccan mint tea smoothie and one with green tea and mango.”

  “They’re a far cry from a little Victorian teapot filled with English breakfast tea, but I love the idea of showing people how versatile tea can be. After all, people all over the world have been improvising with tea for centuries, frothing it with milk, blending it with spices, adding dried fruits and herbs.” Theodosia took another sip. “Plus, we’d be extending our product line.”

  “Kind of like what we’re doing with the T-Bath products,” said Haley.

  “Exactly,” agreed Theodosia. “When I worked in marketing, we called it brand extension.”

  “Okay then,” said Haley, “what about chai?”