Death By Darjeeling atsm-1 Read online

  Dante paced back and forth impatiently as he waited for the elevator. Every time he spun on his heel, his white suit coat flared out slightly. Made him look like a top spinning on its axis.

  What a bizarre vision, Theodosia thought to herself as she rose on tiptoes and peered around the corner of the telephone booth to catch a final glimpse of the man. And yes, her hunch was correct. The man was wearing white socks and shoes as well. Well, that iced the cake. Aside from his hideous temper, Lleveret Dante was obviously a strange duck, one that would bear watching.

  Chapter 23

  In most cities and states, the position once known as the coroner has evolved into that of medical examiner. Coroner, at one time, meant any person in authority—a sheriff, judge, or deputy—who was empowered to make the final pronouncement that a person was deceased. But as forensic investigations became more sophisticated over the years, most jurisdictions found a pressing need for a medical examiner, one person in charge who was a doctor as well as a trained pathologist.

  In Charleston, the coroner was still an elected four-year position and had been since 1868. Before that, justices of the county court selected coroners. Previous to that, they were appointed by the king of England.

  Theodosia stood in the ornate marble entrance of the County Services Building. She had wandered over when she realized it was just a block down from the Endicott Building, where she’d just experienced her first sighting of Mr. Lleveret Dante.

  I can’t do this, she told herself. There’s no way I can waltz downstairs to the coroner’s office and be convincing. Yes, you can, goaded a determined little voice inside her head. It was the voice that often pushed her, told her to take chances. You’re here. What have you got to lose?

  Well, she thought, if Burt Tidwell had been snooping around Sam Sestero’s office, looking for information about Hughes Barron and Lleveret Dante, then I might not be barking up the wrong tree after all.

  Theodosia gripped the metal railing and, like Alice tumbling into the rabbit hole, descended the circular staircase that led to the basement.

  “County Morgue, help ya?” a receptionist with a heroic beehive hairdo was screeching loudly into her headset. She held court behind a black laminate counter where she alternately handled incoming calls, signed for deliveries, and paged through The National Enquirer. A second ringing phone line was currently vying for her attention.

  “I’m here to check on a body,” Theodosia told the receptionist. She clung to the counter for support. Even though she felt giddy and scared, she tried to sound casual, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

  The woman smiled briefly and held up an index finger. A third line had begun to ring.

  Theodosia noted that the receptionist’s two-inch-long acrylic nails were painted blood red. Very Vampyra.

  “Delivery,” announced a man in a blue uniform who suddenly appeared at Theodosia’s elbow. He thumped a large cardboard box onto the counter. The office was suddenly as busy as Grand Central Station.

  “Which one, honey?” the receptionist asked Theodosia as she signed for the newly arrived packaged and consulted her clipboard. “No!” the receptionist suddenly bellowed into her headset before Theodosia could reply. “We do not issue death certificates! Cremation permits, yes. Death certificates, no. That would be Records and Registration.” She raised her penciled eyebrows skyward in frustration and rolled her eyes.

  “Hughes Barron,” Theodosia said finally.

  But the receptionist was still wrangling with the caller. “Did this person die outside of a hospital?” the receptionist asked. “They did? Sir, you should have given me that information in the first place. That means you need a burial transit permit.” She covered the mouthpiece with a chubby hand and addressed Theodosia.

  “Sorry, honey. Check down the hall. Second door on the left, ask for Jeeter Clark.”

  The antiseptic green hallway was a traffic jam of occupied gurneys, shiny, silver conveyances all holding body bags. Full body bags, Theodosia noted. The noxious smell of formalin and formaldehyde assaulted her as she squeamishly edged past.

  “Jeeter?”

  Jeeter Clark jumped to his feet, startled. He’d been drinking a can of orange soda pop and munching a ham sandwich. When he saw it wasn’t his boss at the door or a disgruntled bookie come to call, he seemed to relax.

  “Jeez, lady, you scared me.” Jeeter put the hand that held his half-eaten ham sandwich to his chest. He was wearing green scrubs, the kind doctors wear in an operating room.

  “Didn’t mean to,” said Theodosia. “The receptionist said I’d find you in here.”

  “Trudy sent you?” he asked.

  “Sure did,” said Theodosia, falling into his folksy pattern of speech.

  “Okay, sure,” Jeeter replied, satisfied that she had business there. “You must be from Edenvale.”

  Theodosia suddenly realized that, dressed as she was in black jacket and slacks, this man had just mistaken her for one of the many funeral directors who routinely called on the County Morgue to pick up bodies!

  Oh, be honest, now. Wasn’t this what you had in mind all along?

  “No, Indigo,” said Theodosia, almost choking on her words. Lord love a duck, she thought. Now I’ve really done it.

  “Not familiar with that one,” Jeeter muttered. “And you’re here to fetch...?”

  “Barron. Hughes Barron,” said Theodosia, again trying to sound like a disinterested funeral professional who did this routinely. Whatever that was supposed to sound like.

  Jeeter snatched up a clipboard and consulted it. And, wonder of wonders, Hughes Barron’s name was listed.

  “Yeah, I got that name,” said Jeeter. “ I suppose you want to know when the body’s going to be released.”

  The ridiculousness of the situation made her bold. “That’s right.”

  Jeeter squinted at his clipboard. “You guys are always trying to bust my hump, aren’t you? Well, I guess you gotta make a buck, too.” He scanned what must have been a fairly long list. “Let’s see, lab work’s done. They’ve taken tissue samples. Lung, stomach, liver, brain...”

  “Does it say what killed him?” asked Theodosia.

  “That’d be on the pathologist’s report.” Jeeter slid open a drawer, ran his finger down a row of file folders, and pulled one out. He flipped it open and thumbed through a dozen or so sheets. “Bradycardia,” he announced.

  “Bradycardia,” repeated Theodosia.

  But Jeeter wasn’t finished. “Heart and respiratory failure induced by a toxic substance.” Jeeter looked up. “Some kind of poison. Guess they haven’t got a complete report from the lab yet.” He smiled at Theodosia affably. “They’re always backed up. But don’t worry, that’s no problem. You can take him anyway. Funeral’s in two days, huh?”

  Was it?

  “That’s right,” said Theodosia. “The family was planning to hold services Thursday morning.”

  “Then you’ve got plenty time to get him prepped and primped. In fact, if your meat wagon’s out back, I can have one of my guys haul him out right now.”

  “Thanks anyway,” said Theodosia, fighting hard to keep a straight face, “but I’ll be sending my meat wagon by this afternoon.”

  Chapter 24

  Lleveret Dante sat scrunched down in the front seat of his Range Rover. He’d been sitting there for a good ten minutes when he saw the woman with the curly auburn hair and black slacks suit emerge from the Endicott Building.

  He’d caught her out of the corner of his eye as he strode past her after leaving the office of that idiot, Sam Sestero. Something about the tone of the woman’s voice or the way she had appeared so decidedly blasé had raised his radar. Suspicious by nature, he had tuned her in, like a wolf with his nose to the wind. Once again, his sixth sense hadn’t disappointed him. The woman had seemed to be watching him. Spying on him.

  He’d waited for her to emerge from Sestero’s building. Then what a big surprise he’d gotten as he watched
her saunter down the street and disappear into the County Services Building! That had blown his mind slightly, but it had also confirmed his suspicions. He knew damn well what was housed in the basement of that innocuous building.

  Such a curious coincidence that his lawyer’s office was just down the street from where the body of his dead partner lay on a metal table.

  But even more curious was that this strange woman was so interested in both of them.

  He would follow this woman, to be sure. Find out who she was, where she lived. Tuck that information away for future use.

  Chapter 25

  I can’t believe what I just did, I can’t believe it! Theodosia repeated to herself as she drove back toward the Indigo Tea Shop.

  She was truly waiting for the proverbial bolt of lightning to descend from the heavens and strike her dead. She’d told so many fibs today that her head was spinning. And she figured her karma bank had to be operating at a deficit.

  No, Theodosia consoled herself as she spun down Tradd Street, this is a murder investigation. You think Burt Tidwell worries about stretching the truth when he’s questioning a suspect?

  She braked suddenly to avoid sideswiping a horse-drawn carriage packed full of tourists.

  No way, she grumbled to herself. Burt Tidwell probably pulls out a rubber hose and threatens his suspects. And that’s only after he’s intimidated them into tears.

  “You’re finally back!” exclaimed Drayton. “You must have had an amazingly long meeting with Mr. Dauphine. Did he regale you with tales of his days in the Merchant Marines during World War II?”

  Drayton was seated at Theodosia’s desk, wholesalers’ catalogs spread out around him. He had gathered up the papers and files Theodosia had dumped earlier and arranged them in neat little stacks on her bookcase.

  “Don’t even ask,” said Theodosia as she plopped her handbag on the side chair. “Oh, Brown Betty Teapots.” She squinted at the colorful brochures from her upside-down view.

  “We’re positively down to the dregs on teapot selection,” said Drayton. “I know you’ve been preoccupied lately, so I thought I’d make the first pass on a reorder. Besides these traditional English Brown Bettys and Blue Willow pots, Marrington Imports has some stunning contemporary ceramics. A trifle edgy, but still your taste.” Drayton slid the catalog toward her. “And look at these Victorian styles with matching tea towels.”

  “Wonderful,” agreed Theodosia. She sat down and balanced on the edge of her side chair, staring straight across at Drayton’s lined countenance. “But, Drayton, don’t apologize for doing my job. I should be thanking you. As the Indigo Tea Shop’s benevolent taskmaster, you keep us all moving forward.”

  “Thank you, Theodosia,” said Drayton. A smile lit his face, and a look of satisfaction softened the lines around his eyes. “That means a lot to me.”

  Theodosia jumped up and peered into the little mirror that hung on the back of the door. It was slightly pitted and wavy from age, but she gamely reapplied her lipstick and fluffed her hair.

  “My goodness!” She whirled about, suddenly remembering her three o’clock meeting. “Tanner Joseph. I was supposed to meet with him. About the labels for the holiday blends!”

  “No need to panic,” Drayton replied mildly. “He’s here.” Drayton consulted his watch, an ancient Piaget that seemed to perpetually run ten minutes slow. “Has been for almost fifteen, no twenty-five, minutes. Haley took the initiative. She offered to give him the nickel tour.”

  “She did?” Theodosia allowed herself to relax. For all Haley’s indecision about choosing a major and amassing enough credits to graduate, she could sometimes exhibit an amazing take-charge attitude.

  But it was Bethany, not Haley, who was seated across the table from Tanner Joseph as Theodosia parted the green velvet curtains and stepped somewhat breathlessly into the tea room.

  “Mr. Joseph,” said Theodosia as she approached him, her smile warm and apologetic. “Forgive me. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “Hello, Miss Browning.” Tanner Joseph rose from his chair. Dressed in a faded chambray shirt and khaki slacks, he looked more like the executive director of a nonprofit group that he really was, and less the beach bum from two days ago. “Nice to see you again, but please don’t apologize. Your very capable assistant here has been kind enough to bring me up to speed.”

  Bethany gazed anxiously toward Theodosia, a look that said she hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds.

  “Excellent,” replied Theodosia with a reassuring smile for Bethany that conveyed Thank you, well done.

  “I have to be honest,” said Tanner Joseph with a lopsided grin. “My tea drinking has been limited to English breakfast teas and flavored ice teas that come in bottles. But all of this is fascinating. I had no idea so many varieties of tea even existed. Or that water temperature or steeping time was critical. Plus, my taste buds have just been awakened and treated to this rather amazing Japanese green tea. Gyokuro, isn’t that what you called it, Bethany?”

  Tanner Joseph smiled down at Bethany, and something seemed to pass between them.

  Interesting, mused Theodosia as she caught the exchange. I would have guessed Haley would be the one attracted to this likable young man. Up until this moment, Bethany hadn’t displayed a whit of interest in meeting anyone new.

  “I’m delighted we had a hand in helping nurture yet another tea aficionado, Mr. Joseph,” Theodosia laughed as she sat down at the table and helped herself to a cup of the flavorful green tea as well.

  “Call me Tanner, please.” He sat back down in his chair, picked up his cup of tea, and took a sip.

  “Okay then, Tanner,” said Theodosia. “You’ve seen our shop, enjoyed a cup of tea. By chance, has Bethany mentioned our holiday blends?”

  Tanner Joseph held up an oversized artist’s sketch pad. One page was covered with notes and thumbnail drawings.

  “We’ve already been through it,” he said. “She told me all about Drayton’s different blends, the names you came up with, even your ideas on design. See...” He laughed. “I’m pumped. I’ve already noodled a few sketches.”

  “You work pretty fast,” said Theodosia. This was a surprise.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Tanner Joseph with great enthusiasm. “You have no idea what a fun project this is versus the tedium of waging constant war against environmental robbers and plunderers.”

  Theodosia sat with Bethany and Tanner Joseph for ten more minutes, expressing her thoughts on the holiday blends and what she called the “look and feel” of the label design. Tanner Joseph, in turn, shared his few quick sketches with her, and Theodosia saw that he’d grasped the concept immediately.

  They went over timing and budget for a few minutes more, then Theodosia and Bethany walked Tanner Joseph to the door and bade him good-bye.

  “I had no idea you knew so much about the holiday blends,” said Theodosia as Bethany closed and locked the double doors. She was pleased but a little taken aback, wondering how Bethany had gleaned so much information.

  “Drayton told me all about the holiday blends this morning while we were putting together boxes of tea samplers. He really loves to share his knowledge of tea.”

  “To anyone who will listen,” Theodosia agreed with a laugh. “But I daresay, he’s taken you under his wing.”

  “It’s such a rare talent to know which teas combine with different spices and fruits. And Drayton really seems to come up with some wonderful blends.”

  “Bethany,” said Theodosia, thoroughly pleased, “you’re an amazingly quick study.”

  Bethany blushed. “But tea is such a fun subject. And something Drayton is so obviously passionate about.”

  “It’s been his life,” agreed Theodosia.

  “I didn’t mean that you’re not passionate,” blushed Bethany. “It’s just that . . .”

  “It’s just that I haven’t been around much lately,” finished Theodosia. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m passionate about a lot of sub
jects.”

  “Like finding out what killed Hughes Barron?” Bethany asked in a quiet voice.

  “Well . . . yes,” said Theodosia, a little surprised by the quick change of subject. “It is a rather compelling mystery.”

  “And you love mysteries,” said Bethany, her eyes twinkling. “I mean, getting involved in them.”

  “I guess I do,” said Theodosia. She was somewhat taken aback by Bethany’s insight. Although she loved nothing better than curling up in front of the fireplace with a good mystery, a P. D. James or a Mary Higgins Clark, she’d never consciously considered the fact that she was itching to get entangled in a real-life mystery. A murder mystery, no less.

  She sighed. Well, like it or not, she was hip deep in one now.

  Chapter 26

  Gateway Walk is a hidden pathway that begins on Church Street, near Saint Philip’s graveyard, and meanders four blocks through quiet gardens. Visitors who venture in are led past the Gibbes Museum of Art, the Charleston Library Society, and various fountains and sculptures to Saint John’s Church on Archdale Street. The picturesque Gateway Walk, named for the wrought-iron Governor Aiken Gates along the way, enchants visitors with its plaque that reads:

  Through handwrought gates, alluring paths

  Lead on to pleasant places.

  Where ghosts of long forgotten things

  Have left elusive traces.

  Theodosia had always found the Gateway Walk a lovely, contemplative spot, conducive to deep thought and relaxation. But tonight, with darkness already fallen, she hurried along the brick path, pointedly ignoring the marble tablets and gravestones that loomed on either side of her.

  She had spent the entire morning and afternoon at the Indigo Tea Shop waiting tables, focusing on tea shop business, going over the Web site designs, trying to get back in touch. She knew she hadn’t really given careful attention to her business since the night of Hughes Barron’s murder; she knew her priorities were slightly out of whack. The Indigo Tea Shop was her bread and butter. Her life. And nosing about the County Morgue shouldn’t have taken precedence over her meeting with Tanner Joseph on label illustrations. That had been thoughtless.