Dragonwell Dead atsm-8 Read online

  “Can I ask you a question?” said Theodosia.

  “Shoot,” said Leah. She reached down, picked up her scone and took a dainty bite.

  “Do you think Fayne Hamilton was in love with Mark Congdon?”

  Leah stopped chewing and lifted her head to stare at Theodosia. “What a funny question,” she said. “Impertinent, but a little juicy, too.”

  Theodosia sat there, letting Leah have her fun. Finally, the woman answered.

  “It was probably just a silly little crush,” said Leah. “After all, lots of secretaries fall in love with their bosses. Or coworkers.” Leah shrugged. “Offices are kind of a breeding ground for that kind of familiarity. Everyone works close, you’re together almost every day . . .”

  “But do you think she was in love with him?” asked Theodosia, knowing that people caught in the throes of passion, or perceived passion, will sometimes go to extremes. Driven by sheer emotion, they often made unwise decisions.

  “Was she in love,” said Leah, drawing out the last word. “I don’t know.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Maybe. Probably.”

  Theodosia decided to finish out her day by going through some of the tea and tableware catalogs in her office. Dreaming over the new Wedgwood Bloomers plates that featured a giant, hand-painted rose, picking out a few tea novelty items. She was going to order some rock sugar as well as some green-tea anemones. The anemones were spring-picked tea leaves that had been bundled together, tied with string, and flattened into a rosette. They were basically display teas—you put an anemone in a glass teapot and watched it bloom. A couple of customers had requested anemones, so she was going to order a few. See if other people were charmed by them, too.

  Then there was the silver samovar she had her eye on. An elegant, convenient way to heat water, brew tea, and then serve it as well. This one was an updated version of the classic Russian tea samovar and was in the four-hundred-dollar range. A little steep, but they could certainly use it when catering events.

  Just as Theodosia jotted down the catalog number for the silver samovar, the phone rang. Knowing everyone was still busy pouring tea and serving the last course of fruit parfait, she picked up the phone herself.

  The man on the line identified himself as John Darnell, the fire marshal for the Charleston Fire Department. Theodosia had known that sooner or later he’d get around to her, wanting to ask questions about what she’d seen or done the day of the Featherbed House fire.

  Darnell wasted no time with his line of questioning.

  “I understand you were one of the first people on the scene,” he said, sounding conversational and rather low-key.

  “That’s right,” replied Theodosia.

  “Did you happen to see anyone on or near the property? Anyone who was lingering, or driving by, or maybe just seemed a little out of place?”

  Theodosia hesitated. “Is this a criminal investigation?”

  “This is an investigation,” responded John Darnell. “Did you see someone, Miss Browning?” he prompted. His tone had suddenly turned a touch more official.

  “There was one young woman,” replied Theodosia. “I noticed her walking away from the Featherbed House just as I was driving toward it.”

  “You personally know this woman?” asked Darnell. “Or you can describe her?”

  Theodosia took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “Her name is Fayne Hamilton. And she actually works at the same company where Mark Congdon worked.”

  “Mark Congdon, the owner of the property,” said the fire marshal. Now his voice was neutral, flat. But there was the sound of papers rustling in the background and Theodosia could tell Darnell was checking through reports as he chatted with her on the phone.

  “Mark Congdon, the homicide victim,” said John Darnell.

  “That’s right,” said Theodosia. She felt bad about siccing the fire marshal on Fayne Hamilton. But what could she do? The girl had been seen in the vicinity. And Theodosia did have her own suspicions as well.

  “Can you think of anyone else you might have seen that day?” asked Darnell.

  Theodosia thought about Harlan Noble standing in the crowd, watching the fire with his dark, hooded eyes. He’d been coveting Mark’s orchids earlier, had even tried to purchase them. Would Harlan destroy them if he couldn’t get his hands on them? Theodosia thought about Leah Shalimar, too. Now heading up the division that Mark would have headed up. And she thought about Teddy Vickers, who was suddenly aspiring to be the new owner of the Featherbed House.

  So many suspects, she thought to herself. So many questions.

  But the fire marshal still had a few surprising questions of his own.

  “Miss Browning, how long have you been personally acquainted with Angie Congdon?”

  Theodosia thought for a second. “Maybe three, three and a half years.”

  “Do you know if there have been any recent problems at the Featherbed House?”

  “Problems?” said Theodosia, wondering just where this line of questioning was headed. “I doubt they had any more problems than any other small business,” she finally replied.

  The fire marshal paused slightly, as if gathering his thoughts. “Do you know if there were any problems between Mrs. Congdon and her husband?”

  Time stood still for Theodosia.

  “You’re asking about Angie?” said a stunned Theodosia. “And your questions are leading to doubts about her character?”

  John Darnell cleared his throat. “Look at it from our point of view, ma’am. In a complex situation such as this, we have to take a hard look at everyone.”

  It had been a long day and everyone was exhausted. Drayton and Charlie sat sprawled on chairs in the tea room. Miss Dimple was gamely clearing away dirty dishes. Haley rattled pots and pans in the kitchen. But it wasn’t her usual “let’s finish this up and get to night class” rattle. She seemed like she was done in, too.

  “You look tired, Drayton,” said Theodosia. “You, too, Charlie.” Drayton was far from being a young man and Charlie wasn’t yet used to flying around the tea shop all day, staying on her feet.

  “I am tired,” agreed Drayton. He glanced sideways at Charlie. “We both are.”

  Charlie nodded in agreement, seemingly too exhausted to utter a single word.

  “Then you two scoot on home,” said Theodosia. “I’ll finish up here.”

  “Thanks,” said Charlie. She pulled herself to her feet, un-did her apron. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.” Drayton waved.

  “Well, you’ve certainly mellowed,” commented Theodosia.

  “I’m like fine wine,” said Drayton. “The older I get, the mellower my flavor.”

  “I’d say you were more like cheese,” said Haley, ducking through the curtains with a tray of freshly washed cups and saucers. “The older you get, the sharper you get.”

  Drayton pursed his lips and arched a single eyebrow. “You see what I have to put up with?” he said to Theodosia.

  Theodosia fixed him with a quirky grin. “Haley does have a point.”

  Drayton exhaled and shook his head, as if to clear it.

  “What?” said Theodosia. “Surely you didn’t take our little comments to heart?”

  “No,” said Drayton slowly. “It’s just that I’ve been contemplating something all day long. Running it through my mind. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a very foolish one.”

  “Something to do with Mark’s funeral?” asked Theodosia. She realized that Drayton had been jumpy ever since the service this morning.

  “No,” said Drayton. Then he stopped and thought for a moment. “Well, it’s slightly related. What I’ve been noodling about in my head all afternoon is the notion of a quick collecting trip tomorrow morning.”

  “A collecting trip,” repeated Theodosia. She wasn’t quite sure where this was headed. Or exactly what Drayton intended to collect.

  “You know,” said Drayton. “Drive up to those swamps above Edgefield, see if I can fin
d a monkey-face orchid to replace the one that was destroyed in the fire.”

  This grabbed Haley’s attention. “What?” she squawked. “Are you serious?”

  Drayton swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I know it sounds slightly farfetched. But if I found a monkey-face orchid, I could enter it in the Orchid Lights show on Saturday.” He dropped his voice. “In honor of Mark.”

  “I think that’s a lovely idea,” said Theodosia. It was just like Drayton to come up with that kind of thoughtful tribute.

  “The thing of it is,” said Drayton unhappily, “I’m going to need a canoe. Do you know anyone who has a canoe?”

  “I can take care of that,” said Theodosia, thinking of Parker Scully. He was an outdoor type of guy and she was almost positive he owned a canoe. Besides, Parker had invited her to drop by Solstice tonight, to taste test some new drinks with him. If she called him up now, he could probably have the canoe waiting for her.

  But Haley was still incredulous. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “You want to go paddling around in some snake-infested swamp looking for a rare flower? That’s like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Your chances are slim to none.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, Drayton, don’t do it. It’s way too crazy an idea.”

  “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part,” said Drayton. “Still, I’m determined to give it a try.”

  “I’ll go with you,” offered Theodosia. “I think it’s actually a fine idea.”

  “Wha . . .” began Haley.

  Theodosia gazed at her earnestly. “It’s Drayton’s way of helping put things a little bit right.”

  “But who’s going to mind the tea shop?” demanded Haley. “Friday’s always our busiest day.”

  “Charlie will be here to help,” replied Drayton.

  “You mean you actually trust her?” asked Haley.

  Drayton looked pained. “Well . . . yes. And of course we can always ask Miss Dimple.”

  “I suppose,” said Haley.

  “Ask Miss Dimple what?” said Miss Dimple as she emerged from the back, looking like a plump senior citizen elf.

  “To help out again tomorrow,” said Haley. She was still incredulous that Theodosia and Drayton were just going to take off in hope of finding a rare orchid. “Can you?”

  Miss Dimple grinned from ear to ear. “Honey, I’d love to,” she said. “You know this is like a second home to me.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Theodosia. “Tomorrow we search the tropical wetlands of South Carolina for rare plants.”

  “Lots of luck,” said Haley, shaking her head. “Because you’re sure going to need it.”

  16

  “Don’t you ever work?” Theodosia asked Parker Scully. They were sitting in the bar, a dark Mediterranean-themed room just off the main dining room of Solstice. She was comfortably perched on a black leather upholstered bar stool. Parker stood behind the bar, playing bartender. Thelonious Monk’s “North of the Sunset,” a cool, laid-back tune, purred over the sound system.

  “Are you kidding?” said Parker. “I’m here all the time. I practically sleep here.”

  “But what do you actually do?” Theodosia asked, playfully.

  “I run things, ma’am. Just like you do at your place.”

  “But I don’t have a staff of thirty people like you do.”

  Parker’s right hand toyed with a small glass bowl of mixed nuts that sat on the counter. “Yes, lucky me. I do have an executive chef, a manager, and a bartender to over-see the really tough things, don’t I?”

  “Exactly my point,” said Theodosia. “So what do you handle?”

  He leaned forward until he was just a few inches away from her. “I handle the customers.”

  Theodosia could feel energy coursing between them. It felt good, electric almost.

  “Lately, however, I’ve been working on a very secret project,” Parker told her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

  “I’ll bet,” said Theodosia.

  “No, it’s true,” said Parker. “I’ve been trying to develop a signature drink. You know how Pusser’s Landing has the Painkiller and Andalucia has their sangria?”

  “Yes . . .” said Theodosia slowly.

  “Well, Solstice needs one, too.”

  “I suppose,” she allowed.

  “Hey,” said Parker. “Even your tea shop has signature blends, right?”

  Theodosia nodded. It was true. Customers were always asking for their Lemon Mint blend or their famous Lamp-lighter blend. And during the holidays their Berry Red blend pretty much flew off the shelves.

  “So how are you coming with this signature drink?” Theodosia asked.

  Parker gave a small shrug. “Please understand, there’s a serious amount of specialized research and development involved. In fact, I expect there’ll probably be at least six more months of grueling experimentation.”

  “Okay, smarty,” said Theodosia, “then how are you coming with your drink ideas for Saturday night?” Parker Scully had offered to serve a special cocktail for Orchid Lights. He’d mentioned a few ideas to her, but nothing was carved in stone yet.

  “Ah, that’s where you come in,” said Parker, reaching overhead for a pair of glasses. “I’ve actually got three drinks in mind, but I obviously need to winnow it down. Do a little focus-group testing.” He grabbed a silver cocktail shaker, dipped it into a bin of crushed ice. Then he reached for a bottle of dark rum, grabbed two more bottles, and started pouring. He snapped the top on the shaker, gave everything a quick, efficient shake, then poured out his concoction into stemmed glasses.

  “This is called a Black Orchid,” he told Theodosia. “Curaçao, rum, and grenadine.” He pushed a glass toward her. “Try it.”

  Theodosia took a sip. It was icy and tasty and just a little bit strong. “Nice,” she told him. “I really like the sweet undertones.”

  Parker held up a hand. “We’re not finished. You still have to see what’s stashed behind door number two and door number three.”

  Theodosia sat there, amused, as Parker turned his back to her and fussed at the back bar. There was the pop of a champagne cork and then, seconds later, a lovely pink drink was set in front of her.

  “I could get used to this,” she told him.

  Parker looked her straight in the eyes. “So could I.”

  Slightly flustered, Theodosia gazed down at her drink. “What do you call this one?”

  “This, my dear, is a Strawberry Shangri-la. I know it sounds dreadfully exotic, but it’s basically a scoop of strawberry sherbet with champagne poured over it.”

  Theodosia tried Parker’s iced concoction. It was, of course, incredibly delicious.

  “Careful,” warned Parker, “don’t sip too much at once. You’ll get a brain freeze.”

  “You mean like a Mr. Misty headache?” said Theodosia, laughing. “Like I got as a kid when I slurped too much ice cream or shaved ice?”

  “Yup,” said Parker. “But you like the drink. Right?”

  “It’s fantastic. But I’m pretty sure Drayton is planning to serve something called an ice angel. Which is basically iced tea with gelato.”

  “Okay,” said Parker. “So this might be a little too similar.”

  “Afraid so,” said Theodosia. She took another sip. “Even though it’s really quite wonderful.”

  “Okay,” said Parker. “On this last one I’m pulling out all the stops.” He busied himself, whipping up another drink. “This is my final offering, a Toasted Almond and Cream. Which is basically Kahlua, Irish Cream, Grand Marnier, and a splash of milk.” He raised a single eyebrow as Theodosia lifted her glass to taste it.

  “Excellent,” she told him, “but your first one gets my vote.”

  “The Black Orchid,” said Parker. “You’re sure you’re not just swayed by the name?”

  Theodosia pushed back a mass of curly auburn hair and smiled at him. “No,” she said, “it’s not just the name.”
<
br />   Parker brought out a bottle of wine then, a Rancho Sisquoc Pinot Noir, and a plate of tapas from the kitchen.

  They sat together at the bar, shoulders touching, talking quietly, until Toby Crisp, Parker’s executive chef, interrupted them.

  “Going to take off now, boss,” said Toby.

  “And you want me to move my car,” said Parker, easing off his bar stool.

  “I better get going, too,” Theodosia announced. She didn’t really want to leave, but she’d promised Drayton they’d get an early start tomorrow. After all, they were planning to drive almost as far as the Sumter National Forest.

  “We have to load that canoe,” Parker reminded her.

  “Thanks for zipping home to get it,” Theodosia told Parker as she followed him out into the alley behind Solstice.

  “No problem,” he told her. “It’s just been sitting in my garage gathering dust. Glad you want to toss it in the water. Although from what you tell me, it’s sounds like you’re just going to do some gentle paddling.”

  Parker reached up, unfastened a couple of lines on top of the canoe, then hefted the silver aluminum canoe onto his shoulders. Then, almost effortlessly, he flipped it onto the roof rack of Theodosia’s Jeep. Together they stretched bungee cords around the canoe’s thwarts then fastened them to the metal roof rack to hold everything in place.

  “Be careful,” Parker told her when they finished. “Don’t take any chances tomorrow. From what I’ve heard, that’s pretty wild territory you’re venturing into.”

  Theodosia smiled up at him. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Just gentle paddling. Nothing tricky.”

  Parker stared at her, a crooked smile on his boyish face.

  “My dear Theodosia, you strike me as someone who’s always smack-dab in the middle of the fray.”

  “Not always,” said Theodosia. Just lately.

  Parker put his arms around her and pulled her close.

  “Okay then, you’re a magnet for trouble. Well, maybe not a magnet. Maybe trouble just kind of finds you. Like a heat-seeking missile.”

  Theodosia laughed. Parker wasn’t all that far off. “How’s the cat?” she asked him.