Dragonwell Dead atsm-8 Read online

  They walked up to Mr. Walker, who peered at them curiously from under a battered straw hat.

  “We have returned,” Drayton announced tiredly but cheerily. “And with a rather fine orchid at that.”

  Avery Walker slid his straw hat off his head and gaped at them with pale blue eyes that conveyed shocked surprise.

  “My lordy,” he said. “You poor folks look like you’ve been lost in these woods for a week!”

  19

  “Must have been a fun outing,” said Haley when Theodosia walked in the back door of the Indigo Tea Shop mid-afternoon. “Because you look really good.”

  “I do?” said a surprised Theodosia. After she dropped Drayton at his home, she’d hustled herself upstairs, jumped in the shower, washed her hair, changed clothes, and tried her best to undo some of the damage that had been done earlier. It hadn’t been easy.

  “Your complexion is glowing and you kind of look like you came from a spa,” said Haley.

  “A whirlpool treatment maybe?” asked Theodosia, a little smile playing about her mouth. “And a mud scrub?”

  “Yeah,” said Haley, still studying her. “Something like that. Anyway, it looks like spending time outdoors agrees with you. Maybe you and Drayton should go orchid collecting more often.”

  “Maybe so,” said Theodosia, knowing she probably wouldn’t be venturing into that part of South Carolina again. At least not without a band of Eagle Scouts and an armed guard at her side.

  “So where is Drayton?” asked Haley. “You did bring him back, didn’t you?”

  “He’ll be along shortly,” said Theodosia, grabbing for an apron. “He’s taking care of the plants he collected.”

  Haley’s eyebrows shot up. “Did he find the one? The mysterious elusive orchid?”

  Theodosia nodded. “Amazingly, yes. And a really lovely specimen at that. But tell me, how did things go here? How are things going?”

  “Oof,” said Haley, scrunching up her face. “Lunch was a real crush. Practically standing room only. Thank goodness Charlie and Miss Dimple were here to help out. Charlie handled the tea brewing like an old pro and we had Miss Dimple scurrying around like crazy. Now things have finally settled down to a dull roar with the usual gang of Friday afternoon tourists out front. Most of them have been tromping around the historic district since early morning, doing the sightseeing thing, so they’re ready for a little tea shop pick-me-up.”

  “Do we have enough food left?” asked Theodosia.

  “Barely,” said Haley. “Which is why I have batches of blue-berry scones and banana-walnut muffins in the oven now.”

  “I’ll dash out front and see what I can do to help,” said Theodosia, glancing in the small mirror by the door, thinking to herself that she did look rather fresh and alive. It was amazing what a twenty-foot drop and a soak in the river could do for one’s complexion.

  “Oh, and Delaine and Bobby Wayne are out there, too,” added Haley as she darted back into her kitchen.

  “I’ll go say hi,” said Theodosia, pushing her way through the green velvet curtain.

  But with every table filled to capacity, Theodosia had to plunge right into the fray. She delivered refills of Assam and Nilgiri tea, as well as the last of the cream scones and cran-apple muffins. And she placated waiting customers with news that more fresh-baked goodies were on the way.

  When the rest of Haley’s baked goods finally came out of the oven, when everything seemed under control, when every customer was sipping tea, Theodosia made it over to the table where Delaine and Bobby Wayne were seated.

  “Where have you been?” was the first question that popped out of Delaine’s mouth. “You’re usually not such an absentee owner. Especially on Friday.”

  Theodosia brushed off her friend’s question. “Drayton and I had some business to attend to.”

  “Bobby Wayne and I have been frantically busy ourselves,” said Delaine. She reached down and picked up a shiny black tote bag. “See this? We’ve been running around, collecting last minute donations for tomorrow night’s silent auction.” She set the bag back down, sighed mightily. “Celerie Stuart was supposed to take care of all this, but she ran into trouble with the decorations, so she begged me to finish up.” Delaine smiled sweetly at Bobby Wayne, who was busy buttering a scone. “I tried to handle everything myself, but I was going absolutely bonkers, so I finally picked up the phone and asked Bobby Wayne here to lend a hand. Which he did, dear gentleman that he is.”

  “No problem, my sweet,” Bobby Wayne told her, even though his mouth was full.

  Haley came scurrying over with a plate of banana-walnut muffins. “Here are those muffins you asked for, Bobby Wayne.”

  “Thanks, honey,” he said.

  Haley lingered at their table. “Did you guys collect a lot of good stuff for the silent auction?”

  That was all the prompting Delaine needed. She reached into one of her tote bags and hauled out what she deemed the “special” pieces. Which, in Delaine-speak, meant jewelry.

  “Brooke over at Heart’s Desire donated one of her hand-tooled silver bracelets. See?” Delaine dangled a shiny charm bracelet from her fingers. “Strung with her Charleston charms—tiny trolley, palmetto leaf, an oyster shell. And see, she added some new ones. A little wrought-iron gate and a magnolia.”

  “I just adore her charm bracelets,” said Haley.

  “And Van Stern Jewelry donated this necklace.” Delaine pulled out a chunky gold chain with a bright green stone dangling from it.”

  “What’s the stone?” asked Bobby Wayne, squinting at it. “A peridot?”

  “Lemon citrine,” Delaine told him.

  “So what else?” asked Haley. “What about the businesses around here?”

  “The Chowder Hound donated a hundred-dollar gift certificate,” Delaine told her. “And Hattie Boatwright at Floradora is donating a Think Pink bouquet of gerbera daisies and Anna roses. See, here’s a photograph of it. Nice, no?”

  “Nice, yes,” said Theodosia. “But I thought you preferred Fig and Vine.”

  Delaine gave a careless shrug. “We always welcome donations,” she said. “No matter where they come from.”

  “You’ve done a lot of work on this,” said Theodosia. Delaine could be a pain sometimes, but she was a hardworking volunteer.

  Delaine rolled her eyes in a gesture of supreme exasperation. “I was hoping some of the Orchid Society people would pitch in and garner donations, too. After all, they’re supposed to be an equal partner in Orchid Lights. But so far not one of them has lifted their little pinky. The only thing they’re focused on is the orchid show itself.”

  “I suppose they’re not accustomed to staging fund-raisers,” said Theodosia. “After all, they’re more of a social club, while the Heritage Society is a nonprofit organization, used to hitting people up for contributions.”

  “Still,” said Delaine, “the orchid people could be a lot more cooperative.” She took a delicate sip of tea, looked around, suddenly threw up one hand and waved wildly at Drayton. “Drayton!” she gushed. “There you are!”

  Drayton came scurrying over to their table, looking none the worse for wear. “Nice to see you,” he told Delaine. Then directed a solemn nod toward Bobby Wayne. “You, too, Bobby Wayne.”

  Bobby Wayne nodded pleasantly as his silver knife cut into another of Haley’s muffins.

  “I’m doing the final round of collecting for the silent auction,” Delaine told Drayton.

  “I trust our fine neighbors up and down Church Street have been more than generous,” he replied.

  “Some have, some haven’t,” Delaine said cryptically. “Your friend Harlan Noble was grudging at best.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to characterize Harlan as my friend,” said Drayton.

  Theodosia’s ears perked up. “You asked Harlan Noble for a donation?”

  “Yes,” said Delaine, rolling her eyes. “But all he gave us was an old dog-eared copy of some book on Civil War history. Not ter
ribly appealing. Certainly not to me, anyway. I’m not even sure we should include his meager contribution in tomorrow’s silent auction.”

  “You stopped by Harlan’s shop this morning?” asked Theodosia. She wondered if Harlan Noble had somehow found time to drive north, take a potshot at them, then whip back to Charleston. He seemed like a mild-mannered fellow, but you never really knew about people.

  “No, we just saw Mr. Noble maybe . . .” Delaine narrowed her eyes, thinking. “. . . something like forty minutes ago. That was the first place we hit together, right, Bobby Wayne?”

  Bobby Wayne nodded as he chewed.

  Delaine leaned forward in her chair, a conspiratorial look suddenly spreading across her heart-shaped face. “But even if Harlan Noble isn’t the most generous donor, we did pick up some rather juicy gossip.” Now Delaine’s eyes positively gleamed.

  Theodosia and Drayton stared at Delaine, well aware she was bursting to share her news with them. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “It’s about Angie,” said Delaine, flashing a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

  “Angie Congdon?” said Theodosia. Now what was going on?

  “It seems that Angie is under investigation for insurance fraud!” Delaine delivered this shocker of a line with wide-eyed wonderment.

  “That can’t be so,” piped up Drayton, even though Theodosia had mentioned to him earlier today that the fire marshal had asked pointed questions concerning Angie.

  “Are you serious?” blurted out Theodosia. So she really is being investigated? No wonder Gwyn was so upset last night.

  “Doesn’t that just take the cake!” crowed Delaine.

  “This is all a mistake,” said Theodosia. She didn’t for one minute believe Angie was guilty of anything.

  “I don’t think so,” said Delaine, reveling in her bearer-of-bad-news status. “Tell them, Bobby Wayne.” She sat back in her chair with a satisfied look on her face, happy to pass the gossip baton to Bobby Wayne.

  Bobby Wayne blotted his lips with a napkin and turned serious eyes on Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley. “Apparently it is true.”

  “Explain, please,” said Drayton, motioning with his fingers.

  Now Bobby Wayne looked thoughtful. Regretful, almost. “Well, there was a one-point-five-million-dollar life insurance policy on Mark.”

  “Really?” said Drayton, doing a slight double take. “That much?”

  “Sure,” said Bobby Wayne. “And the Featherbed House was worth far more than that,” he continued. “Even though it did sustain fire damage, a prime property located near the Battery is still worth several million dollars in today’s real estate market.” Bobby Wayne put both hands flat on the table, looking grim now. “So you add together life insurance as well as property, content, and business insurance and you probably end up with a sizeable pile of money.”

  “How sizeable?” asked Drayton.

  Bobby Wayne thought for a moment. “Maybe six, seven million dollars that Angie will come into.”

  “That much?” exclaimed Delaine. Now she sounded almost envious.

  “Oh, easy,” said Bobby Wayne. “Maybe more.”

  “The thing of it is,” said Delaine, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, “now the authorities are looking hard at Angie for Mark’s death!”

  “That is so wrong!” exclaimed Theodosia.

  “I won’t even consider the fact that Angie Congdon might have murdered her own husband then torched the Featherbed House,” said Drayton. “That scenario makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “I completely agree with you,” said Theodosia. “Angie would be systematically destroying everything that was important to her. The husband she loved and everything she worked so hard to create.”

  “Still,” said Delaine, happy to interject a sour note. “People have been known to do exactly that.”

  Now Bobby Wayne looked unhappy. “They have, indeed,” he said.

  “And you heard all this from Harlan Noble?” asked Theodosia. Perhaps he was just full of sour grapes.

  “And other people, too,” confirmed Delaine. “People all over the historic district are whispering.”

  “Poor Angie,” said Drayton. “Her reputation will be in shreds.”

  “To say nothing of her life,” murmured Theodosia.

  A few minutes later, when Bobby Wayne took off, Delaine’s tote bags clutched in both hands, Theodosia accompanied him to the door.

  “Have you talked to Angie today?” she asked him.

  “No, but I’m planning to go see her,” said Bobby Wayne. “Mark was like family to me and I can’t stand to see Angie bear the brunt of this preposterous investigation.” Bobby Wayne stared earnestly at Theodosia. “You know she’s completely innocent and so do I.”

  “Agreed,” said Theodosia.

  “So we have to help her get through this,” said Bobby Wayne.

  “If she’ll let us,” said Theodosia, thinking back to last night and the wrath of Angie’s sister, Gwyn.

  “I’ll talk to Angie,” said Bobby Wayne. “Get her the best lawyer I can find. Really straighten things out.”

  “Bobby Wayne,” said Theodosia, as he pushed open the door, “a couple days ago, you said there’d been a sort of competition between Mark and Leah to head your FOREX division. Tell me, if Mark hadn’t been killed, would Leah have been your first choice?”

  Bobby Wayne chewed at his lip thoughtfully. He knew darn well what Theodosia was asking. “No, probably not,” he finally responded.

  Delaine was waving at Theodosia to come join her again. So Theodosia grabbed a fresh pot of tea and headed back to Delaine’s table.

  “Drayton was just telling me about your new summer tea blend,” she said. That was the thing about Delaine. She had the ability to jump from nasty gossip to tea shop news in a split second.

  “You’re privy to one of his big secrets then,” said Theodosia. “Because Dayton hasn’t even told me about it yet.”

  Drayton focused a solemn gaze on Theodosia. “It’s a rather novel house blend I want to call Starry Night. I’m blending a mixture of Chinese and Indian black tea and flavoring it with star anise and wild cherry bark.”

  “To die for,” said Delaine.

  “Good heavens, let’s hope not,” replied Drayton as he slid his chair back, jumped up, and headed for the counter.

  Delaine watched Theodosia refill her teacup, then turned a coy smile on her. “I have something for you,” she said.

  “If it’s another tidbit of gossip, I don’t think I want to hear it,” said Theodosia. She was still disturbed that Delaine seemed to derive subtle pleasure from talking about Angie Congdon’s misfortune.

  “No, silly,” said Delaine. “It’s the perfect dress for you. For tomorrow night.”

  “I have a dress,” said Theodosia. She was planning to wear a simple cream-colored sheath and maybe add a wrap if the evening turned chilly.

  “This is better,” Delaine said knowingly. “Fine Chinese silk dyed to a wonderful shade of apple green. Enormously complimentary, of course, to your auburn hair. And the dress itself is very romantic and ruffled.” Delaine took a sip of tea and pursed her lips. “Somewhere between Laura Ashley and Monique Lhuillier.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the romantic, ruffled type,” commented Theodosia. In fact, her own personal style seemed to have evolved into simplicity and comfort. Colorful, slinky silk T-shirts, tailored capri slacks, lower-heeled shoes that let her fly about the tea room relatively unencumbered. Kind of a modern-day Audrey Hepburn. With the addition of exceptional amounts of auburn hair, of course.

  “The romantic look was made for you,” pressed Delaine. “Case in point, you own an adorable little tea shop that people flock to. And you’re a southern hostess with a warm, caring sensibility. Ergo, this dress will be perfect!”

  Theodosia still wasn’t convinced. “Ruffles,” she said. “I’m just not feeling the ruffle thing.”

  “Nonsense,” said Delaine. “The dress is utterly div
ine.”

  “You promise I won’t look like something out of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?”

  Delaine’s brows knit together as she peered at Theodosia. “We’re talking romantic, Theo, not spooky Southern Gothic.” She drummed her perfectly manicured fingertips on the table-top. “Tell you what, why don’t you come over this afternoon and try it on. I’ve got my assistant, Janine, holding it for you in the back room.”

  “No way can I make it today,” Theodosia told her. In fact, I’d rather not come at all.

  “Tomorrow then,” said Delaine. “Come tomorrow morning.”

  “I promised Timothy I’d do that on-air segment at Channel Eight,” said Theodosia. “Kind of a final push for Orchid Lights.”

  “Then drop by afterward,” insisted Delaine. “Of course,” she said, leaning sideways and casting a critical eye toward Theodosia’s khaki slacks and comfortable loafers as though they were fashion roadkill, “we’ll have to find you some decent shoes as well. I’m thinking perhaps a pair of four-inch stilettos that show a little toe cleavage.”

  “How about a comfortable pair of two-inch mules?” asked Theodosia. “And forget trying to make my toes look sexy. I’ll probably be on my feet all evening. Helping Drayton set up, then serving tea at the event . . .”

  “You’re no fun at all,” complained Delaine. “You never want to go all-out glitz or glam. If I had to depend on you for a customer, Cotton Duck would be plum out of business!”

  “I’ll be there.” Theodosia sighed. “Tomorrow.”

  “Try to get there by eleven, dear, will you?” said Delaine with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got that marvelous woman, Leah Shalimar, coming in to talk about investing.”

  20

  “What did you do to it?” asked Parker Scully as he ran a hand over the giant dents in the hull of his canoe. “Beat it with a baseball bat? Take it over a fifty-foot waterfall?”

  “No, no, nothing that disastrous,” Theodosia assured him even as she felt a tiny twinge of guilt bubble up inside her.