Lavender Blue Murder Page 3

  “There were exactly twenty guests,” Meredith said. “But I can’t believe any one of them would . . .” Her voice trailed off with a sorrowful note.

  “It had to be one of the guests,” Alex said. “Who else . . . ?” His voice cracked, then faltered mid-sentence.

  “Perhaps it was someone who wandered onto the property unnoticed and set up some kind of shooter’s nest,” Theodosia said.

  “There was a shooter’s nest?” Meredith took a step backward, visibly shaken by Theodosia’s suggestion.

  “A member of the shooting party could have snuck off, too,” Alex said in a huffy voice. “It’s not like we had everyone under strict surveillance.”

  “Speaking of which, are there any cameras on the property?” Theodosia asked. “Security cameras or cameras for tracking game?”

  Both Meredith and Alex shook their heads.

  “I suppose it could have been a neighbor,” Meredith said slowly. She glanced at Alex and gave him a meaningful look.

  “You’ve had problems with one of your neighbors?” Drayton asked.

  “Carl Clewis has been absolutely horrible,” Alex blurted out. “He dammed up Axson Creek without getting the proper county and state authorization. Pop was furious with him. Even filed an injunction order against him.”

  “So they’d had words,” Drayton said.

  “More than words, terrible arguments,” Alex said.

  “Did you tell Sheriff Burney about this?” Theodosia asked.

  “Of course I did,” Alex said. He thought for a few moments, then said, “And there’s the Lavender Lady.”

  “Not the Lavender Lady,” Meredith said.

  “Who’s the Lavender Lady?” Theodosia asked. She’d noticed the nearby field of lavender and was more than a little curious.

  “Her name is Susan Monday,” Meredith said. “You know, like the day of the week? Anyway, her Blue Moon Lavender Farm is some sixty acres, all of it these big sweeping fields of lavender.”

  “I noticed the edge of her field, and I have heard of Susan Monday,” Theodosia said. “I believe my friend Delaine carries her dried lavender sachets at Cotton Duck Boutique. So, Miss Monday had a dispute with your husband?”

  “About a strip of land,” Meredith said.

  “The county calls it an ‘orphan strip,’” Alex said. “Apparently, the dispute goes all the way back to the early eighteen hundreds.”

  Theodosia knew that in South Carolina land disputes could stretch on for decades. There were issues concerning Native American land, boundaries that had been arbitrarily moved after the Civil War, and meandering creeks and rivers that shifted course over time.

  “Can you think of some overriding issue that might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back? That set someone on a collision course against Reginald?” Theodosia asked.

  “What do you mean?” Meredith asked.

  “Political ideology? Religious ideology?” Theodosia said.

  Meredith looked confused. “Oh. Well. Reginald was a Republican, if that’s what you’re talking about. But he had friends who were Democrats as well.” She fluttered her hands, a little unsure of where she was going with this. “And he was brought up a Methodist . . . Why, Reverend Potter and his wife were even our guests today.”

  “Is there anyone your husband was having a dispute with? Anyone in a business context?” Theodosia asked.

  “I can’t think of anyone,” Meredith said. “Reginald was a smart businessman, an absolute genius when it came to making money.”

  A hard look stole across Alex’s face. Theodosia couldn’t help but catch it.

  “What?” Theodosia asked him.

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t know. I really can’t think of anyone else.”

  “For a minute there, it looked like you had someone in mind.”

  Alex pursed his lips and blew out a glut of air. “No, I have to say I’m at a complete loss.” He reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it. Fawn gazed back at him, a sorrowful look on her face.

  They all stood there for a few moments, and then Theodosia said, “I’m afraid we have to be going. Again, I’m so sorry for—”

  “No!” Meredith cried, her eyes wide with alarm. “You have to stay.”

  “We couldn’t possibly impose on you,” Drayton said.

  “Please,” Meredith begged. “You must. The guest rooms are all made up with fresh flowers and linens. Truly, you’d make me so happy if you’d stay and partake of our hospitality. You’ve both been so kind. Really . . . I insist.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Against their better judgment, Theodosia and Drayton stayed. They fixed themselves a plate of food and sat in wicker chairs on the expansive veranda. Finally, when the sun had dropped below the horizon and the evening turned chilly, Drayton said, “What we need now is a cup of tea. Something tasty and soothing.”

  “Let’s explore,” Theodosia said. “Go find the kitchen.”

  They wandered into the plantation house and noticed a foursome, two men and two women, sitting in a parlor and talking quietly. They kept going, passed a handsome library with floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with hardbound books, and eventually found their way into a large kitchen completely updated in white marble and pale green tile that looked like sea glass.

  Drayton discovered a tin of Earl Grey tea in the pantry.

  “This will have to do,” he said. “It’s a pity I didn’t bring some . . . Well, I didn’t.”

  They brewed a pot of tea, found teacups and saucers, and carried everything into a second parlor. This one was even grander in size and scale with Oriental carpets, damask-covered chairs and sofas, and European tapestries hung on the walls.

  “I do believe that’s a Bakshaish Persian,” Drayton said, gazing at the large carpet spread out at his feet. “All handloomed silk.”

  “This is a gorgeous house. And the decor is impeccable,” Theodosia said.

  “What you see here is Reginald’s taste,” Drayton said. “Meredith’s preference runs to contemporary and mid-century modern. You know she owns Divine Design over on Royal Street?”

  “I’ve heard of it. Supposed to be incredible. A furniture shop and a design studio?”

  “That’s right. Meredith even showcases some of the great modern designers such as Charles Eames, Isamu Noguchi, and Edward Wormley.”

  They talked for another three hours. About the shooting, possible suspects, the Doyle family. Eventually, they got on to other subjects, too. What was happening at the Heritage Society, where Drayton served as a board member, what were their upcoming plans for the Indigo Tea Shop? Would they expand or remain small and cozy? All the while, they heard people ghost past them in the hallway, were aware of whispered voices. Still, they continued to drink tea and talk.

  Finally, when a large grandfather clock bonged out eleven chimes, they made their way to the grand staircase and tiptoed upstairs.

  “According to Meredith, I’m down here to the left,” Drayton said. “Your room is the second on the right, and I daresay it’s probably—”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  Somewhere on the second floor—or maybe it was up on the third floor—two people were having a hellacious argument. Voices were raised in fury, then just as quickly fell with cold conviction. There was hissing and derision back and forth, but all slightly muted.

  “What’s going on?” Theodosia whispered. It was difficult to make out actual words. Or tell who they were coming from.

  Drayton shook his head. “No idea,” he whispered back.

  They stood at the top of the stairs, feeling somewhat guilty but still straining to hear. In a matter of a few moments, the voices died out.

  “Good night,” Drayton said, stifling a yawn as he drifted off to the left.

  “Good night,” Theodosia said, still burning with curiosity about what had sounded like an appalling and dreadful war of words.

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosi
a was dreaming. Somewhere in her sleep-fogged mind she was in a desert, the sun looking like a fried egg in the sky and burning down unmercifully. It was horribly hot, and she was overdressed. And now a strong wind had come up, a sirocco, and it felt as if an enormous hair dryer had been turned on to heat and crisp everything.

  Theodosia came awake, coughing. It was warm and hazy in her small guest bedroom, and she felt as if her strange, nightmarish dream had somehow morphed into reality—was affecting her so vividly that she was having trouble breathing.

  Two seconds after that, Theodosia realized the house was on fire! There was heat, intense heat. And an ominous crackling sound.

  And, oh dear Lord, there’s smoke seeping into my room!

  Pulling on her slacks and jacket, Theodosia dashed from her room, frantic to spread the alarm. She started knocking on doors up and down the hallway, shouting for everyone to wake up and evacuate the burning house.

  Her cries worked. People came streaming out of their rooms, half-dressed and in a full-blown panic.

  Spotting Drayton, Theodosia gripped his arm tightly as they galloped down the stairs together.

  Outside, some ten feet from the burning building, Theodosia looked around, found a frantic Meredith, and asked, “How many? How many people were staying here tonight?”

  “Nine!” Meredith cried. Her eyes were round as saucers, and she was wheezing hard, struggling to catch her breath.

  Theodosia counted heads. Eight. They were missing someone!

  “Alex!” Fawn was suddenly spinning around in a blind panic and screaming, “Where’s Alex?”

  Theodosia’s heart dropped like a stone. Alex was missing? Oh no. Against her better judgment, she clambered back up the few steps that led to the veranda.

  “Alex!” she cried out. “Where are you? Come this way, follow my voice!”

  Theodosia felt waves of heat pulsing against her face, practically singeing her hair. She stood there for ten seconds, then twenty. Would Alex find his way out? She prayed he would.

  Suddenly, a shadow wavered in front of her. Alex was hunched over, battling his way through a wall of smoke, trying desperately to escape the flames inside.

  Thank goodness, Theodosia thought as she took a step back and watched Alex hurtle toward her. He was coughing and staggering so badly he was almost on his knees. But he was all right!

  Fawn dashed up to Alex and threw her arms around him as the two of them tumbled to the ground.

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time the first fire truck arrived, the house was a fiery inferno.

  They watched as flames swirled upward in a twisting volcano of red and orange. Firefighters quickly hooked up their hoses and shot gluts of water into the burning building. Windows cracked and popped, flaming timbers fell into what had been the sunroom. A sinuous line of flames crawled across the roof.

  “How can two horrific events occur on the very same day?” Drayton asked in a strangled voice. “A second terrible accident.”

  “Maybe accidentally on purpose?” Theodosia said.

  Drayton gasped, a look of utter shock on his face. “What are you talking about, Theo? Why would anyone want to torch this lovely old plantation home?”

  Theodosia’s eyes never moved from the burning building as she said, “Maybe to destroy evidence?”

  Drayton reared back, wild-eyed with his hair sticking up, and stared at her. “What evidence?”

  Theodosia shook her head slowly. “I don’t know yet.”

  4

  Theodosia and Drayton were calm and collected at the Indigo Tea Shop this Monday morning. Haley was not. As the three of them sat at a table, sipping cups of English breakfast tea, their youthful chef and baker stared at them. Wide-eyed with amazement, Haley’s shoulder-length blond hair swished nervously about her shoulders.

  You see, Theodosia and Drayton were telling Haley all about the shooting of Reginald Doyle and the subsequent fire that had engulfed his plantation home.

  “Holy crap, you guys were lucky to escape from that place alive. One of you could have been popped instead of Mr. Doyle. Or you could have been flambéed in that awful fire,” Haley said.

  “Don’t we know it,” Drayton said. “What started as a lovely and fashionable afternoon turned into a veritable madhouse. And in our bumbled escape last night, I happened to leave my favorite leather valise behind. Now I’m positive it’s been burned to a crisp.”

  Haley stared at him. “A valise, Drayton? Not a suitcase?” She didn’t always understand Drayton’s formality.

  “It was vintage.”

  “Okay, so what happened then?” Haley asked. She’d been somewhat shaken by their vivid descriptions but intrigued as well. “I mean after the shooting and the big fire, which, by the way, sound like multiple plot devices in a Lifetime Movie.”

  “Obviously, Sheriff Burney had to drag himself back out to Creekmore Plantation a second time. To inspect the premises and interview everyone who survived the fire,” Theodosia said.

  “Thank goodness, we all managed to survive,” Drayton said.

  “Did the sheriff have any ideas about how the fire might have started?” Haley asked.

  “Nobody has any ideas,” Drayton said. “The only people in the house last night were Meredith, Alex, Fawn, Reverend Potter and his wife, and an elderly couple named Lincoln.” He looked at Theodosia. “And the two of us.”

  “Do you think the fire was electrical? Like caused by faulty wiring?” Haley asked. “Or was some yahoo smoking in bed and got super careless?”

  “I imagine Sheriff Burney will bring in a fire investigator to do a careful analysis,” Theodosia said. “Locate the point of origin, determine if any accelerants were used.”

  “Theodosia thinks the fire may have been set by someone,” Drayton said in a quiet voice.

  “You do, really?” Haley practically squealed with surprise.

  “I said it was possible,” Theodosia said. “Considering that Reginald Doyle had been murdered in cold blood a few hours earlier.”

  “So you’re pretty sure his death wasn’t an accident, either?” Haley asked.

  “It didn’t look like it to me,” Theodosia said.

  Haley leaned back in her chair. “Wow.” Then, “Are there any suspects? For either crime?”

  “Not really,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia held up a finger. “That’s not quite true. Alex seemed to be highly suspicious of one of the neighbors, a man by the name of Carl Clewis. And I have the feeling he didn’t much like the Lavender Lady, either.”

  “Who’s the Lavender Lady?” Haley asked.

  “A woman named Susan—”

  “Oh, wait, I think I know who she is,” Haley cut in. “Because Delaine carries those—”

  “Lavender sachets,” Theodosia said, nodding. Her eyes drifted to the cup of tea she held in her hands, and then she looked up and said, “I was thinking . . . if we got in touch with this Lavender Lady, it might be fun to incorporate her into the Lavender Tea we’re having on Saturday.”

  “What are you talking about?” Drayton asked. “You mean invite the actual Lavender Lady to our tea?” He seemed unsettled by the idea.

  “Why not?” Theodosia said. “After all, she’s an expert.”

  “Then we should call it the Lavender Lady Tea,” Haley said. “I mean, we’re already serving lavender cream scones and decorating the tables with lavender candles and sachets. And Drayton’s probably going to create a special house-blended tea that incorporates lavender culinary buds.”

  Drayton nodded. “That was my plan.”

  “Works for me,” Theodosia said. “And what if we also asked this Susan Monday to give a short talk about lavender? You know, about how the Victorians adored lavender and all its special properties.”

  “I thought Drayton was going to do that,” Haley said. “He usually gives the talks about tea lore and historical facts.”

  “I can easily cede that responsibility,” Drayton said.
He leaned back in his chair and fixed his gaze on Theodosia. “But isn’t there an off chance this Miss Monday might be a suspect?”

  “A very off off chance,” Theodosia said. “But in the meantime, if we discover evidence against her, then she’s out.”

  Haley looked from one to the other. “So, what’s the final verdict?”

  “I’ll talk to Susan Monday,” Theodosia said. “Find out if she’s even interested.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They got busy then, readying the shop for morning tea. Haley scooted back to her kitchen, where scones and muffins were still baking in the oven. Theodosia lit a fire in the small stone fireplace, then set the tables. She put out antique blue linen place mats she’d picked up at a tag sale in Moncks Corner, small tea lights, cream and sugar, and silverware. Then she opened one of her antique wooden cabinets and gazed at the various sets of dishes she’d collected over the years. Some plates and teacups were mismatched (perfect for an event such as a Patchwork Tea), but she also had wonderfully complete sets of Haviland Princess, Belleek Country Trellis, and Staffordshire Blue Willow, as well as several more.

  “The Coalport blue and white, I think,” Theodosia said aloud. “The basket weave and garland trim feel perfect for today.”

  “Hmm?” Drayton said. He was behind the front counter, juggling chirping teakettles and brewing pots of tea.

  “Just making an executive decision.”

  “Hmm,” Drayton said again.

  Theodosia gazed with approval at her cozy tea shop with its beamed ceiling, wood-pegged floors, and leaded windows. She grabbed two new grapevine wreaths that she’d brought in, hung them on the far brick wall, then replenished her retail cupboard with jars of DuBose Bees Honey, tins full of tea, paisley cosmetic bags, and a few tea strainers. The T-Bath products came next. These were tea-infused proprietary products that she’d created herself and included two brand-new items—Green Tea Glow Facial Moisturizer and Chamomile Lotion Bars.

  At nine o’clock, customers began to trickle in. First by twos, then suddenly groups of four and five started arriving, a virtual torrent.