Plum Tea Crazy Read online

  “But you weren’t aware of the activity that was going on?”

  Cooper shook his head. “Well . . . no. Not until an officer knocked on my door around nine o’clock. I had the TV turned up loud, you see.” He tapped his right ear. “Hard of hearing. Got this awful ringing in my inner ear. Tinnitus, they call it. Drives me crazy sometimes.”

  “So there was just the young lady working the front desk last night? No other staff on duty?”

  “Could have been a couple people from housekeeping still here. But please understand, Sunday nights are never particularly busy. Most all our guests have checked out by then. We don’t start gearing up again until Wednesday.”

  “I see,” Theodosia said. “So it’s okay if I go upstairs? The doors to the third floor suites are unlocked?”

  “Nobody’s been up there since the police left,” Cooper said. “I suppose I’ll have to send housekeeping up to tidy the rooms. Lord knows what state the police left them in.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Both third floor suites had black-and-yellow crime scene tape strung across the doorways. No matter; Theodosia just ducked underneath. She was most interested in the room that faced Timothy Neville’s mansion. The room she’d crept into last night when it had been shrouded in darkness.

  Now, with shafts of afternoon sun streaming in, the suite looked a lot less threatening. There was a claret-colored duvet on the bed with three poufy faux fur pillows. The bedroom set and bureau weren’t Charleston-quality antiques—no Hepplewhite or Sheraton here—but it was nice, the kind of stuff you might find in an antique shop in nearby Mount Pleasant or Summerville. The walls were covered in a dark floral wallpaper and hung with horse and hound prints and two oil paintings that depicted European hunting lodges. The only evidence that the police had been poking around here were smudges of fingerprint powder left on the bureau and small wooden nightstands.

  Theodosia looked around the room, but wasn’t struck by any major revelations.

  But, of course, there was the curtained window.

  Walking over to the window, Theodosia slowly pushed aside the filmy curtain. Then she slid open the window and stepped out onto the small balcony. Sunlight filtered down; a damp, salty breeze wafted in from Charleston Harbor and stirred the air as Theodosia gazed across the alley to the roof of Timothy’s house. With its widow’s walk, assortment of balustrades, and fancy finials jabbing the air, this dizzying, slightly out-of-whack view almost stopped Theodosia’s heart. It reminded her of a black-and-white cinema verité shot straight out of a Hitchcock film.

  * * *

  • • •

  Back downstairs, Theodosia leaned into Cooper’s office to thank him.

  Cooper barely looked up. “What?” he said. Then, “No problem. I hope you were able to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Theodosia was halfway across the lobby when another thought popped into her head. She went back and poked her head into Cooper’s office again.

  “I know this is kind of a strange question,” she said. “But did any of the officers ask you about a man named Harker?”

  Cooper set down his pen and frowned at his paperwork. “Harker? Jud Harker?”

  Theodosia took a step into his office and gripped the back of a side chair. “You know him?”

  Cooper looked up at her. “Of course I know him. He works as a handyman around the neighborhood.”

  “And the police didn’t mention his name to you?”

  “I’m sure I’d remember if they did.”

  “And you say Harker’s a handyman. Does he ever work here?” Theodosia asked.

  “When we need him, yes,” Cooper said. “Say there’s a plumbing problem or we need tree pruning. Or something needs fixing in one of the suites.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how destructive some guests can be. They have a few drinks, start to get rowdy, pretty soon they’re ripping down the curtain rods. Or worse. One couple even tore the front off a set of drawers.”

  Theodosia’s heart was beating a little faster now. “So Harker would basically have the run of this place?”

  “I suppose you could call it that.”

  “Is Harker here now?” She wondered if Tidwell knew that Harker worked here.

  “I don’t know,” Cooper said. “I haven’t seen him today.”

  Maybe he’s laying low.

  “Was Harker here last night?”

  “I’m not sure. We’d have to ask Jennifer. She was the one minding the front desk.” Cooper was chewing the end of a yellow pencil and giving Theodosia a very strange look. “Why . . . why are you asking these questions about Jud? Is there a problem?”

  “I hope not,” Theodosia said. “I really hope not.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “I don’t think Tidwell knows,” Theodosia said to Drayton. He was hanging his apron on a peg behind the counter when she came flying into the empty tea shop. The air was still fragrant with tea, a few dying embers glowed red in the fireplace.

  “Doesn’t know what?” Drayton turned to ask.

  “That Jud Harker, the man Timothy pointed a finger at, is the neighborhood handyman. That he helps out at the Stagwood Inn.”

  Drayton did a kind of double take. “He works there? The same Jud Harker who was pressuring Timothy to shut down the Rare Weapons Show?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  “How on earth did you come by this tasty nugget?”

  “I talked to Mitchel Cooper, the manager.”

  Drayton touched a hand to his bow tie. “So Timothy’s instincts might have been correct. Harker could be our killer, after all.”

  “He could be.”

  “Are you going to inform Tidwell?” Drayton asked. “I mean, this is a real hot potato.”

  Theodosia considered Drayton’s question. Knowing that Harker might have been close by last night certainly put her in the catbird seat when it came to looking into things for Timothy. So . . . should she reveal her information to Tidwell? Or was it better to play it close to the vest for as long as she could? That way she could conduct her own shadow investigation.

  “Well?” Drayton asked. He was staring at her with great curiosity. “Are you going to tell him?”

  Theodosia met his gaze evenly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m still deciding.”

  7

  For Theodosia, Haiku Gallery was almost a dream come true. Besides being packed wall-to-wall with party guests, it carried the most elegant Japanese art and antiquities she had ever set eyes on. There were Japanese prints, colorful Oribe ceramics, baskets and lacquerware, gorgeous painted screens, and sensuous Japanese kimonos that reminded her of butterfly wings. Branches of plum blossoms were arranged everywhere, creatively displayed in large antique Tamba jugs, their sweet fragrance permeating the air and creating an almost dreamlike effect. There was even a sushi bar, complete with sushi chef!

  But while Theodosia was taking in all the fabulous antiques, Drayton was at her elbow, pressuring her for more information about Jud Harker.

  “You say the man works as a handyman in our neighborhood,” Drayton said. “That makes Timothy’s accusation slightly more ominous.”

  “I know,” Theodosia said. “It also means Harker could have had access to that third floor suite.”

  “Was he working at the Stagwood Inn last night?”

  “That’s the thing of it,” Theodosia said. “Apparently this Harker guy comes and goes of his own accord. Mr. Cooper said he’s never sure when Harker’s going to pop up.”

  “So Harker works according to his own schedule and at his own pace?” Drayton touched a hand to his polka-dot bow tie. “Goodness, that doesn’t sound like a very efficient work situation.”

  “Not everyone is as buttoned-up as you are, Drayton,” Theodosia said, a faint smile on her face.

 
; “Well, they should be. Keeping regular hours is good discipline.”

  “Hello, hello!” Delaine suddenly screeched. She was waving excitedly as she steamrollered through the crowd, looking glamorous in a black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, her hair pinned up into a messy topknot.

  “Hi Delaine,” Theodosia said as Delaine skidded to a stop in front of them, accompanied by a pretty, dark-haired woman who wore a simple black silk dress and a string of creamy pearls.

  “Have you met Alexis James yet?” Delaine asked.

  “Oh my goodness,” Theodosia said, reaching out to grab the woman’s hand. “You’re the owner of this fabulous shop.”

  “This is Theodosia,” said Delaine, quickly taking charge. “And Drayton Conneley. These are the people I was just telling you about? From the Indigo Tea Shop down the street?”

  “Your tea shop is definitely on my to-do list,” Alexis said. Then she erupted in warm, rich laughter and threw up her hands. “But as you can see, I’ve been more than a little busy.”

  “I was also telling Alexis about that nasty business at Timothy’s last night,” Delaine said in hushed tones. She seemed to relish injecting bad news into a nice, normal conversation.

  “Luckily it didn’t stop anyone from coming to your grand opening,” Theodosia said, trying to steer the subject away from Carson Lanier’s murder. “You seem to have drawn quite a good-sized crowd.”

  “Your shop is lovely,” Drayton said, jumping in as well. “And your inventory is very impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Alexis said. “How very kind of you. I must say, it’s been a labor of love putting all this together.” Alexis was midthirties with short, dark hair. She was attractive, with a direct, open manner. She seemed flattered by Drayton’s words as well as slightly amused.

  “Was that a bowl by Hamada that I saw sitting on your lovely Japanese kitchen cabinet?” Drayton asked.

  Alexis fairly beamed at him. “You have a very good eye.”

  Drayton ducked his head. “I have a passion for beautiful art objects.”

  “Then we really must talk,” Alexis said. “Because I’ve got several more exquisite pieces that are still in storage.”

  “Alexis and I are fast friends already,” Delaine sang out suddenly. “Even though we’ve just met.”

  “Tell me,” Drayton said to Alexis, ignoring Delaine’s outburst. “Is there a particular reason you named your shop Haiku Gallery? Other than the obvious reference to Japanese poetry?”

  “This is probably a bit obscure for most people,” Alexis said, “but I’m a huge fan of the Japanese poet Bashō. So I named it in tribute to him.”

  Drayton cocked his head and recited:

  Temple bells die out.

  The fragrant blossoms remain.

  A perfect evening!

  “Oh my goodness,” Alexis said, clapping her hands together. “A man who can recite Bashō.” She moved closer to him. “Tell me, are you a fan of Japanese sake as well?”

  “I’ve been known to imbibe,” Drayton said.

  “Well, come with me. I have a bottle of Otokoyama sake sitting behind the bar that I’ve been dying to crack open.”

  “Huh,” Delaine said, narrowing her eyes and pouting as she stared after the retreating Alexis and Drayton. “What am I, chopped liver? Nobody’s offering me a cup of premium sake, even though I just invited Alexis to sit front row at my fashion show.”

  “I don’t think Alexis gets a chance to talk to people who know a bit about art,” Theodosia said in an attempt to soothe Delaine’s ruffled feathers.

  “I know about art,” Delaine said. “I love art. “Why, I . . . I even have an Andy Warhol print in my bathroom.”

  Theodosia eased herself away from Delaine and mingled. Grabbed a few pieces of sushi and talked to Leigh Carroll from the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop and Brooke Carter Crockett who owned Heart’s Desire Fine Jewelry.

  As she moved about the shop, chatting with folks from the neighborhood, she noticed there was one unwelcome guest at the party.

  Bill Glass, the publisher and editor of Shooting Star, a glossy local gossip rag, swaggered in Theodosia’s direction. He was dressed in baggy cargo pants, a khaki photojournalist jacket, and had a blue scarf along with several Nikon cameras slung casually around his neck. He looked like he’d just returned from war-torn Afghanistan, though the closest he’d ever come to that was watching CNN.

  “Hey,” Glass said when he caught sight of Theodosia. “I need to talk to you.”

  Theodosia bit her lip. Glass always spelled trouble.

  “What do you want?” she asked. She didn’t want to be unkind, but she didn’t want to engage him, either.

  “I heard you were at that fancy-schmancy party last night where the guy from Capital Bank took a nosedive.”

  “He didn’t take a nosedive, as you so inelegantly put it. He was—” Theodosia stopped abruptly. She’d probably said too much already.

  “Yeah?” Glass said, leaning in to her, a smarmy, questioning look on his face. “You were saying?”

  Theodosia shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who popped the lid off this can of worms,” Glass said. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Carson Lanier was shot, right? But his fatal wound wasn’t from any stray cannon fire, like was first reported. The cannons were shooting blanks. It was some kind of arrow, is what I heard.”

  “How would you know about that?”

  “I’m press. It’s my business to know.”

  “You’re not press, you publish a trashy gossip rag that’s printed on grade Z paper and comes out once a week for a few hundred subscribers. If you’re lucky.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” Glass said with a sigh. “The sad fact is . . . even a lousy blogger or Instagrammer can qualify as press these days.” Glass paused, looking keenly unhappy. As if his vaunted position in the community had been recklessly usurped by tech-crazed millennials. “So, tell me what happened. What really happened.”

  “Leave me alone, Bill. You shouldn’t even be at this party. I doubt you were invited.”

  “What are you gonna do? Make a big fat scene and have me kicked out?” He lifted one of his Nikons. “Come on, strike a pose, will you? You’re a cute gal, you could do with some press in my paper.”

  “No thank you.” Theodosia ducked away from Glass, threaded her way past a Coromandel screen, and met up with Drayton. “How was the sake?”

  “Excellent,” Drayton said. “Smooth, yet bracing.”

  “Alexis seems nice. She’s a good addition to our block, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” Drayton said. “And she’s so knowledgeable. She was really bending my ear about prints by Hokusai and Utamaro, which I confess I know very little about.”

  “But you know other things. Your expertise is in Early American furniture and tea ware and sterling silver. And oil paintings.”

  Drayton nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do know a bit about those things.”

  “Look at this woodblock print,” Theodosia said. She’d just spotted a Hiroshige that would certainly merit a place of honor over her mantel. Mount Fuji in the moonlight done in pinks and blues. Then she peeked at the price tag. Six thousand dollars. Well, yes, she supposed that’s exactly what a genuine Hiroshige cost these days.

  “I’d have to say Haiku Gallery is off to a rousing start,” Drayton said. “Considering this is only their first day.”

  “You think people are buying?”

  “Alexis already rang up several sales.”

  “That’s great, then.”

  “Oh. And I saw a lovely antique ceramic teapot.” Drayton paused and looked back over his shoulder. “I really should go check the price tag. It could make a fine addition to my collection.”

  “Something to consider,” Theodosia said. �
�Since you only have about a hundred teapots.”

  “You should talk,” Drayton shot back.

  Theodosia wandered toward the front of the shop, admiring a bright red kimono that was displayed on a rosewood kimono stand. In the right contemporary home, hanging on a wall . . . it would make a stunning piece of modern art.

  “Theodosia,” said a familiar voice.

  She glanced up to meet the cool blue eyes of Detective Pete Riley. He was tall, with an almost languid posture, and what she thought of as an aristocratic nose and cheekbones. If she didn’t know he was a detective, he might’ve passed for a Southern lawyer from a deep-rooted family.

  “You,” Theodosia said, sounding pleased. “What are you doing here?” This was a complete surprise. They’d been dating for the past couple of months, but they hadn’t made a date for tonight. Or had they? Did she screw up?

  Riley held up his hands in a gesture of appeal. “I’m afraid I wasn’t issued an official invitation. Which I guess makes me the quintessential party crasher.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about the technicalities,” Theodosia said. “Since there are more than a few guests of guests here tonight. But how on earth did you know where to find me?” She wasn’t a bit unhappy that Riley had shown up. Truth be told, she was delighted.

  “I’m a detective,” Riley said, tapping an index finger against the side of his head. “Which means I detected.”

  Theodosia offered an amused, slightly tolerant smile. “Come on, how did you really track me down?”

  “Ah, I made a pest of myself,” Riley said. “I banged on the back door of your tea shop until your young chef came bounding downstairs to shush me. Then I turned on my charm and smooth-talked her until she told me where you were at.”

  Theodosia smiled. “Haley always was a pushover for a smooth-talking guy.”

  “Actually, I told her I was seriously addicted to her artisan scones.”

  “Artisan scones?” Theodosia nodded. “That would win her heart even more.” She hesitated. Tell Riley about Harker? Not tell him? She reached out, snagged his sleeve, and pulled him behind a bamboo screen.