Lavender Blue Murder Read online

  “Whoa,” Theodosia said. “What about his wife, Meredith? Wouldn’t Reginald have wanted her to inherit Creekmore Plantation? Or his son, Alex?”

  “Not necessarily,” Timothy said.

  “Could they contest Reginald’s will?” Theodosia asked. “Would they?”

  “Not if it was drawn up as an irrevocable trust,” Timothy said. He pursed his lips and added, “Although, in my experience, very few wills are completely ironclad.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Theodosia said. “Doyle intended to leave his plantation home to the Heritage Society and not his immediate family.” She was having trouble wrapping her head around what felt like an enormous slight. Had Reginald Doyle really been of sound mind when he arrived at that decision?

  “I’m not sure how much of the plantation is still standing after last night’s fire,” Drayton said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Timothy said. “The surrounding land is worth a small fortune.”

  “How much of a small fortune?” Theodosia asked.

  Timothy didn’t hesitate. “Four or five million.”

  Drayton let loose a low whistle.

  “Is this a done deal?” Theodosia asked. “Did Doyle actually change his will? Do you know for sure that the Heritage Society was named sole beneficiary?”

  “At this point I don’t know,” Timothy said. “Since it was only talked about.” He cocked an index finger at Theodosia and then at Drayton. “That’s what I want you two to find out.”

  “Gracious,” Drayton said.

  “Who knew about this possible change in bequest?” Theodosia asked.

  Timothy shook his head. “I don’t know. I assume his family must have been informed; certainly his attorney would be privy. Maybe even business associates.”

  Drayton cupped his chin in his hand, as if deep in thought. “If Reginald changed beneficiaries, could that have been a factor that led to his death—or the fire?”

  Theodosia’s mind had already made the leap. “How could it not?” she said.

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia was sitting at the computer in her small office, using Google Earth to search the countryside outside Charleston, when Drayton walked in.

  “I brought you a cup of tea,” he said. “That new Ceylonese green tea. The leaves have been steamed so the flavor is very fresh and crisp.”

  “Thank you.” Theodosia kept her eyes locked on the screen.

  “What is it you’re doing?” Drayton tipped his head sideways, trying to get a look at the screen. “Are you working on ideas for that Paris and Pearls Tea Party we talked about?”

  “I’m using Google Earth to pull up a satellite photo of Reginald Doyle’s plantation.”

  Drayton pursed his lips, as if that kind of technology was far beyond his comprehension. Which it probably was. “You can actually do that?”

  Theodosia tapped her screen. “Just finished.” She hit print, and her printer began its quiet chatter. “See? Now I’ve got a map. The plantation and the surrounding area.”

  Drayton walked around her desk and stood behind her. “It looks more like Area 51.” Then, “Wait, why are you doing this?”

  “Because I intend to do some exploring.”

  “Ah, you mean investigating.” A flicker of excitement rose in Drayton’s eyes.

  “Well, yes.”

  “So you are going to help Meredith.” Drayton seemed oddly pleased. “And you did take Timothy’s request to heart.”

  “Only because this new information about Reginald’s will raises the stakes a lot higher.” Theodosia paused. “And truth be known, I want to satisfy my own curiosity.”

  6

  With printed map in hand, Theodosia set out to visit Blue Moon Lavender Farm first. The place wasn’t hard to find; it was only three miles down the road from Creekmore Plantation. And then there was that heady lavender aroma that seemed to perfume the air. Theodosia slid down her driver’s side window, inhaled deeply, and decided the scent was probably just as intoxicating as that magical poppy field in The Wizard of Oz.

  Theodosia turned her Jeep down a gravel driveway that was marked with a purple-and-white sign that said, BLUE MOON LAVENDER FARM, RETAIL SHOP AND TOURS. Just past a small stand of cherry trees sat a white clapboard house, a large white barn, and two smaller buildings also painted white. Stretching beyond all that were fields of lavender. With bright sunlight winking down, the lavender plants looked like bouncy purple clouds.

  As Theodosia stepped out of her Jeep, two inquisitive black-and-tan German shepherds bounded over to greet her. Ears perked, eyes sparked with intelligence, they looked like a couple of canine gatekeepers.

  Uh-oh, I hope they’re friendly.

  “Don’t mind them,” a woman’s voice called. “They’re just very curious.”

  So am I, Theodosia thought as she turned to find a pretty dark-haired woman striding toward her.

  Susan Monday? Has to be.

  Susan Monday was wearing a denim jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of dark-green Wellie boots. She exuded the confident, satisfied air of someone who worked outdoors and was proud of it.

  “The female’s named Galatea and the male is Cerberus,” the woman said. Her voice was light and melodic, her manner warm and welcoming.

  “Ah, the heart-stealer and the guardian of Hades.”

  “You know your Greek mythology,” Susan Monday said.

  “Some of it anyway,” Theodosia said. She stuck out her hand. “Hello, I’m Theodosia Browning.”

  The woman smiled as she shook Theodosia’s hand. “Susan Monday, nice to meet you.”

  “The Lavender Lady. You certainly have a lovely farm here. How many acres?”

  “Sixty, though it’s not all under cultivation,” Susan said. “And if you’re thinking about a tour, our harvesting season is mostly over. That all happens in spring and summer. Right now we’re busy pruning our plants.” She paused. “But our retail store is open if you’re interested in lavender bundles or sachets.”

  “Actually, I’ve come for a little information,” Theodosia said.

  “Oh?”

  “I was a guest at Creekmore Plantation yesterday.”

  Susan Monday didn’t seem one bit surprised by Theodosia’s words, but her expression shifted immediately.

  “Oh dear, that must have been terribly shocking.” Her brown eyes crinkled as she shook her head. “Sheriff Burney stopped by late yesterday afternoon to tell me about the shooting and ask a few questions. I still can’t fathom why someone would hate poor Reginald Doyle so much that they’d shoot him like . . . like some rabid animal.”

  “You knew him well?”

  “Mostly just as a neighbor. But Reginald was a friendly neighbor, and so was his wife, Meredith.” Now Susan looked even more unhappy. “And for a hunting accident—or whatever it turns out to be—to happen so close to my property, it’s almost too bizarre. I feel almost . . . I can’t say responsible . . . but strangely complicit in a way.” She turned an earnest gaze toward Theodosia. “You know what I mean?”

  “I think I do. And you also heard about the fire?”

  “One of my retail assistants filled me in on all the local gossip first thing this morning. Awful. Just awful. Creekmore is such a beautiful old place. I think it might even be listed on the South Carolina Historic Properties Record.”

  “I understand that Reginald Doyle was involved in a major dispute with one of your neighbors.”

  “That would be Carl Clewis,” Susan said with slightly raised brows.

  “Something about a creek?”

  Susan nodded. “First, Clewis claimed he needed to divert water from Axson Creek for the purpose of irrigating a piece of his land. Then he said he was trying to reinvigorate some old rice fields. Growing Carolina Gold and all that. Then his story changed big-time when he began building an exclusive enclave of million-dollar homes.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “I imagine Creekmore Plantation got its name because of that creek
.”

  “Sounds plausible. So this water issue was definitely an ongoing problem between Doyle and Clewis?”

  “It’s been a huge bone of contention. I know both Doyle and Clewis filed lawsuits and went to court several times. Both parties were always lobbying the county commissioner for his learned opinion.”

  “Was there ever any kind of ruling?” Theodosia asked.

  “I have no idea. But maybe, with Doyle deceased . . . his family will let the matter drop and Clewis will get his way?”

  “Possibly,” Theodosia said. “And you were in a land dispute with Doyle as well?”

  “The orphan strip.” Susan waved a hand. “It’s nothing really. Certainly not worth quibbling over.”

  “That’s good to know.” Theodosia glanced toward one of the smaller buildings. “You mentioned something about a retail shop?”

  “Come take a look,” Susan said.

  Theodosia followed Susan, Galatea, and Cerberus over to the gift shop. When they stepped inside, the place smelled like heaven.

  “Oh my goodness,” Theodosia exclaimed. “This scent in here is absolutely incredible.” She had a brief, poignantly sharp memory of her mother, gone now for almost twenty years, sitting at a dressing table and dabbing on lavender perfume. Then the image slipped away.

  “It’s relaxing in here, yes?” Susan asked.

  “I feel so relaxed I could lie down and take a snooze,” Theodosia said.

  “That’s pretty much the whole idea behind lavender. Besides being lovely to look at, scientists have studied lavender and determined that it has calming and antianxiety properties.”

  “I can feel them at work right now.” Theodosia laughed.

  Susan stepped behind a small white counter where three lavender candles burned next to a large stack of lavender soap. The rest of the gift shop was jammed with all sorts of lavender products as well as various gift baskets.

  “As you can see, Blue Moon Lavender Farm sells lavender in bundles as well as lavender sachets, candles, soaps, essential oils, and culinary buds,” Susan said.

  “What about lavender tea?” Theodosia asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about adding lavender tea to our gift offerings.”

  “I have to confess, I own a tea shop, the Indigo Tea Shop, in Charleston.”

  Susan grinned. “I thought I recognized your name. You’ve done a couple of TV appearances, am I right?”

  “I’ve been lucky to get the publicity, yes.”

  Susan grabbed a package of lavender buds and pushed them across the counter into Theodosia’s hands. “Then you have to take these back to your tea shop and . . . I don’t know . . . blend them into a tea? Can you do that?”

  “My tea sommelier can with ease,” Theodosia said. “In fact, I’d like to feature some of your lavender products at a special tea luncheon we’re having this coming Saturday. A lavender tea. Actually, now that we’ve finally met, I’d like to invite you to be part of it.”

  Susan was genuinely surprised. “Me?”

  “You’re the lavender expert, aren’t you? The Lavender Lady?”

  “You keep calling me that, but it’s the first time anybody’s ever done so.” Susan smiled. “But I like it. And I’m intrigued. What would I have to do at this lavender tea party?”

  “Allow us to use your lavender buds in a special tea. Maybe give a quick talk about lavender and all its amazing properties. And be our guest of honor.”

  “I would adore that!” Susan enthused. “We could even give your guests some lavender sachets as favors.”

  “This is beginning to sound more and more perfect,” Theodosia said.

  “Come into the back room and I’ll put together a goody bag for you.”

  Theodosia followed Susan Monday into her workshop.

  “This is fascinating,” Theodosia said as she looked around.

  Hundreds of bundles of dried lavender hung from a network of wooden lattices. Woven bushel baskets held more bunches of dried lavender. In fact, there seemed to be an ethereal purple-blue haze hanging in the air.

  “We grow a dozen different varieties of lavender on the farm thanks to the help of our pollinator bees,” Susan said. “Once the plants have fully bloomed, we cut them by hand, tie them into bundles, and allow them to dry for five to six weeks.”

  As Theodosia glanced around the workroom, she noticed a gun propped against the far wall.

  “You have a gun.” The words just popped impulsively out of Theodosia’s mouth.

  “For varmints,” Susan said as she stuffed a dozen bundles of lavender into a clear plastic bag.

  “Varmints come after your lavender?”

  Susan stopped her work and eyed Theodosia carefully. “No, but they do come after my chickens.”

  Theodosia breathed an inward sigh of relief. Susan had a legitimate reason for owning a gun. “Chickens. You have chickens.”

  “Just a dozen. Rhode Island Reds. But you’d be amazed how many foxes, coyotes, and weasels drop by to gaze longingly at them.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Theodosia called Drayton as she drove along in her Jeep.

  “Susan Monday is all in for our Lavender Lady Tea this Saturday.”

  “That’s for sure what we’re calling it now? And Miss Monday is a good fit for us?”

  “I think so. She’s lovely and quite charming. Plus, she gave me tons of lavender so you can blend lavender tea to your heart’s content.”

  “So after conversing with Miss Monday, you no longer view her as a legitimate suspect?” Drayton asked.

  “I don’t think she ever was.”

  “That answer doesn’t sound very definitive,” Drayton said.

  “Well, I meant it to be. So here’s the plan: We’ll add Susan’s name and a little blurb about her when we send out reminder e-mails to all our tea guests.”

  “I have no idea how to do that,” Drayton said.

  “Just write up something quick and fun, and have Haley send it out. She knows how.”

  Theodosia’s next stop was Carl Clewis’s farm. But when she pulled in, she realized it wasn’t really a farm at all. There was a large, stately brick home, probably built within the last five years, a detached four-car garage, and two expansive barns with adjacent paddocks. So, maybe a horse ranch?

  The man who came out to greet Theodosia wasn’t Clewis. He introduced himself as Willis, the handyman. No last name given.

  Theodosia quickly introduced herself and asked to speak with Mr. Clewis.

  “Mr. Clewis isn’t here right now,” Willis said. He was tall and lean with a pinkish, weathered face. Suspicious eyes peered at her above knife-blade cheekbones.

  “Do you know where he went?” Theodosia asked.

  “I didn’t ask him, because it’s none of my business.”

  “Do you have any idea when Mr. Clewis will be back?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What can you tell me about the Axson Creek situation?”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Is that a fact?” Theodosia could tell by the smug expression on the man’s face that he was lying to her. And kind of enjoying it, too.

  “That’s a fact.”

  Theodosia handed Willis one of her business cards. “Will you please tell Mr. Clewis that I stopped by?”

  The handyman looked at her card and smirked. “You want to talk to him about tea?”

  “Not exactly.” Theodosia fixed Willis with a steady gaze. “I need to ask Mr. Clewis a few questions concerning Reginald Doyle.”

  The man’s dirty thumb casually flicked a corner of her white card. “Doyle. That’s the man who got shot.”

  “No,” Theodosia said. “That’s the man who got murdered.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia drove along, dipping in and out of pine forests, reveling in the sunlight dappling the small ponds that she passed. A dozen miles away, as the crow flies, was Cane Ridge Pl
antation, where her father had grown up, where her aunt Libby now lived. Theodosia remembered happy childhood summers spent there—running around at dusk, catching fireflies in mason jars, fishing for catfish and bluegills in the streams that wound through the woods.

  Spending summers there, running unfettered through the woods and swamps, was one of the reasons Theodosia drove a Jeep Cherokee. The Jeep allowed her to venture off-road, to power her way into woods and forests where an ordinary car couldn’t go. There she could gather up wild grapevines for wreaths, forage for purslane, bullbrier, golden chanterelle mushrooms, and even wild pears. Sometimes she’d find abandoned bird nests and would bring them back to the Indigo Tea Shop to be repurposed as holders for small tea-themed note cards, enameled teacup necklaces, and tiny cameos on gold chains.

  As she passed the main gate of Creekmore Plantation, Theodosia decided, at the very last minute, to turn in and see what was going on. She juked her steering wheel hard, made a wide, careening turn, and found herself bumping down the gravel driveway.

  When Theodosia arrived at the main house, she was amazed at how much activity was already underway. At least a half- dozen trucks and vans were parked helter-skelter around the property, with workers scurrying everywhere. Judging from the signage on the vans, these were tradespeople who’d been called in to assess water damage as well as check the foundation, the building’s structural integrity, the wiring, and whatever else might need fixing.

  And, yes, there was Alex Doyle, surrounded by a tight little scrum of men who were all dressed in overalls or canvas workwear and brandishing clipboards.

  This is good for Meredith’s sake. Alex isn’t wasting any time.

  As Theodosia approached Alex, the group of workmen scattered and Alex turned in her direction. Recognition suddenly dawned on his face, and he smiled broadly.

  “Miss Browning,” he said.

  “Theodosia,” she said.

  “Theodosia, then.” Alex gave an all-encompassing wave toward the main house. “As you can see, we’re in the initial stages of rebuilding. Give it a few months and this old place will be good as new.”