Pekoe Most Poison Read online

  “She also opened my eyes about Beau’s partner in Gilded Magnolia Spa.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Opal Anne thinks that Beau’s partner, Reggie Huston, is siphoning money away from the spa.”

  “Which one was Reggie Huston?” Drayton asked.

  “The guy sitting across from Opal Anne at the tea. I think he was wearing a white dinner jacket.”

  Drayton straightened up. “Yes, I do remember him. Lovely jacket. And he paired it with a brown-and-cream paisley Drake’s bow tie. Very stylish.”

  Theodosia was mildly amused. “You actually remember his bow tie?”

  “It isn’t the kind of detail one would forget.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Your interest lies in other areas.” Drayton squinted, stretched upward on tiptoes, and reached over his head. “There you are, you little dickens.” He grabbed the wayward tea tin and bounced it once in his hand. “Gotcha.”

  “Opal Anne thinks we’re completely off base with Doreen.”

  “Perhaps she’s right,” Drayton said. “I hope she’s right.”

  “Because if Doreen was guilty, the Heritage Society wouldn’t receive a penny of that grant money.”

  “No, it would not. But the very idea of Doreen being involved in her own husband’s death makes me heartsick.” Drayton cocked his head. “Do you think she’s guilty?”

  “I don’t think we’ve gathered enough information yet to make any sort of judgment call.”

  “It certainly sounds like Reggie Huston needs to be investigated, though,” Drayton said. “Maybe you should pay a visit to this fancy spa.”

  “I’m definitely going to do that,” Theodosia said. “And we need to keep looking at Doreen. She’s not off the hook yet.”

  Drayton sighed. “I probably won’t get a decent night’s sleep until she is.”

  Just when Theodosia thought afternoon teatime was going to be fairly quiet, Bill Glass came clumping in. He was the cigar-smoking, gum-chewing, snarky publisher of a local scandal rag called Shooting Star. Everyone professed to despise the magazine, but nobody seemed to object when colorful photos from their party, charity ball, or fancy barbecue were splashed across the front page for everyone to see. And be jealous of.

  “Hey there, tea lady,” Glass called out. As usual, he was dressed in a shabby khaki jacket, baggy slacks, and scuffed boots. He had a scarf and two cameras slung around his neck and wraparound sunglasses pushed up on his forehead. Theodosia thought Glass looked like a cross between a Himalayan trekker and a disreputable reporter.

  “Hello, Bill,” Theodosia said, not bothering to look up. Maybe if she ignored him he’d go away? But Glass was imbued with a keen ability to annoy, so he bellied up to the counter and grinned at her.

  “Hey,” he said. “I hear you were at that rat tea thing. Care to share the dirty details with me?”

  “Not on your life.” Theodosia busied herself with a pot of tea as she sensed Drayton stiffen next to her.

  “Come on,” Glass said. “How about you sneak me inside the Calhoun Mansion? I hear you’ve got an inside track with the old lady. Thing is, I’m trying to put together a story about the death of Beau Briggs—my readers are nuts for these wacky society murders—and I’d kill to get some snaps.”

  “Why do you persist in asking me for favors when I always say no?”

  “Probably because you say no so nicely?”

  “Mr. Glass, you are incorrigible.”

  “That’s good, huh?” Glass said. “That means I’m persistent?”

  “Not exactly,” Theodosia said. “But you are consistent. I’ll give you that much.”

  “But will you give me a scone?”

  Theodosia threw up her hands. “Yes. But only if you stop pestering me.”

  “Make the order to go,” Drayton said in a gravelly voice.

  “Yes,” Theodosia said, lifting the top off her glass pie saver. “You have to take your scone and kindly leave the tea shop.”

  “Honey,” Glass cackled, “I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

  • • •

  “He’s like a jackal or a vulture, isn’t he?” Drayton said when Glass had finally left. “Circling the carcass, scavenging for any bits and crumbs.”

  “The man’s got a nose for nasty news, that’s for sure,” Theodosia said. “I just hope he doesn’t find out that we’re involved with Doreen.”

  “Who would tell him?”

  “Um . . . maybe Doreen herself?” Theodosia said.

  Drayton touched a hand to his mouth. “You could be right. Doreen does love to blather on a bit. Perhaps we should warn her not to talk to Bill Glass.”

  “Call me crazy,” Theodosia said, “but if Glass showed up on her doorstep, that might give her an even bigger impetus to pour out her heart to him.”

  8

  At two fifteen the front door whapped open and the bell above it da-dinged like crazy. Theodosia, who was just pouring a cup of tea for Mrs. Beckman, and Drayton, who was brewing a pot of Dimbulla for a ladies’ tea group, both stopped what they were doing and looked over.

  Starla Crane had come crashing in like an unwelcome guest at a private party. Her bright eyes roved the tea shop hungrily, her mouth seemed permanently downcast, and a pair of nasty wrinkles were etched between her brows. Wrinkles that would eventually get deeper if she didn’t learn to adjust her attitude.

  Theodosia finished pouring tea and hurried over to greet her.

  “Good afternoon, Starla,” she said pleasantly. “Are you here for afternoon tea?”

  “I need to talk to you. Like, immediately.” Today Starla wore a tightly belted black leather trench coat. A bright purple dress peeped out at the neckline and hem.

  “Sure.” Theodosia set her teapot down on the front counter, threw a knowing glance at Drayton, and said, “Please follow me. We can talk privately in my office.” The last thing she wanted was for Starla to cause a disturbance in the tea room.

  Theodosia slipped behind her desk and sat down, then indicated for Starla to take a seat in the upholstered chair across from her.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No,” Starla said. “I don’t drink tea. I don’t like tea.”

  Theodosia managed a polite smile. Oh, so it’s going to be like that. Fine. Go ahead, little girl, say your piece.

  Starla glanced around Theodosia’s office, taking in the stack of boxes, floppy straw hats, tea magazines, and wreaths that hung on the walls.

  “I’m sure you’re good at what you do,” Starla began. “And I’m very good at what I do as well. So I’m going to ask you to stay out of my business.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was in your business,” Theodosia said.

  “I’ve put together a carefully crafted press release regarding Beau Briggs’s untimely death as well as the future of Gilded Magnolia Spa.”

  “Okay.”

  “I am also writing a press release to announce Mr. Briggs’s funeral and am engineering a plan for Doreen’s eventual reentry into society.”

  Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “You make it sound as if Doreen’s gone into formal mourning, like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. When six months are up, she’s allowed to wear a short veil that no longer covers her face. After a year she may attend social functions, but only if they involve a relative.” She chuckled, pleased with herself, pleased with the twitch of annoyance that appeared on Starla’s face.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Starla sputtered. “For your information, I’m pushing Doreen to take over the running of Gilded Magnolia Spa.”

  “Really?” Theodosia said. “Really? She’s going to work hand in hand with Reggie Huston?”

  “Yes, why not?”

  Theodosia gave Starla a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. Obviously, Opal Anne and Star
la hadn’t gotten together to compare notes. Opal Anne hadn’t told her about Reggie’s incompetence and free-spending ways.

  “From what I’ve heard,” Theodosia said, “there seems to be some financial impropriety going on over there.”

  Starla was completely taken aback. “Who said that? Who’s spreading nasty rumors?”

  “Perhaps you should check with the spa’s CPA firm. Oh, wait a minute, you’re not an officer of the company, so you can’t do that. Well, no matter, there’s a good chance the state attorney general will be stepping in to audit their books.”

  “Are you serious?” Starla leapt to her feet. “Where are you getting this information? Who’s been feeding you lies?”

  Theodosia fixed Starla with a level gaze. She didn’t raise her voice, but she was firm. “Miss Crane, don’t ever try to tell me what is or isn’t my business. Don’t you dare try to insert a wedge between Drayton and Doreen. And I’d appreciate it if you never set foot in my tea shop again.”

  Starla clenched her fists tightly and glowered at her. “I will never come in here again.” She was practically spitting she was so mad. “This place is corny and too old-fashioned for words!”

  “That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it,” Theodosia said. She stood up and walked to the door that led out to the back alley. “But since you feel so strongly, I think it’s best you leave immediately.” She yanked open the door. “Via the back door.”

  • • •

  “Where did Starla fly off to?” Drayton asked a few minutes later. It was late afternoon and the tea shop was empty. Haley was rattling around in the kitchen; Drayton was straightening up out front.

  “She left,” Theodosia said. She’d just set a box filled with jam and scone mixes on the counter and was sorting through it. It was time to restock her shelves.

  “Did you offer her tea?”

  “She declined.”

  “Then what did she want?” Drayton asked.

  “She asked us to stay away from Doreen.”

  Drayton’s entire body gave an almost seismic jerk and his head snapped toward Theodosia. “She did? Seriously?” He considered this. “Who does Starla think she is, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “The grand pooh-bah of PR, I guess.”

  “So you sent her packing out the back door?”

  “Why not? The girl was hissing and spitting like an alley cat.”

  Drayton glanced sideways. “Does it seem like Doreen has a rather strange cast of characters gathered around her?”

  “Drayton,” Theodosia said, “I think we all do.” She picked up her box, dropped it next to the highboy, and placed two packages of scone mix on a shelf. She stared at the display for a few seconds, not really seeing it, and then went back to her office. The idea of calling Detective Riley had been pinging in her brain all day long. Now she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted to know, needed to know, about that rat poison. On top of that, she was dying to find out how the investigation was coming along. Or if they’d made any progress at all.

  Theodosia went into her office, dug out the business card Riley had given her, and dialed his number. It took a few minutes to get through his gatekeepers, but finally she had him on the phone.

  “We know each other, you know,” was the first thing Riley said to her. “And not just from this past Saturday.”

  “We do?” Theodosia said. But there was a smile in her voice. He was, after all, a very attractive man.

  “I stopped by the Indigo Tea Shop once. With Detective Tidwell. You served us tea and the most delicious scones I’ve ever tasted in my life. Coconut cherry, I think. They brought tears to my eyes.”

  “We had apple scones today,” Theodosia said. “I think there might be a couple left.”

  “Miss Browning, it’s all I can do not to jump in a squad car and rush over there, lights and siren.”

  “That’s very flattering, Detective Riley.”

  “Pete. You don’t have to be so formal, you can call me Pete.”

  Perfect, Theodosia thought. “Okay, then, Pete, I was wondering if your lab has already analyzed the poison that Beau Briggs ingested?”

  There was the briefest hesitation and then Riley said, “We’ve run an initial battery of tests, yes.”

  “I’m also wondering if the rat poison I discovered yesterday in Doreen’s kitchen cupboard was the same type of poison that killed him?”

  “That was a good catch. Finding the rat poison.”

  “Thank you,” Theodosia said. “It made for a startling find. So you can see why . . .”

  “To put your mind at ease, it was not the same poison that killed Mr. Briggs.”

  Theodosia was both surprised and a little relieved. “So he drank something else?”

  “There was poison in Beau Briggs’s system, but it wasn’t from anything he drank.”

  “Excuse me,” Theodosia said. “I’m confused. Then how did . . . ?”

  “Have you ever heard of an L-pill?” Riley asked.

  “No, should I?”

  “Probably not. I hope not anyway. During the Cold War, it’s what the air force, bless their hard little hearts, used to issue to U-2 pilots. It wasn’t a pill per se, more like a small metal disk with a very sharp pin.”

  “What were they supposed to do with it?” Theodosia asked. “Swallow it?”

  “Nothing quite that simple. The pin contained a lethal dose of cyanide. If shot down and captured, the pilots, who were essentially spies, were supposed to pull out the pin and scratch their own skin.”

  “Are you serious? They really issued something like that? It sounds positively inhumane. It’s basically a . . . suicide pill. Though I guess not technically a pill.”

  “I guess the air force didn’t have a lot of faith that American pilots would hold up under Soviet interrogation.”

  “Wait a minute.” Theodosia’s mind was whirling like an out-of-control gyroscope. “So what are you telling me? That somebody scratched cyanide into Beau Briggs’s skin?”

  “That’s probably what killed him, yes.”

  Theodosia let Riley’s words rumble through her brain. “That sounds preposterous. Like something out of an old spy novel.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Riley said. “But it’s not, of course. This particular poison, with this type of delivery system, is highly effective. It works in about ten to fifteen seconds. And it’s almost always fatal.”

  Theodosia thought back to when Beau was waving his hands above the flaming centerpiece with everybody clustered around him, trying to help. Then, some ten to fifteen seconds later, maybe a little more, he started to completely wonk out. Wow.

  “Poison through a scratch in his skin?” Theodosia was shocked, but a little relieved that he hadn’t died from drinking poisoned tea.

  “That’s what we’re tentatively calling cause of death right now,” Riley said. “But I’m no medical examiner. Obviously, our people are working with toxicology experts and will be running additional tests. So any new results could possibly skew our initial thinking.”

  “Have you ever encountered this type of thing before?” Theodosia asked.

  “Never.”

  “Where would you get something like that? The poison-needle thing, or whatever it was.”

  Riley sighed. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to figure that out. Find a contact or source. I ran a search on poisons in the FBI’s database as well as Interpol’s. There’s not a lot out there. There are databases on wanted persons, fingerprints, DNA, firearms, even radiological and nuclear materials. But poison only seems to pop up when it has to do with the KGB or the Russian Mafia.”

  “Holy cats,” Theodosia breathed.

  “Keep this on the down low,” Riley said. “I shouldn’t have told you as much as I did. I’m only sharing information with y
ou because you were such a great help in finding that rat poison yesterday.”

  “Even though the poison that killed Beau Briggs was different from the rat poison,” Theodosia murmured.

  “That’s right.”

  “But it still doesn’t eliminate Doreen Briggs as a suspect, does it?”

  “No, it does not. But please don’t repeat any of this. Again, I’m only being candid with you because I know you’re a personal friend of Detective Tidwell.”

  Theodosia smiled. “Yes, he is rather a good friend. Thank you, Detective Riley. I appreciate your candor.”

  “Pete. And I really do plan to stop by your tea shop for some of those scones.”

  “I look forward to seeing you.”

  Theodosia set down her phone and thought for a few moments. Hmm. A completely different type of poison. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear at all. In fact, it sounded as if the murderer—whoever he or she was—was also a rather skilled assassin. She shook her head and frowned. It felt like she’d just boomeranged back to square one.

  • • •

  Drayton was swishing out the last of the teapots when she went back into the tea room.

  “I just talked to Detective Riley,” Theodosia told him.

  “What did he have to say? Is there any news about the poison?”

  “Yes, but I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “It wasn’t the exact same poison,” Theodosia said. “The poison that killed Beau was different from the rat poison.”

  Drayton’s face dissolved from a knot of worry into a big smile. “That’s wonderful. Doreen’s been cleared, then.”

  “Not so fast. All it means is Doreen didn’t drop a spoonful of rat poison into her hubby’s teacup. She still could have scratched his skin with a lethal dose of cyanide.”

  “What!”

  So Theodosia had to tell Drayton all about the L-pill and the U-2 pilots.

  “That’s awful,” Drayton said. “But Doreen wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that.”