Gunpowder Green Page 7

“He didn’t invite me,” said Theodosia, “he invited you.”

  “Yes, but your name went back on the RSVP, as you had agreed to accompany me.”

  Theodosia wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to go?”

  Drayton looked stern. “Of course you do. I certainly can’t cancel at this late date. Not very gentlemanly. Plus it’s an important event.”

  “Okay,” Theodosia sighed. She stuck her legs out straight and kicked off her loafers. They were exquisitely thin leather and perfectly matched her aqua silk outfit. Delaine, her fashion guardian angel, had seen to that. “I just hope Timothy doesn’t toss me out on my ear.”

  “Timothy didn’t give you any information at all?” Drayton prodded gently. “That’s not like him. He might toy with you a bit, but Timothy is generally flattered when asked to lend his expertise.”

  Picking up a fat black pen, Theodosia began to make doodles on the art pad that sat front and center on her desk.

  Drayton decided it might be advantageous to change the subject. “You’ve been working on your bath teas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any ideas?”

  Theodosia brightened. “Actually, lots. What would you think of an entire line of bath products? Tea bags for the bath, so to speak. So many green teas are excellent for relaxing sore muscles, and herbals like lavender, jasmine, calendula blossoms, and rose petals are soothing to the skin. The bath care market, especially those products with natural ingredients, is taking off like crazy, and I think soothing tea products would fit right in.”

  “So do I,” agreed Drayton.

  They batted ideas back and forth for the better part of an hour, Theodosia taking notes like mad, finally switching to her laptop computer because, she contended, she could get the ideas down faster.

  At five o’clock, Haley came in.

  “I’m going to lock up, okay?” said Haley.

  “Sure, fine,” waved Theodosia, completely out of her funk now. “Have a terrific evening.”

  “You, too,” said Haley. “Bye, Drayton.”

  “Good night,” he called.

  Theodosia and Drayton sat quietly for a moment, listening as Haley snapped off lights, then exited the front door, locking it behind her. The only light on in the tea shop was the glowing Tiffany lamp that sat on Theodosia’s desk.

  “Drayton,” said Theodosia slowly, “Timothy Neville did say something to me.”

  He stared at her patiently.

  “Timothy mumbled something about ‘right church, wrong pew.’ I think he was referring to the Dixon-Cantrell feud. You’ve heard about that?”

  Drayton nodded. “Dribs and drabs over the years.”

  “That’s what I was talking to Detective Tidwell about today.”

  “That’s kind of what Haley and I figured. You think Ford Cantrell . . . ?”

  Theodosia shrugged. “Maybe . . . You saw how irate he was at the picnic.”

  “Howling mad,” agreed Drayton.

  “Of course, Timothy could have been trying to send me off in the wrong direction, too,” said Theodosia.

  “That doesn’t sound like Timothy,” said Drayton. “He usually prides himself on being rather insightful and precise.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “So,” said Drayton, “are you going to keep investigating?”

  Theodosia’s blue eyes were as lovely and unpredictable as the nearby Atlantic. “Count on it,” she told him.

  CHAPTER 9

  “ISN’T IT A cunning little piece? See how the light catches the gray green glaze? I’m so hoping it was crafted by one of the Edgefield potters.”

  Theodosia carefully placed hot blueberry muffins on her serving tray and listened to that voice. She knew that voice. At least she thought she did.

  Parting the curtains and stepping out into the tea shop, she was mildly surprised to find Giovanni Loard, cradling a teapot in his hands and talking animatedly with Drayton.

  “Yes,” Drayton was saying, “the Edgefield provenance is correct, and I’d definitely date it to the early nineteenth century.”

  Theodosia noted that Drayton had allowed his glasses to slip halfway down his nose and was speaking in what Haley called his Heritage Society voice. Timothy Neville may have loved to be called upon to lend his expertise, but Drayton wasn’t far behind.

  “Good morning,” Theodosia greeted the two men after she’d dropped off pastry baskets at the various tables. Drayton smiled absently while Giovanni Loard jumped up from his chair and eagerly took her hand.

  “Miss Browning, so nice to see you again,” Giovanni gushed. “And so lovely to finally visit your tea shop.”

  “Delighted to have you,” she replied. “My condolences again on the death of your cousin.”

  Giovanni’s smile crumpled. “Thank you. It’s been a difficult time for all of us. Especially Doe. Thank goodness for small kindnesses from people like you.”

  “Look at this,” said Drayton, delivering a sturdy little ceramic into Theodosia’s hands.

  “Your absolutely brilliant colleague here has been kind enough to take a look at this teapot,” said Giovanni. “He’s quite sure it’s an Edgefield.”

  Edgefield pottery came from a rich supply of heavy clay found in Edgefield County, northwest of Charleston and located along the Savannah River. In the 1800s, Edgefield potters had crafted pitchers, storage jars, bowls, and teapots as well as little jars with faces molded into them.

  “Lovely,” said Theodosia as she turned the little clay vessel over in her hands. “These things are getting hard to find. Did you just pick this up for sale in your shop?”

  “Oh, no,” said Giovanni, “it was one of Doe and Oliver’s wedding gifts. Poor girl can’t bear to even look at any of these objects now. It breaks her heart to have them in the house. She’s kindly asked me to handle the sale of several pieces for her.”

  “I’m sure she’s utterly shattered,” said Theodosia, even though she found it strange and almost improper for Doe to be selling off wedding presents so soon after Oliver Dixon’s death. For goodness sake, the man’s funeral wasn’t until tomorrow!

  “There hasn’t been any forward progress in determining what happened to Oliver,” Giovanni said with a long face. “Everyone’s clucking about what a terrible accident it was. But, of course, I suspect the pistol was tampered with. So does Doe.”

  “The police are investigating, are they not?” said Drayton.

  “Yes,” said Giovanni slowly. “And I have asked them to take a rather hard look at Ford Cantrell. He’s a rotten egg, that one.” Giovanni shifted an earnest gaze at Theodosia. “Thank you again for your quick action at the picnic.”

  Theodosia waved a hand. She would have done the same for anyone.

  “Let me keep this teapot for a day or two,” offered Drayton, “and I’ll consult with an acquaintance of mine. He collects Edgefield pieces and might be able to provide us with some idea on price.”

  “That would be wonderful,” murmured Giovanni Loard. His face eased into a smile as Haley approached their table, bearing a pot of tea. “Hello,” he greeted her.

  “Ah, here’s the tea now,” said Drayton. “Thank you, Haley.” He poured cups of munnar tea for Giovanni, Theodosia, and himself.

  But Haley didn’t budge, and Giovanni continued to smile warmly at her.

  “Giovanni Loard, this is Haley Parker,” said Theodosia.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Haley. “Could I offer you a sweet? I have some lemon tarts I just took out of the oven.”

  “That would be lovely,” smiled Giovanni, and Haley dashed off to fetch the pastries.

  “Pretty girl,” remarked Giovanni as he took a sip of tea. “Oh, this is excellent,” he exclaimed. “And I know nothing about tea. I couldn’t tell you if this was Japanese or Chinese.”

  “Actually,” said Theodosia, “it’s from India.”

  “You see, what did I tell you,” said Giovanni. “Oh my!” he exclaimed as Haley returned and set a
plate of pastries in front of him. “You all are just bowling me over with your care and hospitality! I can’t believe I didn’t find my way to your tea shop sooner.”

  “You recently purchased a house nearby, didn’t you?” asked Theodosia. She’d recalled that Delaine had said something to her about it.

  “Yes,” said Giovanni. “Over on Legare. It’s one of those old Victorian single houses. You know . . . charm, carved balustrades, and absolutely everything in desperate need of a repair? I’d have to characterize it as a money pit so far, but I’m holding out hope that I’ll be able to return it to classic status someday.”

  “I’m familiar with that particular row of houses,” said Drayton. “Most of them have lovely gardens.”

  Giovanni nodded eagerly. “The garden has been my saving grace. The brick patio, small fountain, and statuary are in almost perfect condition. All I really had to do was update a few plantings. Don’t laugh,” Giovanni said in a conspiratorial tone, “but my garden is actually included in next week’s Garden Fest.”

  “That’s wonderful,” exclaimed Drayton. Besides historical restoration, Drayton was also passionate about gardening. He had cultivated an elegant garden in his small backyard and had even ventured recently toward becoming a bonsai master. “But I didn’t realize you were a member of the garden club, much less that your garden was on this year’s tour.”

  “My garden open house is Friday evening,” said Giovanni, “the night after Timothy Neville’s big kickoff party. I’d be honored if you all would drop by.”

  “I think Giovanni Loard wants to date Haley,” said Drayton afterward.

  Haley blushed all the way down to her toes. “No way,” she said. “He’s just a nice guy. A gentleman.”

  “Do you really think so?” said Theodosia. She had remained fairly quiet during Giovanni Loard’s visit. Everything that had seemed charming about him during their initial encounter last Sunday now seemed a trifle forced. On the other hand, he might have been nervous being thrust in among the three of them. Their chattiness could be a little overpowering.

  “Does it seem strange to you that Doe is selling her wedding presents?” Theodosia asked Haley as she stacked jars of DuBose Bees honey and Dundee’s Devonshire cream on the shelves.

  “It’s tacky,” agreed Haley. “And I’m beginning to suspect that Doe is a bit of a social climber. Why else would she have married someone so much older? I think Delaine was probably right about the money part.”

  Is Doe just an out-and-out fortune hunter? Theodosia wondered to herself. Is that the bottom line?

  Doe appeared harmless enough, more youthful than anything. A pretty young woman who had fallen in love with an older man. Then again, her husband had just been killed and, Oliver’s sons not withstanding, Doe stood squarely in line to inherit a good deal of his money. Which suggested she could also be regarded as a suspect.

  Theodosia had been turning the idea of attending Oliver Dixon’s funeral over in her head. She had pretty much made up her mind to go.

  Why not? she asked herself. Oliver Dixon had lived in the historic district, and that made him a neighbor. Going to his funeral would be a neighborly thing to do.

  And, of course, she’d been present at the time of Oliver Dixon’s demise. True, she’d merely played a walk-on role, but that was more than most folks had done that terrible afternoon in White Point Gardens.

  “Is this a good time?” Miss Dimple hovered in the doorway to Theodosia’s office. “I can come back a little later if you’d like. No problem.”

  “Oh, Miss Dimple,” said Theodosia, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “I really was lost in thought there for a moment. Come in.”

  “I brought you the spreadsheet for last month,” Miss Dimple said, smiling at Theodosia. “Things are looking fairly good, even with start-up costs on the Web site.”

  “Miss Dimple,” said Theodosia, a germ of an idea flickering in her brain, “you’re an accountant. Is there some way to run a check on a company’s finances without them finding out?”

  “We could run a D and B. You know, a Dun and Bradstreet.”

  “Is that fairly easy to do?”

  “I used to do it all the time for Mr. Dauphine. Now I understand it can be done even faster over the Internet.”

  “The Internet? Really?” Theodosia beamed. Here was territory she was familiar with. “Terrific suggestion. Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “HAVE YOU HEARD the news?” Delaine Dish swept through the front door of the tea shop and planted herself at a table with all the aplomb of a Romanoff grand duchess.

  “What news is that, Delaine?” Theodosia asked with a slightly resigned air. They had been frantically busy over lunch and had run out of sandwiches. Haley had bravely saved the day by whipping together a dozen fruit and cheese plates and tucking in mini stacks of water biscuits. Those fruit and cheese plates had seemed to do the trick for the folks who came in late, but Theodosia was still trying to catch her breath and wasn’t completely sure she could fully cope with Delaine and her accompanying histrionics today.

  “Remember that nasty man at the picnic?” asked Delaine. She whipped out a gold compact and lipstick. “Ford Cantrell?” Now she gave her lipstick a good twist and aimed it at her lips, confident she had everyone’s attention. “I heard he was taken in for questioning,” she murmured in an offhand manner as she held her mouth rigid and applied her signature pink.

  Dropping her makeup into her handbag, Delaine aimed a dazzling smile at Theodosia and Drayton. “Isn’t that something?” she asked, as though she were somehow acutely involved.

  “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised,” said Drayton. He grabbed a freshly made pot of tea, teacups, and what remained of his lunch, set it all down on Delaine’s table, then eased himself into a chair across from her. “Whew, after the busy lunch we had, I’m almost done in,” he declared. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Nonsense,” said Delaine. “You’re a man in his prime. Barely middle-aged.”

  “That’s right, Drayton’s planning to live to a hundred and twenty,” said Haley as she brushed past him.

  “Oh, shush,” said Delaine. “Don’t go getting Drayton all upset. I happen to know he’s got another birthday coming up.”

  “Don’t you have another birthday coming up, too, Delaine?” asked Haley.

  “Good heavens no,” she said. “That’s a long way off yet.” She eyed the fruit and cheese plate Drayton was picking at. “Do you have another one of those sweet little luncheon plates?” she asked Haley.

  “Sure,” Haley grinned. “Hang on.” And she scampered into the small kitchen to fix a plate for Delaine.

  “How did you hear about Ford Cantrell?” asked Theodosia.

  “Oh, honey, the news is all up and down Church Street. Monica Fischer told me this morning when she stopped by the shop. Then I ran into Dundy Baldwin on the street. Anyway, that Cantrell boy embarrassed us all at the picnic, picking an argument with Oliver Dixon and that handsome cousin of his.”

  “Do you know what they were arguing about?” asked Theodosia.

  “I don’t know,” said Delaine, waving a hand dismissively, “some silly thing. Fishing, I think. Did you know that Ford Cantrell’s great-uncle ran off with Oliver Dixon’s aunt a long time ago?” Delaine arched her eyebrows with disapproval. “People still talk about that.”

  “Do they really?” asked Drayton. “It’s been an awfully long time, and Charleston has had some rousing good scandals since then.”

  Delaine leaned forward in anticipation. “Has something else happened I should know about?”

  “One fruit and cheese plate, madam.” Haley placed a pink and white bone china plate piled with slices of Camembert, cheddar cheese, grapes, and apple slices in front of Delaine. “Oh, and I was checking E-mails before and printed out this stuff for you,” Haley continued. She thrust a handful of sheets at Theodosia. “I think they’re for you. Some kind of financial profile on Gr
apevine?” She gave Theodosia a questioning glance.

  “Grapevine?” piped up Delaine. “Isn’t that the company Oliver Dixon started? Whatever would you want with financial information? Are you planning a little merger and acquisition we don’t know about, Theodosia?”

  “Try this tea, Delaine,” offered Drayton. “It’s a lovely Darjeeling.”

  “Why, thank you, Drayton.” Delaine favored him with a dazzling smile as he carefully served her, then she speared a small piece of cheese on her plate and nibbled it delicately. “Oh, this Camembert is heavenly, simply melts in your mouth. I don’t even want to think about butterfat content!”

  “Theodosia, I am so sorry,” said Haley. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, and her face betrayed her anguish. “Mentioning that E-mail in front of Delaine like that . . . I just didn’t think!”

  “It’s not your fault. You were just trying to be helpful,” said Theodosia as she slid a stack of papers into her attaché case. She wasn’t pleased about the incident either, but what could she do? Haley was usually very careful and discreet. This had been a slipup. It was just too bad the slipup had occurred in front of Delaine Dish.

  On the other hand, Drayton had rushed in to distract Delaine by offering her a cup of Darjeeling. Maybe he had been successful. She’d just have to wait and see.

  “I feel like such a jerk,” said Haley.

  “Don’t,” said Theodosia. “It could’ve happened to any one of us.”

  “You really think so? No, you’re just saying that.”

  “Haley,” said Theodosia. “Enough. Don’t make yourself crazy over this.”

  “I was trying to save you some time by printing out E-mails, and I’d just been skimming this article,” replied Haley. She held up a section of the Charleston Post and Courier for Theodosia to see.

  “Which article is that?”

  “Well, it’s not really an article,” amended Haley. “It’s mostly photos from the picnic last Sunday. The Oliver Dixon thing has been in the forefront the last couple of days, so I guess the Post and Courier just now got around to covering the sailboat race. It’s more society gabbing than news. Who was there, what friends were visiting from out of town, that kind of thing.”