Pekoe Most Poison Page 8

  “You stopped at the farmer’s market,” Drayton said when he saw the armload of pink tulips that Theodosia had carried in.

  “I felt the need to brighten the atmosphere after all the doom and gloom of last night,” Theodosia told him.

  “Let me help you.” Drayton grabbed all three bunches of flowers and laid them gently on the counter. “I want to thank you again for coming to my rescue.”

  “No problem.”

  “Ah, but it was a problem. One you resolved rather handily.”

  “Did you think the Whitleys were somewhat strange?” she asked.

  “Strange in what way?” Drayton was assembling an assortment of colorful teapots and quilted tea cozies to carry them through the day. “Oh, you mean like it’s a little early to break out the seersucker?”

  “No, I meant like the Whitleys didn’t exactly seem like Doreen’s best buddies,” Theodosia said. “I had the feeling they might have bullied their way in last night.”

  “All I know is that they offered to come along for moral support.”

  “What’s interesting is that the Whitleys are trying to buy Doreen’s house.”

  Drayton frowned. “I didn’t know that. Seriously? Doreen never mentioned anything of that nature to me.”

  “Opal Anne told me all about it last night. Apparently the Whitleys are looking to expand their B and B empire. If they buy Doreen’s home, they’ll be kingpins in the Historic District. Or something like that.”

  “That sounds vaguely suspicious,” Drayton said.

  “Tell me about it,” Theodosia said. “The Whitleys were not only guests at the rat tea, they sat at the same table as Doreen and Beau.”

  “You’re giving me chills,” Drayton said. “It’s like another suspect suddenly materialized out of thin air.”

  “Two suspects. Working in tandem. Trying to get Doreen to sell her home.”

  “Do you think the police know about the Whitleys?”

  “Are you kidding?” Theodosia said. “We didn’t even know about the Whitleys until last night.”

  • • •

  While Drayton busied himself fixing tea—orchid plum and vanilla chai to start the day with—Theodosia pulled her Shelley Chintz teacups out of the cupboard.

  “Fancy,” Drayton said. “Are you expecting someone special?”

  “All our guests are special,” Theodosia said, smiling.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “I’m going to check in with Haley,” Theodosia said. “Then grab the crystal vases from my office. Can you finish up out here?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Haley?” Theodosia said. “Are you in here?” She waved a hand in front of her face as she stepped into the kitchen. “It’s so steamy I can barely see you.”

  “That’s because I’m making lentil soup,” Haley said. “I was going to do bone broth, but I figured that would scare everybody off.”

  “You figured right. Let’s leave the trendy food to the trendsetting restaurants.”

  Haley flashed a crooked grin. “And you don’t think we are? Trendsetting, I mean?”

  “I think we were out there on the front lines of the comfort food revolution,” Theodosia said. “Serving the kind of sweets and savories that make people feel all happy and warm.”

  “Then you’re going to love today’s menu.”

  “Okay.”

  “Raisin scones, cranberry bread, and banana muffins.”

  “And for lunch?”

  “Citrus salad, lentil soup, mushroom quiche, and strawberry cream cheese tea sandwiches. With apple nut squares and peanut butter cookies for dessert.” A bell dinged on the stove and Haley bent to grab a pan of banana muffins. “What do you think?”

  “I feel lulled into oblivion already. I’m ready to grab my blanket and take a nap.”

  • • •

  Back out in the tea room, a few customers drifted in for early-morning tea. Theodosia delivered pots of steaming hot tea and fresh-baked scones to their tables, as well as small glass bowls in the shape of dainty slippers that were filled with Devonshire cream.

  When she stepped behind the counter to grab some fresh-cut lemon slices, Drayton said, “Let me ask you something. Why would somebody want Beau dead? Let’s think about that for a minute.”

  “I once read a newspaper piece . . . or maybe I saw it on the Internet . . . about criminal motive,” Theodosia said. “Anyway, according to this CIA expert, there are three main motives that lead to a major crime.”

  Drayton lifted an eyebrow. “And what would those be?”

  “Revenge, political ideology, and financial gain.”

  “Beau Briggs wasn’t exactly a political animal, so it either has to be revenge or financial gain.”

  “Do you think there’s a last will and testament floating around somewhere?” Theodosia wondered. “You know that old saw—where there’s a will, there’s a relative.”

  “I asked Doreen about that,” Drayton said. “She told me that she inherits everything.”

  “That’s because she owns everything,” Theodosia said. “She probably purchased the Calhoun Mansion herself. And we know she controlled the purse strings—or tried to anyway. So it stands to reason she would be the major beneficiary.”

  “So nobody stands to gain from Beau’s murder.”

  “I didn’t say that. The way I see it right now, several people stand to gain.” Theodosia ticked them off on her fingertips. “Doreen gets rid of a severe drain on her financial resources . . .”

  Drayton grimaced. “I knew you were going to say that. Who else?”

  “The business partner, Reggie Huston, if Opal Anne is to be believed. With Beau gone he probably plans to take over the running of the spa all by himself.”

  “Okay.”

  “And now the Whitleys have entered the picture.”

  “Because now that she’s a widow, Doreen might not want to rattle around all by herself in a big old house.”

  “Exactly,” Theodosia said.

  “Moving on to revenge,” Drayton said. “Do you think someone might have been trying to get back at Beau?”

  “If someone was angry with him, it would have to be over something major. A huge personal or financial reason. Doreen hasn’t mentioned anything like that.” Theodosia tapped a finger against the counter. “Then again, she may not know anything.”

  “She’s coming in today. We can quiz her.”

  “Wait,” Theodosia said. “Doreen’s coming here?”

  “She called bright and early, right before you arrived. Wanted to thank us for all our good help last night, said she was bringing in that list you wanted.”

  “How’d she sound?” Theodosia asked.

  “Amazingly rational.”

  “Glory be.”

  • • •

  As Tuesday morning turned into a whirlwind of customers and phone calls, Theodosia’s brain continued to tick along, too. In between packaging up bags of scones for takeout and writing down luncheon reservations, she said, “My brain keeps circling back to the rats, Drayton. You know, the costumed waiters from the catering company.”

  “Crispin’s Catering,” Drayton said. That’s the outfit Doreen used. She told me so last night.”

  “When the waiters were lined up for their talk with the detectives, there was that one guy that looked like he was about ready to cry.”

  “The young man with the spiky blond hair?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You think he was involved?” Drayton asked.

  “Not exactly. I’m fairly positive the police checked him out and then released him. But what if he saw something and was just too afraid to talk?” Theodosia thought for a few moments. “I’ve got to stop by the catering company and find out exactly who was working that
day.”

  “You’re planning to visit soon? Their storefront’s just over on East Bay Street, you know.”

  “You know what?” Theodosia glanced at her watch. “I’m going to try and duck out in twenty minutes or so and then be back in plenty of time for lunch.”

  • • •

  More customers streamed in, and along with them came Delaine Dish. Delaine was a tea aficionado, local busybody, and proprietor of Cotton Duck Boutique.

  “Theo,” Delaine said in her trademark purr, “I just received a shipment of the most sublime silk dresses. There’s one, a mint-green fit and flare, that would go spectacularly well with your auburn hair.”

  Theodosia posed next to Delaine’s table. “I’m not sure I’m a dress person.” She really preferred tailored slacks paired with fun T-shirts, clothes that let her dash more freely about the tea room.

  But Delaine rarely took no for an answer. “You have to at least try a few on, dear. I mean, seriously, men really do prefer women in dresses.” She took a delicate sip of tea and threw Theodosia an arch look. A look Theodosia knew was aimed at her single status. “Oh, and what did I hear about you attending that disastrous tea on Saturday?” Delaine blotted her lips. “Must have been awful.”

  “It was awful,” Theodosia said. “Not the tea, but the outcome.”

  “And poor Doreen Briggs tried to make it so much fun. My friend Yvonne Cataldo was at the tea, and she said the rat waiters were a hoot and the centerpieces were to die for.”

  “She wasn’t that far off,” Theodosia said. “The centerpiece at the head table caught fire and then poor Beau Briggs collapsed a few minutes later.”

  “Mmm, but not because of the centerpiece.” Delaine pulled out a mirror and checked her lipstick.

  “No. It looks as though someone injected him with a fast-acting poison.”

  Now Delaine was blithely fluffing her hair. Theodosia’s revelation about the poison had rocketed right over her head. Pfffft.

  “Did you happen to catch the name of the florist?” Delaine asked.

  “Afraid not.” Theodosia was miffed that Delaine wasn’t more upset by Beau’s untimely death. “But I’ll tell you what. There’s a woman by the name of Starla Crane who helped Doreen with all the arrangements. I bet she’d have the florist’s name and number tucked away in her hot little Rolodex. She owns a PR firm called the Image Factory.”

  “I’ll give her a call.”

  Theodosia smiled to herself. “Good luck with that.”

  “Oh, and be sure to put me down for your Candlelight Tea this Friday night,” Delaine said.

  “I was under the impression you couldn’t make it.”

  “Of course I’ll be there,” Delaine said. “And with a date. Honestly, Theo, you know I positively adore all your special event teas and want to support you as much as I can.” Her mouth pulled into a cagey smile. “I just hope you’re coming to my next event.”

  “Excuse me?” Theodosia said. What event? What am I missing here? Was there an invitation that I totally blocked out?

  “The cat show.” Delaine turned in her chair, her green eyes glittering. “Please don’t tell me you forgot about the Carolina Cat Show?”

  “Delaine . . .” Theodosia was practically speechless. “I don’t have a cat, I have a dog. Remember?”

  Delaine shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I have two cats, and I’m the chairwoman of the entire event. Which means you have to come.”

  • • •

  Crispin’s Catering was a brand-new catering company located on East Bay Street, close to the Cooper River. After her go-round with Delaine, Theodosia was happy to be outside and breathing sips of fresh air. Honestly, Delaine could be the most high-handed, dictatorial person she’d ever known. Of course, she was also a social powerhouse who, over the years, had raised millions of dollars for charity. So you always had to walk a fine line.

  Crispin’s Catering was a storefront operation with bouncy red lettering that stretched across their front window (CRISPIN’S CATERING—MACARONS AND OPERA CAKES OUR SPECIALTY) and a cheery yellow awning. As she stepped inside, Theodosia was pleasantly surprised to find that Crispin’s was also a full-service bakery. The small shop featured a large glass case that contained croissants, a rainbow of macarons, berry tarts, brioche, and a fabulous assortment of opera cakes.

  “May I help you?” said the smiling young woman behind the counter.

  “Would it be possible to speak with your owner?” Theodosia touched a hand to her chest. “I’m Theodosia Browning. I own the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.”

  Two minutes later, the owner came hustling out, obviously eager to win over a potential customer for his commercial baked goods.

  “I’m Bobby Ware,” the man said, introducing himself. “If you’re looking for a good bakery or a catering company to help with special events at your tea shop, I’d love to sit down and talk. We can handle cakes, scones, muffins, brownie bites, even tea sandwiches.”

  “I’m on a kind of fact-finding mission right now,” Theodosia said.

  Ware’s smile slipped a bit. “Oh?”

  “I was a guest at Doreen Briggs’s rat tea this past Saturday.”

  Now his enthusiasm hit rock bottom. “Oh.”

  “I’ve been looking into a few things for Doreen.” Before Ware asked her for some bona fides, Theodosia quickly added, “I’m particularly interested in the employees you sent over to work as waiters.”

  Ware shook his head. “The police were already here asking me about them. And they’re not full-time employees, they’re basically part-timers. Freelancers.” He shrugged. “Though I guess they still have to run a check on them.”

  “And that’s something you do, too, am I right? Run an employment check before you send people out on a catering job?”

  “Oh sure,” Ware said.

  “And did the waiters you sent over to the rat tea check out okay?”

  Ware shrugged. “You’re always gonna find some minor issues here and there. A DWI or something like that. My waiters didn’t have any biggies, though. They were okay guys.”

  “There was one young man who worked as a server at the rat tea,” Theodosia said. “The guy with the spiked blond hair?”

  “I know who you mean,” Ware said. “Yeah, he’s an okay server.”

  “Just okay?”

  “That’s right. Some of our guys are wonderful. They really thrive in that kind of white-glove environment. Some of them are just okay.”

  “Would you be able to give me the names of the servers who worked at the rat tea?”

  Ware shook his head. “I can’t do that. It’s against company policy. Besides, the police asked me to keep quiet.” He looked a little unsettled. “I guess because it’s still an unsolved murder.”

  “I completely understand,” Theodosia said. “But maybe I could ask you a few questions about the costumes?”

  “The costumes don’t belong to us. They were rented. In fact, the woman who arranged the catering . . .”

  “Doreen Briggs?” Theodosia said.

  Ware shook his head again. “No, it was some snippy PR gal.”

  “Starla Crane?”

  Bobby Ware snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That’s it. She was the one who rented the rat costumes and messengered them over here the morning of the tea. So the waiters could get all gussied up in their coats and ties and crazy rat heads.”

  “Do you know where those costumes came from?”

  Ware thought for a minute. “Seems to me I remember seeing a black plastic bag that said something like Big Top Costumes. Or maybe it was Big Time. I’m not entirely sure.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Theodosia said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  “Oh, there’s one more thing . . .”

  �
��Yeah?”

  “Can I get two of those opera cakes? The chocolate ones, please.”

  Two minutes later, Theodosia was out the door and balancing two white bakery boxes, hoping that a piece of the puzzle might be starting to slip into place.

  11

  “You have a guest,” Drayton said as Theodosia came flying through the front door of the Indigo Tea Shop.

  “What?” She gently set her cake boxes down on the counter. “Who?”

  Drayton inclined his head. “Detective Blue Eyes. Sitting over there in the corner.” He glanced over quickly. “Don’t look now, but he’s sitting up straight and smiling at you as if you’re a tasty little bonbon.”

  Theodosia did a kind of double take. “Oh my.” She hadn’t been expecting Detective Riley to show up. Then again, she wasn’t averse to his presence, either.

  “Tell you what,” Drayton said. “You can take him this pot of Japanese sencha as a lovely icebreaker. We already gave him a couple of scones.” He lowered his voice. “Your detective ripped through the first one without taking a single breath.”

  If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, then how do I get inside his head? Theodosia wondered.

  But Theodosia smiled prettily as she set the pot of tea on the table and slipped into the chair opposite Detective Riley.

  “I see you found your way here,” she said.

  “It wasn’t difficult. I just followed a trail of scone crumbs.” Riley was dressed in a tweedy jacket and blue jeans and looked more like a college English professor than a homicide detective. She also noticed that his brown hair had a few threads of silver at the temples, which gave him a nicely seasoned look.

  “Let me pour you some of this tea.” Theodosia lifted the red Chinese teapot and poured out a cup of tea for Detective Riley. It was fragrant and sweet, carrying just a hint of herbs.

  “Am I supposed to add sugar to this?” Riley asked.

  “You do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

  “Mostly I’m just trying to be proper. To do the right thing and not look like a blundering tea-drinking amateur.”

  “I’d say you’re fine as is. This is one of Drayton’s favorite Kyoto Estate green teas. I think you’ll find it sweet enough.” Theodosia paused. “What brings you in today? Besides our tea and scones?”