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  “What?” said Theodosia. She knew something was brewing behind the girl’s furrowed brow. She beckoned to Haley. “Come.”

  Haley stepped closer to Theodosia’s desk. “It’s Bethany,” she said, her face flushed pink with embarrassment. “Without her job, with nothing to do, she’s . . .” Haley left her sentence unfinished, dropped her head shyly.

  “What if . . .” said Theodosia slowly, “what if Bethany came and helped out for a while? Poor Drayton’s going to be awfully busy supervising the blending of the holiday teas. You’ll have extra baking to do...” Theodosia looked at Haley as though the thought had just occurred to her. “Do you think Bethany would come back and lend a hand in the tea shop again? Of course, you’ll have to give her a refresher course in brewing tea. And that old cash register is a bear to use—”

  Haley’s face broke into a wide grin. “It’s not a problem. She can do it, I know she can. But are you sure that...?”

  “Am I sure we need help?” Theodosia threw her arms up in mock despair. “Thanksgiving is three weeks away, and Christmas and New Year’s will be upon us in no time.” She placed her palm on her chest. “I still haven’t gone out and found those extra sweetgrass baskets. And the Web site . . . Well, the delay on that project is decidedly my fault. I haven’t made the necessary decisions on graphics and Web architecture. Yes, Haley. To answer your question, I’m sure, in a matter of days, we’ll be swamped!”

  Chapter 18

  Theodosia pulled the head off the ceramic Scooby-Doo cookie jar and measured out two cups of dried kibbles for Earl Grey. She poured it into his metal dish, topped it with a tablespoon of olive oil for his coat, and set it down on the yellow rug next to his water dish.

  Earl Grey responded as he always did. He gave Theodosia a look that somehow conveyed his doggy thank you, then went facedown into his dinner.

  Theodosia did not go facedown. Rather, she stood in front of the open refrigerator, pondering supper. An oatmeal and raisin cookie, eaten at four o’clock, had left her relatively satisfied. Still, if she didn’t eat now, she’d be hungry later on.

  She stuck her head farther inside the refrigerator, investigating. There was some leftover pasta, a couple pieces of cold chicken, fresh hamburger. Nope, nothing tripped her trigger yet. She knew the freezer compartment contained lamb chops and maybe some frozen shrimp that could be quickly steamed and put on top of rice.

  No, she thought, that would be fussy, and fussy was the last thing she needed right now. Now that decisions had been made regarding holiday teas, the conversation she’d had with Delaine earlier in the afternoon came back in her mind. Delaine was a dear, gentle soul who had shockingly good taste when it came to merchandising her clothing store, Cotton Duck. But Delaine also thrived on gossip and excitement and didn’t always get her facts straight.

  Theodosia pulled a small carton of cottage cheese from the refrigerator shelf. She dumped half of it onto a plate and grabbed a fork from the drawer and two bagel crisps from a glass jar on the counter.

  Wandering into her living room, she eased herself down onto the couch, suddenly feeling a wave of relaxation flow over her. It was this apartment that ultimately contributed to her happiness and sense of well-being. Though small, it contained all the essential elements for a proper and genteel Charleston home. Fireplace, cove ceilings, bow windows, tiny balcony, French doors leading to a small but elegant dining room, and a cozy bedroom with a surprisingly ample closet for her many clothes.

  She had decorated the place in what had become her own brand of Charleston shabby chic. The philosophy behind shabby chic appealed to her. It held that an item had to be both beautiful and functional. So that was what she strove for. Elegance married with practicality. It was a concept that worked well with the antique furniture and accessories she’d always been so passionate about, and which were easy to come by in Charleston antique shops and flea markets. Charleston was the mother lode when it came to English furniture, vintage fabrics, antique chandeliers, old prints, and silverware.

  Aunt Libby had been amazingly generous, too, in helping to furnish her cozy abode, gifting her with a lawyer’s bookcase, rocking chair, oriental rug, silver tea service, antique quilt, and some terrific old oil paintings. The paintings were dark, brooding seascapes in wonderfully ornate, gilded frames. Everyone who saw them tried to buy them from her.

  Before she’d purchased the Indigo Tea Shop, she had lived in a sleek, modern building. Lots of squared-off angles, floor-to-ceiling windows, black countertops, white walls. Very contemporary, very boring.

  This was infinitely better.

  Theodosia finished her cottage cheese and offered Earl Grey the last morsel of bagel crisp. He chewed thoughtfully, gazing at her with brown, intelligent eyes.

  “Want to go for a ride?” she asked him. Earl Grey’s ears pricked forward, and his tail beat a syncopated rhythm on the pegged floor boards.

  King Street, between Beaufain and Queen Streets, is often referred to as Charleston’s antiques district. Here antiques aficionados will discover such shops as English Patina, with their fine collection of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century furniture, Perry’s Estate Jewelry, and Helen

  S. Martin Antique Weapons. Down a narrow walkway at 190 King Street is Gates of Charleston, an eclectic little garden shop with wrought-iron planters, statuary, and quirky sundials.

  It was 208 King Street that Theodosia was searching for as she cruised the picturesque street with its palm trees, white turreted buildings, and black wrought-iron touches. Since it was early evening, traffic was light, and she was able to drive slowly, scanning the numbers above the tall, narrow doorways as Earl Grey sat serenely in the passenger seat of the Jeep Cherokee.

  208 King Street was where Griffon Antiques was located. The Griffon Antiques where Cordette Jordan had supposedly overheard an argument between Hughes Barron and his partner, Lleveret Dante, of Goose Creek Holdings. Of course, Jory Davis had told her that the two partners had their office at 415 Harper Street.

  Okay, Theodosia told herself, in about two minutes we’re going to find out exactly who was right.

  She saw the sign for Griffon Antiques even before she could read the street address. A large, ornate, wooden sign with a griffon, that strange mythical eagle-cum-lion, painted in gold and black, hung out over the sidewalk from what appeared to be a four-story building. Theodosia took her foot off the accelerator, let the Jeep glide over to the curb, and studied the shop.

  The large front windows were filled with English and French antique furniture. All genuine pieces, no reproductions. A hand-lettered sign hanging in the glass door said Sorry We Missed You, Please Return Tomorrow.

  There was no Harper Street nearby. In fact, she wasn’t even familiar with Harper Street. To the best of her knowledge, the next street up was Market Street. Sure, that had to be the sign for Market Street just ahead. Without bothering to pull into traffic, Theodosia eased the Jeep along the curb, up to the corner. She gazed up at the street sign.

  It read Harper Street!

  What?

  She checked for traffic, then took the Jeep into a slow right turn. She found Harper Street wasn’t really a street at all, just a narrow lane that seemed to lead to a small garden. She could venture in with the Jeep maybe twenty feet, then she’d have to back out.

  Well, wasn’t this interesting. There really was a Harper Street. And the reason it didn’t sound at all familiar was because it wasn’t really a through street. Harper Street was one of the myriad little lanes that snaked through the historic district and the antiques district, lanes that often didn’t have names. Sometimes they were private and therefore not on official city maps. They could have their names changed at the whim of the property owner. These streets had probably been little passages that led to carriage houses at one time. Now they appeared on tourist walking guides that gift shops and B and Bs handed out.

  “Sit tight,” she told Earl Grey as she hopped out of the Jeep. Rounded cobblestones poked at the s
oft leather soles of her Todd loafers as she ambled down the little lane toward an arched doorway flanked by a pair of stone lions. She stopped in her tracks and looked up. Over the arched doorway was a sign that read Hayward Professional Building, 415 Harper.

  A tingle of excitement ignited within her. So 208 King Street and 415 Harper were one and the same! The city might not be aware of it, but, knowing the tangled bureaucracy that ministered over Charleston, chances were the postal service did. That meant that the offices of Goose Creek Holdings were here, after all. And that maybe, just maybe, Delaine’s secondhand story had been correct!

  Chapter 19

  There were two Jory Davises listed in the phone book, but one lived over in West Ashley. So Theodosia figured the one she wanted had to be the one on Halsey, near the marina. Anyway, it certainly sounded like an area where the Jory Davis she’d spoken with this morning might reside.

  “Hello?”

  Same voice, same Jory Davis. Theodosia breathed a quick sigh of relief. “Mr. Davis? Hello, this is Theodosia Browning. Sorry to bother you at home, but you were so helpful this morning, and I have just a quick question for you.”

  “Uh-huh,” said the voice, sounding slightly discombobulated and not at all the calm, efficient, buttoned-up lawyer he’d come across as earlier.

  “I know this is out of the blue, but does buying-selling mean anything to you?” Theodosia asked.

  There was a loud clunk on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Davis? Are you all right?”

  In a moment, Jory Davis was back on the line. “Sorry, I dropped the phone. I’m in the kitchen trying to whip together a vinaigrette. I know it sounds kind of dorky, but I’ve got this bachelor’s group coming to my place tonight. Four of us, all lawyers, who get together once a month for dinner. Kind of a boy’s night out. Two of the fellows are divorced, so this is probably the only decent meal they get for a while. Anyway, long story short, tonight’s my turn, and I’m hysterical. I was stuck at the office writing a legal brief until almost six-thirty, and now I’m halfway through this recipe and just found out I don’t have any prepared English mustard. So, my question to you is this: Can I use plain old yellow mustard? Hot dog mustard?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Theodosia as she thought to herself, Bachelor’s group. Interesting.

  “And chives. It doesn’t look good in the chives department, either. Problem?”

  “Maybe you could pinch hit with a flavored olive oil. That would give your vinaigrette a little extra snap.”

  “Flavored olive oil,” he muttered. “Yeah, I got some of that. Basil, I think. Awright, we’re good to go.”

  Now there was the sound of a wire whisk swooshing against the sides of a glass bowl.

  “What did you want to know about a buy-sell?” Jory Davis asked.

  Theodosia inhaled sharply.

  “Miss Browning?” said Jory. “You still there?”

  “That’s it!” exclaimed Theodosia. “A buy-sell. It’s a kind of agreement, right?”

  “A buy-sell agreement, correct,” said Jory Davis matter-of-factly.

  “Two partners would have this type of agreement?”

  “They should. Although many don’t plan ahead all that well.”

  “And one partner might want to rescind at some point in time?”

  “Sure, it happens. But I still don’t see where you’re going.”

  “I didn’t either,” said Theodosia. “But I think I just arrived there anyway. Mr. Davis, thank you! Good luck with your dinner.”

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “Oh,” said Theodosia, “you’re still bringing those papers by, right?”

  Chapter 20

  “Keeman,” said Haley, her hand resting on a glass jar filled with small black leaves. “From Anhui province in central China. See the leaves? Tiny but powerful. They yield a brilliant red liquor. Slightly sweet, so you don’t need sugar. Gives off a delicious aroma, reminiscent of ripe orchids.”

  Bethany nodded. She’d shown up bright and early, eager to learn, ready to be put to work. Now she stood behind the counter, hair wound atop her head in a casual knot, small, oval, wire-rim glasses perched on her nose, looking every inch the career-minded young woman.

  Haley pointed to another jar. “This one’s Dimbulla from Ceylon. Also brews into a bright reddish, amber color. But it doesn’t have quite the wake-up punch of the other, so we generally recommend it for midmorning or with afternoon snacks.”

  “Tea shop 101?” asked Theodosia as she breezed in and smiled at the two girls who looked like elegant butterflies, dressed almost alike in colorful cotton sweaters and long, gauzy, print skirts. She was pleased to see that silver teakettles had been filled with water and were beginning to steam atop their burners, fresh linens and silverware had been laid out, and all the tables sported freshly mounded sugar bowls and pitchers of cream.

  Bethany pulled off her glasses and turned to Theodosia with merriment in her eyes. “It’s all so fascinating. But complicated, too. And I still can’t believe how many varieties of tea there are. Assam, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Sencha, gunpowder, the list goes on and on. It’s amazing! Plus, the tea is literally from every corner of the globe. China, Ceylon, India, Nepal, Japan, even Africa.”

  “Don’t forget Turkey, Indonesia, and Russia. And, of course, our own wonderful South Carolina tea from the Charleston Tea Plantation,” added Theodosia. “Their American Classic tea is a luxurious black tea that’s descended from the original tea plants brought to America after the Revolutionary War.”

  “You’re right!” exclaimed Bethany. “But I think Chinese teas are my hands down favorites because of their names. How quirky and creative to name a tea White Peony or Precious Eyebrows. Or even Temple of Heaven!”

  “The Chinese have always had a profound and enduring passion for tea,” declared Drayton as he arrived and caught the tail end of Bethany’s remarks. “Good morning, good morning all.” He bowed deeply to Haley and Bethany. “I hope our new apprentice is appropriately memorizing all our precious loose teas. Perhaps we shall plan a pop quiz for this afternoon.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Bethany said grinning. She turned toward Theodosia and lowered her voice slightly. “I can’t thank you enough for having me here.” Her brow furrowed, and her eyes suddenly glistened. “You don’t know what it’s been like.” Bethany shook her head in confusion. “First everyone at the Heritage Society was so nice to me. It seemed like a perfect position. Then Mr. Neville . . .” Her throat constricted, and she was unable to finish for a few moments. “You just don’t know,” she managed to choke out.

  “Perhaps I do,” said Theodosia, patting her arm gently. “But keep in mind the Chinese proverb: ‘There is no wave without wind.’”

  “That’s lovely,” said Bethany. She gazed at Theodosia with something akin to hero worship. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you? You’re very confident about making your place in the world.”

  “Sometimes I think the hard part is finding your place,” said Theodosia as the bell over the front door tinkled merrily. “Now, why don’t you put an apron on.... That’s right.” She smiled encouragingly at Bethany. “That white linen is lovely against your apricot sweater....Go wait on our first customers.”

  Enthused, Bethany fairly scampered across the room.

  “It’s good to see Bethany with a smile on her face,” said Drayton.

  “Can you keep an eye on her?” asked Theodosia. “Give her a subtle assist if she gets stuck?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” said Drayton. “I’ve got a group from the Christie Inn coming in for a tea tasting at ten, but until then, I shall kibbitz to my heart’s content.”

  Theodosia retreated to her back office, plopped herself down in her swivel chair, and gazed at the catastrophe that was her desktop.

  While she had been out and about, getting dressed down by Timothy Neville, snooping at Edgewater Estates, and cruising King Street for a fix on Goose Creek Holding
s, life had gone on. Mail had arrived. Messages had piled up. The Web site story boards she was supposed to make a decision on still sat staring up at her. And, of course, there were bills to be paid, paychecks to be written, overseas orders to be untangled.

  But there was something else that took precedence, that had to be done. Let’s see... Oh, yes! She had to phone Tanner Joseph.

  After greeting him on the phone, Theodosia launched directly into her proposal. “I have what could be an intriguing project,” she told him.

  Tanner Joseph’s voice conveyed both amusement and interest. “I’m already on the edge of my chair.”

  “I need some labels for small canisters of holiday tea that will be for sale in my shop. Your drawings came to mind. They’re very good.”

  There was a long pause. “You really think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And you’re serious? This isn’t just a crank call?” Tanner Joseph laughed. “You’re actually asking if I want to design your tea labels?”

  “Yes, but only if you have time. Unfortunately, we’re in kind of a hurry-up mode. I’d need to get a finished product from you relatively fast.”

  “What’s your idea of fast?”

  “First we meet,” said Theodosia. “I fill you in on the project, share a few ideas. If you agree to do the illustrations, then you have maybe three or four working days to do a few pencils. You know, black-and-white sketches. We meet again to go over them. If I like what I see, you proceed to color illustrations. You’d have another few days for that.”

  “You’re on.” Tanner Joseph fairly lunged at the offer. “Hey, I’m really flattered. For a guy with a degree in ecology, which is actually a very left-brain kind of thing, this is a dream come true. But, Miss Browning, I should come to your place. Your tea shop. Get a feel for what it’s all about, what your customers might expect.”

  “How about this afternoon, say three o’clock?”

  “Perfect,” agreed Tanner Joseph.