Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13 Read online

  “That’s kind of you,” said Theodosia, knowing that, for her, closure was one of those concepts that didn’t really work. When it came to death, Theodosia held firmly that there was no such thing as closure. There was a sense of great finality, certainly. But not closure. Never closure. Only lingering memory…and pain that was gently assuaged by time.

  “And there’s food, too,” Delaine added brightly.

  After a quick walk across her backyard, Theodosia found herself ushered into Dougan Granville’s innersanctum—in this case, an expansive living room hung with enormous oil paintings in Baroque frames and dominated at one end by a Hepplewhite sideboard. At the other end of the room a dozen people mingled and chatted across a gigantic Sheraton table laden with food.

  “Just make yourself at home,” said Delaine.

  But this was unlike any home Theodosia had visited before, except for Timothy Neville’s palatial manor. Granville’s living room had been built on a grand scale and furnished with precious antiques, fine furniture, and silk Oriental carpets. Theodosia had always known her neighbor was a successful attorney; she just hadn’t realized how successful.

  “Glad you could make it,” Dougan Granville said, coming up to greet her. He was tall and beefy and wore his arrogance like a bespoke suit. One of his beloved Cohiba cigars peeked from the pocket of his finely tailored jacket. Knowing Granville’s penchant for Cuban cigars, Theodosia figured the man couldn’t wait to duck out of this meeting, kick back on his patio, and puff away.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” Theodosia told him. “And, I have to say, I adore this room.”

  Granville looked oddly pleased. “Decorators,” he said. “They always seem to know what works. If it were up to me I probably would have stuck in some white plastic lawn furniture.”

  Somehow I doubt that.

  “Who was your decorator?” Theodosia asked, trying to be polite.

  “Those two gals from Popple Hill,” said Granville.

  “Marianne Petigru and Hillary Retton,” said Theodosia. They were two firecrackers who handled all the society andbig-buck clients.

  “Oh, you know them?” Granville grunted. “They do your place, too?”

  “We’re fairly well acquainted,” said Theodosia. She knew them but certainly couldn’t afford to hire Charleston’s elite decorators!

  “Theo,” said Delaine, interrupting them. “I’d like you to meet David Sedakis, the executive director of the Neptune Aquarium.” She reached back, grabbed Sedakis’s arm, and pulled him into their circle.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Theodosia, shaking hands with Sedakis. He was tall, thin, and slightly balding with a hawkish nose. He also looked unhappy about being introduced to Theodosia.

  “I’ll let you two chat for a while,” Delaine murmured as she eased Granville away.

  “You were the one who…” were Sedakis’s first words.

  “Found him,” finished Theodosia.

  Sedakis made an appropriately emotive expression. “I understand you two had been good friends.”

  “Something like that,” said Theodosia.

  “A terrible accident,” said Sedakis. “You’ll be relieved to know we’ve taken incredible steps to ensure nothing like that ever happens again.”

  “You mean murder?”

  Sedakis’s mouth twitched to one side and his face suddenly became a thundercloud. “You don’t know that,” he hissed.

  “But I do,” said Theodosia. “Have you spoken to Detective Tidwell recently? Or the medical examiner?”

  “Excuse me,” said Sedakis. He turned abruptly and walked away.

  Butsharp-eyed Delaine had caught their exchange and quickly came scuttling over.

  “What did you say to him?” she demanded in ahigh-pitched whisper.

  “Your Mr. Sedakis seems to be under the impression that Parker’s death was an accident.”

  “Well, wasn’t it?” said Delaine.

  “Highly doubtful,” said Theodosia.

  Now Delaine’s face bunched in disapproval. “Really, Theo, I invited you over here tonight because I thought it might afford you some comfort.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled with tears and she looked like she was about to cry. “So do you think you could please try to just…get along?”

  “You don’t want me to rock the boat,” said Theodosia, wondering if Delaine’s tears were real or just crocodile tears. Of course Delaine didn’t want Theodosia to mention Parker’s death. Delaine wanted the evening to be nice and polite and social and tidy.

  Delaine looked suddenly hopeful. “That’s right, dear!” She grasped Theodosia’s hand. “Please don’t rock the boat. Just…be simpatico. In fact, why don’t you help yourself to some food. We’re going to begin the meeting in a few minutes, and I think ingesting a little protein might do you a world of good.” Delaine was always a huge proponent of eating protein. Low carbs, high protein.

  Theodosia shrugged. “Sure, Delaine. Why not?” What could it hurt?

  But Delaine wasn’t finished. “I know you’re terribly upset by Parker’s passing, Theo, but flinging accusations or being rude to people isn’t going to bring him back.”

  Good point, thought Theodosia. But you never know when it’ll flush out a suspect or two.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Theodosia. “I promise I’ll fly under the radar from here on.” And keep my eyes and ears open during this meeting.

  Delaine patted her hand. “That’s a good girl.” She smiled, glanced around, and the smile died on her face. “Oh no,” she said in a low moan.

  “What?” said Theodosia.

  “You see that skanky blonde over there?” She nodded toward a tall, willowy blonde who’d just sidled up to Dougan Granville. “It’s that awful Simone Asher.” Delaine gritted her teeth. “Dougan used to date her.”

  “The operative words being used to,” said Theodosia. “Now he’s dating you.”

  But Delaine had hit the panic button and was on full alert. “You never know,” she hissed, “one of these women could easily sneak back into his life!” She gave a little shimmy and said, “Looks like I need to stage a radical intervention.” She waved a hand and called to Granville, “Oh, turtledove…”

  While Delaine galloped toward Granville, Theodosia sidled up to the buffet table. Grabbing a white china plate, she decided this spread was a whole lot more interesting than the soup she’d been planning to eat. Here were oysters on the half shell, a bowl of plump pink shrimp, slices of rare roast beef, a citrus salad, and a large silver chafing dish filled with what appeared to be steaming seafood risotto. Delicious!

  “Be sure to try those oysters,” said a man standing across from her.

  Theodosia glanced up. “Excuse me?”

  “They’re first-rate,” he told her. Then he grinned and added, “I should know, I brought them.”

  “Really,” said Theodosia, smiling. “And you are… ?”

  “Buddy Krebs,” said the man. He was stocky, with a shock of white hair and a weathered, ruddy complexion that looked as if he’d spent a lifetime in the outdoors. “Krebs and Company Seafood. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

  “I sure have,” said Theodosia. She’d seen their trucks all over town. “Nice to meet you. And I will help myself to a couple of your lovely oysters.”

  “Are you a purist or do you take ’em with hot sauce?” Krebs asked. He winked, then said, “Just a straw poll I like to take. On consumer preference.”

  “I’m pretty much a purist,” Theodosia told him, placing three oysters on her plate. “Although sometimes I enjoy a squirt of lemon juice.”

  “Got no problem with that,” said Krebs.

  “Are you one of the board members?” Theodosia asked.

  “That’s right,” said Krebs, helping himself to several large spoonfuls of risotto.

  “Excuse me for saying this,” said Theodosia, “but it seems a little strange that a seafood purveyor would sit on the board of directors of an aquarium.”

  Kre
bs let loose agood-natured laugh. “I can see where you might say that, but I think of myself as a kind of watchdog, too.”

  “How’s that?” asked Theodosia, deciding she needed a couple of shrimp as well.

  “An aquarium is all about education,” Krebs explained, “and one of my personal missions is to help teach people about sustainable seafood.”

  “We were just talking about that the other day,” said Theodosia. Drayton and I were, right before I found Parker. Only he wasn’t so sustainable. She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you,” she told Krebs.

  “That’s true,” he said, “but any kind of ecology movement doesn’t happen right away. Takes time to gain inroads.”

  “That’s really the question, isn’t it?” said Theodosia. “Is there time? For our oceans, I mean.”

  “I sincerely hope so,” said Krebs, looking thoughtful, “if people wake up and smell the sea breeze.”

  “Well put,” said Theodosia. She found Krebs to be quietly thoughtful and a little charming. Which made her feel better about local seafood producers in general. And, truth be told, feel a little better about the Neptune Aquarium.

  Those good feelings lasted for about ten minutes. Because once the board members pulled themselves into a circle and had a quick discussion about finances, they moved on to public relations. In other words, damage control.

  “We need to downplay this recent accident,” Sedakis told them. He sat in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, surveying the group. “And push ourgrand-opening events and activities. Exciting events like our reef experience, petting pond, and family day.”

  “Rather than downplay the accident,” said Granville, “why don’t you talk about how you’ve instituted new safety measures?”

  “We really don’t want to do that,” said Sedakis. “Any time you talk safety, it leaves you open to watchdog groups who have an agenda or TV stations who want to come in and do some kind of consumer report.”

  Delaine glanced sharply at Theodosia, as if expecting she’d stand up and put in her two cents’ worth. But Theodosia remained mum, just listening and watching. Of course she was fuming inwardly, but outwardly she appeared cool as a cucumber.

  The meeting dragged on for anotherthirty-five minutes, until someone brought up the subject of the new restaurant at the aquarium. At which point Sedakis stepped in and said, “We still have requests for proposals out, so why don’t we table that discussion for a later date.”

  “Table,” said Delaine, giggling, “how very apropos.”

  But Theodosia’s mind waselsewhere—thinking about, and pretty much dreading, Parker’s funeral tomorrow.

  12

  The carillon’s chimes rang out sweet and pure as Theodosia and Drayton stepped inside the Summerall Chapel at The Citadel.

  “Oh my,” said Drayton, glancing around.

  “What?” said Theodosia, touching shoulders with him.

  “So lovely,” he said, accepting two programs from the young cadet in uniform who stood ramrod stiff at the door.

  It had been quite a few years since Theodosia had paid a visit to The Citadel, and she was pleased to see that the chapel was as peaceful and simple as ever. Cruciform in design, the nonsectarian Summerall Chapel was a shrine to God, country, remembrance, and simplicity. Accordingly, all of the benches werehand-sawed Appalachian white oak, the ceiling and side timbers were pine, the lighting fixtures wrought iron. Flags from the fifty states hung on the walls; the windows were smallstained-glass medallions that commemorated Citadel graduates and warriors.

  As they took their seats on one of the plain benches, Theodosia scanned the small printed program and noted that the carillon was playing the final stanza from Andante from Pastorale for Organ by J. S. Bach. The notes hung in the air, haunting and beautiful. Then again, the entire setting was quiet and evocative. It was no wonder Parker’s brother had chosen this chapel at The Citadel as the venue for the funeral. Probably, Charles had been a graduate himself. Or one of their relatives had.

  “The chancel window,” Drayton whispered. He pointed a discreet finger at the great window located directly behind the altar, where various symbols and exemplars portrayed courage, sacrifice, duty, loyalty, faith, and prayer.

  “It is spectacular,” Theodosia whispered back to him.

  And then the service was underway.

  A minister in a plain black suit came out from the back, while Parker’s brother stood up from the front bench and solemnly placed a small metal urn on a simple wooden stand.

  “Oh!” Theodosia said, with a slightly audible squeak. She hadn’t been prepared for this. Parker had already been cremated, his body reduced to simple ashes.

  Drayton turned a sympathetic gaze upon her. “You okay?” he whispered.

  No.

  Theodosia nodded instead. Yes, okay. She had to be okay. After all, what choice did she have?

  It turned out to be a lovely, simple service with fine words, heartfelt testimonials, and emotions running fairly high. Parker’s brother, Charles, spoke at length about their growing up together, what a caring and socially conscious person Parker had been, and how he’d created such a successful and popular restaurant. When Charles finished, his voice nearly cracking, he stepped back to his seat and put his arms around Shelby in a warm embrace.

  Drayton let loose a quiet hmm in the back of his throat, while Theodosia tracked the girl’s movements with her eyes.

  And then the service was concluded. Charles carried the urn down the aisle, while Shelby and the relatives followed him in a monochromatic flying wedge of white faces and black clothes. The carillon’s bronze bells let loose their ringing notes for a second round, this time Pastoral Symphony from Messiah by Handel.

  “Short and simple,” Drayton declared, as they waited their turn to ease into the aisle. “Just the way I’d like my memorial service to be.”

  Theodosia nudged him. “Don’t talk so gloomy,” she said. “You’re a long way from that.”

  Drayton hesitated as he turned kind gray eyes upon her and said, “That’s what Parker thought, too.” Then, when he saw sudden pain flare in her eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I know you didn’t,” said Theodosia. “But you’re right. I guess most people don’t see it coming.”

  “No, they don’t,” said Drayton.

  Which set Theodosia to wondering again. Had Parker seen the end coming? He must have. That was why he’d fought, why he’d struggled so valiantly. He knew what was happening and fought with everything he had. If only…

  Theodosia let loose a deep sigh, suddenly realizing she’d been off in a daze, locked in place, not budging an inch. Pretty much everyone else had filed out of the church already.

  “You okay?” Drayton asked again. He’d waited patiently for her to regain her composure.

  “Let’s go,” she said, stepping out into the aisle. “I want to talk to Shelby.”

  “I thought you might,” he said.

  The line for paying condolences snaked down the front steps and out onto a grassy plot, which gave Theodosia ample opportunity to get a look at the other mourners who’d shown up today. In fact, there was Joe Beaudry, smiling and chatting with an attractive woman.

  “Beaudry,” said Theodosia.

  “The lawyer,” Drayton sniffed. He said the name as if he were referencing bubonic plague. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Good question,” said Theodosia. Was Beaudry feeling a twinge of guilt for leading Parker on about financing? Or was something else afoot?

  Theodosia and Drayton took their places in the condolence line. It wound its way slowly past Charles Scully; his wife, Monica; and several other relatives. They murmured kind words, shook hands, and said all the proper things you’re supposed to say to the bereaved.

  Finally they got to Shelby.

  Theodosia didn’t bother with a handshake or an I’m sorry. Instead she said, “He left it
all to you.” Her tone was filled with grit and veered toward the accusing.

  Shelby looked suddenly stricken. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered. “Really, I can explain.”

  Theodosia aimed a level gaze at her. “I’d so love to hear your explanation.”

  Shelby seemed to consider this, then said, “Meet me later? We’ll talk?”

  “I think we’d better do that,” said Theodosia, moving past her. “I’ll call you. I’ll be out all day, but I’ll call you.”

  As Theodosia walked beside Drayton, on the way to her car, she turned back and gazed at the group of mourners who were still circling like some kind of oceanic gyre. She noted that Peaches Pafford was in the group. And, oh yes, there was David Sedakis. Looking quite composed.

  Was Tidwell lurking somewhere? Theodosia certainly hoped he was.

  They were back at the Indigo Tea Shop by ten fifteen.

  “How was the service?” asked Haley. She was hunkered in the kitchen, packing plastic tubs of crab salad, chicken salad, sliced cucumbers, and wedges of Brie cheese into the large, industrial-strength metal coolers they used for theiroff-site catering jobs. A basket stuffed with French baguettes sat nearby, ready to go.

  “It was very sad,” said Theodosia.

  “Mournful,” Drayton echoed.

  “I’m sorry I missed it,” said Haley, “but I wanted to get everything set for Aunt Libby’s event.”

  “And is it?” asked Drayton.

  “Of course,” said Haley, not missing a beat.

  “How are things out in the tea shop?” asked Drayton, inclining his head. He was fretting over Miss Dimple and her brother, just as Theodosia and Haley had predicted he would.

  “Miss Dimple and her brother are doing a bang-up job,” Haley told him. “She’s preparing and serving tea and he’s delivering scones.”

  “And our customers appear happy?” asked Drayton.