Ming Tea Murder Read online

  “Then let me make myself perfectly clear,” said a red-faced Kern, and this time all semblance of propriety seemed to have left him. “I heard all about that nasty squabble between Max and Cecily Conrad last night. Max caused quite a stir, so it’s obvious to me that he’s a hothead and a troublemaker. And, I can assure you, that is not the sort of person I want on staff at my museum!”

  • • •

  Theodosia didn’t exactly storm out of Kern’s office, but she exited in a distinct huff.

  How dare Kern slander Max like that, she thought. Kern was a cowardly administrator who was hiding behind a bad decision that his board of directors had made. Or maybe it wasn’t even the entire board. Maybe it had been just a few angry, paranoid old men. Either way, she was determined to turn the tide on this ridiculous ruling, no matter what it took. No matter how long it took.

  Because the thing about Theodosia was . . . she was tenacious. Call it wrong; she’d prove it right. Tell her to back off; she’d dig in her heels. She was a woman who believed in equality and fairness. And no two-bit museum administrator was going to get the best of her!

  Theodosia’s heels sounded like castanets as she flew down the museum’s central corridor, past Greek statues and elegant sixteenth century tapestries. In fact, her steps rang out so loudly, she barely heard the soft voice that called after her.

  “Theodosia. Theodosia, hold up a moment.”

  She turned around with a flounce, her brows pinched together. “What?” she barked out.

  Percy Capers, the curator of Asian art, hustled toward her. “I want to talk to you,” he said. A stack of brochures fluttered in one hand—he must have been about to give a tour or lecture—and a look of concern lit his normally bland face. He was fairly young—not yet thirty—and wore round wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a friendly, studious look.

  “What’s up?” Theodosia asked.

  Capers pulled up next to her and took in her expression. “Oh my, you don’t look happy at all.”

  “I’m not,” said Theodosia. “I just had an unsettling meeting with Elliot Kern.”

  Capers gave a knowing nod. “Fearless leader.”

  “Some leader,” Theodosia snorted.

  “I take it you were talking to him about Max’s suspension?”

  “Trying to,” said Theodosia. She wondered how much Percy Capers knew about this.

  Capers touched her arm gently. “If it’s any consolation, please know that I’m on your side. And Max’s side, too, of course. For Kern to have suspended him like that, with no evidence whatsoever, was unconscionable. That’s not how we do things around here.” He straightened the brochures that threatened to spill out of his hand. “We’re gentlemen. And we conduct business as such.”

  “Thank you,” said Theodosia. “It’s nice to know we have a friend on the inside.”

  “Listen,” Capers said hurriedly. “I am on the inside, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help get Max reinstated. I believe in his innocence. Heck, I believe in him.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Theodosia.

  “This is all a terrible misunderstanding,” continued Capers. “Edgar Webster had enemies. That’s who the police should be looking at. And I’m sure they are, but . . .”

  Theodosia was slightly taken aback. “Wait a minute, what enemies are you referring to?”

  “Certainly that crazy woman he was carousing with,” said Capers. “I heard that she completely turned against him. As for his business partner . . . well, I’m not sure the two of them ever got along all that well.”

  “What about Charlotte, his wife?”

  “That I couldn’t say. Although . . .” Capers’s eyes darted from side to side and he glanced around, as if fearing he’d be overheard.

  “What?” Theodosia pressed.

  Capers dropped his voice to a minimal stage whisper. “I understand Charlotte is lobbying to take Edgar Webster’s place on the board of directors.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Theodosia. She wondered if a woman would murder her husband just to improve her social standing. On the other hand, philandering husbands had been murdered for far less.

  “I do find Charlotte’s move a little strange,” Capers admitted.

  “Will you let me know if that happens? If Charlotte really does get invited onto the board?”

  “Count on it,” said Capers. He held up a finger. “And if there’s anything else I can do . . .”

  “You’re an angel,” said Theodosia.

  • • •

  Feeling somewhat mollified, Theodosia wandered into the museum’s rotunda. Sunlight streamed down through the domed window overhead, dappling the marble floor and creating little prisms of warmth and cheerfulness.

  And, almost on impulse, Theodosia found herself being drawn to the Chinese tea house. She threaded her way through groups of museumgoers until, finally, she was standing outside, once again marveling at the peaked roof and dark cypress walls.

  When a group of three women exited the tea house, Theodosia seized the opportunity to duck inside. The interior was dark and peaceful, just as it had been two nights ago, the night of the opening reception. Candles flickered, tins of aromatic tea lined a single shelf, an antique tea chest rested near the small fireplace, where a cast-iron teapot hung. Lightly furnished with a teak tea table and four square Chinese benches, the tea house projected an aura of contemplation and peacefulness.

  This transplanted bit of history was truly beautiful, Theodosia decided, from the ornately carved wooden screens right down to the antique scrolls hanging on the walls. It was everything you’d expect from a tea house where scholars and poets had once raised tea bowls filled with fine black tea and quoted the teachings and poetry of Lao Tse and Li Po.

  Exhaling deeply, Theodosia settled onto one of the Chinese benches and pulled out her phone. It was time for ugly conversation number two. That is, it was time to call Detective Tidwell and clue him in about the woodworking awls.

  Tidwell’s gatekeepers were even gnarlier than Mary Monica Diver—they dug their heels in like a pack of unruly mules. But finally, after some serious wheedling, she got through.

  “Speak,” said Tidwell once he was finally on the line. He sounded gruff and harried.

  “Do you have any news from the medical examiner regarding the murder weapon?” she asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” said Tidwell. “Wait. Let me guess . . . You’re planning to commit a copycat crime? You wish to add to my agitation.”

  “No, I was wondering if it really was an ice pick that penetrated Mr. Webber’s frontal cortex.”

  “According to the ME’s preliminary report,” said Tidwell, “it was more likely his temporal lobe.”

  “In any case,” said Theodosia, “I have some information that might interest you.”

  Her words were greeted by silence.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “What is it you wish to tell me?” Teasing and taunting her, Tidwell was once again playing cat to her mouse.

  “I happened to attend the open house last night at Cecily Conrad’s new furniture shop.”

  “Ah, the rather aptly named Pine Nut.”

  “Where Max and Cecily got into a knock-down, drag-out screaming match. Or rather, Cecily did the screaming and I dragged Max out.”

  “Sounds like a lovely night on the town,” said Tidwell. “Date night.”

  “There was also a workshop there,” Theodosia continued. “One that was well stocked with woodworking tools.”

  “As one might expect,” said Tidwell.

  “Are you familiar with an awl? Or better yet, a row of awls of various lengths and sizes?”

  Again there was a moment of silence. And then Tidwell said, “Are you telling me what I think you are?”

  “What do you think
I’m telling you?”

  “That Cecily Conrad had ample access to what could possibly be a murder weapon?”

  “My goodness, you’re perceptive,” said Theodosia. “It appears all that FBI field training paid off.”

  “No need to get snarky,” said Tidwell, though he actually sounded excited. “It’s quite unbecoming.” Then he added, “This could yield a potential break.”

  “Yes. Cecily could be more than just a suspect. She could be the killer.”

  “But we must not leap to conclusions just yet,” Tidwell cautioned.

  “Really?” said Theodosia. “I’ve never seen you leap to anything at all.”

  “Dear girl,” said Tidwell, sounding even more enthusiastic, “if this information pays off, I shall leap for joy.”

  Theodosia stashed her phone in her purse and stared at the scroll that hung on the wall opposite her. It was a lovely Chinese brushstroke painting of a swimming carp. With the fish’s large eyes and scales and decorative ink swirls, the painting reminded her of a poem Drayton often quoted about heating water for tea.

  Fish eyes going, carp eyes coming, soon will be the wind in the pines.

  It referred, of course, to the small bubbles making way for larger, roiling bubbles, and the whistle of the teakettle.

  “Excuse me,” said a man’s voice.

  Startled, Theodosia practically jumped out of her chair. In fact, she half rose and spun around. It had been so quiet and restful in the tea house that she’d almost lost track of the fact that she was sitting in a public museum.

  A man’s face, large and ruddy, floated before her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the man. He held his hand out in a gesture of greeting. “I just wanted to take a second look at this place.”

  Theodosia stared at him as she shook his hand. “I know you,” she said. “Or at least you look familiar.”

  The man bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Harlan Duke.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crisp white business card, and handed it to her.

  Theodosia scanned his card. “You’re an art dealer.” From the address on his card, it looked as though his shop was located maybe two blocks from Pine Nut.

  Duke smiled happily as he sat down across from her. “I surely am.” He extended a bulky fist and knocked it against one of the cypress posts of the tea house. “I’m also the man who located this baby in Shanghai, on one of the lanes behind Fuxing Road.” He smiled. “And persuaded the owner to sell it.”

  “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “No, ma’am. Since this fine edifice had stood there since the middle eighteen hundreds, it took a fair amount of persuading.”

  “And a good deal of money, I would guess,” said Theodosia.

  Duke smiled. “I wasn’t involved in that part. The financial negotiations were all handled by the folks here at the museum.”

  Theodosia studied Duke. With his string tie, brown jacket embellished with swirls of fancy white topstitching, and Western boots, he presented quite a spectacle.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” she said.

  Duke gave a genial guffaw. “I’m from Texas. Dallas in particular. Newly transplanted.”

  “What brings you to Charleston?”

  “Money,” said Duke.

  “Excuse me?” Theodosia had heard direct answers before, but this one took the cake.

  Duke chuckled at her reaction. “You know who John Dillinger was?”

  Theodosia gazed at him. “The gangster? Of course I do.”

  “When a famous newspaper reporter once asked Dillinger why he robbed banks, he replied, ‘Because that’s where the money is.’”

  Theodosia tapped a finger against the table. “And you think this is where the money is?”

  “Judging from what I’ve seen so far, I’d have to say yes. Why, Charleston’s got all sorts of fine folks with great big houses, upscale taste, and a burning desire to spend some of that old family money to build up their art collections.”

  “So you’re here to pick their pockets?” said Theodosia. But she said it with humor. She was warming up to this big Texan. He seemed straightforward and honest.

  “In a way, yes,” said Duke. “And it’s been good so far. I’m in the process of selling a Tang horse to Percy Capers, the Asian curator here. And I’ve almost got Charlotte Webster talked into a pair of Ming tea bowls.” He frowned slightly. “Of course, that poor lady’s got more than tea bowls on her mind right now.”

  “I’m afraid she does,” said Theodosia. “So . . . you attended the infamous soiree here two nights ago?”

  “I sure did. And managed to catch the final act.” Duke shook his head. “Never seen anything like it. Horrifying. I’d only met Edgar Webster a couple of times, but I liked him right off. He seemed like a real gentleman. And he was a real admirer of Chinese art. Actually studied it instead of just collecting it because it was the trendy, posh thing to do.”

  “So he was a true connoisseur. I hadn’t realized that.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Duke. “Mr. Webster not only knew his dynasties, he had a fairly keen eye.” He stopped, adjusted his string tie, and said, “So I understand you’re the proprietor of a tea shop?”

  Theodosia glanced around. “Yes, but my tea shop isn’t quite as historic or breathtaking as this one. It’s the Indigo Tea Shop, just a few blocks over on Church Street.”

  “Sure, I know exactly where you’re located. Near that lovely old church that juts out into the street.” A broad grin split Duke’s weathered face. “You know, I just happen to have a Chien-lung teapot that might interest you.”

  “You’re taking a guess at my taste?”

  “I consider myself a pretty good judge of people. And I pride myself on being able to match them up with lovely objects that they often can’t resist.” He gave a wink. “And this particular teapot that I have in mind has your name written all over it. What do you say, should I bring it by your tea shop so you can have a look?”

  “Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “You bring your teapot, and I’ll at least fill it with tea.”

  Duke grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  10

  By the time Theodosia got to the Indigo Tea Shop, it was almost eleven o’clock and the joint was jumping. Every table was occupied, and Haley was ferrying out plates of scones and green-tea donuts as well as small cut-glass bowls filled with Devonshire cream and lemon curd.

  “There you are,” said Drayton. “I was wondering if you’d ever get here. I thought we might have to send out a search party.” He snapped the lid off a tin of Nilgiri tea. “We’ve been buzzing with customers all morning.”

  “Apologies,” said Theodosia as she slipped a black Parisian waiter’s apron over her head and tied it in back. “I got hung up at the museum.”

  Drayton measured out two heaping scoops and added his proverbial pinch. “Were you trying to get Max reinstated?”

  “Something like that.”

  He glanced up. “Have any luck?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m surprised,” said Drayton, as he carefully poured hot water into the teapot. “You’re usually fairly keen at working your magic.”

  “It appears I’m all tapped out when it comes to spells and charms.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Drayton chuckled. He set the teapot on a silver tray and added a small dish of lemon slices. “Can you run this over to table seven?”

  “Of course,” said Theodosia, all business now.

  Theodosia delivered the tea, stopped to chat with a table of ladies who’d driven over from Goose Creek for the day, took a couple of orders, and then made the rounds pouring refills.

  When Theodosia finally had a free moment, she said to Drayton, “Did you hear about the screaming match last nigh
t?”

  Drayton offered a faint smile. “Delaine was in earlier and regaled us with all the sordid details. So, to answer your question, yes.”

  “Did she make it clear that it was Cecily Conrad who was doing all the screaming?”

  “Oh, you know Delaine. She ratcheted up the drama to make it sound as if a pack of wolves were fighting over snippets of raw meat. But Haley and I pretty much picked up on the true gist of things, that Cecily overheard Max talking about suspects and sort of snapped.”

  “Did Delaine mention the carpentry awls?”

  Drayton gave a disparaging look. “I’m afraid she took great pleasure in describing them. And insinuating that any one of them could have made a dandy murder weapon.” Drayton fingered his bow tie nervously. “Have you informed Tidwell about this new development?”

  “I called him half an hour ago, so he’s on it.”

  “Good,” said Drayton. He looked up. “What else have you got going on?”

  “I ran into Percy Capers at the museum,” said Theodosia.

  “The Asian art curator. Seems like a nice enough fellow.”

  “Capers mentioned to me that Charlotte is lobbying to get on the museum’s board of directors.”

  “I find Charlotte’s interest in the museum a little odd,” said Drayton, “but I still don’t see her stabbing her own husband. I mean, would she do it just to get a seat on the museum’s board of directors? I think not.”

  “Remember, he’d been cheating on her, too,” said Theodosia. “With Cecily.” She picked up a tin of orchid plum tea, flipped the lid, and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

  Drayton looked worried. “This all seems like a gigantic web of lies and deceit.”

  Theodosia snapped the lid back on the tin. “Don’t forget murder.”

  • • •

  Haley had designed the perfect autumn luncheon menu. Squash bisque topped with roasted pumpkin seeds, curried chicken salad tea sandwiches, cream cheese–and-strawberry tea sandwiches, and Cheddar and mushroom quiche.

  As was expected, their customers dug into their lunches with relish. Which also meant that à la carte tea sandwiches were ordered, and as Haley’s date-and-walnut tea bread and ginger scones emerged from the oven, they were voraciously snapped up, too.