Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “What?” Theodosia said a little too loudly.

  The woman turned to glare at them again. But too bad for her, since Theodosia hadn’t finished telling Tidwell the whole story.

  “Do you think Smokey was the one who . . . ?”

  Tidwell silenced her again as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and started poking at it. In his huge hands, the phone looked like a child’s toy. “Be quiet. I have to make a call,” he muttered.

  He continued punching in numbers as the church organ started up. Two long strung-out chords, and then the opening of “How Great Thou Art.”

  “Gimme Glen Humphries,” Tidwell snapped as he turned his back on Theodosia. Then he deftly slid away until he’d put a good ten feet between them.

  As the organ music continued to build in intensity, Theodosia tried her best to listen in on Tidwell’s call. But it was next to impossible. The organist was pounding out notes that sounded both majestic and a little unsettling. All she could do was wait. And hope that Tidwell would eventually tell her what he was up to.

  When Tidwell finished his call, he came back, looking slightly grim.

  “Are you going to question Smokey?” Theodosia asked.

  Tidwell’s jowls shook. “I’m stepping it up a notch. I intend to obtain a warrant from a friendly judge, search Smokey’s apartment, and take him into custody.”

  “Whoa.” Theodosia hadn’t expected this kind of immediate action. “You think Smokey really is the killer?”

  “Until I hear a logical explanation for those syringes, he’s definitely a prime suspect,” Tidwell said. He tapped Theodosia on the shoulder. “Now. Kindly step aside so I can do my job.”

  Theodosia turned to block him. “Before you go, I need to ask a question.”

  Tidwell glowered. “If this concerns my investigation, I really can’t . . .”

  “No, it’s about Julian Wolf-Knapp, the art dealer. You spoke with him a couple of times, correct?”

  Tidwell gave the faintest of nods.

  “Did he tell you where he obtained the Renoir for Miss Drucilla?”

  “He said it was from a European dealer.”

  “And you checked it out?”

  “My assistant called a dealer in Amsterdam by the name of Vander Pflug Fine Art and had the sale confirmed.” Tidwell paused, wary now. “Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I wish I did.”

  Once Tidwell had left, Theodosia sat in her pew, listening to the organ music, watching the mourners continue to file in. There was a constant stream of sad-looking people, which probably attested to the fact that Miss Drucilla had been much loved. Of course, this was the perfect church in which to hold her funeral. Founded in 1680, St. Philip’s was a venerable old church that had been designated as a National Historic Landmark. The church oozed grace and dignity, and during the late eighteen hundreds, the light in its massive steeple had served as a beacon to guide ships safely into Charleston Harbor.

  “There you are.” Drayton suddenly appeared at Theodosia’s elbow and she hastily moved over to make room for him.

  “Tidwell’s going to take Smokey in for questioning,” Theodosia whispered to him.

  Drayton did a complete double take. “Smokey? Why?”

  Theodosia decided she’d better tell Drayton about her foray into Smokey’s apartment last night. And how she’d seen those three hypodermics.

  Drayton listened carefully, his eyes widening when she got to the part about the hypodermics. Then he gave an abrupt nod. “I’d say Smokey’s our man. That he’s guilty as sin.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, Smokey’s the one. I can feel it in my bones.” Drayton gazed at her, a quizzical look on his face. “With that kind of evidence, he has to be guilty. I mean, you’ve managed to convince me. Why aren’t you convinced?”

  “Because I’m not sure what to think anymore,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  The service was about as lovely as a funeral could be. The minister gave a warm, glowing eulogy. There was genteel music by a string quartet. And representatives from various charities that Miss Drucilla had supported took turns speaking tearfully about her caring nature and generosity.

  Coy Cooper sat in the front row, looking uptight but solemn. Sitting directly behind him were Majel Mercer, Pauline Stauber, and Wade Holland. Both Majel and Pauline cried throughout the entire service, while Wade tried his best to comfort Pauline. A small gray-haired woman sat behind them.

  “That’s Evelyn Fruth,” Drayton told Theodosia as the service drew to a close. “Miss Drucilla’s former housekeeper.”

  “Did you have a chance to speak with her,” Theodosia asked, “before the service started?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Drayton. “Not only did I give Mrs. Fruth the third degree. I made sure she was coming to the post-funeral luncheon so you could talk to her.”

  “Smart thinking,” Theodosia said.

  “But I don’t think she’s guilty of anything,” Drayton said as the organist launched into a crashingly loud version of “Amazing Grace.” “Oops, I do believe that’s the recessional hymn, which is our cue to head back to the tea shop and make ready.”

  “Let’s do it, then,” Theodosia said as she and Drayton popped up like a couple of manic gophers and slipped down the aisle. As they hit the sidewalk outside, Theodosia pulled out her phone and called the tea shop.

  “Yello.” It was Haley.

  “The service just ended and everyone’s about to leave the church,” Theodosia said. “So we’ll be there in a matter of . . .”

  BANG!

  “Haley!” Theodosia cried out. Was that a gunshot she’d just heard at the other end of the line? Oh, holy Hannah!

  Then Haley was back on, her breath rasping loudly in Theodosia’s ear.

  “Sorry about that,” Haley said. “I was juggling a hot pan and dropped my phone.”

  “Haley, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

  “Didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m having palpitations.”

  “Sorry. My bad.”

  Theodosia drew a deep, cleansing breath. “Well, like I said, the funeral just concluded and everyone’s on their way over. Including me and Drayton.”

  “Okay, gotcha, bye.”

  18

  Theodosia and Drayton had all of three minutes to double-check the Indigo Tea Shop to make sure everything was perfect for lunch. And luckily, it seemed to be. Tables were set, candles glowed, and the proverbial welcome mat was out.

  Miss Dimple met them at the door and said, in a calming voice, “I brewed three pots of tea just like Drayton asked, and Haley tells me the quiche and tea sandwiches are ready and waiting to be served.”

  “Sounds like our funeral luncheon is ready, set, go,” Drayton said. He took off his suit coat and tie and hung them on the brass coatrack. Then he donned his traditional tweed jacket, bow tie, and long apron.

  Miss Dimple surveyed the tea shop, then glanced back at Theodosia, a look of worry on her face. “Except for one thing. All the Christmas decorations are still up. The wreaths and angels and garlands and sparkly reindeer. Since we’re hosting a funeral luncheon—which I assume should be fairly low-key and decorous—I didn’t know if I should take everything down and hide it or just leave it up. I wasn’t sure what was appropriate.”

  “I think, with the time constraints we’re under, we pretty much have to leave everything as is,” Theodosia said. “And since it’s only a few days until Christmas, people expect a tea shop to be festive and jolly. Hopefully the mourners will understand and maybe even welcome our upbeat atmosphere.”

  “You think?” Miss Dimple said.

  “Sure,” Theodosia said.

  “Not really,” Drayton said.

  “Curmudgeon,” Miss Dimple said under her
breath.

  * * *

  * * *

  But Christmas decorations or not, the mourners dutifully filed into the Indigo Tea Shop and took their seats. Soon the place was filled with low murmurs. Coy Cooper settled at a table with Pauline and her boyfriend, Wade. Majel Mercer ended up sitting next to Donny Bragg and Mrs. Fruth, the former housekeeper. Theodosia counted another thirty or so people who also arrived for the post-funeral luncheon. They glanced around and looked pleased. Nobody lodged a complaint about sparkly reindeer.

  “Many of these folks work for the various nonprofit organizations that Miss Drucilla helped fund,” Drayton pointed out. “Clearly, she was generous to a fault and will be sorely missed.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing over and over,” Theodosia said as she grabbed two teapots and headed for the tables. So why did somebody want her dead?

  Serving the food turned out to be a snap, since Haley had made the decision to plate everything ahead of time. So no multiple courses to deal with, no three-tiered trays to lug out. Just nicely arranged plates that contained two chicken-and-chutney tea sandwiches, a slice of mushroom quiche, a small bunch of champagne grapes, and a square of white chocolate bread pudding. And there was steaming-hot tea, of course. Once Theodosia, Drayton, and Miss Dimple had distributed luncheon plates to all the guests, they made the rounds again, pouring seconds on tea.

  As Theodosia poured a cup of Nilgiri tea for Majel Mercer, Majel quickly introduced Theodosia to Evelyn Fruth. She was a small, birdlike woman in her sixties who wore a tidy gray suit and a small blue velvet hat.

  “Mrs. Fruth worked for Miss Drucilla for almost twenty-two years,” Majel said.

  “You have my deepest sympathies,” Theodosia told Mrs. Fruth. “You must have been very close to Miss Drucilla.”

  “We were together many years,” Mrs. Fruth said, her eyes misting over, “though for these last two I’ve been semiretired.”

  “So you haven’t been working at Miss Drucilla’s home?” Theodosia said.

  “Not really. Weeks would go by where we didn’t see each other at all. But when Miss Drucilla had a major party or event, she always requested that I come in and help. Of course, by that time, she’d employed a full-time cleaning service, so I was just there to check things over. Make sure everything was perfect.”

  “Were you at Miss Drucilla’s house the night of the Christmas party?” Theodosia asked. She realized that Mrs. Fruth was one resource she’d almost overlooked.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Mrs. Fruth said. “I wish I had been there. Maybe I could have done something.” She shook her head and blinked as her crinkled eyes misted over.

  Majel Mercer reached over and patted Mrs. Fruth’s tiny hand. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. None of us could. Sometimes tragedy just . . . well, it comes flying out of left field. Unfortunately, we’re all vulnerable. Every day.”

  Those were the same words—a kind of sad explanation for the trials and ills of the world—that Theodosia had offered to Haley a few days earlier. But knowing you were helpless against bad luck or tragedy didn’t make things any easier. In fact, it made Theodosia feel more like a helpless pawn.

  As Theodosia tried to shake off her glum mood, she hurried back to the front counter to grab a fresh pot of tea. That was when Donny Bragg stood up from his table and sauntered over to talk to her.

  “A moment of your time?” he said.

  “Sure,” Theodosia said, practically holding her breath. Did Bragg know that Smokey was going to be taken in for questioning? Had Tidwell acted fast and already hauled Smokey’s sorry butt down to the police station? Turned out, the answer was yes on both counts.

  “I just got word that the police picked up Smokey,” Bragg said.

  He loomed so close to Theodosia that she could smell cigar smoke on his clothes. Her nose twitched. He wasn’t exactly threatening, but he wasn’t very friendly, either.

  “Did you have something to do with that?” Bragg asked.

  “I’m sure Detective Tidwell has his reasons and doesn’t need any suggestions from me,” Theodosia said, dodging a direct yes-or-no answer. It was the best excuse she could come up with at the moment. Lighthearted, a little self-deprecating.

  “I ask because I know you’ve been playing amateur detective all week.”

  “I may possess an amateur’s curiosity, but unfortunately, I don’t have a professional’s credentials, which means I have no authority to subpoena, question, or arrest anyone. Or even issue a traffic ticket.” Theodosia flashed what she hoped was a convincing smile and continued. “Look around please. I run a tea shop. People come in, they talk, I hear things. That’s about the extent of it and that’s why I ask questions.”

  “Izat so?” Bragg said. “Well, thank you, Perry Mason.” He looked both amused and confused, as though he didn’t quite believe her.

  Theodosia met his gaze calmly. “Now if there’s something I can get for you—maybe another sandwich or an extra slice of bread pudding—do let me know. Otherwise, I need to get back to my guests.”

  Theodosia picked up a Blue Willow teapot and brushed past him. Went to the far table by the window, poured tea, then picked up three plates and carried them back to the counter. Dumped them into a plastic tub.

  “How’s it going?” Drayton asked. He was standing there sipping a cup of Chinese Keemun but keeping a watchful eye on the guests as they ate.

  “Okay, I guess. Donny Bragg already knows that Smokey was taken in for questioning.”

  “That’s why he was talking to you? Well, his inquisitiveness doesn’t surprise me one bit. Bragg’s one of those fat cats who always seems well-connected. Gets his news on the old-boy network if you know what I mean.”

  “I do. But how connected is he to Smokey?” Theodosia wondered.

  “You still think Smokey might have been carrying out Bragg’s bidding?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out. Maybe Tidwell will push Smokey hard. Scare him half to death so he’ll cough up some answers.” Theodosia looked out over the tea room. “In the meantime . . .” Her eyes fell on Pauline Stauber. She was sitting there, her head down, listening to Wade whisper something in her ear.

  “Pauline,” she murmured.

  Drayton followed Theodosia’s gaze and said, “Wade seems to take very good care of her.”

  “He does. But like I said last night, I’ve grown a little leery of Pauline’s motives.”

  “Might I remind you that you’re also suspicious of Smokey, Donny Bragg, and a half dozen others,” Drayton said.

  “What can I say? I’m suspicious by nature.”

  “And I’m thankful you are. Miss Drucilla’s murder is a baffling situation that even the police can’t seem to figure out.”

  Theodosia was still watching Pauline. “She cried her way through the entire service . . . and she’s still taking it awfully hard.”

  “Well, she did work for Miss Drucilla.”

  “Which also means Pauline had access to every bit of paper, password, and financial account that the woman had. So it’s possible . . .” Theodosia’s voice trailed off.

  Drayton’s eyes narrowed, as if he was reading her thoughts. “I’m no psychic, but I know you’re thinking Pauline could have engineered the murder and has been crying crocodile tears ever since.”

  “I hate to think the worst of Pauline,” Theodosia said. “But Donny Bragg did warn us she was a gambler. And that she was bad at handling finances.”

  “He could have been lying.”

  “Yes, but do you think there’s a possibility that Pauline murdered Miss Drucilla?”

  “I suppose there’s an outside chance,” Drayton said. “After all, Pauline was familiar with every square inch of that old mansion.”

  “Do we know where Pauline was when that alarm went off?”

  “For all we know, s
he could have triggered it,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia nodded. “To throw us off.”

  “While we ran around like chickens with our heads cut off, she could have jammed a syringe full of poison into Miss Drucilla’s neck.” Drayton made a face and grabbed a tin of tea.

  “And stole her rings and ripped a painting off the wall,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton paused. “That painting. It’s probably the crux of the whole thing, isn’t it? The real motive for murder.”

  “The Renoir,” Theodosia said as she turned and studied the guests again. She’d just had a thought. “You know who didn’t show up for today’s funeral?”

  Drayton inclined his head toward her. “Who?”

  “Julian Wolf-Knapp. If he could sell Miss Drucilla a pricey Renoir painting, you’d think he’d at least have the decency to attend her funeral.”

  Drayton measured three scoops of gunpowder green tea into a pink floral teapot and popped on the lid. “You make a good point.”

  * * *

  * * *

  By one o’clock the funeral attendees had cleared out and Miss Dimple was readying the tables for afternoon tea. They probably wouldn’t be all that busy today, but Theodosia worried that Haley might be feeling kitchen stressed.

  She wasn’t.

  “Nope, I’m okay,” Haley said. She was bopping around her kitchen, wearing a chef’s hat that looked for all the world like an oversized mushroom. A pot simmered on the stove while heavenly aromas seeped from her oven.

  “Even though you’re running on three hours of sleep?” Theodosia asked.

  “Aw, Drayton keeps bringing me mugs of vanilla chai. Must be chock-full of caffeine ’cause I’m still going like gangbusters.”

  “I think I’d better grab a mug of that myself,” Theodosia said.

  She walked back into the tea room, where Miss Dimple was already setting out clean dishes and flatware. It was amazing how fast she’d been able to turn the tea shop around.

  Drayton saw Theodosia looking thoughtful.