by Laura Childs
“Haley,” she said, “what can I do to help?”
Haley shook her head. “Nothing really. I’ve pretty much got it covered.” She pulled two index cards from her apron pocket and handed them to Theodosia. “The first one’s today’s lunch. The second details the menu for our Old-Fashioned Southern Tea.”
Theodosia skimmed the two menu cards. Lunch was simple enough with three choices: a tomato-bisque-and-shrimp-salad-sandwich entrée, a slice of cheddar quiche with a side of grilled brussels sprouts, and a fig, goat cheese, and frisée salad. On the other hand, Haley’s menu for their afternoon tea bordered on spectacular.
“You see, I kept lunch easy-peasy because afternoon tea is going to be so elaborate.”
“They’re both wonderful,” Theodosia said. “But I’m thinking today’s lunch won’t be all that busy since most of our regulars will be coming this afternoon.”
Haley nodded. “No problema.”
* * *
* * *
Theodosia’s hunch proved correct. Lunch service was quick and easy. Just six tables to contend with as well as a dozen take-out orders.
“Do things always run this smooth?” Beth Ann asked Theodosia as she brushed past her.
“Just wait until three o’clock when we really get hopping. Then you’ll change your mind,” Theodosia said.
“You’re telling me this is just dress rehearsal?”
“This is a cinch.”
But with a light luncheon crowd, Theodosia was happy to find herself with a little extra time on her hands. It gave her a chance to duck into her office and check her e-mail. But as she clicked along, nothing looked pressing. An invitation to a trunk show at Hampden, a sale on silver charms at Hearts Desire, a Christmas hello from a fellow tea shop owner in Savannah, and a reminder for a dentist appointment.
She glanced at her watch. Still time to spare. Okay, then, she could try to get a start on wrapping Christmas presents. There was that cashmere scarf for Haley—ice blue to complement her blond hair—and for Drayton a collectible volume of Dickens that Lois had sent over from Antiquarian Books.
Theodosia spread out wrapping paper, ribbon, and gift bags and got started. And was cooking along fairly well until her phone rang.
Feeling chipper, she snatched it up and gave an upbeat “Hello.”
There was a momentary hollow lull—maybe a long-distance delay?
“Riley?” she said. “Is that you?”
It was Riley all right. But he wasn’t exactly brimming over with Christmas cheer.
“Theodosia,” he said without benefit of greeting or preamble, “another dead body? Really?”
24
Theodosia’s initial reaction was Uh-oh. Obviously this wasn’t going to be his usual How-ya-doin’-sweetheart type of call.
Then she pulled it together and said, “That dead body was not my doing. And excuse me, but how do you know what went down last night when you’re a thousand miles away?”
“I have a network of spies,” Riley said.
“No, you don’t. Let me guess. Tidwell called.”
“He did not.”
“Who, then?”
“Like I said, spies. In every nook and cranny of the universe.”
“Was it Glen Humphries, Tidwell’s assistant?”
“Ah, clever girl, your award for a correct guess is a giant purple panda.”
“Forget pandas when we’ve got pandemonium,” Theodosia said. “If you’re truly in the loop, then you know Wolf-Knapp’s death wasn’t my fault. That I actually did the police a service in discovering his partially buried body, especially when their investigation had completely stalled out.”
“No, sweetheart, your investigation is now over and done with while the wheels of justice continue to grind.”
“That sounds like a cheesy line from a B movie.”
“Probably is. But you know what? It is over and done with, and I’d rather not talk about dead art dealers or dead ends or anything else. It’s kind of a bore.”
Not to me, Theodosia thought.
“So why don’t you tell me something fun, like what’s up at the tea shop today? And when I get home, are you going to whip up some of those yummy shrimp balls?”
“For a New Year’s Eve treat, why not?”
“And your famous crab dip?”
“Only if you agree to pop the cork on an extravagant bottle of wine.”
“You are so on.”
They talked for another ten minutes and never came close to mentioning a single solitary dead body. Instead, they hashed over plans for an upcoming ski trip to Sugar Mountain in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and joked about taking on the Boulder Dash, one of the treacherous black-diamond runs.
When Theodosia finally hung up she felt warm and happy inside. Riley would be back home in a few days and they’d be celebrating New Year’s Eve together. Enjoying a romantic dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, Circa 1886. Meanwhile, the tea shop was going gangbusters, and most important of all, their holiday events were going off without a hitch. Yes, her investigation might have been slightly derailed. But except for a bump here and there (which she knew she could overcome), life was pretty darned good.
* * *
* * *
“Knock, knock,” Haley called out. “May I come in?”
Theodosia hastily shoved the shiny gold gift bag containing Haley’s scarf into the bottom drawer of her desk.
“Entrez,” she sang out.
The door opened and Haley came in, balancing two gingerbread houses on a silver tray.
“I was going to use your desk for work space ’cause I need to put a couple of finishing touches on my gingerbread houses. But now . . .” Haley eyed Theodosia’s cluttered desktop. “Maybe not?”
“Give me half a minute,” Theodosia said. She leaned forward, hastily scooped up stacks of invoices, tea magazines, recipes, and catalogs, then turned and deposited the entire mess on the credenza behind her. “There. All clear.”
“Thanks,” Haley said as she carefully set down her tray.
Theodosia studied Haley’s gingerbread houses. “Haley, these are exquisite. But when did you find time to make them?”
“I’ve been working on my gingerbreads pretty much all week long,” Haley said, “whenever I could carve out a little extra time. Baking the gingerbread, cutting out the various pieces, fashioning everything together. Since they’re nonedible, it doesn’t matter if the gingerbread dries out a teensy bit. In fact, sometimes it’s better that way with the larger pieces. But I do have a couple of serious cracks that need patching.”
“And these gingerbread houses are for . . . what?”
Haley looked at her strangely. “They’re centerpieces. For today’s tea.”
“I did not know that.”
“Drayton didn’t tell you? I ran my gingerbread idea past him like . . . three weeks ago. He was all for it.”
Theodosia waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. These are darling and our guests will adore them. I take it there are more gingerbread houses?”
“Five more. Want me to bring ’em in?”
“An entire gingerbread community? I can’t wait.”
Once Haley had placed all her gingerbread houses on Theodosia’s desk, she said, “I tried to make each one look like a particular style of architecture that’s unique to Charleston. Like . . . that one.” Haley pointed to one of her creations. “What does that remind you of?”
“I’d say it looks like a typical Charleston single home. Tall and narrow with a piazza running along the side,” Theodosia said.
“That’s exactly what I was going for,” Haley said. “And that one there . . . the really big one?”
“Very representative of the larger mansions on Legare, especially since you made it three stories high with all those cute little
balustrades and columns.”
“Just like Miss Drucilla’s house,” Drayton said. He was suddenly standing in the doorway, staring in.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to make it look like that house,” Haley said. Her voice conveyed her mood. “That’s a sad house.”
“Let me take another look, then,” Drayton said quickly. He bent down and studied the gingerbread house in question. “Yes, now I see that it could definitely pass for Timothy Neville’s home on Archdale Street.”
Haley nodded, her good feelings restored. “Yeah, that’s better. It does kind of look like Timothy’s place, doesn’t it?”
“Except he doesn’t have actual gumdrops on his roofline,” Theodosia said.
“And you need to do what with these tasty little wonders?” Drayton asked. “Because they look perfectly finished to me.”
“I need to glue on a few more gumdrops and shore up a couple of roofs and foundations with vanilla icing,” Haley said.
“I can identify with that,” Drayton said. “Just like the constant maintenance required on most historic homes here in Charleston.” He reached out and gently touched an index finger to the roof of one of the gingerbread houses. “Just like my home.”
* * *
* * *
“Let’s see now,” Theodosia said. “We’ve got old-fashioned frilly aprons, some ruffled caps, and . . .”
“I’m not wearing a frilly apron,” Drayton laughed. “If you make me, I’ll quit in protest.”
“How about a paisley vest and a top hat?” Haley asked. “That’s about all that’s left in our all-purpose costume box. And that’s scraping the bottom of the barrel at that.”
Drayton pursed his lips together, thinking. “Well . . . perhaps. It is our Old-Fashioned Southern Tea after all.”
“Beth Ann?” Haley said. “You want to wear one of these cute granny aprons?”
“Sure,” Beth Ann said. She pulled a blue calico apron over her head and tied the strings behind her. “I look okay?”
“Perfect,” said Haley.
“Whew.” Beth Ann blew a hank of hair off her forehead. “I can see that it’s no easy task getting ready for these big tea parties.”
“There’s a lot of prep work involved but it’s all worth it,” Theodosia said. “And thanks to both of you, the tea shop looks amazing.”
The three of them stood back and gazed at their handiwork.
They’d selected pale peach linen tablecloths with matching napkins. The napkins had been folded into pockets to hold a hand-lettered recipe card. They’d chosen Blue Willow china (everybody’s grandma had this!), nubby vintage glassware, and flatware decorated with small rosettes. Haley’s gingerbread houses had been placed in the center of the tables, and in keeping with their old-fashioned theme, mason jars had been filled with old-fashioned candy sticks. Handmade pastel soaps had been placed in small peach-colored organza bags to serve as favors and sprinkles of antique buttons added to the old-fashioned flavor of the tables.
“I see you filled in with some Shelley Dainty Blue teacups,” Theodosia said.
“Because we ran short,” Beth Ann said. “Do they look okay?”
“They’re perfect.”
“What would you think about putting little tea lights inside some of the larger gingerbread houses?” Beth Ann asked. “I think it would make them look cute and glowy.”
“That’s a great idea,” Theodosia said, “as long as the tea lights are in glass holders so the gingerbread doesn’t scorch.”
“I’ll take care.”
With five minutes left to go before their guests were due to arrive, Theodosia put on some gentle background music. It was a compilation of old-fashioned tunes that included some jazz, swing, and songs like “Walkin’ After Midnight” and “Carolina in my Mind.”
And then, with candles flickering, music playing, and amazing smells wafting from Haley’s kitchen, the guests arrived. It was as if someone had hit a gong or shot off a cannon down Church Street. Because, suddenly, guests started pouring through the front door.
Theodosia greeted everyone, checked off their names from her master list, and then handed them off to Beth Ann, who hung up their coats and seated them at the various tables.
As the guests settled in and voices rose in spirited greetings, Beth Ann whispered in Theodosia’s ear, “We’ve got a problem.”
Theodosia turned. “Hmm?”
“We’re short two place settings.”
“Really?” Theodosia checked her list again. “Shouldn’t be.”
On the other hand . . .
“Drayton,” she hissed. “Did you by any chance take a couple of last-minute reservations?”
He stopped short, put a hand to his mouth, and said, “Perhaps I forget to tell you?”
“This is easily remedied,” Theodosia said. “Beth Ann, there’s a small table in my office. Just bring it out and unfold it quickly while I round up two more chairs.”
“I’m on it.”
One minute later, the table was set with linens, plates, cups and saucers, flowers, and candles, and their two last-minute guests were happy as clams—even if their table was a little squished in.
“Okay,” Theodosia said quietly to herself. “Now I’ve got to . . .”
She walked to the center of the room and ran through a quick mental exercise to relax and anchor herself, because welcoming guests to a special-event tea like this always put her front and center. And even though Theodosia loved being a hostess, enjoyed entertaining her guests and sharing her love of tea and tea lore, there was always a small part of her that remained hesitant.
Why is that? she wondered. Then decided, I do not know.
Whatever. She drew a deep breath and said, in a clear voice that rang throughout the tea room, “Good afternoon, dear guests. My name is Theodosia Browning, and I want to wish you all a very merry Christmas and extend a heartfelt welcome to the Indigo Tea Shop.”
There was warm applause as all eyes turned toward her.
“As we begin our Old-Fashioned Southern Tea, you can see that my two cohorts, Drayton and Beth Ann, are already making the rounds and filling your teacups with Adagio’s Earl Grey Crème Tea. Don’t you love that delightful aroma? But there’s lots more on tap to hopefully delight your senses and your taste buds. Because this is an old-fashioned tea, our executive chef, Haley Parker, has dug into her treasure trove of tried-and-true recipes and prepared four courses of good old-fashioned Southern food.”
There was another round of applause and then Theodosia continued.
“Our first course will be fruit-and-sour-cream scones served with genuine Devonshire cream. That course will be followed by a small appetizer of fried green tomatoes and country ham corn fritters.”
Theodosia paused as oohs and aahs filled the room.
“For your entrée today, you’ll have your choice of either grilled duck breast drizzled with cranberry sauce or a wild salmon fillet brined in our house-brand sweet tea. Whichever entrée you choose, your side dishes will include traditional lobster hush puppies and cat-head biscuits.”
Now there were audible cries of anticipation from the guests:
“Like my grandma Lolly used to make!”
“I can hardly wait!”
“All that and dessert, too?”
“Of course dessert,” Theodosia said. “For that, you’ll have your choice of sweet potato pie or pecan pie.”
Now Drayton stepped to the center of the room to join her.
“Or perhaps a small slice of each?” he said with a mischievous grin.
“Tell them about the other teas, Drayton.”
“Besides our Earl Grey Crème, I’m also brewing pots of Indian spice tea and my special Dragonwell Dream tea. I’ve chosen each of these blends as a perfect accompaniment to the food we’re serving today. So, dear guests”�
��Drayton gave a short, stiff bow, like a fencing master might make—“please do enjoy.”
“And if there’s anything else you need or want, be sure to let us know,” Theodosia said.
From then on the tea party ran like clockwork. Haley was a whirling dervish in the kitchen as she plated each course. Theodosia and Beth Ann ran the dishes out, served them, skillfully whisked away used plates, and then brought out the next course. When the numbers were tallied for entrées, it turned out their guests were fairly evenly divided. Eighteen were in favor of the duck breast; twenty opted for the salmon.
Cup after cup of tea was poured and eagerly consumed, and Drayton even had requests to brew pots of tippy Yunan and Dimbulla tea.
“These are sophisticated tea drinkers,” he confided to Theodosia at the front counter. “They know what they want.”
“And what they like,” Theodosia said.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
25
By four forty-five, the party was winding down. Several guests hurried home to get ready for evening parties and Christmas concerts. A few guests lingered at their tables while some wandered over to the two highboys and indulged in some last-minute Christmas shopping.
Theodosia found herself gift wrapping tea towels and tea cozies, and grabbing sweetgrass baskets off the wall so she could create impromptu gift baskets filled with tea tins, jars of honey, and tea towels. No problem, she was always happy to oblige. Good thing she had plenty of clear plastic wrap and red ribbon to gussy up the gifts.
But as darkness descended, streetlamps flickered to life up and down Church Street, the last guests departed, and the party was finally over.
“I’d call that a rousing success,” Drayton said as he dusted his hands together.
“Your guests loved every minute of it,” Beth Ann enthused.
“Hopefully we can bottle some of this magical bonhomie and take it along with us tomorrow,” Drayton said.
