Death By Darjeeling atsm-1

by Laura Childs

  Delaine Dish leaned forward eagerly. “Innuendoes, really. About the night of the Lamplighter Tour.”

  “Oh, that,” said Theodosia.

  “About your snooping around inside his house during one of his concerts.” Delaine’s cupid lips were curled in a smile, but her look clearly questioned the truthfulness of this allegation.

  “He said that?” Theodosia tried her best to appear injured and innocent.

  “That’s what Timothy told George Harper when he stopped by the Antiquarian Map Store.”

  “Really,” said Theodosia. So maybe Timothy Neville had been the one who’d opened the door that night, she thought. Come to check if she was snooping about. And she cowering in the dark. Truly, another proud moment in what had been an insane last couple weeks. “What else, Delaine?” Theodosia asked.

  Delaine looked pained. “Something about the young woman who served as an intern at the Heritage Society. Now works for you.”

  “Bethany.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Let me guess, Delaine. Timothy Neville is convinced Bethany had some kind of relationship with Hughes Barron.”

  “Yes, he is!” said Delaine, enormously pleased that Theodosia seemed to be finally getting into the spirit of this juicy discussion.

  “Forget it,” said Theodosia. “It’s not true. None of it’s true.” Well, she reluctantly admitted to herself, the snooping part was true, but she wasn’t about to confess her sins to Delaine Dish. If she did, they’d be headline news all over Charleston.

  “I know that, Theodosia,” assured Delaine. “But Timothy Neville carries a lot of clout around here. You do, too, of course. Your family is almost as old as his. But he is being verbal. You remain silent.”

  “I do not need to dignify his lies with a rebuttal.”

  “Oh, hello, Angie,” said Delaine excitedly. She turned in her chair, the better to greet Angie Congdon. “Wasn’t it a shame about Mr. Dauphine? Such a pity. Dear, do you have just a moment?” Delaine stood in a swirl of perfect pink and reached out to catch Angie’s arm. “I just received the most tantalizing shipment of silks in the most amazing jewel tones and, of course, I immediately thought of your olive complexion and dark hair.” Delaine was off and running.

  Theodosia rose and began clearing the table, all the while pondering what Delaine had just related to her. As much as she wanted to, perhaps she couldn’t ignore these issues any longer. Maybe she had to do something about Timothy Neville. The question was, what?

  If he had been the one who left the note last night, it meant he was truly dangerous, a threat to everyone at the tea shop. But she still didn’t have any hard evidence to use against him.

  It was obvious now that Timothy Neville had been secretly fearful that Hughes Barron’s offer on the Peregrine Building would be accepted. If the Peregrine Building had been sold before the event of Mr. Dauphine’s death, the Heritage Society would have lost out completely.

  Was that motive enough to do away with Hughes Barron? Perhaps.

  And now, with Mr. Dauphine’s very convenient death, the deed to the property slid over to the Heritage Society, no questions asked. Timothy Neville would, once again, look like a shining star in the eyes of his board of directors and roster of high-profile donors.

  So did that make Timothy Neville a double murderer? It was a chilling thought.

  There was yet another dark possibility. Only yesterday, Mr. Lleveret Dante had put forth an offer on the Peregrine Building. But what if Mr. Dauphine had turned him down flat? Could being rebuffed have sent Lleveret Dante into a vicious rage? A rage that prompted him to kill Mr. Dauphine?

  Not knowing about Mr. Dauphine’s will, Lleveret Dante might have assumed that, with the aging owner’s death, the property would have been sold off hastily. He was already the likely suitor, already in a position to pounce on the Peregrine Building!

  Her theories reminded Theodosia of the logic course she’d taken in college. If A equals D, then B equals C. Logic hadn’t made any sense to her then, and her suppositions on Hughes Barron’s murder or Mr. Dauphine’s death weren’t yielding anything constructive, either. They were just puzzles within puzzles that made her head spin.

  The phone shrilled on the counter next to her, and Theodosia automatically reached for it. “Indigo Tea Shop, how may I help you?” she said.

  “Theodosia, Tanner Joseph here. Good news. I’ve just finished your labels.”

  “Wonderful,” she said in a flat voice.

  “Hey, don’t sound so excited.”

  Tanner Joseph’s tone was upbeat and breezy. A far cry, Theodosia thought, from the anger and hostility he’d radiated when she’d made mention of Hughes Barron the day before. She suddenly wondered if he knew something about the Peregrine Building. Everyone else certainly did.

  “Will you be home this evening?” Tanner asked her. “I’m driving into the city, and I could easily drop them—”

  “No,” interrupted Theodosia. “Don’t bother. I prefer to come pick them up.” She thought quickly. “You’ll be at your office tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes,” Tanner said, “but there’s really no need to—”

  “It’s no trouble,” said Theodosia and hung up the phone.

  The labels. Damn. She’d forgotten about them for the moment. They were one more futzy detail to follow up on, one more reminder that she wasn’t really tending to business here. Theodosia stared out into the tea shop where Delaine was still deep in conversation with Angie Congdon.

  “Do we need to talk?” Drayton, reaching for a fresh jar of honey, saw consternation mingled with weariness on Theodosia’s face.

  Theodosia nodded. “My office, though.”

  When the two were alone, Theodosia related her conversation with Delaine.

  “Pay no attention,” counseled Drayton. “Everyone knows Delaine is a confirmed gossip.” He peered at her, knowing something else was gnawing at her. “Did Burt Tidwell say something to you as well?”

  “Drayton,” said Theodosia, “you’re on the board of directors of the Heritage Society. Were you aware that Mr. Dauphine had willed the Peregrine Building to the Heritage Society?”

  “He did?” Drayton frowned. “Seriously? No, I knew nothing. It’s news to me.”

  “So board members aren’t privy to such information?”

  “That kind of thing comes under the category of directed donation. So usually just the board president, in this case Timothy Neville, and the Heritage Society’s legal counsel are privy to details.”

  “I see.”

  Drayton gazed at her. “You’re getting frown lines.”

  “Not now, Drayton,” she snapped.

  “Oh, we’re going to be that way, are we?” he said. “Once again, you have assumed the entire weight of the world on your small but capable shoulders.” He continued even as she glowered at him. “As you wish, Theodosia. I shall play along, then.” He crossed his arms and tried to appear thoughtful. “Let me guess. Suddenly you are envisioning a scenario where Timothy Neville also decides to hasten the death of Mr. Dauphine?”

  “It’s a possibility,” admitted Theodosia.

  “Perhaps. Or a second scenario might place our mystery man, Lleveret Dante, at the scene of that crime as well. Mr. Mustard in the library, so to speak.”

  “It’s no joking matter, Drayton.”

  “No, it’s not, Theodosia. I’m as concerned as you about everything that’s gone on. And I certainly don’t take the threat against Earl Grey lightly, either. I hope you informed Detective Tidwell about that incident.”

  He took her silence as a no.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said wearily.

  “Last night, you said you were in this with me,” she cried.

  “That was before Mr. Dauphine turned up dead!” He rolled his eyes skyward as if to implore, Heaven help me.

  “I’m not afraid,” murmured Theodosia. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Really,” said
Drayton. He planted both hands on her desk and leaned toward her. “Then, pray tell, why did you spirit Earl Grey off to your Aunt Libby’s in the middle of the night?”

  Chapter 40

  Tanner Joseph heard the muffled slam of the car door outside his office. She was here, he told himself excitedly. Theodosia Browning had arrived to fetch the tea labels. Evening before last, he had worked long into the night, adding subtle touches of color to the black-and-white drawings, so intense had been his desire to please Theodosia and see her again.

  After his call to her yesterday, when she told him she wanted to wait till morning, preferred to drive out to Johns Island and pick up the labels herself, he had been terribly dismayed. But when the day had dawned and a gloriously sunny day revealed itself, his spirits had greatly improved, and he saw now that he might turn her visit to his advantage. He simply had to convince Theodosia to stay. To spend the rest of the day with him. And, he hoped, the evening. That would finally give the two of them the time and space they needed to really get to know each other.

  The door flew open, and Tanner Joseph greeted Theodosia with a smile. It was the boyish grin he had practiced many times in his bathroom mirror. It was also a grin that, more often than not, worked rather well on girls.

  Only Theodosia was not a girl, he reminded himself. She was a woman. A beautiful, enchanting woman.

  “Hello, Tanner.” Theodosia stood in front of his desk, gazing down at him. She wore a plum-colored pant suit and carried a slim leather attaché case. Her face was impassive, her voice brisk and businesslike.

  Theodosia had to remind herself that this young man who sat before her, looking rather innocuous and innocent, had quite possibly used Bethany to obtain information about her. She wasn’t certain why Tanner Joseph wanted to collect this information but, since she still viewed him as a wild-card suspect in Hughes Barron’s murder, his attempt at familiarity was extremely unsettling. As she met Tanner Joseph’s piercing blue eyes, she assured herself this would be a quick, by-the-book business transaction.

  Tanner Joseph took in her business garb and snappy attitude, and his hopes slipped a bit. Perhaps Theodosia hadn’t taken time to fully appreciate the thousand-watt glow of his boyish grin. No, he could see she obviously hadn’t. She was all but tapping her toe to get going.

  “Here are the finished pieces, Theo.” He held the art boards out to Theodosia and watched as she took them from his hands. Their fingers touched for a moment. Could she feel the spark? The electricity? He certainly could.

  Theodosia quickly shuffled through the four boards, studying the finished art. “These are very good,” she declared.

  Tanner Joseph frowned. The gush of compliments he’d hoped for didn’t seem to be forthcoming. Instead, her comment was more a calculated, measured appraisal. A pro forma “job well done.”

  “You finished them in tempera paint?” Theodosia asked. She tapped at one of the drawings with a fingernail.

  “Colored markers,” replied Tanner Joseph. He eased himself back in his chair. She was pleased, he knew she was. He could read it in her face.

  Theodosia laid her attaché case on Tanner Joseph’s desk and opened it.

  “Drayton is going to love these,” she said. “You did a first-class job.” She placed the art boards carefully in her case, closed it, snapped the latch.

  “That’s it?” he inquired lazily.

  “That’s it,” replied Theodosia. “Send me your invoice, and I’ll make sure you receive samples as soon as everything’s printed.” She spun on her heel, heading for the door.

  Tanner Joseph stood up so quickly his chair snapped back loudly. “Don’t rush off,” he implored. “I was hoping we could—”

  But Theodosia was already out the door, striding across the hardpan toward her Jeep.

  “Hey!” Tanner Joseph slumped unhappily in the doorway of the Shorebird Environmentalist Group headquarters and waved helplessly at her.

  “Bye!” called Theodosia as the Jeep roared to life. The last thing she saw as she pulled into traffic was a forlorn-looking Tanner Joseph, wondering how things had gone so wrong.

  Chapter 41

  “What are you drinking?” asked Bethany. Drayton answered her without looking up from his writing. “Cinnamon plum.”

  He sat at the table nearest the counter, working on his article. It was 2:00 P.M., and Bethany and Haley were bored. The lunchtime customers had left, and afternoon tea customers hadn’t yet arrived. Baked goods cooled on racks, shelves were fully stocked, and tables were set.

  “Cinnamon plum sounds awfully sweet. I thought you said you never drink sweet teas,” responded Bethany. “I consider it more flavorful than sweet,” said Drayton as he continued writing.

  “What are you working on?” asked Haley.

  “I was working on an article for Beverage & Hospitality magazine,” said Drayton as he sighed heavily and put down his pen.

  “About tea?” said Haley.

  “Yes, about tea. I can’t seem to put my finger on the precise reason, but I seem to have completely lost my train of thought.” “No need to get snippy, Drayton.” Haley peered over Drayton’s shoulder. “You always write your articles in longhand?” “Naturally. I’m a Luddite. I abhor modern contraptions such as computers. No soul.” “Is that why you live in that quaint, rundown house?” asked Bethany.

  “The dwelling you are referring to is neither quaint nor rundown. It is a historic home that has been lovingly and authentically restored. A time capsule of history, if you will.”

  “Oh,” said Haley, and the two girls burst out giggling.

  Drayton turned to face them. “Instead of plaguing me, ladies, why don’t you just come right out and admit it? You’re nervous about Theodosia’s errand.”

  When he saw their faces suddenly crumple and real worry appear, Drayton immediately changed his tune. “Well, don’t be,” he replied airily. “She’s highly capable, I assure you.”

  “It’s just that everything’s been so topsy-turvy around here,” said Haley. “And now with that awful note...” Her voice trailed off. “I wish it hadn’t been typed. If it was someone’s handwriting, we’d have something to go on.”

  “Listen to yourself,” scolded Drayton. “You’re still talking about investigating. Don’t you know we may be in real danger? Dear girl, there’s a reason Theodosia hired a private security guard.”

  “She did?” Bethany’s eyes were as round as saucers. This was news to her!

  The doorknob rattled, then turned, and they all held their breath, watching.

  But it was Miss Dimple.

  Drayton rose from his seat and rushed over to greet her. He extended an arm to lead her to a table. “Get Miss Dimple a cup of tea, girls.”

  He sat down next to her, patted her arm. “How are you doing, dear?”

  Miss Dimple’s sadness was apparent. Her shoulders were slumped, her usual pink complexion doughy. “Terrible. I was just up in the office and I kept waiting for Mr. Dauphine to come clumping up the stairs.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

  Drayton pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. She accepted it gratefully.

  Bethany and Haley arrived with a steaming teapot and teacups. “Tea, Miss Dimple?” asked Haley.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, blotting her tears.

  Drayton poured a cup of tea for Miss Dimple and, without asking, added a lump of sugar and a splash of cream.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and took a sip. “Good.” She smiled weakly, glancing around at the three of them.

  “We were all very sorry to hear about Mr. Dauphine,” volunteered Haley. “He was such a nice man. He parked his car in the alley outside our apartment. He was always worried that he’d disturb us or something. Of course, he never did.”

  “I came to tell you all,” said Miss Dimple, “that there will be a memorial service for Mr. Dauphine. Day after tomorrow.”

  �
�At Saint Philip’s?” asked Drayton.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Dimple squeaked, and a few more tears slid down her cheeks. “He loved Saint Philip’s,” she said tremulously.

  “As do we all,” murmured Drayton.

  Thirty minutes later, when Theodosia walked in, Dray-ton was back at his table working on his article, while Haley and Bethany were waiting on customers. Even though almost all the tables were filled, the mood in the tea shop seemed somber and quiet.

  “Who died?” asked Theodosia, sitting down across from Drayton. Then she remembered. Mr. Dauphine had. “Oh, dear,” she said contritely, “how could I have even said that! How thoughtless of me. Forgive me, Drayton.” She went to pour a cup of tea and spilled it, so flustered was she by her inappropriate remark.

  Drayton waved a hand. “Not to worry. I think the stress is getting to all of us. And of course it didn’t help that poor Miss Dimple stopped in here a while ago. She’s going around to all the shops. Well, the ones up and down Church Street anyway. Telling folks that Mr. Dauphine’s funeral will be held day after tomorrow.”

  Theodosia nodded. “You picked up the artwork?” Drayton pointed his pen toward her attaché case. “Already dropped it by the printer. They’re probably making color plates even as we speak.” “No problems out there?” he asked, a pointed reference to Tanner Joseph.

  “None at all.”

  “Excellent. FedEx delivered the tea tins while you were out. There are ten cartons in back stacked floor to ceiling. Your office now resembles a warehouse. All you need is a hard hat and forklift.”

  “Let me get you a fresh cup, Theodosia.” Bethany reached over and carefully retrieved Theodosia’s cup and saucer with its overflow of tea.

  “Thank you, Bethany,” murmured Theodosia.

  Bethany transferred the cup and saucer to her silver serving tray. She hesitated. “Everything was fine with the artwork?”

  Theodosia nodded. “Bethany, you wouldn’t go out on a date with Tanner Joseph again, would you?” Theodosia asked the question as gently as possible.

  “No chance of that,” declared Bethany.