by Laura Childs
“I’m glad,” said Theodosia, “because there is something decidedly unsettling about his—”
“I think so, too,” whispered Bethany as she hurriedly slipped away to the kitchen.
“Theodosia. Telephone!” Haley called from the counter.
Theodosia hurried to the counter and picked up the phone. “This is Theodosia.”
“Hi, it’s Jory Davis,” said the voice on the other end.
“Oh, hello.”
“I just wanted to tell you that your private security guard has reported no unusual incidents over the last two days.” “He’s been watching us for two days? Are you sure? Because I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone.” Jory Davis chuckled. “You’re not supposed to. That’s the whole point.”
Theodosia considered his remark. “You’re probably right. I certainly appreciate your arranging for this. I’m not entirely convinced it’s necessary, but still it feels comforting.”
“Again,” said Jory, “that is the point.” He hesitated. “Theodosia, I have two tickets for the opera tomorrow evening. Madame Bovary, to be exact.”
She smiled, her first genuine, heartfelt smile in days.
“Realizing this is a rather late invitation, I offer, by way of explanation, that they are my mother’s season tickets, actually quite excellent seats, and she is just now unable to attend. But I would love it if you’d accompany me.”
“As it so happens, Mr. Davis, I am free.”
“Wonderful. Black tie, of course. There’s a cocktail party preceding the performance and afterwards a number of small parties to choose from. I shall call for you at precisely six-thirty P.M.”
“I look forward to it.”
Theodosia hung up the phone and whirled about to face the tea shop. So genuine was the smile that graced her face that two elderly ladies seated near the door smiled back at her.
What a delight! she told herself. A date with Jory Davis. And to the opera, which was always fabulous. With parties before and after!
“You look energized, Theodosia,” commented Haley. “Your face is absolutely glowing.”
“Drayton.” Theodosia fairly skipped over to where he was sitting. “Why don’t we start filling the tea tins with the holiday blends? Get a jump on the whole process?”
“Today? Now?” he asked, surprised by her shift in mood.
“As soon as the customers leave. I’ve been dragging everybody down with my snooping and sleuthing, and all it’s done is put us farther and farther behind. Jeopardize business.”
He was still staring at her.
“Where’s the tea?” she asked. “Over at Gallagher’s?”
“Of course.”
Drayton always used the extensive food-prep facilities at nearby Gallagher’s Food Service to blend his teas. Now they were stored there as well, all four of the holiday blends, in their twenty-gallon airtight canisters.
“Can they deliver today?”
“With their fleet of delivery trucks, they can probably have the tea here in thirty minutes.”
“Perfect,” said Theodosia.
Chapter 42
Tables pushed together, empty gold tins laid out upon them, glinting under overhead lights, the group was ready to begin.
“Okay,” began Drayton, “this is going to be assembly-line style. Haley and I will begin at opposite ends. She’ll measure out the black currant blend, and I’ll do the Indian spice. You two—” he nodded at Theodosia and Bethany— “have to keep tabs and let each of us know when we’ve filled two hundred fifty tins. Then we’ll put covers on and restack the filled tins back in their original cartons to await the labels.”
Bethany looked at the daunting task that loomed ahead. “Machines can’t do this?” she asked.
Drayton snorted disdainfully. “Can machines create the perfect blend? Can machines add just the right touch of bergamot oil? Can machines impart care and love into each tin? I hardly think so.” Drayton dipped a glass scoop into the twenty-gallon canister, filled it to equal approximately six ounces of tea, and began pouring tea into tins at his end of the table.
“Trust me, dear,” said Theodosia. “It won’t feel like love an hour from now. It will just feel like a sore back.”
“You got that right,” agreed Haley, who’d done this chore for the last two years.
“And remember,” warned Drayton, “when you close up the filled tins and put them back into the cartons, mark each carton carefully as to the blend. We don’t want to mix them up!”
“Yes, Drayton,” said Theodosia obediently, and the two girls chuckled.
They worked quickly and efficiently. Soon the aroma of the spicy teas filled the air, and bits of loose tea clung to their clothing.
“This is like working in an aromatherapy factory,” joked Haley. “There are so many different essences and aromas swirling around, I don’t know whether to feel relaxed or invigorated.”
“Just feel diligent,” said Drayton. His personality was so task-oriented that, once he started a project, he doggedly kept at it until he finished.
“My back is killing me,” complained Haley. She had just added a fourth layer of filled tins to one of the cartons and was bending over it, about to close it up.
“We’re almost done,” said Drayton. “It can’t be more than...” He carefully surveyed the table of empty tins. “Perhaps forty more tins to fill with cranberry orange blend.”
“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “Why don’t you let me finish up?”
“Okay,” agreed Haley. She was tired and ready to throw in the towel.
“But we’re almost done,” protested Drayton.
“Exactly,” said Theodosia. “It’s late. It’s been a long day. I don’t mind finishing myself. It’ll be fun.”
“Well . . .” said Drayton. “Be sure to mark each...”
“I’ll mark each carton, Drayton,” she assured him. “Now, you folks scoot!”
Theodosia breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the latch on the door.
It was nice to be alone in the tea shop, she decided. Nice to be able to finish this chore at her own pace instead of whipping along, trying to keep up with Drayton’s production line.
She turned on the radio and found a station that was playing a whole set of songs by Harry Connick. She sang and hummed along, thoroughly enjoying herself. It took her almost an hour to finish filling the tins, replace the lids securely, pack them up, and stack the boxes in her office. When she was done, she enjoyed a real sense of accomplishment. All that was needed now were the printed labels.
Drayton was right, Theodosia decided as she surveyed the wall of floor-to-ceiling cartons. She did need a hard hat and forklift. What a huge amount of tea to sell. She definitely had to buckle down to business!
Once upstairs in her apartment for the evening, Theodosia’s thoughts turned to her date tomorrow night. She was determined to find just the right moment to tell Jory Davis all about her private sleuthing and what she’d uncovered. He was a smart man, a lawyer. It would be valuable to get his input and hard-nosed advice. She certainly didn’t seem to be making much headway. Maybe Jory Davis would see an angle that had eluded her.
Now, she asked herself, what would she wear? Jory Davis had specified black tie, so that narrowed it down. And the weather was still cool, so that was a factor, too. Were we talking black cocktail dress and beaded jacket or long gown with velvet opera cape? she wondered. Even though a long gown was technically not black tie, women in Charleston did tend to favor them. Especially for opening night at the opera. Oh, and there was that wonderful hand-painted velvet jacket hanging in her closet, too. Could she wear it with black velvet slacks and get away with it? Hmm... probably not. Might be just a tad casual. Better to go with the black dress and beaded jacket. That outfit would be classy and slimming.
Now, what about jewelry? Small, tasteful diamond stud earrings or glitzy drop earrings?
Just as she was beginning to think she should get Delaine on the line and d
o a quick consultation with the fashion police, Theodosia straightened up, cocked an ear. She’d heard a noise downstairs. A slight rattle. Subtle. Surreptitious.
Rattle? Like someone trying to open the back door? Maybe the same someone who left a threatening note two nights ago?
Panic gripped her heart. Her hand flailed for the light switch and hit it, dousing the lights. Now she pressed her face up close against the window and peered down into the alley.
There was a car down there, all right. Its lights were off, but she could hear the low throb of an engine. It sounded almost as loud as the pounding in her chest.
She contorted her head, trying to see more. A shadowy figure moved from her doorway to the car and climbed inside.
What to do? Where was the security guard? She had a phone number to call—should she dial it? Yes!
She scurried into the living room, fumbled through her purse, and found the number. Grabbing the phone, she punched in digits.
Someone picked up on the first ring. “Gold Shield Security.”
“This is Theodosia Browning at the Indigo Tea Shop.” Her words tumbled out, one on top of the other. “Someone’s downstairs in the alley. Right behind my shop. Someone who shouldn’t be.”
“Calm down,” replied the voice. “Let me check my screen.” There was a pause. “Miss Browning, the security guard patrolling your area is about three blocks away. I’ve flashed him a message. Is the prowler still in the alley?”
“Just a minute.” Clutching the cordless phone, she scurried back into the bedroom and pressed her face against the window. “Yes,” she whispered into the phone.
“Stay on the line, please. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get a response. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Then Theodosia was standing there in the shadows, watching the dark car in the alley below, hoping the prowler hadn’t ducked back in his car for a lock pick or sledgehammer, praying he wasn’t going to step across the alley to Haley’s and Bethany’s apartment and knock on the door. Because, trusting souls that they were, they’d probably let him in!
“Miss Browning, our guard should be there any moment. Do you see anything?” asked the voice on the phone.
“No . . . yes!” She suddenly saw a car turn in to her alley, glide swiftly toward her shop. But now the prowler’s car below suddenly flashed its lights on and gunned the motor. The driver hit the accelerator, and the tires screeched horribly for a few seconds, then found purchase on rough cobblestones. Roaring ahead, the prowler’s car fishtailed, gaining speed. But the response car was right behind, searchlight on, accelerating full bore.
The words in hot pursuit formed in Theodosia’s brain, then she sat down heavily on the bed.
“Miss Browning, everything okay there?” came the voice again in the phone.
“Yes, your security guard is in pursuit.”
“We have him on our screen. A second security guard is en route and should be there within two minutes. He will remain parked outside your home through the night. If we get any information on your prowler, we’ll call you.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia gratefully.
She went to the window again and waited for what seemed like an eternity, although it probably was just two minutes, until the second security guard pulled up.
She flipped the bedroom lights back on and looked at the black dress hanging on her closet door. Well, at least she’d have an interesting story to tell over cocktails tomorrow night!
Chapter 43
“These mugs are neat,” said Haley. Federal Express had just delivered a large carton, and Haley was unearthing bubble-wrapped mugs from their nest of plastic peanuts.
“Did Drayton order these?” asked Bethany.
Haley nodded. “Gearing up for the holidays. We usually sell a lot of gifty items.” She held a ceramic mug in each hand, one a pink peony pattern, the other a Chinese dragon design. “Look,” she exclaimed, “matching tops to keep your tea warm. Pretty slick.” She pushed the carton across the counter to Bethany. “Why don’t you do one of your pretty arrangements while I pull my pumpkin scones out of the oven. See there, you can slide those trivets and candles over on that middle shelf.”
“Sounds good,” agreed Bethany as she admired the peony tea mug. “Has Theodosia seen these yet?”
“No, she’s still on the phone.”
Theodosia was bent over her desk, head cocked to the left, phone cradled in the crook of her neck. Her right hand clutched a black felt-tip pen. “Give me that plate number again,” she said. Nodding to the disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, she wrote AUY372 on a sheet of paper. She tapped the tip of the pen against the paper sharply, making a series of zigzag doodles around the number. Nervous doodles.
“And you did get a response from the Motor Vehicles Department? Oh, they’re faxing it now? Yes, of course I’ll hold.”
Theodosia continued tapping her pen nervously, and her gaze roved the room. It fell upon bookshelves filled with paperwork that demanded her attention. A chair heaped with storyboards that weren’t going anywhere for a while. Cartons filled with tins of holiday teas. She groaned inwardly. That tea alone represented almost 20,000 dollars in potential gross profit. Could she sell it and jump-start business? That remained to be seen.
“Yes?” She fairly bounced out of her chair when the voice came back on the line. “I didn’t realize a leased auto made a difference. Yes, it is interesting, isn’t it?” she said, although she was clearly disinterested. “You have the name?” She sat up straight, eyes riveted on the plate number she’d written on her paper. “Yes? Tanner Joseph,” she repeated in an odd, flat tone. “Thank you.”
She slammed the phone down so hard the receiver bounced back out of its cradle.
“Damn!” she cried.
Drayton was in Theodosia’s office in a heartbeat, easing the door closed behind him.
“Shhh.” He held a cautionary finger to his lips. “We’ve got customers!”
She whirled to face Drayton, chest heaving, complexion mottled with anger, auburn hair in a mad swirl. “It was Tanner Joseph!” She spat the name out with anger and disgust.
“What was Tanner Joseph?” Drayton asked quietly. He figured the surest way to calm someone was to remain calm yourself, although he could certainly be proved wrong in this case. Theodosia seemed absolutely infuriated.
“Last night!” she raged and began pacing the confines of her small, cluttered office. “Out in the alley!”
“Someone was in the alley last night?” asked Drayton. Now his voice rose a few octaves as well. “Theodosia, did something happen after we left?” he demanded.
“That idiot, Tanner Joseph, was out there. Gold Shield Security just called. One of their security guards got a read on his plate number.” She stomped her foot. “Of all the nerve!”
“But why would he...?” Drayton let his sentence hang there, searching for a logical explanation. He tried again. “But you already picked up the labels, so...”
His eyes met hers and realization dawned. “Tanner Joseph was stalking you,” whispered Drayton.
“No kidding,” she said glumly.
Chapter 44
For the first time in years, Theodosia did not find herself calmed by the simple act of sipping a cup of tea. As she gazed across her desk at Drayton, she realized he wasn’t exactly the poster child for serenity either.
“What are you going to tell Haley and Bethany?” asked Drayton. He had experienced his own minimeltdown upon hearing that Tanner Joseph had been Theodosia’s unwelcome caller the night before, and now his hair was ruffled from running his hands nervously through it, his tie askew. And Drayton was gulping his tea rather than sipping it.
“I suppose I’ll have to tell them the truth,” said Theodosia. “Even though we still have the security guard, they need to be on the alert. We don’t know what this character Tanner Joseph is capable of.”
“We also don’t know if he was the one who
left the note the other night,” said Drayton.
“He could have,” said Theodosia. “But I’m more inclined to believe this was the first time Tanner Joseph has shown up. My guess is he was colossally ticked that I picked up the labels and didn’t hang around to schmooze with him. Although I’m afraid he might have had more on his mind than just schmoozing.”
Drayton gazed at her glumly. “If that’s the case, it means there are two nut cases walking around.”
Theodosia put both hands to her temples and massaged them. “Chilling thought, isn’t it?”
A gentle rap on the door interrupted them.
“What?” called Drayton.
The door cracked open no more than an inch.
“Tidwell just came in,” said Haley. “He wants to speak with Theodosia.”
“Get out in front right now,” ordered Drayton. “You know Bethany is scared to death of that man!”
“Okay, okay,” grumped Haley. “Take a chill pill. I can’t be in two places at once!”
Theodosia gazed wearily at Drayton. “Everything is falling apart,” she murmured. “Ever since the murder of Hughes Barron, nothing’s been the same.”
Drayton grabbed her hand in his, held it firmly, and met her sad-eyed gaze with genteel fervor. “Hear me, Theodosia. We will get to the bottom of all this. We will unravel this mystery. And when we do, we shall both look back on this and laugh. That’s right; we will find this all terribly droll and amusing, mark my words. Now, Miss Browning, I suggest you smooth your hair and blot your eyes. That’s it,” he said with encouragement. “Can’t have terrible Tidwell thinking anything’s amiss, can we?” He fell in step behind Theodosia. “Bear up, dear girl,” he whispered.
Theodosia unleashed a warm smile on Burt Tidwell that she somehow managed to dredge from the depths of her soul. “Good morning, Detective Tidwell.” Her voice, still husky from anger, passed for throaty.
“Miss Browning.” Tidwell favored her with a quick grimace, his rendition of a smile, and Theodosia wondered if there was a Mrs. Tidwell attached to this quaint, quirky man. Pity the poor woman.
