by Laura Childs
“Such as?” said Millie.
“Well,” said Drayton, leaning back in his chair, “you all know about Gateway Walk, don’t you? About the orbs and the poor woman who’s been heard singing lullabies to her dead baby?”
Heads nodded slowly.
“Awful,” muttered Delaine.
“And then there are the boo hags,” said Drayton. “Flaxen-haired vampires that have been mythologized all over the low country. Of course, those creatures only come out at night.”
“Sure they do,” said Theodosia.
“Where have people reported seeing the most manifestations?” asked Jed.
“Probably the Battery Carriage House,” said Drayton. “Dozens of guests have been frightened out of their wits there. Apparently a headless torso roams the halls at night.”
“What about the Provost Dungeon?” said Theodosia. “People who tour that old place often report feeling an intense burning sensation. Because of the awful fire that took place.”
“And they’ve heard chains rattling, too,” said Delaine. She seemed to be slowly getting into the spirit of their discussion, too.
“I think one of the neatest things about Charleston and pretty much the whole South,” put in Tim, “are the old legends.”
“Like Blackbeard,” said Theodosia.
“And the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe,” said Drayton. “Walking the lonely beaches.”
“What about the legend of Madame Margot?” said Millie. “That’s a strange one.”
“But what’s the most frightening tale of all?” asked Jed, really enjoying himself now. “What’s the one story that scares the poop out of you and really raises your hackles?”
“Oh,” said Drayton, giving his question careful consideration. “No doubt about it, it has to be the legend of the Screaming Lula.”
“What’s that?” asked Delaine. “I’ve lived here all my life and never heard that one.”
“The Screaming Lula dates back to just after the War between the States,” said Drayton. “A poor woman by the name of Lula Marsden lost everything to the war—her husband, her two sons, even her home. In fact, she was so destitute, she had to find work as a scullery maid at a boardinghouse over on Calhoun Street. One night, poor Lula was so down and desperate that she set fire to the building. As dozens of occupants fled the blaze, Lula stayed behind, ranting wildly and dashing from room to room. When her long skirts finally caught fire, she ran screaming from the building!”
“No!” said Millie.
Drayton nodded and continued his story. “Down Calhoun Street she tore, her skirt blazing and her burning hair streaming out behind her. Lula was in such a crazed state that she careened directly onto the railroad tracks, right in front of an oncoming train.” He paused. “It’s said the cowcatcher on the front of the train lifted her up and carried her along for several blocks, and that she screamed and cackled the entire way.”
“Wow,” said Tim. “Cool.”
Delaine heaved a sigh and said, “Goodness, Drayton. That’s an awful story!”
“Terrifying,” said Millie. “Absolutely terrifying.” But she still looked intrigued. “Tell me, how on earth did you come to learn all these strange tales?”
Drayton gave a mousy smile. “Let’s just say I’m a true connoisseur of Southern legends.”
* * *
An hour later, it was all over. Theodosia and Haley washed and stacked teacups, packaged up the leftover cake pops—only a dozen or so remained—and wiped the counters.
“Just think,” said Haley, “tomorrow night we get to do this all over again.”
“Just like at the Indigo Tea Shop,” said Theodosia.
“I guess so,” said Haley. She twirled a chocolate cake pop that she was nibbling on.
“Go home,” said Theodosia. “I’ll finish up here.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. You’ve done enough. More than enough.”
“Okay then,” said Haley. She gulped the last bite of her cake pop and gave a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Theodosia fussed around the kitchen, grabbing tea towels and packing them into a wicker basket. She decided that, rather than firing up Granville’s washing machine and dryer, it would be easier to take the towels home with her. Toss a load into her own washing machine tonight.
She was rinsing off the last of the three-tiered serving trays when she spotted the note on the counter. It was half tucked behind a stack of blue-and-white gingham napkins.
What on earth? Something Haley left behind?
She picked it up and saw loopy handwriting scrawled across a square of thick parchment.
A note.
And even more strange, the note was addressed to her. It said, Theodosia. Kindly meet me behind the Gibbes Museum at ten o’clock tonight. It wasn’t signed.
Theodosia whirled about suddenly, a little nervous, a lot perplexed. Who on earth could have written that note?
Had Max dropped by while she was sitting in the garden with Drayton and company? Had he left the note?
Could Haley be a co-conspirator in this? Was there some sort of surprise waiting for her? Wait a minute, was that even Max’s handwriting?
Theodosia studied the note again but wasn’t completely sure. Tapping her toe for a few seconds, she realized that the sound echoed hollowly in the empty house. And that made her jittery, too. Figuring she had to do something, had to sleuth this out somehow, Theodosia grabbed her phone and dialed Max’s number. She knew he was supposed to be at a museum event tonight, but maybe he’d gotten out early. Or skipped out early.
To see me? That would be nice.
But, no, Max wasn’t picking up. She was flipped over to his voice mail where she heard his voice, sounding friendly and familiar, encouraging her to leave a message.
“Max,” she said. “Did you slip in here and leave me a note? Are you the person I’m supposed to meet behind the Gibbes Museum tonight? Um, is this your idea of romance? Because I find it a little spooky. Call me, okay?”
She hung up and thought, Now what do I do?
Should she go there? Or just go home? She touched the piece of parchment again with the tips of her fingers, as if she could intuit who had written it and what their intentions could be.
In the end she swallowed her nerves and went.
* * *
Gateway Walk was a hidden, four-block walk that rambled through lush gardens, an ancient cemetery, and a famous pair of wrought-iron gates. It stretched from the sixteenth-century graveyard that stood behind St. Phillip’s Episcopal Church, past the Circular Congregational Church, the Gibbes Museum, and the Charleston Library Association, ending at Archdale Street. This historic walkway was quiet, contemplative, and abundant with flora and fauna. It was also reputed to be haunted.
Drayton had made mention of it tonight, and old legends spoke of hair that had turned to Spanish moss and now beckoned spookily to unsuspecting visitors. Countless folks had claimed to see the headless torso of a Confederate solider wandering aimlessly through Gateway Walk’s serene gardens and secret cul-de-sacs. Glowing blue orbs had been photographed but never explained.
All of that spun through Theodosia’s brain right now as she walked hastily down the path next to the Gibbes Museum. She’d parked her car on Meeting Street and found the museum, an elegant Greek revival building with four heroic columns, to be totally dark. No concert had just let out; there were no patrons in formal dress still milling around.
All that greeted her were a few tendrils of fog that had crept in from the Atlantic and, with it, the nip of sea air.
Reaching the back courtyard, the place where she and Max usually met, Theodosia hesitated. The place was dark and deserted.
Now what?
She crossed the patio, her footsteps echoing on the polished slate, and crept past looming statuary tha
t, in the dim light, looked like strange, hunched figures. Maybe Max was still inside? But, no, the entire museum was shrouded in darkness.
So what am I supposed to do? Wait for him?
What else was there to do?
She found it hard to believe that this was Max’s idea of a romantic rendezvous. On the other hand, he might be setting up something very special. Perhaps she’d slip around a feathery hedge into a dark, leafy corner where she’d find Max grinning with a proffered bottle of champagne and a big bouquet of roses.
If so, that would be extremely cool. And quite romantic. If not, this whole thing was getting just a little too spooky for words.
“So which is it?” she asked aloud. “What’s it going to be?”
As if in answer, a sound, like the scrape of a footstep on gravel, sounded farther down the pathway.
Huh? Somebody there?
“Max?” she called out.
There was no answer save the sigh of wind in the trees.
Theodosia decided that two could play at this game. Slowly, quietly, she tiptoed down the narrow pathway. Flowering dogwoods brushed her shoulders; a nearby fountain pattered softly while a dove cooed mournfully from its hidden nest.
When she reached the wrought-iron Governor Aiken gates, she hesitated. A faint sliver of moon illuminated a metal plaque that read:
Through hand wrought gates, alluring paths
Lead on to pleasant places
Where ghosts of long forgotten things
Have left elusive traces.
“Ghosts,” said Theodosia. “Maybe they’re all that’s here tonight. Just the sad, lingering souls of people who’ve been buried here. Maybe Max isn’t going to show up. Maybe someone’s playing a trick on me and enjoying a nasty chuckle.”
She wondered if Simone Asher’s fine hand had orchestrated this little no-show? It was possible. Maybe Simone had been so angry and distraught at being asked to leave Granville’s home tonight that she’d concocted what was an elaborate hoax.
Of course, Theodosia reasoned, it could just as easily be Charles Horton or Allan Grumley. Neither of them had been particularly pleasant to her ever since she’d started looking into the murder of Dougan Granville. But would they take petty pleasure in sending her on a wild-goose chase? Hmm. Yes, they probably would.
Theodosia took a few more tentative steps and was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of jasmine. Letting her guard down just a bit, she breathed in the intoxicating scent. There were so many flowers and shrubs here that you were basically ensconced in a cornucopia of aromatherapy.
Theodosia stared into the darkness and sniffed again. There was something else here, too. Something besides the sea breezes and the heavy floral essences that hung in the warm, humid air.
But what was it?
She inhaled again and was able to distinguish a toasty, pungent, almost sweet scent. And this time the limbic part of her brain, the primitive, reactionary reptile part, picked up on it.
Cigar smoke!
Theodosia spun on her heels and fled, running back down the walk and past the museum as though her life depended on it. Was she in danger? By the intense thudding in her chest and her fight-or-flight reaction, her body and mind were signaling yes. A resounding yes.
24
Saturday was their short day at the Indigo Tea Shop. That is, they were only open from nine to one. So, much like their hours, their menu was abbreviated, too.
Standing at the counter, wearing a yellow Lady Gaga T-shirt and a long, pale-blue diaphanous skirt, Haley looked cute and boho-chic as she ticked off her menu.
“Cream scones,” she told Theodosia and Drayton. “And cranberry walnut bread. For lunch, I’m doing two tea sandwiches, chicken salad on cinnamon raisin bread and roast beef on whole wheat, along with cream of mushroom soup.”
“Excellent,” said Drayton.
“How are you holding up?” Theodosia asked.
Haley yawned. “Okay. I’m looking forward to some downtime, though.”
Drayton adjusted his bow tie, a red polka-dot tie that contrasted nicely with his navy jacket and gray slacks. “Pity you two have to work again tonight.”
“You could always drop by and help us,” said Haley. There was a note of hope in her voice.
“Me?” Drayton looked aghast.
“We’ll be fine. After last night we’ve got the drill down cold,” Theodosia told them both. What she didn’t tell them about was her foray into Gateway Walk. As well as the mysterious note and the scent of a sweet cigar riding on the wind. She was still disturbed that someone had tried to lure her there. To do what? Probably nothing nice.
Drayton reached up and grabbed a tin of Ming-Hung tea. “I believe I’ll brew a pot of Fukien red tea today. Be a trifle daring with my selection.”
“That’s our Drayton,” said Haley. “Ever daring.”
“Haley,” said Theodosia. “Could you help me move some boxes in my office? I’m trying to unearth a carton of strainers and tea timers.”
“Sure,” said Haley. “No problem.”
The two of them trooped into Theodosia’s office, where space was always at a premium.
“Whoa,” said Haley, looking around at the clutter and stacks of boxes. “I see the problem. You’re plum out of space.”
“I’ve been out of space for the last three years,” said Theodosia. “But that doesn’t seem to stop me from ordering more teapots, mugs, and wooden tea chests.”
“Good point,” said Haley. She grabbed two boxes off the top of the stack, let loose a little grunt as she hoisted them, and shifted them onto Theodosia’s desk. “Now, if we clear those other three boxes you’ll at least have a fair shot.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” said Theodosia. After they’d dug out the boxes, she remained in her office, putzing around, unearthing more tea ware, and finding a stack of tea magazines that had been delivered heaven knows when. “These have to go on display, too,” she said to herself. “Before next month’s issues show up.”
But when she came flying into the tea room, arms overflowing, she was in for a big surprise. Drayton was seated at one of the tables, along with Jed and Tim Beckman.
“You’re back,” she said to the two ghost hunters.
“We can’t seem to stay away,” said Jed.
“You and Drayton have turned us into confirmed tea lovers,” said Tim.
Drayton caught Theodosia’s eye and said, “I just received a rather interesting invitation.”
“What’s that?” said Theodosia.
Drayton smiled. “Jed and Tim have asked me to accompany them tonight on their mission to Barrow Hall.”
Theodosia’s eyes went wide with surprise. “And you’re going to do it?” Somehow it seemed out of character for Drayton. Although, truth be told, he’d certainly dazzled everyone last night with his ghostly tidbits and crazy stories.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” said Drayton.
“Drayton’s our resident historian,” Jed said with a knowing grin.
“That’s right,” said Tim. “Drayton knows all the legends.”
“About Barrow Hall?” said Theodosia. She didn’t think there were any legends. Just a few details about its sad, almost sordid history as a mental institution.
“I think Barrow Hall might be an amusing foray,” Drayton told her.
“A hoot,” said Jed.
“It’ll be a hoot all right,” said Theodosia. “Just try not to pitch headfirst down a slippery stairwell. Or get lost in a warren of inmate rooms.”
“Aren’t you a bundle of optimism,” said Drayton.
* * *
Lunch was busy with scads of tourists finding their way to the Indigo Tea Shop. A couple of months ago, Theodosia had printed colorful postcards that featured a photo of the exterior of her tea shop on one side and her menu and
address on the reverse. She’d walked the postcards around to four dozen bed-and-breakfasts, inns, and hotels in the area. And her efforts had paid off almost immediately. Now they were bombarded with weekend traffic, and the shelves and cupboards in the tea room needed almost constant restocking. It seemed that between tours to the tea plantation on Wadmalaw Island, the B and Bs serving afternoon tea to guests, and the popularity of the Indigo Tea Shop, strategically located as it was in the Historic District, tea was on everyone’s mind!
“Theo,” said Haley, as the two of them fussed in the kitchen, “you think I should bake a couple more batches of cake pops?”
“You mean more than you have already, or more than you did for last night?” said Theodosia.
“More than last night.”
Theodosia thought for a couple of seconds. “Yes. I’m guessing tonight’s going to be the big push, the evening when the Summer Garden Tour gets the most visitors. So we should probably be armed and ready.”
“Yup,” said Haley. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too.”
“You want me to help with the frosting and decorating?”
“Mmm, maybe.”
Drayton suddenly stuck his head in the doorway. “Theo. Phone call.”
“Is it Max?” She’d put a call in to him first thing and was waiting for him to call back.
“No,” said Drayton. “I think it’s Delaine.”
Theodosia ducked into her office and grabbed the phone. “Hi. Is your meeting over with already? How’d it go?”
There was a peal of laughter and Delaine said, “It really couldn’t have gone any better. That lawyer you recommended was terrific.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Theodosia. The small wire of worry that had been stretched tightly around her heart suddenly eased. Now maybe Delaine wouldn’t feel so distraught or act so compulsive. “So, what happened? Obviously there was a reading of the will. I’m assuming you received a piece of the inheritance? Did Charles Horton get anything?”
“All was revealed,” said Delaine.
“And?” After all the fuss and hysterics and drama, Theodosia wanted to be privy to all the juicy details. She’d earned the right, for gosh sake.
