by Laura Childs
“I just did,” Theodosia said. “Now move it, lady.”
Betty and Sissy limped around for a few moments, trying to regain their bearings and their composure, smoothing down their rumpled clothes, collecting their handbags.
Delaine was suddenly overcome with gratitude that Theodosia had actually been able to stop the fight. “Oh my, oh my gosh.” Delaine hopped up and down, giddy with relief. “How can I thank you, Theodosia!” She threw both arms around Theodosia and gripped her tightly.
“How about not asking me to cater any more fashion shows?” Theodosia responded.
Nervous titters sounded from the crowd.
But Delaine was all jacked up and ready to rhapsodize. “But, Theo, you literally saved the day. You were so bold and decisive. Stopping this fight—clearly coming across as the voice of reason—this is something you’re good at.” She shook her head. “So much better than poking your nose into all those crazy murders.”
At Delaine’s words, a sudden hush fell over the crowd. And then Betty and Sissy, who were almost at the front door, turned back to stare at Theodosia.
And Theodosia swore she could see inquisitive wheels turning inside each of their banged-up little heads.
14
“How was the Silk Road show?” Drayton asked when Theodosia walked into the Indigo Tea Shop, dragging two wicker hampers behind her.
“Awful,” Theodosia said.
Drayton looked stunned. “Oh no, was the tea not right? Let me guess, too brisk?” His brow wrinkled in deep concern. “I had a feeling I might be coming on a bit strong with that blend of Chinese Yunnan and Keemun. Oh, Theo, I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Theodosia said. “Your tea selection was perfect; it was the guests who were horrible. Well, really just two guests, if you want to know the truth.”
Drayton seemed to relax. “Tell me what happened.”
At that exact moment, Haley came strolling out of the kitchen nibbling the top of a chocolate chip muffin. “Something happened?” she asked.
“Remember Betty Bates?” Theodosia asked. She flashed a knowing glance at Drayton. “From last night? The lady banker who crabbed at us?”
Drayton nodded. “How could I forget?”
“She showed up at Delaine’s Silk Road Fashion Show.”
Haley shrugged. “Didn’t everybody and his brother get an invitation to that?”
“But not everybody got into a huge kerfuffle with Sissy Lanier,” Theodosia said.
“Wait . . . Betty and the dead guy’s ex-wife?” Haley asked. Her eyes glowed; now she was interested. Here was a choice chunk of gossip she could wrap her head around.
“Actually, it was more than a kerfuffle,” Theodosia said. “It was your basic knock-down-drag-out slugfest.”
“What!” Drayton said.
“Creepers,” Haley said. “Like on Jerry Springer when people get conked on the head with folding chairs?”
“Exactly like that,” Theodosia said. “Except instead of folding chairs they used racks of clothing.”
“No,” Drayton said.
“Yes,” Theodosia said. “Betty and Sissy pretty much wrecked the place. They were clawing and yelling at each other, even throwing punches.”
“What were they fighting about?” Drayton asked.
“They each accused the other of murdering Carson Lanier,” Theodosia said.
“No!” Drayton cried again.
“Whoa,” Haley said. “The plot thickens.”
Theodosia touched a hand to her forehead and massaged it gently, trying to knock back her headache. “They hissed at each other like a couple of spitting cobras and threw so many punches that they fell on the floor and knocked over a rack of clothing in the process.” She drew a deep breath. “Then Delaine freaked out and begged me to step in and break up the fight.”
“Glory be,” Drayton said. “Did you?”
Theodosia rubbed her shoulder. “Yes, and I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
“Nobody said refereeing a fight would be easy,” Haley said.
Drayton stared at Theodosia, a look of horror on his face. “And after that, you served lunch?”
“Let me tell you, it was a balancing act of epic proportions.”
“But everyone liked the spring rolls and dumplings?” Haley asked.
“I think they did. The food all disappeared, anyway.” Theodosia sighed deeply.
“So it was over just like that?” Haley said.
“Not with a bang but a whimper,” Theodosia said. She pushed back a few stray auburn curls that hung in her eyes. “The thing is . . . what I need to figure out now . . . are either Sissy or Betty legitimate suspects?”
“You think one of them could have killed the banker guy?” Haley asked.
“It sounds as if they both have terrible tempers,” Drayton said. “So either one of them could be suspects.”
Haley looked confused. “But . . . what would be their motives?”
“Sissy is salivating because now she’ll inherit her soon-to-be ex-husband’s money,” Theodosia said. “And Betty Bates . . . I’m not exactly sure about her. Maybe Betty wanted to step into Carson Lanier’s job at the bank? Or she coveted his seat on the Heritage Society’s board of directors? I don’t know.”
“People have killed for a lot less,” Drayton said.
“You just said a mouthful,” Haley said. “Gangbangers and dopers knock over convenience stores all the time for, like, twenty bucks and a Slim Jim.” She gave them a bug-eyed look. “I guess because they’re so convenient. They’re like corner ATMs, only with soda pop and chips.”
“Good heavens, this has become a complete mess, hasn’t it?” Drayton said.
Haley’s eyes glowed. “Actually, I think it’s kind of exciting. If Theodosia keeps investigating, that is.”
“I don’t know if I should,” Theodosia said. She was starting to have serious doubts about being involved. Too much craziness had gone on already. She didn’t want anything else to suck her into a nasty vortex that would put her friends or her tea shop at risk.
Jamie had been standing a few feet away, wiping teapots and listening to the conversation. Now he stepped forward to put in his two cents’ worth. “There sure is a lot of fighting going on around here,” he said.
Drayton lifted an eyebrow. “Did you hear that? Out of the mouths of babes . . .”
* * *
• • •
Theodosia settled back in her office chair and tucked her feet underneath her. It was three thirty in the afternoon and there were only two guests lingering in the tea shop. Pretty soon she and Drayton could swish out the teapots, turn off the lights, and go home. Live to fight another day.
Fight.
Theodosia shook her head wearily. No, that wasn’t the word she wanted. Because the fight she’d witnessed today had been awful. Two perfectly respectable women rolling around on the floor and . . . well, pretty much causing her to lose any respect she’d ever had for them.
So what was the matter with Sissy and Betty? What weird chemicals had zapped their brains and set them off like that? Sissy seemed half-crazed about getting her mitts on her estranged husband’s money. While Betty was completely full of herself and seemed to revel in accusing Sissy of murder.
Had Betty Bates been trying to put up an angry, venomous smoke screen? To deflect any accusations that might be aimed at her? It certainly seemed like a possibility.
Of course, the million-dollar question Theodosia had to reckon with now was . . . should she continue her investigation into the shooting of Carson Lanier?
Timothy had asked her for help, but the Charleston PD was quite capable of conducting a thorough investigation.
But would they be able to apprehend the killer?
Theodosia glanced down at the papers on her desk. Haley had given her
a short menu for tomorrow afternoon’s Tea Trolley stop. And Drayton had filled out a rather lengthy order form. He was anxious to stock up on citrus blend and rose petal–infused teas in anticipation of the upcoming spring teas they’d soon be hosting. Engagement teas, bridal shower teas, Mother’s Day teas . . .
Theodosia closed her eyes to rest them. Just a few moments of peace and quiet before she got back to—
WHAP! BOOM! SMASH!
Her office window exploded with an awful crash as shards of glass flew everywhere. A split second later, a good-sized rock bounced across her desk, sending a stack of tea magazines slip-sliding all over the place. Then the rock spun around like a crazed top and bounced to the floor, where it banged hard against a nearby metal file cabinet.
What. On. Earth?
Two seconds later, her office door burst open and Drayton, wild-eyed and fearful, rushed in. “What happened?” he cried.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Theodosia said. She was momentarily stunned. Then she quickly gathered her wits. “Somebody threw a rock through my window.” There was a large hole in the center of the glass, the edges jagged and pointed like a bunch of shark teeth.
“What? Who?” Drayton asked. He seemed utterly gobsmacked.
But Theodosia didn’t take time to answer him. She bolted suddenly from her leather chair and set it spinning. Flying across her office, she pulled open the back door and ran into the alley. She saw polished brown cobblestones, the garden apartment across the way, a line of magnolias and two scruffy palmettos, and traffic crawling by at the far end of the alley. But there was nobody there. No culprit she could scream at or chastise. Whoever had flung the rock, for whatever reason, was gone. Poof. Vanished into thin air like a wisp of swamp gas at her Aunt Libby’s plantation.
Hasty footsteps sounded behind her. “Anything?” Drayton called out loudly. “Did you see who did it?”
He was breathing hard, and Theodosia saw that he wielded a large clay teapot in his right hand. He’d ducked around the corner to grab it. To use as a weapon, she supposed.
“Nobody here,” Theodosia said.
“Who could have done this?” Drayton wondered.
Theodosia shook her head. “I don’t know. A couple of mischievous kids out on a tear?”
“Maybe rode through on their bikes,” Drayton offered. “Or . . .”
“Or someone intended to send me a message?” Theodosia said.
“Maybe,” Drayton said in a quiet voice. Which really meant probably.
They continued to stare down the deserted alley for a few moments, then when nothing materialized, they went back into the shop.
Haley was waiting for them just inside, practically dancing with excitement. “What the heck was that?” she asked. “I was closing the door to the cooler and I thought I broke the hinges on the dang thing.”
“Somebody tossed a rock through Theodosia’s window,” Drayton said.
Haley glanced at the broken window and her eyes bugged out. “No kidding. Wow. Did you see who did it?”
Theodosia shook her head no. She wished she had reacted faster. Had run outside immediately and . . . what? She didn’t know what.
Haley gestured at the crockery teapot Drayton still had in his hand. “What were you going to do with that? Conk somebody on the head?”
“It’s stoneware,” Drayton said. “It would’ve made a severe dent in the vandal’s noggin.”
But the party wasn’t complete without Jamie.
“What happened?” he asked.
The three of them pointed at the broken window. Haley said, “Some jackhole dinged a rock through Theo’s window.”
“Holy smokes,” Jamie said. He aimed a worried glance at Theodosia. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hit.”
“What are we going to do now?” Haley asked. She looked like she was ready to round up a posse and take off in a trail of dust.
“I’ll grab some hunks of cardboard and patch things up temporarily,” Jamie said. “But we should call a hardware store.” When nobody moved or said anything, Jamie said, “I could make that call, if you want.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia said. “I appreciate your help.” Then, “This is about Lanier’s murder, isn’t it? Almost everything that’s happened since that fatal night is about the murder. Jud Harker yelling at us, Betty showing up at the board meeting, the fight between Sissy and Betty today . . .”
“What are you going to do?” Drayton asked. “How are you going to figure this out?”
“She’s not,” Haley said. “The best thing Theo can do is let her boyfriend, Detective Riley, figure it out. That’s what the City of Charleston pays him for. That’s the smartest thing, the safest thing, to do at this point.”
When Haley retreated to her kitchen to grab a broom and a dustpan, Theodosia said, “Maybe Haley’s right. Maybe I should back away from our so-called investigation.”
“But you promised Timothy,” Drayton said. He wasn’t wheedling, but he did sound concerned.
“I know that. And it grieves me to think I’d let him down.”
“Then don’t.”
Theodosia touched a hand to her hair. For some reason, as the day had progressed, her hair had increased in volume. Now her auburn locks were swirling about her head like a friendly Medusa. It wasn’t humidity—maybe it was stress?
“Do you think the rock was a signal for me to back off?” Theodosia asked Drayton. “Is it related to the fight I just broke up? Does it have to do with a sore loser? A nasty killer? I mean, what’s going on?”
“Sounds like you’re still curious. Like you want to find the root cause of all these strange goings-on,” Drayton said.
Theodosia thought for a few moments. “I suppose I do. Maybe I want to run with this and see where it takes me.”
Drayton nodded his approval. “Attagirl.”
* * *
• • •
Even after Haley had swept up the broken glass, and a man from the hardware store was on his way, Theodosia still felt unsettled. She hated loose ends, and it seemed like there were an awful lot of them to contend with.
Okay. Of all the names that have come up so far, who’s the loosest, most frazzled end?
The answer was easy. It was Bob Garver, Lanier’s real estate partner. Theodosia knew next to nothing about Garver. Could he be the puppet master in the shadows? If you followed the money, did it end up with him?
Theodosia found it was fairly simple to research Garver on the Internet. In fact, within a few minutes, she pulled up several articles as well as a grainy photo of one Robert T. Garver.
She knew it was the correct Bob Garver because he was posing in front of some slightly dilapidated row houses over on Hagood Street.
Gotcha.
Now. Did he have anything to do with antique weapons? Namely, a crossbow and quarrels?
Another couple of minutes of hunting around brought two more grainy photos of Bob Garver. One was from the Charleston Post and Courier’s business section that showed a square-jawed man with brush-cut hair shaking hands with some muckety-muck from the city council. Garver had apparently been awarded some sort of housing grant.
Okay, now we’re cooking. This is for sure the guy.
The second photo was from a small local newspaper called the Piedmont Piper, and it showed Garver participating in a dove hunt. Theodosia knew that mourning doves were the second most popular quarry in South Carolina next to deer. But did anyone hunt doves with an antique weapon?
Maybe they do.
She knew that antique weapons were everywhere in Charleston. There were old muskets and squirrel guns stuck in people’s attics, bows and arrows stored in garages, Civil War–era pistols that had been passed down from great-grandpappy to great-grandson, as well as the odd World War I and World War II souvenir weapon. And they were all rattling around
Charleston. Some probably still in use, some brought out only for Civil War battle reenactments or memorials.
Theodosia tapped her fingers nervously on her desktop. How to find out about these old weapons? Particularly a crossbow and quarrels?
Well, Drayton had given her the name of a shop. What was it again? She let her mind wander. Oh yes, Chasen’s Military Relics over on Bee Street.
And the more Theodosia thought about Chasen’s Military Relics, the more intrigued she became. Until she decided it might be a smart idea to head over there and check things out for herself.
15
Chasen’s Military Relics smelled like Hoppe’s gun oil, brass polish, and musty military surplus left over from World War II. Or maybe it was World War I. The shop was an old-fashioned-looking place, the kind that once populated downtowns in the forties and fifties. Elaborate gold script on two front windows, a bell over the door that tinkled loudly when you stepped inside, tall counters with rounded glass tops, a wooden floor that creaked, narrow aisles. Kind of like an old hardware store, except instead of nuts and bolts and tools, this store was filled with weapons. Every type of handgun, rifle, shotgun, flintlock, sword, and dagger that you could imagine. All lovingly arranged in cases on some kind of green suede-like material.
Theodosia peered into the first case and saw a derringer, what was often referred to as a pocket pistol. It sat alongside a large, rounded pistol that had ivory handles and silver filigree trim. The type of gun that might have been used in an eighteenth-century duel. Perhaps the type of gun that Aaron Burr had shot poor Alexander Hamilton with.
Fascinated now, Theodosia moved down the case, studying the various weapons. She stopped to examine two pistols that were large and black, nasty-looking things.
“Them are Nazi items,” a man’s voice said. He was walking toward her now, an older gent, midsixties, who was wearing a gray shirt and camo pants tucked into old lace-up army boots. He looked like he was ready to journey back to Normandy and storm the beaches if necessary. He positioned himself behind the counter and winked at her. “There’s a big demand for Lugers and other guns like this. A couple of generations go by and people think this stuff is cool.”