Plum Tea Crazy

by Laura Childs

  They walked out of the Great Hall and looked up and down the hallway. Saw nothing.

  “The security team must have already called the police,” Drayton said. “And then hauled Harker outside?”

  “That fast?” Theodosia said. She held up a hand and stilled Drayton, so they could listen carefully.

  A high-pitched voice was babbling excitedly in an office at the far end of the hallway.

  “Harker’s still here,” Theodosia said.

  “They must have put him in one of the conference rooms,” Drayton said as they tiptoed down the hallway.

  They paused and stopped outside a room marked J. CLAYTON MEETING ROOM and listened carefully. Harker was in there, all right, talking a mile a minute, being questioned by the three men from the security detail as well as Detective Pete Riley. Theodosia would recognize Riley’s voice anywhere.

  “What’s Harker saying?” Drayton whispered.

  Theodosia squeezed her eyes shut, the better to hear. “He’s saying he wasn’t the one who screamed. But he’s so rattled and scared that most of his words are incoherent.”

  Then one of the security guys started yelling, and it sounded like Harker began to sniffle.

  They listened for another couple of minutes until Detective Riley came speedballing out of the room and practically collided with them.

  “What!” Riley said when he saw Theodosia and Drayton. “What are you doing here?”

  “What’s going on?” Theodosia asked.

  Riley just shook his head.

  Theodosia held up both hands in surrender. “I know, I know, we’re not supposed to be listening in, we’re not even supposed to talk about this. But come on, I have to know what’s going on. I mean, Harker was knocked to the ground practically right in front of us.”

  Riley looked sufficiently mollified. “Well, don’t hold your breath, but it looks like we might have our man.”

  “What are you talking about?” Theodosia asked. “Wait, you mean Harker is good for Carson Lanier’s murder?”

  “Harker’s jabbering about all sorts of things,” Riley said. “How some woman shoved him and then started yelling. Frankly, I think Harker’s the one who did the shoving.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I just called the boss,” Riley said.

  “Tidwell,” Theodosia said. Yes, he would be involved.

  Riley nodded. “Tidwell wants us to transport Harker downtown.”

  “Thank goodness,” Drayton said.

  “And interrogate him?” Theodosia asked.

  “We’ll see,” Riley said. “Harker’s in kind of bad shape. Confused, babbling like crazy. We might have to do a psych hold on him.”

  “At least he’s off the streets for now,” Theodosia said.

  “That’s right.”

  Theodosia let loose a shaky breath. For the first time in almost a week she felt that she could rest easy because Jud Harker would be in custody for sure. But was he guilty of killing Lanier?

  That single thought gave her pause.

  “Come on,” Drayton said to Theodosia. “Let’s get back to your Aunt Libby. We kind of ran out on her.”

  “Are you coming?” Theodosia asked Riley.

  He nodded. “Give me a couple minutes.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Aunt Libby demanded to hear the full story when they returned to their table. So Drayton and Theodosia laid it all out for her. From Carson Lanier getting shot with the quarrel almost a week ago, to all the suspects they’d been wondering about—Jud Harker, Betty Bates, Bob Garver, even Sissy Lanier.

  “But you haven’t solved the mystery,” Aunt Libby said. She didn’t sound accusatory, she sounded interested.

  “Maybe it is solved,” Theodosia said. “Maybe the killer was Jud Harker.”

  Aunt Libby shook her head. “No, it isn’t him.”

  “Why would you say that?” Drayton asked.

  “It just isn’t,” Aunt Libby said. “Your man Harker sounds angry and misguided. But that business you mentioned about him accidentally shooting his brother . . . it completely rules him out.”

  “Interesting,” Theodosia said. Aunt Libby’s words had given her pause, because Aunt Libby was an awfully smart cookie. “That would mean we’re still nowhere.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Aunt Libby said. “You always do.” She smiled serenely and took a sip of her champagne, tilted her head back and watched the guests float by.

  Theodosia watched, too, finding herself falling into a kind of reverie. Like watching a well-dressed human merry-go-round. “There’s Alexis,” she said, as Alexis and Bill Glass walked past. Glass was dipping and dodging, snapping photos like crazy while Alexis seemed content to be his assistant.

  “Alexis was telling me all about her new Haiku Gallery when we had tea yesterday,” Aunt Libby said.

  “Did Alexis mention that she obtained a good bit of her merchandise from a fellow that you’re probably familiar with?” Theodosia asked. “An antique dealer named Riddle who was in the process of unloading his inventory? I guess he wanted to retire, so he had a huge going-out-of-business sale.”

  Libby shook her head. “George Riddle didn’t close his shop—he was murdered.”

  Theodosia frowned. “Excuse me?” Had she heard her aunt correctly?

  “Oh, it was an awful, brutal thing,” Aunt Libby said. “George was shot point-blank with some kind of small-caliber weapon. And they never did catch his killer. The police are still working the case as far as I know. His nephew, David, who inherited the shop, was completely distraught by the crime. Cried his eyes out at the funeral and then afterward at the cemetery by St. Stephen’s. In fact, David was so upset about his uncle George’s murder that he sold everything in the shop for pennies on the dollar.”

  Theodosia touched a hand to Aunt Libby’s arm. “When did all this happen?”

  Aunt Libby thought for a moment. “It hasn’t been that long. Perhaps three or four months?”

  Theodosia was getting a strange feeling. As if every nerve ending in her body had been pulled tight and was starting to strum. “And they never figured out who did it? Who killed George Riddle?”

  Aunt Libby shook her head. “No.”

  Theodosia’s thoughts careened one way and then another, like an out-of-control gyroscope. Alexis had told her one story; Aunt Libby had just given her a completely different version. Which one was correct?

  Or maybe, parts of both stories were correct. Sure, that had to be it.

  Still, the murder of George Riddle bothered her, gnawed at her.

  Theodosia glanced over, saw Alexis throw back her head and laugh, amused by something Bill Glass had just said to her.

  And as she watched Alexis, looking so happy and carefree, a couple pieces of the puzzle seemed to nudge grudgingly into place.

  Alexis had obviously come into a good deal of money. Enough to buy—or negotiate—a whole lot of Japanese art.

  A lot of money. Who was missing a lot of money?

  Sissy Lanier was. And Carson Lanier had taken money from his own bank. So maybe . . .

  “Excuse me,” Theodosia said. She stood up abruptly, walked away from the table, and pulled out her phone. It took her a few minutes to find Sissy’s number, but then she had Sissy on the line.

  “Sissy,” Theodosia said. “Did you ever find out what happened to your Fidelity account?”

  “I did,” Sissy said. She sounded happy, practically gleeful. “It was a clerical error after all. Everything’s just fine even though Fidelity is eating crow like mad.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Theodosia said, with very little enthusiasm.

  “Theo,” Sissy said. “You caught me getting ready. Are you coming to the Fur Ball tonight? I know Delaine said you were going to . . .”

 
But Theodosia had already hung up. Because another dark thought suddenly rumbled through her head and then burst like cannon fire.

  Could Alexis be the mystery woman that Lanier had been dating? Had he taken funds from the bank and given them to her? Had Carson Lanier been that besotted?

  And there was another question to be answered.

  Had Alexis murdered George Riddle so she could buy his inventory on the cheap?

  And along the way, as Haiku Gallery took shape, had Lanier grown suspicious of Alexis? Had he started wondering about her newly purchased inventory and started to ask questions? Too many questions? Had he realized she had no intention of ever paying the money back?

  One thought rapidly led to another, like dominos suddenly collapsing in a line.

  If Alexis was the mystery woman, then . . . had she murdered her mystery man?

  Theodosia glanced around, searching for Alexis. There was no sign of her or Glass. Maybe they had . . .

  Theodosia’s eyes continued to rove across the crowd, but still didn’t see them. She started to feel woozy. Maybe if she went back to the table and talked this out with Drayton.

  Theodosia walked back to the refreshment area and blinked. Drayton wasn’t sitting at their table anymore. Neither was Aunt Libby.

  Theodosia’s eyes scoured the entire room, looking for Drayton and Aunt Libby. Feeling a sense of panic, she pushed her way through the crowd, glancing left and then right. Finally, Theodosia caught the top of Drayton’s head bobbing in the crowd. But when she drew closer, she saw that Drayton and Aunt Libby were talking to Alexis.

  A chill ran down Theodosia’s spine.

  Oh no.

  She had to get Drayton and Aunt Libby away from Alexis, just in case. And she had to find Detective Riley. Immediately.

  Theodosia rushed over to Drayton and Aunt Libby, hoping to pull them away. But Drayton—wouldn’t you know it?—was smack-dab in the middle of telling his story about Southern Interiors Magazine wanting to photograph his home.

  “Did you hear the news about Drayton’s photo shoot?” Alexis asked as Theodosia joined their group. “Isn’t it exciting?”

  “It’s wonderful,” Theodosia said in a voice devoid of emotion. All she could think about was getting Drayton and Aunt Libby to safety.

  Alexis rocked back on her heels. “I would think you’d be more excited than that,” she said. She stared at Theodosia, an odd gleam in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, but we have to leave,” Theodosia said. She grabbed Aunt Libby by the arm and pulled her close. “We have to go now. Something’s come up.”

  Alexis continued to stare at Theodosia. “Theodosia’s a cool one, aren’t you?” she said. “Always busy, always on the move.”

  Theodosia tried to swallow the lump that had lodged in her throat. Maybe she should confront Alexis. On the other hand, maybe she was completely off base about her.

  “Alexis,” Theodosia said, “when I asked where you obtained your inventory, you gave me a lovely story about a retiring antique dealer.”

  “George Riddle,” Alexis said, nodding.

  “But I just learned from Aunt Libby that Riddle didn’t retire at all. He was murdered.”

  Alexis’s brows pinched together in a look of concern. “Oh no. And this happened recently?”

  “A couple of months ago,” Theodosia said.

  “Really? I hadn’t heard,” Alexis said.

  Bill Glass was suddenly at Alexis’s side. “Gimme that other lens, will you, doll?” Then he caught sight of all the serious faces. “What’s wrong? You all look like your best friend just died.”

  “I’m just trying to clear something up,” Theodosia said. “No need for you to get involved.”

  “Clear what up?” Glass asked. Now he sounded almost belligerent.

  “I think Theodosia might have some very misguided ideas about me,” Alexis purred.

  “Is that so?” Glass put a protective arm around Alexis and glowered at Theodosia. “Then maybe it’s best you mind your own business.”

  “You’re right,” Theodosia said. This whole encounter was escalating faster than she could control it. Better to just leave and sort things out later.

  But Aunt Libby had a puzzled look on her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked Theodosia.

  “I was just trying to get the story straight,” Theodosia said. “But it doesn’t matter.”

  Alexis smirked. “That’s right, it doesn’t matter because there is no story.” She tightened her grip on the lens she held in her hand.

  “No,” Theodosia said, her temper flaring, her anger suddenly getting the better of her. “I think there is. In fact, why don’t we ask Detective Riley to come over and join us. Then you can proclaim your innocence before he arrests you.”

  “Say, now,” Glass said.

  Alexis handed the lens to Glass, then slipped her hand into her black evening bag. Slick as melted butter, she pulled out a gun.

  “Don’t . . .” Theodosia began. But Alexis was already moving quickly, sneaky as a weasel in a henhouse. She wrenched one arm around Aunt Libby’s throat, pulled her backward, and put the gun to the side of her head.

  “What are you doing?” Bill Glass gasped. They were standing in a tight group, the five of them. Nobody else could see what was happening!

  Theodosia was terrified. Time seemed to slow to a sickening crawl as she glanced around, looking for help. Where was Riley? Where were the security guards? Nobody was in sight.

  “Just back away slowly,” Alexis said through gritted teeth. “Don’t anybody make a fuss, just keep your mouths shut.”

  Theodosia took a step back and found herself flat up against the case that held the muzzleloader pistol. She glanced to her left, saw the determined look on Drayton’s face, as if he was about to make a preemptive move and try to wrench the gun away from Alexis.

  “You,” Alexis said to Drayton. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

  Drayton touched a hand to his bow tie. “Whaaat?” he said, sounding confused and hollow.

  “What’s going on?” Glass asked again. His mental faculties weren’t exactly clicking along. He was way slow to the party.

  “Shut up, just shut up!” Alexis told him.

  Glass looked stunned, like he’d just been forced to swallow a bug. “Alexis? Sweetheart?”

  Theodosia put her hands behind her and took a deep breath. Was the case still unlocked? If it was, then maybe she could . . . what? Grab the gun?

  Please, dear Lord, let the case be unlocked.

  Carefully, she touched the cool glass of the case and felt around until she hit smooth wood. She pressed on the edge of the case and felt rather than heard a slight ping. Did that mean the hinge had sprung open?

  Alexis curled a lip. “I’m going to walk out of here, and I’m taking the old lady with me.”

  “Please,” Drayton reasoned. “Everything’s negotiable. I know we can work something out.”

  Reaching in, Theodosia grabbed a small twist of parchment paper and then swept it sideways, picking up a lead ball and a smidgeon of gunpowder.

  “You! Tea lady,” Alexis suddenly hissed. “What are you doing there? What do you have in your hand?”

  Almost shyly, Theodosia brought her hands around to the front. “Just a tea bag,” she said, opening one hand slowly so Alexis could see the small fold of parchment paper with the black powder inside. “Just tea.”

  “You’re such a goody-goody,” Alexis sneered. “Always thinking about tea. The modern world could rush right past you and you wouldn’t even know it.”

  “Just let Aunt Libby go,” Drayton implored. “Please, no one needs to get hurt.” He took a step forward, but Alexis shifted her aim and waggled the gun in his direction.

  “Nobody takes another step,” Alexis said. “Don’t be stupid, don’t try to get
cute. I’m walking out of here right now. Any one of you makes a wrong move, I shoot. Then I take somebody else hostage.” She shrugged. “Up to you. Your call.”

  “I beg you,” Drayton said again.

  Theodosia was only half listening as Drayton tried to reason with Alexis. Instead, she was totally focused on snaking her hand back into the display case.

  Drayton tried again, making an impassioned appeal to take him as a hostage and not Aunt Libby.

  All the while, Theodosia’s hand crawled into the display case, slowly, oh so slowly as she tried not to move a muscle or betray her actions with any kind of facial tic. When Theodosia’s fingers finally touched the cold metal handle of the pistol, she breathed a tentative sigh of relief and slipped her index finger through the trigger guard. Then she slowly pulled the pistol forward. With both hands still behind her, she worked the powder pellet into the breech of the gun.

  Please let this work, please let this work, was the only mantra that spun inside Theodosia’s head. Because if her gun misfired . . . or Alexis fired first . . .

  Theodosia drew a breath and cocked the trigger. “You killed Carson Lanier,” she said to Alexis in an ice-cold voice. “You swindled him out of five million dollars.”

  “Shut up,” Alexis snapped. “What if I did? I’ve had enough of your eternal snooping.” She tightened her grip on Aunt Libby. “Come on, Miss Libby. I’m leaving and you’re coming with me.”

  Aunt Libby threw a terrified glance at Theodosia.

  Theodosia met her aunt’s eyes with steely conviction.

  “Enough talk,” Alexis spat out. She jerked Aunt Libby sharply, upsetting her balance and causing her to stumble. Terrified, Aunt Libby grabbed Alexis’s arm to keep from falling.

  For a split second, the muzzle of Alexis’s gun dipped away from Aunt Libby’s head.

  It was all the time Theodosia needed.

  Center of mass was the phrase that streaked like lightning through Theodosia’s frantic brain as she snapped her pistol up sure and fast. Find center of mass and aim slightly right. Wound Alexis, disarm her, but don’t kill her. And for heaven’s sake, don’t hit Aunt Libby.