by Laura Childs
Beaudry studied her for a few moments, then said, “Seeing as how it’s not within my power to bring him back, how is it I can help you?”
“You can answer a few questions,” said Theodosia.
Beaudry offered a thin smile. “A lady with questions. What kind of questions?”
“I’m a friend of the family,” said Theodosia, “and I’m trying to straighten out a few matters.”
“What matters would those be?”
“Concerning his restaurant.”
“Are you in the restaurant business?” Beaudry asked.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Theodosia. “I own the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.”
“A tea shop,” said Beaudry. He crossed his legs, jiggled his foot.
Theodosia had the feeling Beaudry might be playing with her. “That’s right,” she said. “But what I’m really interested in is knowing something more about the financing deal you and Parker had kicked around.”
Beaudry shrugged his narrow shoulders. “There really wasn’t a deal.”
“But the two of you talked about a deal.”
“Yeah, we talked,” said Beaudry. “But we never came to any agreement.”
“You were going to finance his expansion,” said Theodosia. She gazed about Beaudry’s office, saw a few framed photos, antique golf clubs crossed and mounted on the wall, some kind of citation from the Rotarians.
“Again,” said Beaudry, “we talked about it.”
“So he never expanded,” said Theodosia.
“Mainly because Parker wasn’t able to obtain financing.”
“From you or the bank,” said Theodosia. “Why was that exactly?”
Beaudry shrugged. “He hadn’t done all that well in the past year.”
“A bad economy, an economic slowdown,” Theodosia prompted.
Beaudry nodded. “All the restaurants got hit. You should know that.”
Theodosia smiled. In all honesty, and knock on wood, the Indigo Tea Shop hadn’t suffered much in this tough economy. Whether it was loyal customers, an uptick in catering jobs, or people who came tumbling in because the cozy tea shop offered a momentary respite from hard times, the Indigo Tea Shop was more than holding its own.
“Tell me,” said Theodosia, “just what kind of restaurant did Parker want to open?” She knew the answer; she just wanted to hear Beaudry’s answer.
“Seafood,” he said. “Parker wanted to pattern it after a little seafood restaurant he used to frequent on Johns Island.”
Theodosia knew the place exactly. Houlihans. Great fresh oysters and cracked crab, with a killercilantro-flavored hot sauce made fresh in-house. Parker had taken her there once when they’d driven over to Oak Point to play golf.
“But you two could never agree on terms,” she said.
“No, we couldn’t,” said Beaudry. “And now…” Beaudry sighed deeply and shook his head. “Now he’s gone.”
“It must have come as quite a shock to you,” said Theodosia. She decided Beaudry didn’t look a bit sad. Just casual and relaxed. Was he too relaxed? Good question.
“Yeah, the whole grisly story’s been played out in the news,” said Beaudry, still leaning back in his chair.
Theodosia glanced at his desk and noticed the Post and Courier sitting there, folded to thefront-page story about the drowning at the aquarium.
Except, right now, Theodosia was pretty sure it hadn’t been a drowning.
6
When Theodosia arrived back at the Indigo Tea Shop, afternoon tea was well under way. Ahalf-dozen or so tables were occupied and Drayton was buzzing about, teapots clutched in both hands. She smiled, feeling comforted and grateful that her little shop was in such good hands. But when she saw Detective Burt Tidwell’s bulk hunkered at the small table by the stone fireplace, Theodosia’s smile slipped from her face.
“Tidwell,” she murmured.
Drayton nodded. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Theodosia hustled over and stared down at Tidwell with marked disapproval.
Burt Tidwell was sprawled at his table looking carefree and casual, like the lord of the manor who didn’t have a care in the world. His bright eyes roved hungrily across the basket of cream scones and peach-pecan bread that sat in front of him as he methodically stirred his cup of tea. In his giant paw, the tiny silver spoon looked like something from a doll’s tea set.
“How nice that you’ve shown up to enjoy a tasty afternoon repast,” Theodosia told Tidwell, biting off each word sharply. “Instead of investigating Parker’s death.”
Tidwell ignored her until he’d finally finished his annoying stirring. Then he set down his spoon and gazed at her with beady bright eyes that revealed nothing. “You were right,” he said, finally, in a conversational tone of voice.
Theodosia blinked and stared back at him. What was he being elusive about now? “Right about what?”
“Sit, please,” said Tidwell.
Theodosia pursed her lips and slid stiffly into the chair across from Tidwell.
“Parker didn’t drown,” said Tidwell, lasering dark eyes on her. “In fact, I just received a preliminary report from the coroner and…”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Theodosia put one hand to her chest, as if to still her suddenly lurching heart. Tidwell’s words hadn’t just sent shock waves through her, they were the harsh, final truth she truly wasn’t mentally prepared for.
Tidwell leaned forward and spoke rapidly to her. “Do you want to hear this? Because it’s nasty and it’s rough. And if you’re going to go allbleary-eyed and slip into a crying jag, I’m not uttering another word.”
Theodosia squared her shoulders and pulled herself together. “I want to hear this, I really do.” She folded her hands in her lap and clenched them tightly, preparing for the worst. For the raw, unadulterated truth.
“All right, then,” said Tidwell. He plucked a cream scone from the basket and set it on his plate. “You were quite correct last evening,” he told her. “Mr. Scully’s death does appear to be a homicide after all.”
Theodosia dug her nails into the palms of her hands so hard, they madecrescent-shaped indentations. “I knew it,” she choked out.
“This morning,” said Tidwell, “one of the marine biologists discovered an aquascaping tool lying at the bottom of the Ocean Wall exhibit.”
“An aquascaping tool,” Theodosia repeated. “What’s… ?”
“An implement not nearly as pleasant as it sounds,” said Tidwell. He took his butter knife and split his scone lengthwise. “Basicallythirty-two-inch-long surgical steel scissors with a serrated blade. Of the type medical professionals refer to as a Metzenbaum. Only much larger. Obviously.”
“Dear Lord,” said Theodosia. This was even worse than she’d feared.
“The aquarium people fished it out and one of my men carted it over to the ME’s office.” Tidwell reached over and swooped up an enormous dollop of raspberry jam, then slathered it heavily onto his scone.
“And there was a match,” Theodosia said, in a dull voice. “The blades being consistent with the injuries on Parker’s hands.”
“Yes,” said Tidwell. “As you so eloquently put it, there was a match.”
Theodosia grimaced. “I knew it.”
Tidwell took a large bite and did an exaggerated eye roll. “There’s more,” he said as he chewed.
“What?”
“A note was found in Mr. Scully’s pocket. A partially decomposed note.” He fluttered sticky fingers. “I say decomposed only because it was written on paper and subsequently submerged in water.”
“What did the note say?” Theodosia pounced on his words. “Was anything readable?”
Tidwell set down what was left of his scone and reached for a file folder that lay at his elbow. He dug in, pulled out a sheet of paper, then slid it across the table. “This is a copy of what was recovered.”
Theodosia stared at the sheet of paper. It was ablack-and-white laser print. Outputted,
no doubt, from a digital photo taken at the police lab. What she saw was a ragged, partially decomposed typed note. Most of the words were missing; the ones still readable were badly smudged. But she could just make out the faint message.
Please meet me
easily explain my
“Meet me where?” asked Theodosia.
“I have to assume it was somewhere near the top of that enormous fish tank,” said Tidwell. He picked up his scone and resumed nibbling.
“They were giving tours last night,” said Theodosia, half closing her eyes, thinking back. “For thebig-buck donors. The…what would you call it…behind-the-scenes tour.”
“Unfortunate,” said Tidwell.
“Easily explain what?” Theodosia asked, focusing again on the printout of the tattered note.
“No idea,” said Tidwell.
“It sounds as if Parker had questioned something,” said Theodosia. “And the murderer…we have to assume this note was written by the murderer…wanted to explain himself.”
“Or herself,” said Tidwell.
“So there’s a distinct possibility that Parker was lured to his death,” said Theodosia.
“A small possibility,” Tidwell allowed.
“Have you spoken with Chef Toby?” she asked.
“Only for a couple of minutes last night.”
“Did he mention that Parker had dealings with some guys in Savannah?”
“When questioned, Mr. Crisp mentioned that to one of my investigators, yes,” said Tidwell. “We dug further and discovered the key person is a man by the name of Lyle Manship who owns various restaurants, among other things.”
“Did Chef Toby tell your investigator that Manship was kind of a scary guy?” Theodosia asked.
“I believe he alluded to it.”
Theodosia drew breath. “Is Manship a scary guy?”
Tidwell glanced about the tea shop, as if to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Then he leaned forward and said, “I tell you this in complete confidence.”
“Yes,” said Theodosia. “Of course.”
“In the past, Lyle Manship has been linked to smuggling and laundering money.”
“Seriously?” What had Parker gotten himself into?
“Let me emphasize linked,” said Tidwell. “No charges have ever stuck. The man is like Teflon.”
“Smuggling what?” asked Theodosia.
“Narcotics.”
“And laundering money? That sounds serious.”
“Trust me,” said Tidwell, “both the Justice and Treasury Departments are vehemently opposed to such things.”
Theodosia watched Tidwell finish his scone, then reach for a second one, as she continued to turn things over in her mind. Thisinvestigation—because that was what it was now, an official policeinvestigation—seemed to be careening off at a crazy angle. Could Parker have been involved in drugs? Or money laundering? Her instincts told her no. Absolutely not. That he had been interested only in a restaurant deal. Still, Parker could have been pulled into something unwittingly.
“I have a confession to make,” said Theodosia. In light of what Tidwell had just shared with her, she felt the need to come clean.
One corner of Tidwell’s pudgy mouth turned downward. “What’s that?”
“I went to Parker’s office last night and looked around.”
Tidwell’s expression never changed. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
Theodosia continued. “And I have to say, that empty file kind of threw me.”
Tidwell chewed thoughtfully. “The Current Projects file? Yes, when I skimmed the officer’s report I also found it strange.”
“My guess is that someone stole the full contents.”
“That someone being the murderer?” said Tidwell.
“Not sure,” said Theodosia. “Maybe. If there was some kind of incriminating evidence in the file…about financing or property or something.”
Tidwell swallowed. “All in all, a very large if.”
“What did your guys find in Parker’s computer?”
“Basically nothing. It’s almost as if he was a technophobe.”
“He was, sort of,” said Theodosia, smiling wistfully. Although Parker hadn’t been as bad as Drayton, who eschewed cell phones and still played vinyl records. “So what’s next?”
“For you, nothing. For me, I continue to investigate,” said Tidwell.
“But you’re going to keep me in the loop,” said Theodosia.
“No,” said Tidwell.
“Can I make a copy of the note?” Theodosia asked.
“For what purpose?” said Tidwell.
“Just my own…edification.”
“No,” said Tidwell.
“You’re not being very forthcoming,” said Theodosia. “After all, I’m the one who spotted the defensive wounds on Parker’s hands. I’m the one who kicked off this investigation.”
“And the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department commends you for that,” said Tidwell. “In fact, you have our undying gratitude.” He reached for a piece of sweet bread, then changed his mind.
“Except… ?” said Theodosia.
“Except from here on, my dear Miss Browning, you are hereby relegated to concerned citizen status. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the Coast Guard.”
“Are you serious about me staying out of this?”
“Please,” said Tidwell. “Whoever committed this crime is a very dangerous and sick individual. Please leave any and all investigating to the professionals.”
With Tidwell’s words still echoing in her head, Theodosia grabbed a cup of carrot bisque soup and holed up in her office.
Licking my wounds, she decided. After Tidwell’s warning not to get involved.
But Theodosia knew she was already involved. Her former relationship with Parker bore that out. Her discovery of his body. Her assessment of his defensive wounds.
She had a few spoonfuls of soup and drifted off into deep thought.
A few minutes later, Theodosia was aware of Drayton standing in her doorway. He was holding a cup of Darjeeling tea and a cream scone.
“Hey,” she said.
Drayton took a step forward. “Come along inside…we’ll see if tea and buns can make the world a better place.”
“That’s from The Wind in the Willows,” said Theodosia, smiling.
“I thought that might elicit a favorable reaction from you,” said Drayton. “A smile, anyway.”
“You know me well,” said Theodosia. “You know what touches my heart.”
Drayton set the tea and scone on her desk. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” His lips were pursed and a hopeful look illuminated his lined face.
“Do what?” said Theodosia.
Drayton hesitated for a moment, then said. “Avenge Parker’s death.”
Theodosia drew breath and squared her shoulders. “That not only sounds quaint, it sounds positively medieval. As if I’m going to don a suit of armor and ride out to slay the black knight.”
“That’s pretty much it,” said Haley, who’d slipped in behind Drayton. She set a small bowl of maple pecan butter on Theodosia’s desk and added, “After all, Theo, you’re the one who always sticks up for the underdog.”
Lucky me, thought Theodosia.
7
Even though the evening was still warm, Theodosia had a small fire crackling away in her brick fireplace. Red and blue flames snapped and licked, dancing off the wall of beveled cypress and lending a distinct air of coziness.
Stretched out on her damask sofa, Theodosia surveyed her little cottage and, once again, felt she’d done the exact right thing in buying it. The money had been a stretch, of course, but all her life she’d been a renter. And now, this little cottage with the charming name of Hazelhurst had become her pride and joy.
And what a cottage it was! The exterior was quirky andadorable—really a classicTudor-style cottage, asymmetrical in desig
n and complete with rough cedar tiles that replicated a thatched roof. Cross gables, arched doors, and a lovely turret added finishing touches, along with lush tendrils of ivy that curled up the sides. If Hansel and Gretel were suddenly dropped into the historic district, they’d undoubtedly turn up at the front door!
The interior had also captured Theodosia’s heart. The foyer featured a brick floor and walls of hunter green with antique brass sconces. The living room had a beamed ceiling and polished wood floor. Her own chintz and damask furniture fit in perfectly as well as herblue-and-gold Aubusson carpet, antique highboy, and tasty oil paintings.
A log popped loudly and Earl Grey, her trusty Dalbrador, lifted his fine head.
“How are you doing?” Theodosia asked him. “Digested your supper yet?” She had changed into leggings and a T-shirt and was planning to take Earl Grey for his evening constitutional. Generally, they strolled down the back alley, turned into the historic district, and ended up at White Point Gardens. There, with the surging Atlantic as a backdrop, they could run together while the wind pounded away, stirring up ions and intoxicating sips of salt air.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing his leash. “Time to head out.”
Which was exactly when the phone rang.
“Saved by the bell,” she told Earl Grey, as she reached for the receiver. “Hello?”
“I leave you alone for a few days and look what happens. You get yourself involved in a murder mystery!”
“Max!” Theodosia squealed. “Hello!” Then, “How did you know?”
“Sweetheart,” said Max, “you made the front page of the New York Times.”
Theodosia was shocked. “Seriously?”
“Well,” Max amended, “maybe it was only the second or third page, but the story was there just the same. With your name and everything.”
“Wow,” said Theodosia. Doggone. Now what does he think of me?
“It must have been a terrible shock,” Max said in a quieter tone. He cleared his throat. “I mean, you knew him pretty well.”
“You have no idea,” said Theodosia. “The whole episode at the aquarium was…bizarre.”
