by Laura Childs
“Neat,” said Theodosia.
“With luxurious brocade chairs set around old wooden plantation tables,” Manship continued. “And the menu…Parker had amazing ideas for entrées such as blackened catfish with caviar, crab tacos with ponzu sauce, and short ribs with grits and jicama.”
“This is a very cool idea,” said Theodosia, shuffling through the pages, picking up on his enthusiasm.
“Isn’t it?” said Manship. “And there are lots more plans, specifics that Parker had worked out. It’s just too bad we couldn’t hammer out a deal.”
Theodosia decided to be bold. “Why couldn’t you?”
Manship’s face remained placid. “Financing. Basically, I liked the idea of going into business with Parker. He had this incredible enthusiasm and was amazingly creative when it came to concept, menu, and décor. Well, you know him, so you know exactly what I’m talking about. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to come up with the working capital.”
She glanced at the papers again, wondering if any of the typed words matched the typography on the recovered note. Hard to tell. “And you could.”
There was just a brief hesitation. “Yes.”
“So you let a terrific deal slip through your fingers? Just like that?”
Manship steepled his fingers together, then pulled them apart, making a small gesture of inevitability. “It’s the nature of business,” he told her. “There’s always a raft of interesting opportunities out there, but not all of them work out. And, of course, not all of them align with my particular interests.”
“And just what are your interests?” asked Theodosia.
Manship smiled aself-satisfied smile. “Making a profit, of course.”
“Spoken like a true businessman,” said Theodosia.
Manship held his smile.
“So, help me out here,” said Theodosia. “You hadn’t seen Parker or spoken to him since you cut off your dealings?”
Manship gave an offhand shrug. “Actually, I had dinner at Solstice last Saturday night.”
“Seriously?” First and foremost in her mind sprang the question, Could Manship have lifted the missing file? And if so, why? To steal Parker’s complete plans for the concept of gourmet Southern and hijack it for himself? Hmm…possibly. Could have happened.
“I was in Charleston for the weekend, visiting friends,” said Manship.
Theodosia eyed him carefully. “Did you, by any chance, attend the opening at the Neptune Aquarium?”
Manship shook his head. “No, no, I was back home by then.” He seemed to take a small amount of pleasure in her disappointment. “So,” he added, “you’ve come into my office unannounced and asked a lot of very direct questions. I, in turn, have pretty much opened the kimono for you.” He gave a genial smile, a philosophical shrug. Both visual cues that this impromptu meeting was over.
“I thank you for the information,” said Theodosia, standing up to leave. She was disappointed but tried not to show it. After all her questions and efforts, she hadn’t really discovered anything of value at all.
Manship stood up, too, then seemed to waver. It looked like he wanted to add one more thing to the conversation.
“What?” said Theodosia.
“You know, he said, “if you’re trying to piece together your friend’s recent business history, you really should be talking to Peaches Pafford.”
“Excuse me?” said Theodosia. Peaches Pafford was the owner of thefour-star restaurant Aubergine. The same upscale, au courant restaurant that Delaine had been frequenting fortake-out food. Even though takeout from a white-linen, four-star, maybe evenfive-star restaurant seemed a little strange. “Why Peaches Pafford?”
Manship rocked back on his heels. “Because, not so long ago, Peaches extended a rather generous offer to your friend.”
“Um…what?” said Theodosia, not quite comprehending.
“She tried to buy Solstice from him,” said Manship.
Theodosia’s jaw pretty much dropped to the floor. “I had no idea Solstice was even for sale!”
“I didn’t think it was, either,” said Manship. His hand reached out and swiped up the iPhone from his desk. “But if you’ve ever butted heads with the indomitable Peaches, you’d know just how persuasive she can be.”
9
Theodosia sailed in the back door of the Indigo Tea Shop, dumped her handbag on top of her desk, then slipped into the steamy kitchen, where lunch service was in full swing.
“Apologies,” she said to Haley. “I thought I’d be back sooner.”
“No problem,” said Haley, without bothering to look up. She was busy slicing fresh mozzarella and plum tomatoes, in between peeks inside her oven where something wonderful bubbled away. As Theodosia looped an apron around her neck, she detected the mingled aromas of cinnamon, oregano, melted cheese, and tea.
Haley finished her chopping and slicing, then finally looked up. “We’ve got a great menu today,” she told Theodosia.
“We have a great menu every day,” said Theodosia.
Haley chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” said Theodosia. “So today we’re serving…”
“Caprese tea sandwiches, zucchini soup, and toffee bars.”
“And some cheesy, bubbly goodness from the oven,” said Theodosia.
“Red pepper quiche,” said Haley.
“So how can I help?” Theodosia asked, staring at a dozen white luncheon plates that looked like they’d been dealt out in a card game.
Haley pulled a baking sheet of toasted flatbread from the oven and said, “You can start by slicing these into wedges. Six per flatbread.”
“I need two more cups of soup,” Drayton called out as he stuck his head in the door. Then he caught sight of Theodosia and said, “Oh, the prodigal owner returns.”
“I told you I’d be back in time for lunch,” said Theodosia.
“So you did,” said Drayton. He peered at her, curiosity evident on his face. “So, did you sleuth anything out on your whirlwind trip down to Savannah?”
“Not really,” said Theodosia. “Not as much as I’d hoped.”
“Drayton and I were talking before,” said Haley, as she expertly plopped lettuce leaves, pesto, and tomato slices onto her flatbread wedges. “And I told him I simply don’t trust that girl.”
“That girl,” Theodosia repeated. “I take it you’re referring to Shelby? The girlfriend?”
Haley let loose an indelicate snort. “Some girlfriend.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Theodosia.
“Because I saw her Sunday night,” said Haley. “When they were setting up at the Neptune Aquarium.”
Theodosia nodded. “Shelby told me she’d helped with the tapas bar.”
“No way,” said Haley, putting some grit in her voice. “Little Miss Girlfriend stood around looking like a princess and never lifted her little pinkie. Parker and Chef Toby did all the work.”
“Just because the girl remained idle or wasn’t helpful,” said Drayton, “doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.” He inclined his head slightly. “Case in point, half the youth today.”
“There’s something about her,” said Haley, who wasn’t about to waver from her conviction, “that I don’t like.”
“You saw her for all of two minutes,” said Theodosia. “So it’s difficult to form a truly, um, balanced judgment.” She wanted to dismiss Haley’s suspicions, she really did. But she was strangely hesitant. For some reason, Haley had the uncanny knack of being spot on in her judgment of people. Most of the time, anyway.
“Haley,” said Theodosia, hastily arranging strawberry slices and bunches of tiny purple champagne grapes on luncheon plates, “you have a lot of friends who are chefs andbakers. What’s the local scuttlebutt concerning Peaches Pafford?”
“She’s in the tea room right now,” Drayton said, in a matter- of-fact tone. He placed a basket of blueberry scones and a crystal bowl mounded with Devonshire cream onto a silver tray and smiled.<
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But his words had just about bowled Theodosia over. “What?” she cried. “Are you serious?”
Drayton gave an offhand shrug. “She wandered in ten minutes ago and plunked herself down at Delaine’s table. Apparently Delaine was supposed to meet someone here for lunch, but they canceled at the last minute.”
“So now Delaine and Peaches are having lunch?” asked Theodosia. Wasn’t that interesting? And possibly serendipitous.
“Well, Delaine’s not actually eating lunch,” said Drayton. “She’s just pushing food around on her plate, mewling about how she needs to lose five pounds. So, long story short, I brewed a pot of that special black Nilgiri tea, the tea I ordered from the Chamraj Estate. And I told her it was dieter’s tea.” Drayton gave a perfunctory grin, then aimed a look of supreme exasperation at Haley. “However, Peaches and several other customers are still waiting for their red pepper quiche, if I may be so bold as to inquire when it’s going to emerge from your oven?”
“Keep your shirt on,” Haley told him, as she pulled open the oven door and peeked inside again. “Yeah, it’s coming. Five more minutes.”
“Five?” said Drayton.
“You can’t rush cheesy goodness,” Haley told him.
“And Peaches is out there having lunch?” Theodosia asked.
“Yes, she’s having a cup of soup and a scone,” said Drayton. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“No,” said Theodosia. “I don’t think so. At least I hope there isn’t.”
Peaches Pafford was one of those women who pretty much looked like somebody’sfun-loving, amiable aunt. But she wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination. True, Peaches had pinkish blond hair worn in a dated shag, and a broad, flat face with carefully rouged lips, and she was the requisite twenty pounds overweight in a pink tweed Dior suit that seemed to stretch and strain at the seams. But Peaches was one tough nut. She was a woman who’d become a widow at forty, a business owner byforty-three, and awell-heeled, slightly feared tyrant two years after that.
Still, Theodosia bounded up to her table and greeted Peaches and Delaine with great enthusiasm.
“Theo!” cried Delaine, “I was beginning to wonder where you were. I so want to introduce you to Peaches.”
“Lovely to finally meet you,” Peaches enthused. She grabbed Theodosia’s hand and gave it several hearty pumps. Then her eyes got serious, her mouth puckered into a downward cast, and she said, “I was very sorry to hear about your friend Parker. I understand you two had been very close.” She patted Theodosia’s hand. “In fact, he told me you two were practically engaged.”
“The two of them were thick as thieves,” Delaine chortled. Then she quickly blotted her lips with her napkin, as if realizing the inappropriateness of her remark.
But Theodosia saw her chance and grabbed it. “I understand you were fairly close to Parker, too,” she said to Peaches.
“Oh?” said Delaine, suddenly looking interested. Delaine was a woman who greatly prized any and all nuggets of gossip.
Peaches flashed a radiant smile at Theodosia. “I was always quite taken with Parker’s restaurant and thought, at one time, I might like to add it to my roster.”
“You pitched him on the idea rather recently,” said Theodosia. “Really just a matter of a few weeks ago.”
Peaches gave an imperceptible nod. “Yes.”
“But he was resistant to selling,” said Theodosia. She sat herself down in the chair directly across from Peaches.
“Resistant,” said Peaches, her smile slipping. “Ha ha, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
“Though I’ve been told you’re quite persuasive,” said Theodosia.
Peaches gave her asharp-eyed look and said, “I can be,” in a cool, even tone that seemed to underscore her iron will.
Delaine, sensing a sharp, prickly feeling beginning to develop between the two women, suddenly piped up, “I brought that list you wanted, Theo.” She fumbled in her bag, this time a red tote with clanking chains, and set a sheaf of papers on the table.
Theodosia reached over and towed the papers toward her using her index finger. But not before Peaches got a gander at it.
“Ah,” Peaches said, “the guest list from Sunday night’s aquarium debacle.”
“That’s right,” said Theodosia.
“Looking for suspects?” Peaches asked, her tone carefully neutral.
“Just looking,” said Theodosia. Every once in a while Peaches had a slight lisp, which led Theodosia to believe those perfect front teeth might be plastic veneers.
“Don’t be surprised if you find my name on that list,” Peaches told her. “Since I donated generously.”
Delaine’s face lit up. “You certainly did!”
Peaches lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips and tasted delicately. “Such a shame about young Parker. And how awful to have ouropening-night donor party ruined. Shattered, really.”
“Awful,” echoed Delaine.
Peaches enjoyed another spoonful of soup, then glanced at her watch, an enormousRolex—the midsize, not the ladies’model—rimmed in diamonds. “Goodness, look at the time! I absolutely must run!”
“Your quiche is just coming out of the oven,” Theodosia told her.
But Peaches had already grabbed her bag and leaped to her feet. “No time,” she said, tugging at her suit jacket. “I have to finalize plans for my big Oyster Fest this Saturday night, then I have to interview a new pastry chef.”
“Good luck with that,” said Delaine.
Peaches fastened her gaze directly on Theodosia and gave a measured smile. “Unless, of course, you’d like to give me yours.”
“You want to hire Haley?” said Theodosia. “Then I suppose you’d have to make her an offer.”
Peaches’s smile never wavered. “Perhaps I’ll do that.”
10
Even though Theodosia was still fuming over Peaches’s little power play, she shrugged it off. The Indigo Tea Shop’s late luncheon trade had revved up like crazy, and the three sets of tables and chairs that Drayton had moved onto the front sidewalk were suddenly occupied. Clutches of locals, as well as tourists, still clattered at the tea shop’s door, eager to grab a table, anxious to taste whatever smelled so heavenly.
Haley, careful planner that she was, had baked eight pans of quiche and cooked something like six gallons of soup. It stretched as far as it could, but by two o’clock, the food was gone.
“The cupboard is virtually bare,” Haley cautioned Theodosia and Drayton. “So baked goods only from here on.” She had a smear of flour on the tip of her nose, and her hair was tied back in a pink bandanna.
“By the end of the day we won’t have a single crumb left,” Drayton predicted, as he fussed at the front counter, brewing what had to be his umpteenth pot of Assam tea.
“Then we’re doing everything right,” said Theodosia. She fanned herself slowly as she sipped from a glass of lemon verbena sweet tea. “After all, leftovers don’t contribute to our bottom line.” She was still mindful that the economy was turgid at best. The Indigo Tea Shop was humming nicely, but many of her fellow shopkeepers up and down Church Street had experienced huge downturns in business.
“Still,” said Drayton, “it’s always lovely to take home a leftover scone or brownie.” He popped a red gingham tea cozy onto ablue-and-white rice pattern teapot and handed it to Theodosia. “This goes to table three,” he told her, then glanced sharply over her shoulder as the front door swung open. “Well, hello there,” he suddenly enthused to their new visitor. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure.”
Theodosia whirled about quickly and immediately recognized Harry Dubose, the genial beekeeper who produced all the jars of Dubose Bees Honey that they stocked in their gift area. Her face crinkled into a welcoming smile.
Harry Dubose was short, jolly, and fifty with red hair fading to light gray. He wore his usual apiary garb of khaki trousers, khaki shirt, and khaki vest. A large white box that could only conta
in a couple dozen more jars of his precious wildflower honey was balanced in his hands.
“Honey direct from the grower,” said Theodosia, as Drayton lifted the teapot from her hands and carried it to table three himself.
Dubose smiled.
“That’s just grand,” said Theodosia. “And I hope you’ve got time to enjoy a nice cup of tea and a slice of almond cake?”
Dubose slid his package onto the counter and waved a chubby hand. “I gotta keep moving,” he told her. “I’ve got an appointment over at Silver Butter Knife, that new gourmet grocery on Calhoun Street. It looks like they’re interested in carrying some of our products.”
“Congratulations,” said Theodosia.
“You know,” said Dubose, pressing both hands flat on the counter and leaning in toward her, “we’re still waiting for you to come down and see our operation firsthand.”
“I’d like to come,” Theodosia told him. Truth was, she just hadn’t had time.
“After all,” said Dubose, “you’re not only one of our biggest retailers, you’re probably our biggest booster, too.”
“How do you figure that?” asked Theodosia, oddly pleased by his words.
“People slather our honey on your fine scones and breads and they pretty much get hooked!” Dubose declared. “So they buy a couple of jars here and then order even more from our website.”
“I’m thrilled you’re doing so well.”
But Dubose wasn’t done with his little pitch. “Maybe you could even drive down this week. Fact is, we just finished our spring harvest and we’re rolling out our new melon honey.”
“Sounds positively luscious,” said Theodosia.
“What we did,” Dubose explained, “was plant Catawba melons in the fields surrounding the hives. As the blossoms ripened, the bees took a liking to them and sipped their nectar. The end result, of course, is that our new crop of honey has been imbued with a lovely melon flavor.”
