by Laura Childs
“That’s weird,” Lois said. She took off her glasses and stared at Theodosia.
“What’s weird?”
“He stopped in here yesterday.”
Theodosia shot a finger at her. “Looking for books on Russian literature, right?”
“Eighteenth century,” Lois fired back.
“So you know him.” Theodosia couldn’t believe her luck. Or karma or serendipity or whatever you wanted to call it.
“It’s more like I know of him,” Lois said. “He poked around in here for an hour or so, then bought a couple of books. One on Peter the Great, another on the poetry of Trediakovsky. He seemed like an okay guy, but a typical academic. A little standoffish, nose poked inside a book, asked just a couple of pertinent questions.”
“What else do you know about him?” Theodosia asked.
Lois thought for a moment. “Hmm, not much at all. He wasn’t exactly big on chitchat, if you know what I mean.”
“Anything at all would be of help.”
“Well, I do know that he’s staying at the Rosewalk Inn.”
“You,” Theodosia gasped, “are totally brilliant. In fact, I’m going to buy you a fancy dinner at Poogan’s Porch as soon as I solve this case.” And she blew back out the door.
“Case?” Lois said in her wake. “What case?”
19
Drayton was delighted to see that Theodosia had returned as promised. “You’re back,” he said. “Thank holy heaven. Haley’s already popped out to take a few orders. It seems we have some very anxious and hungry customers.” He glanced around the tea shop. “And lots of them, as you can plainly see.”
“Then I’ll run back and start grabbing luncheon orders,” Theodosia said.
“Good. And please don’t forget about Mrs. Biatek at table six. She brought in her daughter, Kristen, and two friends. They’re waiting to place their order.”
“Got it.” Theodosia ducked into the kitchen, which was filled with the aromas of baking bread, stir-fry chicken, and shrimp gumbo. Haley had outdone herself yet again.
“Thank goodness you’re back,” Haley said. “We were beginning to worry.”
Theodosia grabbed two shrimp gumbos. “These are for which table?”
“Table four.” Haley added a Waldorf tea sandwich to each plate. “Then come right back here. By the time you serve those, I’ll have a couple more luncheon plates all fixed up and ready to go.”
Theodosia worked frantically for the next twenty minutes. Serving lunches, taking orders, pouring tea, serving more lunches. Finally, when every customer had been taken care of, she dashed up to the counter to tell Drayton what she’d learned.
“I found out where Professor Shepley is staying,” Theodosia said, almost breathlessly.
His brows shot up. “Shepley, the mysterious event crasher?”
“That’s right. He’s got a room over at the Rosewalk Inn.”
“The B and B that Tyrone Chandler manages. So now this Shepley character is on your short list of suspects, too?”
“My list’s not that short anymore,” Theodosia said. “I keep adding to it.”
“So what do you plan to do about Shepley? Go over and accost this poor visiting academic? Demand that he confess to being an international jewel thief?”
“I’ve got a much better idea,” Theodosia said. “I’m going to call over to the Rosewalk Inn and extend a complimentary invitation to Shepley. Invite him to our Romanov Tea tonight.”
Drayton’s face pulled into a slow grin. “My, aren’t you a devilishly clever little investigator.”
• • •
Just when Theodosia was clearing two tables at once, balancing a gray plastic tub of dishes on one hip, Delaine came sauntering in.
“Theodosia!” she exclaimed. She was wearing a cranberry-colored suede jacket, black pencil skirt, and had a half-dozen gold chains strung around her neck. She carried a black suede Chanel bag that probably cost as much as a down payment on a house.
“Delaine,” Theodosia said back. “Are you just slumming or did you stop by for lunch?”
Delaine cocked her head and considered this. “I suppose I could go for a nibble. As long as it’s low carb.”
“We can make that happen. At least Haley can.” Delaine was obviously off her grapefruit juice and cider vinegar cleanse and back on her low-carb program.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” Delaine said.
Okay, why are you here?
Delaine offered Theodosia a cheesy grin. “I wanted to inform you that I’ve selected three very special dresses for you.”
Wait, did I order three dresses? Was I shopping in my sleep? Did I drink and dial? Or maybe I have temporary amnesia because I sure don’t remember ordering any dresses.
“Dresses?” Theodosia said, still racking her brain. “For . . . what purpose?”
Delaine tossed her head like a nervous show pony. “More like for what occasion.” When Theodosia didn’t respond, she said, “For Saturday night, you silly girl. To wear to the Rare Antiquities Show at the Heritage Society.” When Theodosia’s face finally registered surprise (if not dismay), she continued on. “We simply can’t have you wearing that same old black cocktail dress again. I mean, haven’t we all had our fill of that particular dress?” She said the word dress like she was referring to moldy cleaning rags.
“But I . . .”
Delaine gave Theodosia a sly smile. “Besides, you’re back on the market, girlfriend. Which means you need to look sexy and sultry so you can attract one of Charleston’s eligible bachelors.”
“Really?” Theodosia said. “And here I thought that was your role.”
“Well, dear, it often is,” Delaine said smoothly, unfazed by the slight jab. “But it just so happens I’m seeing Mr. Gilles right now. Exclusively, I might add.”
“But he doesn’t actually live here, does he?” So how exclusive can that be?
“He does for the time being,” Delaine said. “And that’s good enough for me.” She giggled. “A girl doesn’t always have to settle for Mr. Right. Sometimes Mr. Right Now is better.”
• • •
By the time Theodosia brought a salad, grilled chicken breast, and pot of jasmine tea to Delaine’s table, she wasn’t sitting alone. Turns out Grace Dawson had wandered into the tea shop and Delaine had invited Grace to join her for lunch.
“You finally made it,” Theodosia said to Grace. She was delighted to see her. With or without the Dobermans.
“I surely did,” Grace said with open enthusiasm. “I’ve heard so many people rave about the Indigo Tea Shop that I finally decided to drop by.” She glanced at Delaine’s lunch. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Of course not,” Theodosia said. “What would you say to a bowl of shrimp gumbo, a tea sandwich, and an orange scone?”
Grace’s eyes lit up. “I’d say, bring it on. It all sounds wonderful.”
When Theodosia returned with a pot of tea and Grace’s luncheon plate, the conversation had turned to the ill-fated opera last night.
“I was there!” Grace exclaimed to Theodosia and Delaine.
“You were there with Mr. Rinicker?” Theodosia asked. Here was her chance to nail down his whereabouts.
“No,” Grace said. “I went with a friend. Lionel was busy with some sort of business. A meeting, I guess.”
“Well, I was there, too,” Delaine told Grace. “In fact, I ran into Theodosia and Drayton at intermission.”
“So we were all there,” Grace said. “Wow.”
But where was Rinicker? Theodosia wondered. Where was he really?
“To tell the truth,” Grace said, “that incident left me feeling a little heartsick. I mean . . . opening night with La Bohème, everyone dressed to the nines, and all that delicious anticipation.” Her face shone with excitement for a few
moments, and then her shoulders sagged. “Such a magnificent first act to be followed by that awful robbery. I think it rattled everyone to their core.”
“That’s for sure,” Delaine said, all wide-eyed, as if she was practically reliving the event. “That robbery struck me as a bad omen, a harbinger of things to come.”
Grace gave a little shiver. “Please don’t say that, Delaine. It’s hard enough living all by myself when the wind comes ripping off the Atlantic and the olive tree branches are tick-ticking against my bedroom window.”
“Ooh,” Delaine squealed. “You sound just like one of those scary stories by Edgar Allan Poe.”
• • •
Just when Theodosia figured their luncheon service was over, just when she was gearing up to focus on tonight’s Romanov Tea, the FBI came marching in.
Well, not the entire bureau, of course. Just Agents Zimmer and Hurley.
“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Zimmer said. He had the same clean-cut, sharp-eyed look that Theodosia remembered. An interesting-looking man, but a little intense. Maybe too intense.
“Of course you’re interrupting,” Theodosia said with a smile. “But come on in anyway. You can fill me in on what you’ve been up to.”
Zimmer and Hurley followed her to a table and sat down.
“I’m afraid we can’t really share any information with you,” Zimmer said. “Agency policy is to remain fairly tight-lipped concerning ongoing cases.”
“Well, you can at least tell me if there’s anything new on the ransom offer,” Theodosia said.
“You’re not supposed to know about that,” Hurley said.
Theodosia smiled. She’d detected a pinprick of surprise on his part. “Oh please. The copy desk at the Charleston Post and Courier probably knows all about it.”
Hurley looked less than pleased.
“Okay, then maybe you can tell me where you are concerning Luke Andros,” Theodosia said.
Zimmer and Hurley exchanged looks.
“How on earth do you know about him?” Zimmer asked.
“I’m the one who passed on some speculative information to Detective Tidwell,” Theodosia said. “Who obviously passed it on to you.”
Hurley glanced at Zimmer. “How is she getting this stuff?”
“Look around,” Theodosia said. “It’s a tea shop. People drink tea, let down their guard, and talk.”
Zimmer managed a feeble smile. “Maybe we should be spending more time here.”
“Maybe you should,” Theodosia said. “And by the way, is there anything more on Mr. Clement and his rock-climbing hammer?”
Zimmer placed both hands on the table and pressed down. “Excuse me?”
“And what about Professor Shepley?” Theodosia continued. “I know for a fact that he crashed Brooke’s jewelry show. Is he under investigation or am I the only one who thinks there might be more to him than meets the eye?”
“Miss Browning,” Agent Zimmer said, a warning tone creeping into his voice. “I’m going to ask you to please not speak about these things to anyone.”
“Even if they’re just my personal suspicions?”
“Especially if they’re just suspicions. It would be grossly unfair to all the people concerned.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “I guess I can see that. Just one more thing, then.”
Both agents looked askance at her.
“What do you want to know?” Hurley asked in a tentative voice.
“Do you think the robbery of the emerald necklace at the opera last night is connected to the Heart’s Desire robbery?”
“And you know about that robbery . . . how?” Zimmer asked.
“Because I was there,” Theodosia said. “Me and about half of Charleston. So I suppose there are a whole lot of people wondering what’s going on. If the two crimes might even be connected.”
Red-faced and smarting, the FBI agents clammed up completely. Theodosia decided if they weren’t going to play nice and share, then she wasn’t about to grace them with complimentary tea and scones. They’d reached a mountain of an impasse and there was nothing that could be done. After a few minutes of conversation that was polite verging on brittle, she ushered them to the door.
“You certainly didn’t show your warm and fuzzy side to those two,” Drayton observed once Zimmer and Hurley had left.
“That’s because they weren’t particularly open with me.”
“They’re the FBI,” Drayton said. “What do you expect? They have a long and storied history of not being open or friendly. Of demanding answers but never giving any in return.”
“Still,” Theodosia said, “they could have been a little more gracious.”
“Maybe you should have invited them to the tea tonight,” Drayton smirked. “You could have seated them next to Professor Shepley. Then sat back and watched the sparks fly.”
“You know,” Theodosia said. “I thought about that. But then I wouldn’t have the fun of questioning Shepley myself.”
20
“Drayton,” Haley sang out, “did you remember to bring in your Russian samovar?” She was standing in the middle of the tea shop, looking around expectantly.
Drayton leaned around the counter. “If you glance to your left, my dear Haley, you’ll find that it’s sitting right there on the pecan sideboard.”
Haley looked over her shoulder and saw the elaborate silver-and-brass samovar. “Oh. I guess you did remember. Then how about the bouquets?”
“They’re in my office,” Theodosia said. “Gerbera daisies and red carnations. You can start bringing them out if you want.”
It was five o’clock in the afternoon and preparations for their Romanov Tea were finally winding down. Haley had been rattling around in the kitchen for the last two hours, cooking beef Stroganoff in creamy mushroom sauce, as well as blinis and borscht. Theodosia had busied herself with decorating the tables, laying out blush-colored linens, and then setting out their Cobalt Net china by Lomonosov.
“You know I borrowed several sets of glass teacups,” Drayton told her.
“Show me,” Theodosia said.
Drayton promptly produced a small glass, and then popped it into a gilded metal holder with a lace design. “We have three dozen of these. Perfect for our Russian tea, yes?”
“And so authentic,” Theodosia said. “Our guests are going to eat this up.”
“Along with the food,” Haley said. “Which really is the whole point.” She looked around at the tables. “So what else?”
“Well, the flowers,” Theodosia said. “And we borrowed some of those little Russian nesting dolls to liven things up.”
“No bronze busts of Lenin or Trotsky?” Haley asked. “No Socialist posters on the walls?”
“Nooo,” Drayton said, picking up a bright-pink box from the counter. “This is more of a czarist tea. Which is why I had the Toulouse Bakery make us a batch of cake and candy Fabergé eggs.”
Haley reached out anxiously. “Ooh, let me see.”
Drayton handed over the box. “Be careful, now. Those little cakes are fragile.”
Haley flipped open the lid and gingerly removed one of the eggs. There were an even dozen pink, blue, and cream-colored eggs inside the box, all decorated with swaths of colored frosting and dots of candy that approximated pearls and gemstones. “These are absolutely precious. So I should just set a couple on each table?”
“That should do it,” Drayton said. “Only let’s display them in those enameled Khokhloma bowls we found at Ladybug Gifts down the street. It’ll show them off better.”
“Will we be serving Russian caravan tea?” Theodosia asked. “Or have you come up with something else?”
“I’m going to brew the Russian caravan tea in traditional teapots,” Drayton said. “And then we’ll serve a black tea spiced with cinnamon and clo
ves out of the samovar.” He smiled. “One to appeal to tea purists and one for those with more of a sweet tooth.”
“Which is just about everybody,” Haley said.
Theodosia squinted at Drayton. “Since we’re calling this a Romanov Tea, how much are you going to say about the Fabergé egg that’s going to be at the Heritage Society?” She’d been turning this question over and over in her mind. She’d nursed the desire to stage a Romanov Tea long before she’d even heard about the Fabergé egg. But now . . . now it seemed like the two were intertwined. So they almost had to mention it.
“When I introduce the menu,” Drayton said, “I’ll also talk about the Fabergé egg.”
“But don’t dwell on it too much,” Theodosia said. “Because . . . well, you know why.”
• • •
Timothy Neville was one of their first guests to arrive. Looking like a country squire in his dark-green Donegal-pattern tweed jacket, he shook hands with Drayton and said, somewhat nervously, “I’ve put on extra protection for Saturday night.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Drayton responded.
Theodosia quickly inserted herself into their conversation. “Has the Fabergé egg arrived yet?”
“It showed up in an armored truck about an hour ago,” Timothy told them.
“Then maybe that extra protection should start right now,” Theodosia said.
Timothy focused on her. “Ah, but the egg’s not at the Heritage Society.”
“Where is it?” Theodosia asked.
“Locked tightly in a vault,” Timothy said. “A bank vault.”
“Smart idea,” Drayton said.
“Too bad it can’t stay there,” Theodosia said as Drayton led Timothy to his table.
Much to Theodosia’s surprise, Lionel Rinicker showed up next. And not with Grace Dawson, but with a man she’d never met before.
