Devonshire Scream

by Laura Childs

  “I didn’t realize you had tickets to our Romanov Tea,” Theodosia said to Rinicker.

  “I don’t,” Rinicker said. “My friend Robin Westlake bought tickets and invited me along. Have you met Robin, Theodosia?”

  “No, I have not.” She shook hands with a middle-aged, balding man with a slightly florid face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Westlake.”

  “We’re really looking forward to this tea,” Westlake said with great enthusiasm.

  “Glad to hear it. And your seats are right this way,” Theodosia told the two men as she led them to their table. “I think you’ll enjoy our food tonight. But I have to warn you, our menu is substantially more robust than just a cream tea or luncheon tea.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Rinicker said. “I’m a bachelor who rarely cooks, so this is going to be a real treat.”

  “How did your segment turn out yesterday at Channel 8?” Theodosia asked as the men settled into their seats.

  “Fairly well,” Rinicker said. “But I barely had time to mumble five words and . . . whoosh . . . the time was gone.”

  “I guess that’s the nature of sound bites these days,” Theodosia told him. “When I worked in marketing, we mostly produced thirty-second TV commercials; now you’re lucky if you get to do a ten-second spot.”

  That was the last free moment Theodosia had, because their guests began pouring in like crazy. Many were friends from neighboring shops down the block, some were Historic District neighbors and tea regulars, and a few guests were brand-new to them. Theodosia and Drayton did quick meet and greets as they continued to usher guests to their tables.

  When Professor Warren Shepley came in, Theodosia recognized him immediately. He was the guest with the quizzical look, baggy brown jacket with elbow patches, and a leather-bound book tucked under one arm.

  “Professor Shepley?” she said.

  He gave a slightly startled look. “Yes?” He was fairly short, with a shock of frizzy white hair and horn-rimmed glasses. His complexion was ruddy, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors, and his eyes were a watery blue.

  “I’m Theodosia Browning. Welcome to my tea shop.”

  A smile touched Shepley’s face. “You’re the lady who invited me.”

  “Because I thought you might enjoy it.” Theodosia knew he’d wonder about his invitation. “And because I thought our Romanov Tea dovetailed with your area of study.” She gripped his hand, studying him. “And because my friend Lois, at the Antiquarian Bookshop next door, said you’ve been a good customer.”

  “Oh,” Shepley said, his puzzlement starting to dissolve. “Okay, then.”

  Of course, Delaine showed up, clinging to the arm of Renaldo Gilles, her paramour du jour.

  “Theodosia,” Delaine exclaimed. “We’re so thrilled to be here. I’ve been singing your praises sky-high to Renaldo.” She squeezed his arm and fixed him with a starry-eyed gaze. “Haven’t I, pumpkin love?”

  “Yes, you have, sweet potato,” Gilles murmured in return.

  “I told him that you serve some of the finest food in Charleston,” Delaine simpered. “Of course, that’s not counting the Peninsula Grill, Beaumont’s, Carolina’s, and a few other notables.”

  “Of course,” Theodosia said, hustling them along. “And I have a reserved table for the two of you right over here.”

  “Oh, we get our own special table,” Delaine exclaimed. “How romantic. With flowers and candles and everything.”

  “Looks like we’ve got a full house,” Theodosia said to Drayton as she surveyed the tea room.

  Drayton consulted a clipboard. “I can’t believe we packed forty-two warm bodies in here. I think it’s a new record.”

  “Forty. We still have two empty seats.”

  “Oh dear, I wonder who hasn’t . . . ?”

  The door banged open loudly as Sabrina and Luke Andros came charging in.

  “Looks like we won’t be stuck with two empty places after all,” Theodosia murmured.

  “We’re so sorry,” Sabrina babbled to them. “We apologize for being late, but we had a last-minute meeting with a client.”

  “A prospective yacht buyer?” Theodosia asked as she took Sabrina’s coat.

  Luke nodded. “That’s exactly right. It’s a funny thing about wealthy people . . . as soon as they make up their mind they want something, everybody else has to instantly drop what they’re doing and tend to their needs.”

  “I know the feeling,” Theodosia said.

  • • •

  Once Theodosia and Drayton had filled everyone’s teacups, once the air hummed with conversation and the candles flickered enticingly in the darkened tea shop, Drayton stepped to the center of the room.

  “Welcome,” he said, “to our Romanov Tea. Tonight we plan to turn back the clock to the romantic era of the Russian czars and dazzle you with a sampling of excellent food and tea.”

  Theodosia stepped forward to join Drayton. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that you’ve all been served tea in small glasses set in elegant metal holders. This is the traditional way tea was served back in that era.” She paused as there were murmurs of approval. “We’ve also created a traditional Russian feast for you tonight. Our appetizers consist of hot beet borscht and blinis with smoked salmon. We have a chilled potato-and-herring salad for you, and your entrée will be a rich beef Stroganoff. For dessert we’ll be serving Russian tea cake cookies as well as a tarte tatin, which is a caramelized apple tart.”

  “For those of you who chose our Russian caravan tea,” Drayton said, “I urge you to also try our spiced tea served from a traditional Russian samovar. I think you’ll definitely find it to your liking. For, as an old Russian saying goes, ‘Where there is tea, there is paradise.’”

  As Drayton’s melodic words hung in the flickering light, with the strains of balalaika music playing over the sound system, Haley suddenly appeared carrying an enormous silver tray. Drayton whisked it from her hands, and then he and Theodosia circled the tables to serve their first course.

  “This is traditional borscht,” Drayton told the guests. “Served with a cool dollop of sour cream to compliment the soup’s heat and zest.”

  From that point on, Theodosia and Drayton were frantically busy. Even as they accepted high praise from their guests, they removed dishes, served the blinis and salad course, and then took those dishes away and moved on to the entrée.

  “This is a madhouse,” Drayton said when he met up with Theodosia at the counter. “We can barely keep up.”

  “We should have asked Miss Dimple to come in and help,” Theodosia said.

  “Let’s at least get the old girl in here tomorrow night for our Full Monty Tea.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Theodosia said. “And who was the genius who decided to hold three event teas in one week?”

  Drayton pointed a finger at her. “You.”

  “Well, you have my permission to smack me upside the head if I ever suggest it again, will you? Because this is downright crazy.”

  “Hold that thought,” Drayton said. “While we hurry up and serve dessert.”

  Their desserts, Russian tea cakes and tarte tatins, were met with a chorus of praise and compliments. And as forks clinked against china plates, as more steaming tea was sipped and enjoyed, as conversations became ebullient, Drayton stepped in to say a final word.

  “In the year 1638,” Drayton said, “a Russian ambassador purchased one hundred and thirty pounds of fine black tea from a Mongol khan. He delivered that tea to Czar Aleksey Mikhaylovich, where it became an instant hit in the royal Russian court. In fact, the czar was so taken by this excellent beverage that he sent the khan one hundred sable skins as a token of his gratitude.” There were murmurs of approval and a spattering of applause. Drayton continued. “In keeping with the spirit of our Romanov Tea, I want to remind you all about the
precious Fabergé egg that will be on display at the Heritage Society this coming weekend.”

  As Drayton continued speaking, Theodosia began to worry. She worried that Drayton might be hyping the Fabergé egg too much. She worried about Sabrina and Luke Andros, who were sitting right there, listening with rapt attention. Professor Shepley, whom she still wanted to question, also seemed completely agog. But mostly she worried about a repeat performance, of thieves storming the Great Hall and smashing the cases and getting their hands on that precious jeweled egg.

  That simply cannot happen, she told herself.

  Theodosia wasn’t sure how she was going to thwart a gang of international jewel thieves, she just knew she had to. If she could do that, she could also exact a small token of justice for Brooke.

  “Theodosia?” Drayton said for a second time.

  She pulled herself back into the here and now. “What?”

  Now there were bursts of giggles from the guests.

  Drayton looked at her expectantly. So did many of the guests. “You were going to say a few words?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Theodosia snapped to, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor as she hurried over to join him. “Yes. I just wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight. When one plans a special event tea like this, you never know how well it’s going to be received.” She turned in a circle, a smile on her face. “Or if anyone is even going to show up.”

  “We love you!” Delaine called out.

  “But it looks as though my fears were unfounded,” Theodosia continued. “So thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoyed the food, and I hope you decide to join us at the Indigo Tea Shop for our next special event tea.”

  Thunderous applause rocked the tea room as Theodosia and Drayton smiled their appreciation. Then all the chairs screeched back as the guests seemed to jump up at once for a group mingle.

  “It’s gridlock,” Drayton chuckled as they were quickly enveloped by the crowd.

  “We can’t possibly clear these tables with everyone milling around like this,” Theodosia said with a shrug.

  “Then we’ll just let them go. We’ll bid everyone good night and do our work later.”

  “You’ll grab the coats?” Theodosia asked him. “The ones that are stashed in my office, anyway?”

  “Yes,” Drayton said. “But you better grab that professor of yours while you can and start shaking him down.”

  “I will.”

  Theodosia collared Professor Shepley just as he was about to slip out the front door. “I’m so sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk,” she said, grabbing hold of his sleeve and reeling him in like a struggling redfish on a hook.

  “It was a lovely dinner,” Shepley told her. “And I’m pleased to say I made the acquaintance of some of your wonderful Charleston neighbors.”

  “We’re a friendly bunch, that’s for sure. But you probably know that already. I understand you’ve been staying at the Rosewalk Inn?”

  Shepley nodded. “Yes, but not for much longer. My work here is almost finished.”

  Theodosia smiled as she hung on to him. “What work is that?”

  He looked slightly disconcerted. “I’m writing a book on the influence of the baroque and rococo on eighteenth-century Russian literature.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s nice. And when are you leaving?”

  “I was planning to drive back to Savannah on Monday. Possibly Sunday.”

  “Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Theodosia knew she was pressing him, maybe even scaring him a little, but didn’t much care.

  “Well, um . . . yes, I suppose I might. I just now learned about the Fabergé egg that’s going to be on display at the Heritage Society.”

  “Really.”

  “I hadn’t heard about it until your man mentioned it. Drayton? Is that his name?”

  Theodosia ground her teeth together. “That’s right.” She pinched Shepley’s arm even more tightly.

  “I was thinking I might drop by for the opening party. Try to wangle an invitation. A sort of quid pro quo, one academic institution to another.”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely,” she spat out.

  “But I . . .” Shepley gave a vigorous tug and broke free, his jacket finally slipping through Theodosia’s fingers. “Now I really must be going.”

  Theodosia waved after him. “Bye-bye, I’ll be looking for you.” Will I ever.

  • • •

  “How shall I put this,” Drayton said. “It was an event to remember.”

  They were standing in the darkened tea room, candles guttering in their pewter holders, dirty dishes littering the tables. The flowers looked peaked in their glass vases and most of the candy Fabergé eggs had disappeared. Walked out the door with the guests. Theodosia hoped petty theft wasn’t a bad omen.

  “I’d say our tea was a huge success,” Haley said. She was puttering around at one of the tables, stacking dishes. “I mean, our guests ate everything we put on the table. Seemed to enjoy it, too.”

  “It was a success,” Drayton said. He glanced at Theodosia, who hadn’t said anything. “Don’t you think so, Theo?”

  “Smashing,” she said. Then winced. Maybe smashing wasn’t the best word for it. Smashing brought back memories of . . .

  “Are you okay, Theo?” Haley asked in a tentative voice. “You had kind of a funny look on your face for a moment.”

  “I’m just tired,” Theodosia said. She wasn’t really tired, she’d just been thinking about Brooke and Kaitlin.

  “You’re not, like, mad about anything, are you? Mad at me?”

  Theodosia turned and touched a hand to Haley’s shoulder. “Not in the least. In fact, I should be thanking my lucky stars that we have you on our team. You’re the one who was in the kitchen today, cranking it out like crazy right up to the bitter end.”

  Haley ducked her head. “That’s okay. It’s what I do. What I love to do.”

  “And now I think you’d better run upstairs and take it easy while Drayton and I clean up.” Haley had moved into the apartment above the tea shop, where Theodosia used to live.

  Haley looked surprised. “Are you sure? You don’t want me to stick around and help with the cleanup?”

  “Absolutely not,” Theodosia said. “You take off, okay?”

  “That’s right,” Drayton chimed in. “We’ll handle it from here.”

  “Well . . . okay,” Haley said. “Hey, thanks a bunch.”

  • • •

  “So what did you find out about Professor Shepley?” Drayton asked. Haley had finally gone upstairs, and he and Theodosia were stacking dishes into the dishwasher.

  “He’s sticking around here until Sunday or Monday,” Theodosia said.

  “Because . . . ?”

  “Because he said, and I quote, he’s going to try to ‘wangle an invitation’ to the Heritage Society’s big show. He also claims to have been unaware of the presence of a Fabergé egg until you so helpfully brought it up tonight.”

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

  “And maybe he’s not,” Theodosia said. “Which is why Shepley is blipping on my radar screen like an errant satellite that’s suddenly dropped out of orbit.”

  “But you’re also suspicious of Sabrina and Luke Andros and Lionel Rinicker,” Drayton said. “And let’s not forget Billy Grainger from last night. Good old Motorcycle Billy.”

  “There’s another person I’d like to take a closer look at, too.”

  Drayton looked surprised. “You can’t be serious.” And then, because Drayton really was the curious sort, he said, “Who is that?”

  “The rock-hammer guy,” Theodosia said. “A fellow named Marcus Clement.”

  “This is because of those hammer images that Tidwell showed you?”

  Theodosia nodded. “That’s right. Clemen
t’s a rock climber. He supposedly owns one of those rock-climbing hammers like the thieves used to . . .”

  “Smash open the cases,” Drayton said.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you come by this person’s name?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Theodosia.” Drayton half closed one eye and fixed her with a disapproving look.

  So Theodosia gave him the rundown on Clement. And how Tidwell had already checked on the fact that he’d recently purchased a rock hammer.

  “Wait a minute,” Drayton said. “You’re losing me. Who bought the hammer?”

  “He did.” She paused. “Clement did. And then I did, too.”

  “What?”

  She explained how she’d gone to Triple Peak and bought a rock hammer that was identical to the one Clement had purchased. And then had it delivered to his home.

  “And you did this, why?”

  “Well . . . so I could clandestinely obtain his address.”

  “Of course, silly me. So now that you have Mr. Clement’s home address, what do you plan to do about it? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “You can ask. But I’d rather you just come along quietly with me.”

  “With you.” Drayton rolled his eyes, looking more than a little exasperated. “You want me to . . .”

  “Snoop around Clement’s house,” Theodosia said. “That’s right.”

  Drayton smoothed a hand across the top of his head. “I’m getting too old for these ridiculous capers.”

  “Don’t say that, Drayton. You’re my voice of reason.”

  “How could I be? Since you rarely heed my advice. Or warnings.”

  Theodosia stood with her hands on her hips, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “So. Are you coming with me or what?”

  “Yes, but for one reason only,” Drayton said. “I might have to post bail if you get caught.”

  21

  It was almost ten thirty when they rolled past Marcus Clement’s home. Theodosia checked the address she’d jotted down against the numbers on the house. Then she checked it again. They were in a neighborhood with a mixture of clapboard, stucco, and ubiquitous Charleston single houses. The asphalt streets were pitted, and the lawns and trees looked a little bedraggled.