Devonshire Scream

by Laura Childs

  Friendshiptea.net—Tea shop reviews, recipes, and more.

  RTbookreviews.com—Wonderful romance and mystery book review site.

  Adelightsomelife.com—Tea, gardening, and cottage crafts.

  Theladiestea.com—Networking platform for women.

  Jennybakes.com—Fabulous recipes from a real make-it-from-scratch baker.

  Southernwritersmagazine.com—Inspiration, writing advice, and author interviews of Southern writers.

  Thedailytea.com—Formerly Tea Magazine, this online publication is filled with tea news, recipes, inspiration, and tea travel.

  Allteapots.com—Teapots from around the world.

  Fireflyvodka.com—South Carolina purveyors of Sweet Tea Vodka, Raspberry Tea Vodka, Peach Tea Vodka, and more. Just visiting this website is a trip in itself!

  Teasquared.blogspot.com—Fun, well-written blog about tea, tea shops, and tea musings.

  Blog.bernideens.com—Bernideen’s teatime blog about tea, baking, decorating, and gardening.

  Teapages.net—All things tea.

  Possibili-teas.net—Tea consultants with a terrific monthly newsletter.

  Relevanttealeaf.blogspot.com—All about tea.

  Baking.about.com—Carroll Pellegrinelli writes a terrific baking blog complete with recipes and photo instructions.

  Stephcupoftea.blogspot.com—Blog on tea, food, and inspiration.

  Teawithfriends.blogspot.com—Lovely blog on tea, friendship, and tea accoutrements.

  Teaescapade.wordpress.com—Enjoyable tea blog.

  Bellaonline.com/site/tea—Features and forums on tea.

  Lattesandlife.com—Witty musings on life.

  Napkinfoldingguide.com—Photo illustrations of twenty-seven different (and sometimes elaborate) napkin folds.

  Worldteaexpo.com—This premier business-to-business trade show features more than three hundred tea suppliers, vendors, and tea innovators.

  Sweetgrassbaskets.net—One of several websites where you can buy sweetgrass baskets direct from the artists.

  Goldendelighthoney.com—Carolina honey to sweeten your tea.

  Fatcatscones.com—Frozen ready-to-bake scones.

  Kingarthurflour.com—One of the best flours for baking. This is what many professional pastry chefs use.

  Teagw.com—Visit this website and click on Products to find dreamy tea pillows filled with jasmine, rose, lavender, and green tea.

  Californiateahouse.com—Order Machu’s Blend, a special herbal tea for dogs that promotes healthy skin, lowers stress, and aids digestion.

  Vintageteaworks.com—This company offers six unique wine-flavored tea blends that celebrate wine and respect the tea.

  Downtonabbeycooks.com—A Downton Abbey blog with news and recipes. You can also order their book Abbey Cooks Entertain.

  Auntannie.com—Crafting site that will teach you how to make your own petal envelopes, pillow boxes, gift bags, etc.

  Victorianhousescones.com—Scone, biscuit, and cookie mixes for both retail and wholesale orders. Plus baking and scone-making tips.

  Harney.com—Contact Harney & Sons to order their Titanic Blend loose leaf tea or their RMS Titanic tea sachets.

  Englishteastore.com—Buy a jar of English Double Devon Cream here as well as British foods and candies.

  Stickyfingersbakeries.com—Scone Mixes and English Curds.

  PURVEYORS OF FINE TEA

  Adagio.com

  Harney.com

  Stashtea.com

  Republicoftea.com

  Teazaanti.com

  Bigelowtea.com

  Celestialseasonings.com

  Goldenmoontea.com

  Uptontea.com

  VISITING CHARLESTON

  Charleston.com—Travel and hotel guide.

  Charlestoncvb.com—The official Charleston convention and visitor bureau.

  Charlestontour.wordpress.com—Private tours of homes and gardens, some including lunch or tea.

  Culinarytoursofcharleston.com—Sample specialties from Charleston’s local eateries, markets, and bakeries.

  Poogansporch.com—This restored Victorian house serves traditional low-country cuisine. Be sure to ask about Poogan!

  Preservationsociety.org—Hosts Charleston’s annual Fall Candlelight Tour.

  Palmettocarriage.com—Horse-drawn carriage rides.

  Charlestonharbortours.com—Boat tours and harbor cruises.

  Ghostwalk.net—Stroll into Charleston’s haunted history. Ask them about the “original” Theodosia!

  CharlestonTours.net—Ghost tours plus tours of plantations and historic homes.

  Follybeach.com—Official guide to Folly Beach activities, hotels, rentals, restaurants, and events.

  Keep reading for a special preview of a new series from the author of this book (writing as Gerry Schmitt). If you enjoy pulse-pounding thrillers, if you like intriguing female protagonists, you’re going to love the first book in the brand-new Afton Tangler series . . .

  Little Girl Gone

  Writing as Laura Childs, this author has brought you the New York Times bestselling Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbooking Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. Now, writing under her own name, Gerry Schmitt, she is bringing you an entirely new series of sharp-edged thrillers. Gerry has ratcheted up the suspense, set the stakes even higher, and created exciting, memorable characters that sizzle on the page.

  We know you’ll be intrigued by Little Girl Gone, the first in this series that features Afton Tangler, single mom, Outward Bound enthusiast, and liaison officer with the Minneapolis PD, as she gets pulled into a bizarre high-profile kidnapping.

  COMING IN HARDCOVER JULY 2016 FROM BERKLEY!

  Marjorie Sorenson turned hard, flat snake eyes on the young woman in the fox-fur parka who strolled toward her in the Skylark Shopping Mall. And instantly pegged her: rich bitch.

  This blond woman who walked so casually, who cast her eyes about the doll show booths with a certain air of entitlement, had long, flaxen hair like you saw in TV ads, a fancy purse with a bunch of initials littered across the fabric, and ripe, round hips that swayed enticingly.

  Marjorie, on the other hand, had stringy dishwater hair, coarse, pockmarked skin, and a stomach that hung down in a limp, bloated pouch. Once, when she was listening to an early-morning radio show, she’d heard the DJs howling and making jokes about women like her. Tuba sound effects had accompanied their hoots and nasty comments. Marjorie had stabbed murderously at the radio dial with the paring knife she had held in her soapy hand and made it a point never to listen to that station again.

  A delighted smile had spread across the blond woman’s face now, as Marjorie continued to track her. The woman had just passed an enormous pink-and-white candy-striped banner that proclaimed DOLL SHOW TODAY. And found herself wandering a maze of tables and booths that displayed the most intriguing array of dolls. Ballerinas, fairy dolls, Cabbage Patch, Barbies, Strawberry Shortcake, small porcelain collectibles in diminutive costumes, even antique dolls.

  And one perfect little doll in Marjorie’s booth that literally took the woman’s breath away.

  Life-sized, with fine blond hair, plump cheeks, and cupid-shaped lips, it had the perfect look, coloring, and complexion of a newborn. And just like a newborn, this doll was nestled in a white wicker basket with a pink floral blanket tucked around her.

  Marjorie watched the woman as she continued to gaze at the baby doll with complete and utter fascination. Then Marjorie slipped her glasses on and stood up, a genial, practiced smile suddenly softening her coarse features.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Marjorie cooed, her voice struggling to convey a breathy excitement.

  “She looks so real it’s positively eerie,” the blond woman marveled. “As if she could wake up at any moment and start cooing.”

 
Marjorie broadened her smile, revealing crooked teeth and pale-pink gums. “Her name is Tiffany Lynn and she’s a reborn.”

  “So precious,” murmured the woman as Marjorie edged closer. “And you called her . . . what was that?”

  “A reborn,” Marjorie said. She reached down and snugged the blanket closer to the doll’s tiny, round chin.

  The blond woman giggled nervously. “That’s what I thought you said.”

  Marjorie smiled kindly, as though she’d already explained the reborn concept several times today. “I’m Molly Miller,” she said, extending a hand.

  “Susan Darden,” the woman said, shaking hands with her. “Nice to meet you.”

  Gathering up the doll with all the care you’d accord a real live baby, Marjorie gently passed it to Susan.

  “Reborns are a customized form of doll making,” Marjorie said. “Reborn artists start with a commercial doll, often from Berenguer Babies or Secrist Dolls, and then do a complete transformation. For example, this doll was stripped of all factory paint, as well as hair and eyes. Then she was repainted with ten coats of paint, human hair was micro-inserted, and a tiny electronic device was implanted in her chest to mimic a heartbeat.”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “She really has been remade.”

  “Reborn,” Marjorie said. “Airbrushed both inside and out to capture the subtle coloring of a newborn.” Her index finger indicated the doll’s closed eyes. “This little sweetheart’s eyelashes are genuine fox hair that’s been dyed and hand-inserted.”

  “I take it you’re the artist?” Susan asked.

  Marjorie nodded, allowing herself a modest smile.

  Susan gazed tenderly at the little doll that lay in her arms, and her heart lurched. The doll, Tiffany Lynn the woman had called her, had been weighted in such a way that it possessed the heft and feel of a real baby. Her eyes were closed and her tiny lashes brushed delicately against chubby cheeks. Susan could see that the baby’s skin color had been fastidiously done, replicating the slight bluish-pink tint of a newborn.

  “A reborn,” Susan murmured, obviously in awe of the painstaking skill that had gone into creating this doll. “This is amazing craftsmanship. She really does look like she’s only two or three days old.”

  “Thank you,” Marjorie said. She gestured at the yellow-striped shopping bag from Ciao Baby that dangled from Susan’s arm. “I’m guessing you might have a new baby yourself?” She’d noted the woman’s slightly swollen breasts and still-rounded tummy that peeked out from between her coat’s lapels. Pegged her instantly as a new mommy.

  Susan nodded as one hand moved absently down to touch her stomach. “I have a baby girl. She’ll be three months old tomorrow.”

  “Do you have a picture of her?” Marjorie asked. She knew that almost all new mothers carried pictures of their offspring. On their cell phones or in a brag book. Babies always took center stage in a new mother’s life, so this photo log was probably the only bright spot once they became lost in a fog of 3:00 AM feedings and a swirl of postpartum emotions.

  Susan handed the doll back to Marjorie and pulled an iPhone from her handbag. She thumbed to her favorite picture. “Here she is. Elizabeth Ann.”

  “Ahh . . . precious,” Marjorie said. She gazed at the snapshot, her mind clicking into overdrive. “But clearly not a newborn anymore. She’s probably already growing and changing and wriggling with independence.”

  A shadow flicked across Susan’s face. An emotion that Marjorie instantly picked up on. It said, But what if I could recapture that special moment? What if I could have a doll that always looked as precious and wonderful as my own daughter did when she was just a day or two old? What if I could preserve forever that incredible moment in time?

  “Molly,” Susan said, “do you ever do special orders?”

  “Oh sure,” Marjorie replied, working to maintain a casual tone. “Lots of times I do that.”

  Susan flipped to another photo of Elizabeth Ann, one where she couldn’t have been more than two days old. “Can you work from a photo?”

  Marjorie peered at the screen and nodded. “Such a little angel. She’s your first?”

  Susan nodded.

  “You and your husband must be filled with joy.”

  “We are,” Susan said, obviously more than a little intrigued by Marjorie’s handwrought reborns. “Are these babies . . . your reborns as you call them . . . are they expensive?”

  “Depends on how lifelike you want to get,” Marjorie said. “With Tiffany Lynn I used wefts of unprocessed European hair and inserted magnets inside her mouth so she could simulate using a pacifier.”

  Susan gazed at the reborn, her face telegraphing the fact that she’d already made up her mind. “I’d love to have one. Of course, I’d have to talk it over with my husband first,” she hedged.

  Marjorie smiled knowingly. Caught up in the flush of new-baby excitement, the average husband could be talked into just about any kind of push present. “You think your husband would approve?” she asked.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Susan said. “Besides,”—she smiled, almost to herself—“I have ways of convincing him.”

  Marjorie nodded. She hadn’t known a man, really known a man for almost twenty years. Her ex-husband, may his stultifying soul roast on the coal-encrusted back burners of hell, had pretty much soured her on the notion of men. Bill Sorenson, or Billy as the ex had preferred to be called by his friends down at Riney’s Bar, had been the poster child for dumb-ass behavior. Billy had never seen a 7-Eleven he didn’t want to rob, which was probably why Billy had been in and out of jail so often he’d been on a first-name basis with the booking officers. Probably, they could have just installed a damn revolving door for Billy.

  As far as Marjorie was concerned, the only redeeming thing Billy had ever done was pound away at her one besotted night and give her Ronnie. Now, nineteen years later, Ronnie had grown into a fairly decent young man. He handed over half his paycheck to her every Thursday and, under her watchful supervision, kept the partying to a minimum: a few beers, maybe a couple joints on weekends.

  And, wonder of wonders, the more Ronnie matured, the better-looking the kid got. Friendly smile, curly brown hair, good in the height department, and fairly well built. And if a girl didn’t ask too damn many snoopy questions, and failed to notice there wasn’t substantive gray matter behind those distant blue eyes, then Ronnie was in business. They were in business.

  Taking great care, Marjorie laid the Tiffany Lynn doll back down in its basket, then reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a pad and pencil. “Tell you what,” she said, a thoughtful note creeping into her voice. “Why don’t you jot down your name and phone number? Once I get back home and unpacked from this doll show, I’ll give you a jingle. It doesn’t cost anything for an estimate, right?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Susan said as she scribbled out her information. She handed it over to Marjorie but seemed unwilling to pull her eyes away from Tiffany Lynn.

  Marjorie’s crooked grin stretched across her face like a leering jack-o’-lantern. She was already thinking ahead. Had to find Ronnie and get the boy moving. After all, there was work to be done.

  A few minutes later, Marjorie found Ronnie lounging at the food court. He was sucking down an Orange Julius and trying to make time with the slutty teenage girl behind the counter. Marjorie cast a baleful glance at her son and crooked a finger.

  Ronnie saw her and sauntered over. “What?” He was half-cowed, half-resentful.

  Marjorie jerked her chin. “Follow that one.” She pointed to the back of Susan’s blond head as she drifted toward the exit. “Find out where she lives, then get your ass back here. I’ll get this shit packed up.”

  Ronnie stared at her for a long moment, his blue eyes looking a little faded, a little watery.

  “Will you move it!” Marjorie put some real venom int
o her voice to finally get Ronnie moving. Then she went back to her doll display and got busy. Wrapping her dolls in tissue paper, she hummed as she worked. She decided that things often had a funny way of working out. She hadn’t thought it was going to happen today. And then, praise the Lord, Susan Darden had come strolling along like an entitled little princess. Almost like she’d been dropped into Majorie’s lap by the hand of God. And wasn’t that something?

  WATCH FOR LAURA CHILDS’S NEW SCRAPBOOKING MYSTERY COMING SOON IN HARDCOVER FROM BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Crepe Factor

  Holidays in the French Quarter mean cathedral concerts and réveillon dinners. But when Carmela and her best friend, Ava, stroll a winter market, they discover the dead body of Martin Lash, crusty author of the Glutton for Punishment blog. Someone severed his carotid artery with a serving fork, and the police are looking hard at Quigg Brevard, local restaurateur and Carmela’s old flame. When Quigg begs Carmela to help clear him, how can she possibly say no?

  AND ALSO THE NEXT CACKLEBERRY CLUB MYSTERY BY LAURA CHILDS

  Egg Drop Dead

  When Suzanne goes to Mike Mullen’s dairy farm to pick up wheels of cheese, nobody’s around. She steps into his barn only to be greeted by the urgent, upturned faces of cows that haven’t been milked. As the cows wail and moan, Suzanne tiptoes down the aisle and discovers Mike’s dead body. What kind of maniac would murder this mild-mannered farmer? And who is coming after Suzanne now that she’s hot on the trail of his killer?

  WATCH FOR LAURA CHILDS’S NEXT TEA SHOP MYSTERY

  Pekoe Most Poison

  Eighty years ago, fancy “rat teas” were all the rage in Charleston. Today, that quaint custom has suddenly been revived as a madcap homage to the city’s colorful past. Only problem is, a sip of the wrong brew and a tea drinker (and prominent citizen) turns up dead!

  Find out more about the author and her mysteries at laurachilds.com or become a friend on Facebook.

  Looking for more?

  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.