From the look of utter devastation on Jordan Knight’s face, Theodosia was pretty sure he’d found his missing son.
2
This Sunday morning was infinitely better than the horror Theodosia had witnessed last night. Because, on this sunny day, she and her boyfriend, Max Scofield, were relaxing on the backyard patio of her cottage in the historic district, enjoying a lovely, leisurely brunch. Her dog, Earl Grey, was wandering lazily about, sniffing in the garden, which was still in full and glorious bloom. Fish swam in the tiny little pond, and fuzzy yellow bumblebees hummed and bumped their way from fragrant flower to sweet vine.
Over entrees of crab Benedict and poached asparagus, Theodosia related to Max all the gory details from last night. The rough wooden barrel being canted onto its side. The tremendous glut of wine swooshing out. The splayed-out body of Drew Knight. Then the horrified cries of the guests followed by flashing lights, blatting sirens, and the hurried arrival of the local sheriff.
Max gave a mock shudder. “A body rolling out of a barrel of wine. It sounds like the kind of awful thing Edgar Allan Poe would write about. Like ‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ Or in this case, ‘The Body in the Barrel.’” Max was tall and wiry, with dark hair, an olive complexion, and a quirky brand of humor. Though it was horror rather than humor that was clearly being expressed at the present time.
“Funny you should bring that up,” said Theodosia. “Since good old Edgar Allan once resided right here in Charleston. In fact, he used to stalk the windswept beaches of Sullivan’s Island trying to conjure up divine inspiration.” She smiled brightly at Max and lifted a platter. “Would you care for another cucumber and cream cheese sandwich?”
“No thanks,” said Max, holding up a hand. Her recounting of last night’s fiasco had been a little too graphic for his taste.
“Lost your appetite?” said Theodosia.
Max cocked his head at her. Theodosia was more often than not a puzzle to him. She was smart and funny, always highly enterprising, but seemed to possess a quirky fascination for the dark and slightly macabre.
“More tea then?” Theodosia reached for the blue-and-white Chinese teapot and poured refills of tippy Yunnan tea for both of them. It never occurred to her that Max wouldn’t want another cup of tea. Everyone she knew pretty much drank their weight in tea, after all.
“Thank you,” said Max.
“You know the funny thing about last night?”
“Is there a funny thing?” said Max.
“Everyone assumed that Drew Knight drowned in that barrel of wine.”
Max lifted one eyebrow. “No?” Now he was just this side of interested.
“Drew was shot in the head first and then stuffed into that barrel.” Theodosia took a sip of tea to punctuate her sentence. “So he was probably already dead from the gunshot wound.”
“How did you discover that little gem?”
“Oh . . . I suppose I overheard the sheriff talking about it. Sheriff Anson. Or one of his deputies.”
Max sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was the PR director at the Gibbes Museum and far more interested in ruminating over his plans for the upcoming Art Crawl, which they were helping to sponsor. Between arranging for fine art demonstrations and getting all the galleries on the same page, there was a lot of work to complete in three days’ time.
Theodosia picked up a basket of cherry scones and held it out to Max. “Another scone?” As a tea shop owner, she was used to pampering her customers and catering to their whims. Which usually meant offering seconds—and even thirds.
Max groaned. “Theo, sweetheart, I have to fit into my tux this Saturday evening.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “You look just fine to me.” Then she studied him carefully. “I know you’re worried about the Art Crawl. And something else, too?”
“No, I’m just concerned with . . . logistics,” said Max. “There’s so much going on this coming week, what with the Art Crawl, our museum patrons’ dinner, and then the Art Crawl Ball.”
“I’m sure it will all go off without a hitch,” said Theodosia. She was an optimist, hard worker, and planner of the first magnitude. Which meant that all of her teas, catering gigs, and special events went off with the crisp efficiency of a well-conceived military campaign. It also never occurred to her that other business owners didn’t sweat the details as much as she did.
Max picked up a tea sandwich that had been cut into a perfect triangle. “Do you know that Andy Turner is one of the sponsors and he still doesn’t have a date?” He took a nibble. “Now that’s cutting it close.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you . . . I ran into him last night. At the wine tasting.” She sighed. “Although now it will probably forever be known as the wine murder.”
“Maybe for the next twelve hours,” said Max. “And then something else will pop up and the media will be all over that story.”
“You’re probably right,” said Theodosia as the cell phone in her pocket hummed a greeting. “Thanks to our relentless twenty-four/seven news cycle, this will all just fade away.” She pulled out her phone and said, “This is Theo.”
Drayton didn’t mince any words. “We need you.”
Theodosia frowned. Drayton was being his usual cryptic self. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I’m sitting here in my backyard garden talking to Jordan Knight.”
“Oh.” Theodosia may have sounded calm, but warning bells were suddenly clanging and banging inside her head.
Drayton continued. “And we are in dire need of your assistance.”
Theodosia managed a quick glance at Max, who was now perusing the sports section of the Post and Courier. Good, he had no idea what they were talking about. Then she said in a slightly strangled whisper, “Really? Me?”
“Yes, you,” came Drayton’s urgent plea.
“Um . . . what’s going on?” She needed to stall Drayton, she needed some time to think.
“I don’t believe I’m being particularly obtuse,” said Drayton. He let loose a deep sigh. “We need you because you’re rather competent when it comes to this type of problem.”
“Excuse me?” said Theodosia. Still stalling, but Drayton wasn’t buying it.
“You know what I’m referring to,” said Drayton. Now there was a distinct tone to his voice.
Oh rats, Theodosia thought to herself. Of course he means good at solving murders. He’s asking me to help his friend Jordan Knight.
She leaned back in her wicker chair, smoothed the skirt of her dress, and thought, Please . . . no. Not today, on this lovely, carefree Sunday, when her fella was over for brunch. When they were reading the Sunday paper and just lazing around enjoying the warm weather. In fact, not ever. Because after all the fuss and flurry that happened last time she got involved in a crazy murder investigation, she’d pretty much promised Max that she wouldn’t let herself get pulled into yet another one.
Still holding the phone, Theodosia smiled at Max and took a sip of tea. Max looked up, reached for the variety section of the newspaper, and smiled patiently back at her.
“Well,” said Drayton, his voice beginning to betray more than a hint of impatience. “Are you coming over here or not?”
Theodosia thought about the ghastly purple body she’d witnessed last night. A truly horrific sight that had turned Jordan Knight’s face into a mask of unbearable pain. She swallowed hard and said, “Five minutes, Drayton. Give me five minutes.”
• • •
Drayton lived a few blocks from Theodosia, also in the heart of Charleston’s historic district, in a quaint, 160-year-old home that had once been owned by a prominent Civil War doctor. While her own home was a classic Queen Anne–style cottage, Drayton’s home was a single-story, gabled roof home with a narrow brick front and elegant dark blue shutters. There was a side piazza, now screened, and a bumpy, cobblestone walk that led around to his rather verdant backyard.
Theodosia gave a perfunctory knock on the front door, wai
ted a few seconds, and then walked around to the back.
Drayton and Jordan Knight were sitting at a black wrought-iron table, talking in low voices, and sipping cups of tea. The patio was modest at best, gray flagstone with pots of bougainvillea, but the rest of the backyard was a veritable jungle. Tall thickets of bamboo, beds of furry green moss, and large twisted Taihu rocks set off Drayton’s enormous collection of Japanese bonsai trees to perfection. There were windswept trees that had been tamed and twisted, elegantly pruned junipers and oaks, and even miniature bonsai forests.
When Drayton noticed Theodosia’s arrival, he smiled and said, “There’s a pot of Assam sitting on the kitchen counter if you’d like. It’s organic and from the Kandoli Tea Estate.”
“And Drayton has brandy if you’d like something stronger,” Jordan Knight called to her.
Theodosia walked into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea, and looked around. Drayton’s house never failed to amaze her. It was impeccable in its bachelor simplicity, yet housed a stellar collection of French and English antiques. There were no Pottery Barn look-alikes here, just the real deal. She took a quick peek at what appeared to be two new sterling silver flagons sitting on his Hepplewhite cupboard, then she headed out to join the two men. “What’s going on?” she asked as she sat down at the table. As if she didn’t know.
Jordan Knight gazed at her with a pained expression. His eyes were rimmed in dark circles, tension lines creased his face, and he looked as if he’d slept in his slacks and shirt. “Sheriff Anson hasn’t been able to come up with a single suspect.”
Theodosia crossed her legs, cleared her throat, and said, in what she hoped was a fairly sympathetic tone, “It’s still very early in the investigation.”
“I’m not sure there is a viable investigation!” said Drayton, looking more than a little indignant.
“Of course there is,” said Theodosia. “It’s just that . . .” She searched for the right words. “These things take time.” She knew instantly that they weren’t the right words and that they sounded empty. Positively vacuous, in fact.
Jordan Knight rested his elbows heavily on the table and leaned in toward her. “Drayton tells me you’re a very clever investigator.”
“I’ve stumbled upon a few answers in the past,” said Theodosia, trying to sound noncommittal. “I got lucky.”
“You got good,” said Drayton. “Which is why I asked you to join us here. And I sincerely do thank you for coming.”
Jordan Knight turned to Theodosia, his face crumpled in pain. “After hearing what Drayton had to say about your rather prodigious skills,” he said, “I was hoping you might lend us your assistance. Perhaps you could work a little of your amateur investigative magic.”
Theodosia shook her head. “It’s not magic.”
“Whatever it is,” said Drayton, lifting a hand. “Call it a knack or a talent or a genius, the fact remains that you’re very good at talking to people, extracting information, and figuring things out. You’re a good judge of character and personal motivations. Which is why we’re hoping you might do us the supreme favor of going back out to Knighthall Winery to sniff around. Just . . . talk to a few people. See what you come up with.”
“Wouldn’t I be stepping on Sheriff Anson’s toes?” said Theodosia, gazing directly at Jordan Knight. Sheriff Allen Anson and three of his deputies had shown up last night and taken immediate control of the situation. From what she had observed, they’d seemed extremely competent.
“You wouldn’t be in anyone’s way,” said Drayton, answering for him. “Because you’d be running your own personal . . . well, let’s call it a discreet inquiry.”
“I think a government agency might call that a shadow investigation,” said Theodosia.
“I don’t care what we call it,” said Drayton. He directed a sympathetic nod toward Knight. “This poor man is in desperate need of your assistance!”
Knight gave Theodosia a cautious gaze. “Would you be willing to come out? To the winery, I mean? Talk to some of my people, see if you’re able to puzzle out any answers?”
“Find a suspect!” put in Drayton.
“Not so fast,” said Theodosia. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Knight lifted a hand and spread his fingers. “Well . . . how does it work? You tell me.”
“First I’d have to ask you a load of questions,” said Theodosia. “And some of them could make you rather uncomfortable. They’re questions you might not want to answer.”
“Such as?” said Knight.
“Let’s start with a few easy questions,” said Theodosia. “Such as when was the last time you saw your son? Was it at the party last night?”
Knight nodded eagerly. “Yes, I think so.”
“You have to know so,” said Theodosia. “You have to be absolutely sure of your answer.”
“Well, I’m positive I saw him,” said Knight. He furrowed his brow and his eyes drifted sideways as if he were deep in thought. “At least I think I did.”
“Just think back,” said Theodosia. “Let your mind kind of free-associate.”
“Now that you mention it,” said Knight. “It might have been more like midafternoon?”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Do you know—did Drew have any enemies?”
Knight snorted. “Hardly. Drew was a good kid. He was well liked by everyone.”
Clearly not, Theodosia thought to herself. Someone had disliked Drew sufficiently enough to shoot him in the head and stuff his body into a barrel of wine.
“Did Drew have a girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Knight said slowly. “A lovely young woman by the name of Tanya Woodson. She works in fashion. In fact, she’s a fairly well-known model.”
“How does she figure into all of this?” asked Drayton.
Knight shifted uneasily. “She doesn’t.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Theodosia. “Were they living together?”
“Actually, yes,” said Knight. “They were staying in the guest house at the winery.”
“And how is Tanya taking Drew’s death?”
“Not very well,” said Knight. “Then again, none of us are. This has been a nightmare experience.”
“What’s your current business situation?” Theodosia continued, ignoring Knight’s obvious discomfort. “Is your company profitable?”
Now Knight really looked unhappy. “My software company, Whizzen, is right in the process of launching Whizgo 3.0.” He lifted a hand, teetered it back and forth. “So far we’re holding our own.”
“And the winery?” said Theodosia.
“That hasn’t turned a profit yet,” Knight said slowly.
“Who would stand to gain through Drew’s murder?” asked Theodosia.
Knight grimaced. “Excuse me?”
“Who would stand to gain through Drew’s murder?” Theodosia repeated. “Monetarily or otherwise?”
“Why . . . no one,” said Knight.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m positive.” Knight frowned and directed his gaze at Drayton. “I feel like I’ve been thrown into the ring with an overzealous sparring partner.” He cocked a thumb at Theodosia. “She keeps throwing jabs and uppercuts at me.”
“If this is too uncomfortable for you . . .” said Theodosia.
“No, no,” said Knight. “Please, let’s continue.”
“So you mentioned last night that Drew was in charge of coordinating the event?”
“That’s right,” said Knight. “He was the one responsible for hiring the outside bartenders, caterers, and entertainers. That sort of thing.”
“How big is your regular staff at the winery?” asked Theodosia.
“Six people,” said Knight. “We run a pretty tight ship.”
“So you had a lot of extra people working there last night. People you really didn’t know.”
“I didn’t think we had to check credentials,” said Knight.
“And there were a lot of gu
ests,” put in Drayton.
“I’d say a hundred or so,” said Theodosia. “Perhaps we could get a copy of your guest list?”
There was the sharp sound of stiletto heels on the tiled kitchen floor, then a woman in a pink skirt suit and floppy white hat stepped out onto the patio.
“Pandora,” said Drayton, scrambling to his feet. “Come join us, dear lady.” He turned toward Theodosia. “Theo, have you met Pandora Knight? No, I’m sure you two haven’t been introduced.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Theodosia, extending a hand. “And I’m so very sorry about Drew’s death and . . . well, the awful circumstances.”
“You’re very kind,” said Pandora. “And it’s lovely to finally meet you. Drayton’s told us so much about you. And thank you so much for consenting to meet with Jordan like this.” She glanced around the table. “I hope you were able to accomplish something.”
“We’re certainly trying,” said Drayton. “Giving it our all.”
“Anyway,” said Pandora, favoring them with a sad smile. “I wanted to wait outside so Jordan could talk freely.”
“I’ve been racking my brain,” said Jordan. “Searching my heart and trying to figure out who would have wanted Drew dead!”
“Perhaps if you could try to answer my last question,” said Theodosia.
“What was that again?” asked Jordan.
“Who would stand to gain from Drew’s death?”
“I can answer that,” Pandora snapped. “It would be Georgette Kroft.” She delivered her answer with such vehemence that the brim of her hat flip-flopped in her face.
“Who’s that?” asked Drayton.
“Georgette owns a rival winery,” explained Knight. “Oak Hill Winery.”
“Ever since Knighthall went into production,” said Pandora, “Georgette’s been running around like a maniac, trying to worm her way into every account in Charleston. Attempting to block our every advance.”
“Excuse me,” said Theodosia. “Do you really think this woman, Georgette Kroft, might have killed Drew?” It sounded far-fetched to her.
Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) Page 2
