Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  “Rest in peace,” chanted the minister.

  “And let perpetual light shine upon him,” responded the mourners.

  Theodosia glanced around. Drew’s family was sitting in the first row: Jordan, Pandora, and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins. Tom Grady and several of the workers occupied the second row. The girlfriend, Tanya, was also in attendance, but she wasn’t sitting in the first row with the family. She had been relegated to the fourth row, the minor leagues of mourning. Dressed in a low-cut black dress that looked more appropriate for the cocktail hour than a funeral, Tanya also sported a large ring with a bright blue stone. Theodosia wondered if that might have been a gift from Drew.

  Theodosia also spotted Frederick Welborne, manager at the Lady Goodwood Inn, as well as Andrew Turner crowded in among the mourners. Theodosia thought it was awfully kind on Turner’s part. She also found it particularly charitable that he still planned to include Drew Knight’s work in his art show. It meant that a small, creative spark of Drew would live on.

  Something in Theodosia’s peripheral vision made her crank her head to the left. And there, standing against an enormous live oak, almost on the periphery, was Carl Van Deusen. She wondered how well Van Deusen and Drew had known each other. Had they been best buds or just friendly acquaintances?

  And, good grief, there was Bill Glass, the sleazy editor/owner of the local gossip rag Shooting Star. He was creeping along the perimeter, taking pictures of the mourners. What on earth? Did the man not understand propriety at all? Theodosia glared at Glass. She was so incensed she was ready to spring to her feet and block his next shot. Then Drayton nudged her gently and she reluctantly turned her focus back to the service.

  There were a few more gently mumbled blessings and then the minister led everyone in a final song, “How Great Thou Art.” Their voices rose in a shaky a cappella, blending together in disjointed harmony.

  And then, the service concluded, Jordan Knight stood up and stumbled toward the casket. In his hands he clutched a wreath of grapevine that had been woven with a dozen white roses. As he placed it atop his son’s casket and bowed his head, his shoulders shook with emotion.

  “This is awful,” Drayton whispered to Theodosia. “I feel so bad for him. So . . . helpless.”

  She nodded back as several more relatives clustered around the casket, placing flowers, touching it reverently, and bowing their heads to give it a final kiss.

  And then, just like that, the service was over. It really was, as the good book professed, a case of dust to dust. A life had been snuffed out in an instant and now it was being returned to the earth, to take its place in the great continuum of time.

  “Do you think we should hurry back to the tea shop?” asked Drayton. He was nervous about their Downton Abbey tea today. “Or do we have time to go through the . . . what would you call it? Receiving line?” He shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. Condolence line? That sounds awfully strange, too.”

  Theodosia slipped her arm through his. “Let’s just go tell them how sorry we are one more time.”

  But as they waited in line, Bill Glass came shlumping along. A camera was carelessly strung around his neck, and he held another one in his hand.

  “Glass!” said Theodosia. “What are you doing here?”

  Bill Glass gave her a sharp look and a sharklike grin. With his slicked-back hair and shiny suit, he reminded her of a sleazy used car salesman.

  “This is my kind of event,” Glass told her. “A smattering of society duffs, a few tears, a fancy coffin. Makes for good copy.”

  “That’s just awful!” said Drayton.

  But Theodosia decided to take full advantage of bumping into him. “I understand you have a reporter working for you who writes food and wine reviews?”

  “Yeah,” said Glass. “Harvey Flagg. Why? You looking for a choice review?”

  “Not particularly,” said Theodosia. “But Jordan Knight seems to think your Mr. Flagg has an ax to grind against his winery.” She knew investigating the reporter Flagg was a long shot, but decided it was still worth pursuing.

  “Not that I know of,” said Glass as if this was the first he’d heard. “Flagg’s a good guy. Knowledgeable when it comes to local restaurants, a good writer, fairly decent photographer, too.”

  “I’ve met him,” said Drayton. “He’s not a good guy.”

  “Aw, give him a chance,” said Glass. “In fact, I’ll even send him over to your place.” He smirked. “He can come over today if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” said Drayton. “We’re terribly busy today.”

  “We’re having a special themed tea,” Theodosia explained. “A Downton Abbey tea.”

  “That’s perfect then,” said Glass. “A trendy, upscale event like that is just the sort of thing my readers will enjoy. We’ll cover it!”

  “Oh no!” said Drayton, beginning to sputter.

  But Theodosia held up a hand and said, “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Come on,” Glass urged.

  “Well . . . Flagg would have to promise not to get in the way,” Theodosia said with some reluctance.

  “He’ll be a mouse in the corner,” said Glass. “Believe me, it won’t be a problem.”

  As Glass moved off to pester someone else, Drayton turned to her. “Are you sure about this? I don’t like the idea of that Flagg fellow just showing up.”

  “Look at it this way,” said Theodosia. “It’ll give us a chance to do a kind of assessment of him.”

  “You mean try to determine if he might be the killer?” said Drayton.

  Theodosia sighed. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  They took their place in line, speaking briefly to several of the relatives, and then moving along until they finally reached Pandora.

  “I’m hopping mad!” Pandora cried the moment she saw them. “I talked to Sheriff Anson early this morning and he had absolutely nothing new for us. Between you and me, I think the man’s an indolent fool! He’s done next to nothing to solve this case!”

  “I’m sure he’s doing something,” Theodosia put in. She was aware that Pandora’s outburst had caused several heads to turn.

  Pandora shook her head. “I don’t believe he’s even bothered to talk to the golf course people or that awful Georgette Kroft at Oak Hill.”

  “They’re still on our list,” Drayton assured her. “We’re still committed to checking them out.”

  “You know,” said Theodosia, “I really hate to bring this up. But Drew’s drug use . . . it could be an issue.” How to phrase this delicately? “It could be related to this case.”

  Interestingly enough, Pandora gave a resigned nod. “Yes, the boy did have a terrible problem. Even though Jordan never wanted to admit it.”

  “If Drew was still using drugs,” said Theodosia, “it could have put him in contact with all sorts of desperate and unsavory people.” She knew it also would have helped if she and Jordan had been honest about this in the first place.

  “And desperate people do desperate things,” said Pandora. “I’m fully cognizant of that.”

  “You’ve spoken with Sheriff Anson about the possibility of drugs being involved?” asked Drayton.

  “Yes, I did mention it to him,” said Pandora. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “You know, I was the one who urged Drew to enter a treatment center in the first place.”

  “That was very courageous of you to intercede,” said Drayton. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t,” said Pandora. “Talking to Drew about his drug use was like unleashing some crazy kind of hurricane. But I know I did the right thing when I pushed him into treatment. Even though Jordan and that awful, skanky girlfriend were no help at all.”

  “What’s going on with Tanya?” asked Theodosia. “I know she’s here today . . . but is she still living in the cottage at the winery?”

  “No, thank goodness,” said Pandora. “She’s final
ly moved out.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, Drew’s Porsche is missing, too, so I certainly wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a schemer, that one!”

  • • •

  Theodosia and Drayton made their way through the condolence line until they finally reached Jordan Knight. He stood next to Drew’s casket, his head bowed, looking like a man who’d lost everything. His watery blue eyes were bloodshot, his skin looked dry and papery, his suit hung limply on his frame.

  “I’m so very sorry,” said Drayton. He put a hand on Jordan’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

  “My sympathies,” Theodosia whispered. She’d uttered those same words so many times this past week, it felt like rote.

  “Please know,” Drayton told Jordan, “that justice will be served.”

  But Jordan seemed more despondent that ever before. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” he told them in a halting, choked-up voice. “Now that Drew is gone.” His head swiveled in a half turn to gaze at the casket and his eyes filled with tears. “Please, if there’s anything you can do.” He stared directly at Theodosia now.

  “Really,” she whispered. “I am trying.”

  “We were just talking to Pandora,” said Drayton. “And Theodosia here brought up Drew’s drug use.”

  Jordan stiffened, as if he’d been poked with a hot wire.

  “We’re terribly sorry to bring it up,” said Theodosia, jumping in. “But it could be related to Drew’s death. A drug dealer, someone he met in treatment . . .”

  “Drug treatment,” Jordan spat out. “That was particularly useful.”

  “I’m sure something positive came of it,” Theodosia said gently.

  “I understand Pandora was the one who convinced Drew to go?” said Drayton.

  A harsh look came across Jordan’s face and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “Now that Drew is gone, Pandora is starting to work me over again.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” said Drayton, looking perplexed.

  “My soon-to-be-ex-wife is trying to convince me that selling part of the winery to Mr. Tanaka is the smartest smart way to go,” said Jordan.

  “Is Mr. Tanaka still in town?” Theodosia asked. This came as a huge surprise to her. She assumed the offer from Higashi Golden Brands was old news.

  “Yes, of course he’s still here!” said Jordan. “Hanging around and forever whispering in Pandora’s ear. And now that Pandora can exercise her right to own the majority of shares, she’s bent on trying to railroad me.” He held up his hand and clenched his fist. “But I swear I’ll never let my vineyard go!”

  “Absolutely not,” said Drayton. “Not after all your hard work.”

  But Jordan’s bravado was short lived. “And even if we don’t sell out,” he continued, “Pandora keeps pushing for more red wine production. No more whites, only reds!”

  Perhaps that’s what sells best,” said Theodosia. She didn’t think red wine or white wine was really the issue here. What mattered was resolving a murder amid a bunch of grieving people who seemed to enjoy savaging each other.

  • • •

  “That was uncomfortable,” said Drayton as he and Theodosia walked slowly back to their car. They passed a tall obelisk and picked their way between two rows of ancient stone tablets.

  “Look here,” said Drayton, pointing. “The grave of Confederate General Micah Jenkins. Of course, there are lots of soldiers buried here from both sides, Union and Confederate.”

  “Sad,” said Theodosia.

  “All wars are a terrible waste,” said Drayton. “Magnolia Cemetery seems to be the final resting place for pride, privilege, and sacrifice.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Theodosia. “There are also plenty of politicians, pirates, bootleggers, and madams buried here.”

  “An equal opportunity piece of real estate,” agreed Drayton.

  Just as they rounded a stone mausoleum with four tall pillars, they saw Pandora talking to someone. Her voice was raised in anger and she was shaking an index finger, looking generally unhappy and out of sorts.

  As they drew closer, they saw that she’d buttonholed Andrew Turner and that the two of them seemed to be involved in a heated argument. Or at least Pandora was.

  Pandora gazed at Turner and said, “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  “Of course not!” Turner replied vehemently. “You know me better than that!”

  Then, in a surprising move, Pandora stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around Turner, giving him a hug. A moment later, she dashed off.

  Turner turned and saw Theodosia and Drayton looking at him with questioning looks on both their faces.

  Theodosia lifted an eyebrow. “A problem?” she asked.

  Turner looked a little embarrassed. “What can I say? Pandora was afraid that I was going to drop Drew’s work from my upcoming show.”

  “Are you?” said Theodosia.

  “Oh no, of course not,” said Turner. “There’s no way I’d drop Drew. His work is still perfectly deserving to be in the show. I told her that.” He nodded, as if to himself, and murmured, “It’s only fair.”

  Theodosia suddenly made up her mind that Andrew Turner might just be the perfect new boyfriend for Delaine. He was kind, considerate, and probably even sweet to his mother.

  “You’re very kind,” she told him.

  “Ah,” said Turner, “I feel sorry for Pandora. I try to give her business advice from time to time, too. I think Jordan likes the idea of making wine, but he’s not so much into the sales and marketing part.”

  “Are they floundering?” Theodosia asked.

  Turner frowned. “Yes, they seem to be. Somewhat anyway.”

  “Then it’s very kind of you to give Pandora some business advice, too,” said Theodosia as they walked out of the cemetery. She understood firsthand how difficult it was to be a small business owner. When she’d left her marketing job to open the Indigo Tea Shop, she’d had to figure out a laundry list of tasks. Like dealing with leases, payroll, quarterly taxes, inventory, and cash flow. And then there was the day-to-day worry of pleasing customers, staging events, and constantly testing and updating menus. She figured the wine business had to be ten times harder.

  Turner walked to his car, a blue Audi that was parked three car lengths behind Theodosia’s Jeep. Just as he was getting in, he turned and said, “Oh, hey, I called your friend Delaine.”

  “What did she say?” Theodosia called back as she pulled open the driver’s side door.

  A smile lit Turner’s face. “She said yes!”

  Drayton climbed into the passenger seat, pulled his seat belt across, and immediately began drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “We’re late.”

  Theodosia started her engine. “We’re not late.”

  “We stayed too long. Probably shouldn’t have hung around to offer condolences again.”

  “We’ll be okay.” Theodosia pulled out into traffic, drove about two hundred feet, and hit her brakes.

  “What on earth . . .” was Drayton’s startled response as she slalomed her car to the curb.

  “Just one minute,” said Theodosia, holding up a finger.

  “Honestly, we don’t have a minute!”

  “We do for this,” said Theodosia. “Did you see who that was?” The girl who just climbed into the yellow taxi cab?”

  “No idea,” said Drayton.

  “That was Tanya, Drew’s girlfriend,” said Theodosia. “I need to ask her something.” She was already clambering out of the car. Then she made a mad dash across the street, causing a bright green VW bug to swerve around her, all the while calling out, “Wait! Please wait!”

  The cab driver, who was almost ready to pull away from the curb, did indeed heed her cry.

  Theodosia rushed over to the cab, bent down, and pulled open the back door of the cab. “Hey there,” she said to Tanya.

  Tanya gazed at her, a fierce light glowing in her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “I was just wondering how you’re d
oing,” said Theodosia.

  “Fine,” said Tanya, though her lips barely moved.

  “One quick question,” said Theodosia.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you know where Drew’s Porsche is?”

  “No,” said Tanya.

  “Did you take it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you sell it?” asked Theodosia.

  “No. And that’s more than one question.”

  Frustrated, Theodosia said, “Are you sure you don’t know where it is?”

  A nasty smile played at Tanya’s lips. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you figure that out yourself!”

  12

  “Oh my goodness,” said Theodosia, the minute she and Drayton arrived at the tea shop. “You put tables out on the sidewalk.”

  “We had to,” said Haley. She met them at the door, looking harried and a little nervous. “We got a whole bunch more calls this morning asking for reservations.” She thought for a moment. “No, more like demanding reservations.”

  “That’s amazing,” said Drayton. “And we didn’t even have to advertise.”

  “Just word of mouth,” said Haley. “Which shows you how popular these themed teas really are.”

  “Particularly a Downton Abbey tea,” said Theodosia.

  “Is Mrs. Dimple here?” asked Drayton. He was busy pulling off his jacket and draping an apron around his neck. What he called his tea brewing apron.

  “I’m here,” called a screechy little voice. Then Miss Dimple, the tiny plump dynamo who also served as their bookkeeper, came toddling out from the back room. “And I’m so glad you asked me to come and help.” Barely five feet tall with a cap of pinkish-blond curls, Miss Dimple was seventy-something but filled with excitement, a sweet-sour wit, and a sharp brand of humor. She was like the Energizer Bunny crossed with your crazy old aunt.

  “Who set up the outside tables?” Drayton asked. He glanced at the diminutive Miss Dimple. “You certainly didn’t.”