Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  Haley held up her right arm and flexed her lithe bicep. “I did. I’m not as scrawny as I look.”

  “I should say not,” said Drayton, clearly impressed. Then he snapped back into work mode. “I take it our luncheon entrées are mostly prepped and ready?”

  Haley nodded. “We’re in good shape. The kitchen is stuffed to the rafters, but we’re ready to rock and roll.”

  “Tables are set?” Drayton cast a speculative glance at the tea room, where candles flickered and tableware gleamed.

  “We just said good-bye to our last morning customer something like twenty minutes ago,” said Haley. “And then we barred the door and really hustled our buns to get everything ready.”

  “We put out the Garnet Rose sterling silver and the Coalport cups and saucers just as you requested,” said Miss Dimple. “And I have to say, that tea ware, with the gilded, fluted edges and pink ribbon and botanical designs, is quite spectacular.”

  “And your friend Mr. Woodrow, from Basically British Antiques, showed up with a couple boxes of stuff that you asked for on loan,” said Haley. “So we just kind of arranged the glass decanters and bronze sculptures and pottery and things on the various tables. Tried to make it all look like a pretty still life in an English manor home.”

  “I particularly love the bronze horse and jockey sculpture and the ceramic bulldog,” said Miss Dimple. “They make perfect centerpieces. Very British Empire.”

  “Yes,” said Drayton, surveying their handiwork and finally letting a small smile work its way onto his face. “It all imparts a sort of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ look and feel.”

  “You know what?” said Haley, suddenly grinning at Miss Dimple. “It just hit me. You’re the spitting image of Mrs. Patmore.”

  Miss Dimple looked mystified. “Who on earth is that?”

  “Come on,” said Haley, giggling. “You know. The head cook on Downton Abbey.”

  “Oh her!” said Miss Dimple. She waved a chubby hand. “You sweet silly girl, I don’t look anything remotely like her!”

  But Haley’s remark had set Theodosia and Drayton to giggling as well. Because Miss Dimple looked very much like Mrs. Patmore!

  • • •

  At twelve o’clock sharp, you’d have thought Big Ben itself had bonged out welcoming chimes to come and get it. Because at that precise moment, a throng of eager tea goers clustered at the Indigo Tea Shop’s front door, ready for the Downtown Abbey tea to begin.

  Theodosia and Drayton quickly snapped to, checking their reservation sheet, welcoming all the various parties, and seating them at their reserved tables. Then they hustled back to the front counter to grab the tea that Drayton had set to brewing.

  Happily, a lot of familiar faces had showed up for this special luncheon. Delaine was there, of course, bringing along her sister, Nadine, as well as two other friends.

  In fact, as Theodosia glanced around, she saw that easily two-thirds of the tables were occupied by Indigo Tea Shop regulars. Timothy Neville, the crusty, long-reigning director of Charleston’s Heritage Society, had showed up with two guests in tow. And Brooke Carter Crocket, the jeweler who ran Heart’s Desire, had rounded up a group of friends and was seated outside on what they now considered the front patio.

  As Miss Dimple circulated with a teapot in each hand, Theodosia and Drayton greeted each of their guests. In her spare time (what spare time?) Haley had created cute little paper petal envelopes with squares of English toffee tucked inside as favors. Once those were sufficiently oohed and ahed over, Theodosia’s team quickly moved into place and delivered their first course—Lady Crawley’s fruit trifle. Drizzled with honey-lemon dressing, this mélange of cake, pudding, strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries proved to be a huge hit, drawing several requests for recipes.

  Once the fruit trifle had been enjoyed by all, and had disappeared all too quickly, Theodosia and Miss Dimple each brought out a large silver tray. Each tray was heaped with apricot scones as well as Haley’s own version of Mr. Carson’s Crumpets. Guests could choose one or the other—or even both. And wisely, most chose both. Frothy dollops of Devonshire cream and satin puddles of lemon curd served as tasty accompaniments.

  Their third course consisted of tea sandwiches, an area in which Haley had clearly outdone herself. Each table received a three-tiered stand laden with small finger sandwiches that included fillings of curried chicken, cucumber and cream cheese, crab salad, and smoked salmon.

  When these were brought out, all the guests seemed to pause happily and let loose a collective “Ahhhh.” Which gave Theodosia, Drayton, and Miss Dimple a little breathing space, too.

  “It’s going very well,” Theodosia whispered to Drayton as she slipped between tables with a fresh pot of Assam.

  “Don’t be fooled,” he whispered back. “It’s controlled chaos.”

  As Theodosia stopped to pour refills for Delaine and her guests, Delaine was all a-twitter.

  “You’ll never guess who called me last night,” Delaine said to Theodosia. Dressed in a bright blue dress, she was grinning from ear to ear, and the feather on her matching blue hat bobbed and dipped with each excited jerk and motion.

  “No,” said Theodosia, “I probably can’t guess.” She knew darned well that Andrew Turner had followed through on his promise to call Delaine. Really, the man had been practically smitten!

  “That darling Andrew Turner called me!” Delaine announced loudly to Theodosia and anyone else who was remotely within earshot. “He invited me to be his date for the Art Crawl Ball!”

  “Isn’t that lovely,” Nadine simpered. She was Delaine’s older sister, practically a spitting image of her except for a sharper jaw—and a sharper tongue. “But hasn’t your invitation come awfully late? Is that really socially acceptable?”

  Delaine was too excited about her upcoming date to be drawn into a silly hissy fit with her sister. “That’s because we just met, dear,” she explained in a saccharine tone. “Because Theodosia just introduced us last night!”

  “How sweet,” said Nadine, though she didn’t display one bit of joy for her sister.

  “A gallery owner,” said one of Delaine’s friends at the table. “Good for you. Keep your heels high and your standards even higher!”

  “Now I’m going to have to conjure up a gown to wear,” Delaine went on. Then she giggled happily.

  “Good thing I own an entire shop filled with fabulous ball gowns.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll find something wonderful to wear,” agreed Theodosia.

  “Are you still going to do your lips?” asked Nadine.

  “Excuse me?” said Theodosia. Just what would Delaine do to her lips?

  “Hoping to,” said Delaine. She pulled a jeweled compact from her bag and studied her pouty red lips. “For some reason I’m losing a little fullness in my upper lip.”

  “Turtle lips,” proclaimed Nadine. The two other women stared pointedly at Delaine’s lips.

  “You have nothing of the sort!” said Theodosia. Delaine’s lips looked just fine to her. Then again, her own lips looked fine. Didn’t they?

  “Oh!” said Delaine, as if something else had just occurred to her. She snapped her compact shut and said, “I’ve decided to donate a lovely designer handbag and scarf to the Art Crawl Ball’s silent auction.” She gazed at Theodosia. “You should donate something, too, Theo. I think it would be quite appropriate. Maybe you could put together a basket filled with some of your sweet little lotions and potions.”

  “You mean my T-Bath products?” said Theodosia.

  “Or you could create a lovely tea party in a basket,” said Delaine. “You do that so well. With all your teas and jams and jellies and whatnot.”

  “Something to think about,” said Theodosia, who already had a plan in place to donate a basket.

  When the last course, the dessert course, was served, Theodosia really did heave a huge sigh of relief.

  “Oh joy,” she told Drayton. “We’re coming down to the home stretc
h.”

  “And our guests are loving it,” said Drayton.

  Haley peeked her head out of the kitchen. “Are they really?” she asked in a stage whisper. “How do they like the desserts?” She’d knocked herself out with all the food, but was especially proud of her Banbury tarts, shortbread, and cupcakes topped with frosting that had been etched and cross-hatched to resemble British tweed.

  Drayton put his thumb and forefinger together and gave her the okay sign. “Trust me,” he told her, “our guests are delighted. They’re riding a veritable sugar high.”

  “So there’s not that much for us to do anymore,” said Theodosia. “Except circulate and pour refills.”

  “Theodosia!” Timothy Neville’s voice rang out, strong and imperious, belying his octogenarian status.

  Theodosia was at his table in a heartbeat. “Yes? More tea for all of you?”

  Timothy smiled at her. A grin that stretched across his thin face and made her think of a Hans Holbein painting she’d seen of an old English aristocrat.

  “Now that you have a moment,” said Timothy, “I want to introduce you to my guests. This is Sally and Roger Shepherd.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Theodosia. She smiled. “Nice to have a little time to meet you now that I’m not flying around like a crazed banshee.”

  “Sally and Roger are major donors to the Heritage Society,” Timothy explained. From the proud way he said it, Theodosia knew they were probably big buck donors.

  “It’s been a lovely tea,” said Sally, smiling up at Theodosia.

  “We’re real Downton Abbey fans,” said Roger. “So this has been a rare treat for us.”

  “And everything has been flawless,” Sally marveled. “Not just the food, but the service and flowers and décor, too. Really, as good or better than tea at the Connaught in London.”

  “Or Le Marais in Paris,” said Roger.

  “We try very hard to make everything special,” said Theodosia. And from the praise she was receiving, it looked like they’d succeeded.

  Timothy Neville, always a fan of British antiques, said, “That lovely china you used today. It’s Coalport, correct?”

  Drayton overheard him and quickly stopped at the table.

  “Indeed it is,” said Drayton, pleased. “You see that lovely fluted edge and swath of pink ribbon? Hand-painted, of course.” He and Timothy were longtime friends, as well as antique lovers and history buffs. And Drayton had served on the Heritage Society’s board of directors for as long as anyone could remember.

  Then Timothy introduced Drayton to the Shepherds, whom, it turned out, Drayton already knew. And Theodosia made a grand dash to the front counter, where, wonder of wonders, customers were requesting take-home orders of scones and were also buying multiple tins of tea.

  Another thirty minutes later and the tea room was beginning to empty out. A few guests lingered at tables, while Haley and Miss Dimple quietly cleared dishes from the tables that had been vacated.

  Timothy’s guests, the Shepherds, had since departed, but Timothy was immersed in conversation with Drayton.

  As Theodosia slid by him, Drayton said, “Theo. A moment?”

  Theodosia stopped. “Yes?”

  “I was just filling Timothy in about Knighthall Winery.”

  Theodosia was taken aback. “Concerning . . . what exactly?”

  Timothy’s ancient face creased in a knowing smile. “He was telling me about your investigation.”

  “It’s not really—” began Theodosia.

  “Tut tut,” said Timothy. “Let’s not be coy. We both know where your rather prodigious talents lie.”

  “Okay,” said Theodosia. Whatever. Hard to pull the wool over Timothy’s eyes.

  “Timothy is rather knowledgeable when it comes to fine wine,” said Drayton.

  “I’m not sure I’d classify Knighthall Winery’s product as fine wine,” said Theodosia. “I think it retails for something like twelve dollars a bottle.”

  “Still,” said Drayton. “Timothy lends a certain perspective.”

  “And that is?” said Theodosia, casting an inquisitive glance at Timothy.

  “A tough row to hoe,” said Timothy, carefully enunciating each word. “There have been several South Carolina wineries that have limped along and managed to produce a few good years. But of the eight or nine startups this state has seen, about half have closed.”

  “That kind of track record doesn’t bode well for Knighthall,” said Theodosia.

  “I think,” said Timothy, “from what Drayton’s told me, they’ve got bigger problems than growing grapes in a former tobacco field in hundred-degree weather.”

  • • •

  “We’ve got to do these dishes by hand,” said Haley. She was up to her armpits in sudsy water, scrubbing and rinsing, handing off clean plates to Miss Dimple.

  “I appreciate that,” said Drayton. “Since those dishes are quite delicate.” He was lounging in the doorway to the kitchen, his back propped against the doorjamb, sipping a well-deserved cup of tea.

  “Did you know that your bow tie is all crooked?” said Miss Dimple.

  Drayton didn’t rise to the bait. “If that’s the only thing that’s askew about me, I’d say I came out of this luncheon relatively unscathed.”

  “It really was a success, wasn’t it,” said Theodosia.

  Drayton turned to face her. “It was a triumph! And not only that, that awful Harvey Flagg was a no-show. So we really lucked out.”

  “I’m just glad we’re closed for the rest of the afternoon,” said Haley. “Otherwise I’d for sure go bonkers.”

  “Is there even any food left?” asked Drayton.

  “Barely a few crumbs,” said Haley. “What they didn’t eat at lunch, they purchased for takeout. Leftover sandwiches, scones, crumpets, you name it. I think I could have bagged up the crusts and auctioned them off.”

  “Now, now,” said Miss Dimple. “You told me I could take some of the crusts home with me so I can feed the neighborhood ducks.”

  “Are you guys going to pack up all those British antiques we borrowed for centerpieces?” Haley asked.

  “Actually,” said Drayton, “I was hoping you and Miss Dimple could handle that. Theodosia and I have an errand we have to attend do.”

  “We can pack everything up,” said Miss Dimple. “No problem. We saved all the boxes and bubble wrap, even though some of it got popped.” She grinned. “No matter how old I get, I can never resist bubble wrap.”

  But Haley wasn’t quite as accommodating. “Errands,” she said with a snort. “Hah! I bet you two are off on another weird, creepy-crawly mystery mission!”

  13

  It may have been a mystery mission, but it wasn’t particularly weird or creepy-crawly.

  “This is gorgeous,” said Drayton as they drove through the stone pillars that marked the front entrance for Plantation Wilds. “Look at how amazingly green everything is. It looks almost artificial. Like the turf you see on football fields.”

  “When you hire a cadre of agronomists and greens keepers who endlessly cut, mow, water, and fertilize, this is the kind of grass you eventually end up with,” said Theodosia.

  “Still,” said Drayton, “it’s very impressive.”

  “Drayton, you act like you’ve never visited a golf course before.”

  Drayton lifted his chin just a notch. “Actually . . . I haven’t.”

  Theodosia followed along the road, which swept around several of the fairways and greens, stopping at one point to allow several golf carts to trundle across the road in front of her. Then she continued on to the clubhouse.

  Built to resemble an old South Carolina rice plantation, the clubhouse was painted pale yellow with white trim and featured a high, slanted roof, a wide porch on three sides, and a two-story portico.

  “This is nice, too,” said Drayton as two valets in golf shirts and knickers quickly sprang to attention and pulled open their car doors.

  “Maybe you’ll ge
t so inspired you’ll decide to take up golf,” Theodosia joked as they headed into the clubhouse.

  “What . . . me?” said Drayton. “Oh no, I don’t think I’m the sporting type at all.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” said Theodosia.

  They quickly located the business office and told the young fellow at the front desk that they were there to see Donny Hedges.

  “You’re sure you made an appointment?” Theodosia asked under her breath.

  Drayton nodded. “We should be all set.”

  Three minutes later, they were ushered into Donny Hedges’s office.

  Hedges was tall and muscular, with a suntanned face and a grip like a professional wrestler. He was probably in his midfifties, but had the physique of a man ten years younger. Basically, he looked like he belonged at a golf club.

  “Donny,” said Drayton, extending his hand. “Wonderful to see you again.”

  “Drayton, welcome,” said Hedges. The walls of his office were decorated in a green-and-white-plaid wallpaper, and antique gold clubs were displayed in a glass case.

  Drayton quickly introduced Theodosia, then they all gazed out the windows of Hedges’s corner office, which offered a spectacular view of the superbly manicured golf course and, in particular, the eighteenth hole.

  “This looks like a great course,” Theodosia told Hedges. There was a beehive of activity going on down below. Golf carts disgorging golfers, caddies unloading clubs, workers speeding around in more industrial-looking carts.

  “Do you play golf?” Hedges asked her. “I know Drayton doesn’t, but you look like you might play an occasional round or two.”

  “I do play,” said Theodosia.

  “Do you have a favorite course?” asked Hedges. He gestured for them to take a seat in the armchairs that faced his desk.

  “I’m fairly partial to Palmetto Dunes at Hilton Head.”

  “A fine course,” said Hedges. “But perhaps we might persuade you to play here sometime.”

  “I’d like that very much,” said Theodosia.

  “Hey,” Hedges said to Drayton. “The Met’s doing La Bohème this season.”