Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  “So I understand,” said Drayton.

  Hedges smiled at Theodosia. “Are you an opera fan, too?”

  “Love it,” said Theodosia.

  “Donny,” said Drayton, leaning forward in his chair and getting down to business now. “I explained a little bit about what I was after when we spoke on the phone.”

  “The mess at Knighthall Winery,” said Hedges. He made a grimace and said, “Shocking, just shocking. When that poor boy came spilling out . . . well, I’ve never been so shocked in my entire life. Do you know . . . are the authorities any closer to catching his killer?”

  “There are a few suspects,” said Drayton.

  This was Theodosia’s cue to jump in. “Jordan and Pandora Knight seem to think that you and your board of directors are bent on engineering some sort of hostile takeover of their land.” She didn’t tell him that Pandora had out and out accused him of murdering Drew. Better to ease into things.

  “I made a couple of offers on their land,” said Hedges. He blinked and looked up thoughtfully. “Last one was maybe a year or so ago?”

  “But nothing recently,” said Drayton.

  “No,” said Hedges. “They made it pretty clear they weren’t interested in selling.”

  “But you were interested in buying,” said Theodosia. She was curious as to just how interested he was.

  “Oh yeah,” said Hedges. “Knighthall has a good-sized parcel of land, not all of it under cultivation. And since it adjoins Plantation Wilds, it would’ve made for an ideal situation.”

  “You’d build another golf course?” said Drayton.

  “Two or three if I could,” said Hedges. “Then we could enlarge the clubhouse and put up a condo development, too.” He grinned happily, as if relishing the idea. “Golfers just love condos.”

  “I’m wondering,” said Theodosia, “if you’ve had any interaction with Jordan or Pandora Knight recently. Something they might have construed as angry or hostile?”

  Hedges looked blank. Then a look of dark suspicion came across his face. “Wait a minute. Do those two fruitcakes think I had something to do with that kid’s death?”

  Drayton looked nervous, so Theodosia answered for him.

  “It’s come up in conversation.”

  “Hey!” said Hedges, sounding outraged. “I’m a legitimate businessman here, not some crazy killer.” He slapped a hand down hard on his desk. “And I don’t go around hiring hit men, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Theodosia, “but that kind of is what we’re asking.”

  “I was as shocked as everyone else,” said Hedges. He focused his angry gaze on Drayton. “Drayton, you know me! We served on the Opera Society together!”

  “Apologies,” said Drayton. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Well, you did,” said Hedges. His right hand reached out and grabbed a bright yellow sponge rubber golf ball off his desk. Squeezing it hard, he said, “Honestly, I hope other people aren’t thinking the same thing . . . gossiping about me.”

  “They’re not,” said Theodosia. “I promise. This came only from Pandora Knight.”

  Hedges still wasn’t convinced. “You’re sure about that?”

  “You have my word,” said Drayton.

  “Ah . . . jeez,” said Hedges. He touched a hand to his heart. “Pandora never liked me . . . so I’d hate to have people talking.”

  “They’re not,” Drayton assured him.

  “We’re sorry to have upset you,” said Theodosia. “Really, you have our sincere apologies.”

  “So why are you even asking questions like that?” said Hedges. He was still very upset.

  “We’re trying to help Jordan Knight,” said Drayton.

  “Help him?” said Hedges. “Help him how?”

  “By trying to find the killer,” said Theodosia.

  • • •

  “Well, that went well,” said Drayton, once they were back in the car.

  “Ah . . . not,” said Theodosia. “I sure hope it hasn’t destroyed your friendship.”

  “Shredded it a little,” said Drayton as they drove along. “But there are probably a few pieces still intact.”

  “Maybe you were right,” said Theodosia. She slowed to let a golf cart scuttle across in front of her, the golfers laughing and joking, oblivious to her courtesy.

  “About what?”

  “When you said that maybe we should just let this go.”

  “Yes, but . . . excuse me, this doesn’t sound like you,” said Drayton. “You’re never one to capitulate.”

  “I know,” said Theodosia. “But this . . . this wanton tirade of accusations that keep spewing out of Jordan and Pandora. I mean, no wonder Sheriff Anson is playing it so close to the vest. They’ve probably assaulted him with all kinds of crazy theories.”

  “He’s a professional,” said Drayton. “I’m sure he’s able to sort through them.”

  “Maybe,” said Theodosia. “And maybe they have him running around in circles, but not homing in on the real killer.”

  “You make it sound as if they don’t want the killer found.”

  “Not at all,” said Theodosia. “I just think they’re so mired in grief and anger that they’re grasping at straws.” They exited the Plantation Wilds property and hooked a left onto County Road 4.

  “Going to go right past Knighthall Winery,” said Drayton.

  “You know what?” said Theodosia. “Why don’t we drop by and pay them a surprise visit.”

  “For what purpose?” Drayton asked. “To ask Jordan Knight some more questions?”

  “Not questions per se. Just . . . well, I’d like to get him talking about Drew again. See how much he really knew about the drugs and things.”

  “You might be opening up a can of worms,” said Drayton.

  “I think it’s already open,” said Theodosia.

  • • •

  But when they rolled into the winery, the place looked practically deserted. Not a single car in the visitors’ parking lot, a CLOSED sign hanging in the window of the tasting room.

  “Nobody home,” said Drayton.

  “There has to be somebody around.”

  They climbed out and stood for a moment. The hot sun lasered down on them while a subtle breeze allowed a modicum of cool. A nearby clunk-thunk drew their attention. Two workers had just emerged from the large barn, one older man, one young man barely out of his teens. Each was struggling under a large piece of equipment. Theodosia thought they looked like pumps of some sort.

  “Excuse me,” said Theodosia. “Is Jordan Knight around?”

  The workers stopped in their tracks and set their loads down. “I don’t think so,” the older one said.

  “How about Pandora?” called Drayton.

  “I’m not sure,” said the older worker. “Maybe I can help you?”

  “Is Tom Grady around?” Theodosia asked.

  Both workers nodded.

  “He should be. At least he was an hour ago,” said the younger one. Theodosia recognized him as the unfortunate fellow who’d pried the lid off the barrel last Sunday. She wondered how these guys fit into the puzzle, if at all.

  “Maybe we should just wander around the grounds,” said Drayton. “See if we stumble upon him.”

  “Let’s try his office first,” said Theodosia.

  They walked inside the enormous barn and were immediately hit by the rich aroma of fresh, peppery grapes.

  “Quite an interesting scent,” said Drayton, wrinkling his nose. “But awfully potent.”

  “When you own a winery,” said Theodosia, “I don’t think there’s any escaping it.”

  Tom Grady’s office door was closed, so Theodosia knocked on it. When he didn’t appear, she called out, “Mr. Grady? Hello?” Still nothing. She looked at Drayton, who shrugged.

  “Maybe he’s not here,” said Drayton. “Maybe he drove into town or something.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Theodosia grasped
the doorknob and pushed the door open. Drayton was right. The office was empty, the desk looking orderly. Nobody home.

  “So let’s just wander around,” suggested Drayton. “We’ll probably run into Grady if he’s here.”

  They wandered into the interior of the production area, past the enormous holding tanks, taking care when they stepped over a tangle of plastic hoses that lay on the floor. Then they emerged through the back door.

  “This is so lovely and picturesque,” said Drayton. He was admiring the same view that Theodosia had found so charming just two days ago. “I can understand why Donny Hedges was so interested in buying this land. Oh, and look at that charming little cottage. Is that where the offices are located?”

  “That’s where Drew and Tanya had been living,” said Theodosia. “The offices are . . .” She gestured to the left. “Over there. In the back half of the tasting room.”

  “So let’s go take a look,” said Drayton.

  They crossed the back parking lot, dodging around a pickup truck and huge stacks of plastic bins that were stained purple, and walked in the back door.

  “Jordan,” Drayton called out. “Are you in here?” He paused. “Pandora?”

  They strolled into Jordan Knight’s office, which, to Theodosia’s eyes, didn’t look any different than it had on her first visit. Same desk, same chairs, same parson’s table crowded with wine bottles.

  “Looks like they’re having some sort of party,” said Drayton, eyeing the bottles.

  “I think it’s always like that,” said Theodosia.

  “Just wine tasting, huh? Business as usual.”

  “I guess,” said Theodosia.

  They walked through the tasting room, where bottles of wine, corkscrews, and wineglasses were enticingly displayed. There were also racks of T-shirts and caps, all emblazoned with the Knighthall Winery logo. A long, mahogany bar ran the length of the room.

  “This breaks my heart,” said Drayton. “They have everything in place but not a single customer.”

  “Chalk it up to the murder,” said Theodosia. “Would you really want to do a wine tasting at a place where the last wine tasting ended in total disaster?”

  Drayton looked glum. “I suppose not.”

  “Besides,” Theodosia went on, “they’re closed right now. For an indefinite period of time. Jordan told me that. And it was even announced in the newspaper.”

  “Still . . . this just makes me sad.”

  “What makes me sad,” Theodosia said, “is that we don’t have a clue as to what really happened. In fact, nobody seems to.”

  They walked out the front door then ambled along a brick walkway that led to the actual vineyard. Leafy grape vines twisted and tangled onto thick wires that were stretched between rough wooden posts. Most of the vines had been picked clean, but a few still had bunches of small purple grapes. They were ripe and kind of dusty looking and, Theodosia thought, looked exactly like the photos of grapes that you saw in fancy food and wine magazines.

  “I suppose when Knighthall is open,” said Drayton, “coming out here to visit the fields is an important part of their wine tour.”

  “I would imagine so,” said Theodosia. They stepped off the walkway and wandered slowly down a row of grapevines. “It’s really remarkable, isn’t it?” She held out a hand and cupped a bunch of grapes that dangled from a twisty, turny vine. “These tough grapevines have tucked into this soil and managed to produce a rather remarkable crop of fruit.”

  “Grapes have been grown in hot climates and on rough terrain for countless centuries,” said Drayton. “Look at Sicily or parts of Italy and Greece.”

  “Pretty amazing when you think about it,” Theodosia agreed. She was starting to enjoy their little impromptu ramble through the vineyard.

  “From what I understand,” said Drayton, “wine is all about terroir—the special characteristics of the soil, climate, and aspects of a vineyard. It all contributes to a wine’s unique taste.”

  “You know more about grapes and winemaking than you’ve let on,” said Theodosia. “I’m impressed.”

  “Oh no, I’m just a voracious reader. It’s amazing what one can pick up from books.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” said Theodosia. “That’s where I turned when I needed to know more about tea.” She smiled. “Before I met you.”

  “Still,” said Drayton, “there’s nothing like actual tea tasting to really educate the palate.”

  “On-the-job training,” Theodosia agreed. “Always the best.”

  They’d wandered right into the heart of the vineyard now, where an occasional cicada buzzed and a few white cabbage butterflies fluttered leisurely.

  A blackbird flew past Theodosia and landed on top of one of the thick wooden stakes that held up the vines. His shiny eye surveyed her calmly, then he leaned forward and, neat as you please, plucked a perfect purple-green grape with his beak. Charmed, Theodosia was aware of the rustling of leaves nearby. A welcome breeze? Or—

  Drayton interrupted her thought process. “I suppose we should be getting back. There’s nothing happening out here.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when a strange noise started up a few rows over from them. It was a ratcheting, mechanical sound, like a compressor being fired up.

  “What on earth?” said Theodosia. The rata-ta-ta was growing ever louder! She turned to say something to Drayton, to warn him, and was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a gush of wet liquid. “Drayton!” she screamed.

  He gazed at her quizzically just as they were both suddenly enveloped in a thick white cloud.

  “What’s going on?” Drayton gasped.

  Theodosia felt the back of her throat go thick with a dry, powdery substance and knew in an instant what was happening. She grabbed Drayton’s hand and gave a hard pull. “Come on!” she cried. “We have to get out of here! I think someone’s spraying the grapevines with insecticide!”

  Coughing and choking now, they bent forward, trying to scramble away from the terrible toxic cloud. But the motorized sprayer was revving like crazy now, spreading the fumes and clouds everywhere!

  Drayton pulled out a hanky and covered his mouth. “I can’t see which way to go!” he shrilled.

  Theodosia wasn’t sure how to escape, either. They seemed enveloped in the heavy gray cloud. It was everywhere! Stumbling, trying to fight a rising tide of panic, she managed a quick glance upward and caught a glint of sun blazing overhead. And knew instinctively that escape meant running to their left. “This way!” she told him in a strangled voice. “Try not to inhale!”

  “I’m . . . trying,” came Drayton’s voice. His breathing sounded weak and labored.

  Theodosia urged him forward. “Come on! Run!” She stepped aside and pushed Drayton in front of her. Then she placed her hands squarely in the small of his back and pushed like she’d never pushed before. Choking and sniffling, anger sizzling inside her, she propelled Drayton forward. They were both wheezing now, as if their lungs were on fire. Theodosia’s eyes were watering like crazy, and a thin film of tears made it almost impossible to see.

  And just when she thought they’d never fight their way free of whatever toxic substance seemed to be following them, they popped out into fresh air and the relative safety of an open field.

  “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Theodosia cried over and over. Drayton was no spring chicken anymore. Certainly not at an age when he should be tiptoeing through the toxins! “Can you breathe?” she asked him.

  Drayton was choking, but nodding to her as well. Finally, he seemed to catch his breath and was able to gasp out, “I’m okay. Really.” He held up a shaking hand. “Don’t call 911 on my account.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” said Theodosia. “I was going to call the sheriff. I think somebody did that on purpose!” Her terror was quickly being replaced by red-hot anger.

  They limped back to the winery and found the two workers inside the barn.

  Theodosia stalked over to th
em, her face flushed pink and contorted with anger. “Did one of you turn on that sprayer?” she shouted. “Did you just spray us with pesticide?”

  They gaped at her with wide eyes and dropped jaws.

  “Absolutely not,” the older one stuttered in surprise. “We’ve been working on the pumps in here.”

  “Nobody’s in the fields,” said the younger one. “Nobody’s doing any spraying today.”

  “Clearly someone has!” Theodosia shouted back. She pointed to Drayton, who was hunched over, looking a sickly white and still pressing his hanky to his mouth. “Do you see this poor man? Someone tried to poison him!”

  Concern and a sort of fear filled the older man’s face. “No ma’am!” he said. “We wouldn’t do that! We don’t know anything about that!”

  “Accidents don’t just happen!” said Theodosia. She grabbed Drayton again and hurried him out of the barn. “Are you really okay?”

  He held up a hand. “I’m fine.”

  “We could stop at the ER,” Theodosia continued. “Because you look a little shaky to me.”

  “Those guys in there are the ones who are shaking,” Drayton told her. “You scared them half to death!”

  “Good. Because somebody scared us to death.” She opened the passenger door and helped Drayton climb in. Then she slammed the door hard, rushed around to the driver’s side, and jerked open the door. She was still hopping mad when she started the engine and backed up, grinding her gears and spinning her wheels in a cloud of brown dust.

  “Easy, easy,” Drayton told her. “We’re okay. I’m okay.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Drayton held up both hands. “Yes.”

  Theodosia took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Tried to take slow, deep breaths that would help bring her temper under control. When she finally had her emotions dialed down to a dull roar, she turned to Drayton and said, “Well, at least we know one thing for sure.”

  Drayton cocked his head at her. “What’s that?”

  “Knighthall Winery is definitely not organic!”

  14

  Church Street, normally the province of sedate little galleries, cute gift shops, and charming cafés, was a veritable carnival tonight. The Art Crawl was in full swing, and the street, always a little narrow to begin with, was jam-packed with artists’ booths, food trucks, and flower stands. Every half block or so, where two or three food trucks had converged, groupings of tables and chairs had been set up especially for this event. Colored lights had been strung from lamppost to lamppost, and every two blocks there was a featured group of musicians.