Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  “But I’m buying the painting because I really like it,” she told him. “Not because I want to sell it in ten years or donate it to a museum and take a big tax deduction.”

  “If you’re going to go the museum route,” said Max, “don’t wait too long. The feds might close that loophole any day now.”

  “No, it’s definitely meant to hang in my dining room,” said Theodosia.

  “I just had a brainstorm.” Max pointed toward a big white food truck with SIR SEAFOOD written on the side and colorful, loopy artwork that featured smiling, dancing fish. “How about a cup of chowder to top off the evening?”

  But Theodosia had just seen someone else she thought she recognized. He had been a blur in the crowd, a fleeting image of a white jacket and a familiar profile. She tried to scroll back through recent memories, trying to figure out what had suddenly pinged an alert inside her brain.

  Then she remembered.

  Was it the Japanese man, Mr. Tanaka?

  Was he still in Charleston? Yes, she was pretty sure that Jordan had told her he was. So what was he doing here? Enjoying the Art Crawl? Hanging out with Pandora?

  Or spying on me?

  No, she told herself. That couldn’t be it, could it? Because that would just be way too weird. In fact, that would be terrifying.

  15

  Theodosia struck a match and lit the last of the tiny votive candles that sat in the center of their just-set tables. White linen tablecloths gleamed, glasses sparkled, and the pale-pink-and-green Limoges Florale china they’d set out this morning lent an extra air of elegance.

  “This is the time I like best,” said Drayton. He stood ramrod-straight, like a fencing instructor, gazing out over the tables. “When everything is lovely and fresh and set for the day.”

  “And then our customers come rushing in and ruin it all?” said Theodosia. She hoped that wasn’t where Drayton was heading with his statement.

  “No no,” said Drayton. “Not at all. It’s just that in the morning, before we open our doors, the tea shop seems to be filled with such promise. You know that when our guests arrive, feeling a little stressed or tightly wound, all the care we’ve taken in setting up will help them relax and take a good deep breath.”

  “And don’t forget the aromatherapy factor,” said Theodosia. She knew that the very act of inhaling tea—the essence of a lemony gunpowder green tea, earthy golden Yunnan, or malty Assam—helped people to pause, unwind, and de-stress.

  “We create a refuge of sorts,” Drayton agreed. “An intermezzo from the pressures of everyday life.”

  “Hey, you guys!” called Haley. “How come you’re just standing around when there’s so much work to be done?”

  Drayton turned to look at her. “Is there?”

  Haley seemed to back off a little. “Well . . . yeah. I think so. I mean, don’t you have tea to brew or something like that?”

  “You realize,” said Drayton, “we’re not all Type A’s like you are.”

  “Me a Type A?” said Haley, making a face. “You’re kidding, right?” She glanced toward Theodosia. “He’s kidding, right?”

  “I’m sure he is,” Theodosia said blandly.

  “Well, good,” said Haley, “because I stopped at the flower market this morning and I’ve got a bunch of irises that need to be arranged in vases. And I was thinking we should use those blue-and-white Chinese-looking ones.”

  “Yes, Haley,” said Drayton, a barely suppressed grin on his face.

  “Oh, and besides the candied fruit scones and poppy seed bread, I decided to bake a triple batch of white chocolate chip muffins.” Haley shrugged. “We’ve been crazy busy with takeout all this week—a little surprising, but a good thing, too—so it couldn’t hurt to have extra baked goods hanging around.”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” agreed Theodosia.

  Just then the back door opened and a voice called out, “It’s me! I’m here!”

  “There’s Miss Dimple,” said Haley. “Gotta dash. I want her to lend a hand whipping up some frosting while I work on my chicken soup. Hey, guys, don’t forget about those flowers now.” And with that, she was gone.

  • • •

  Midmorning found Theodosia in her office, once again going over the guest list that Jordan Knight had given Drayton.

  “Knock knock,” said Drayton.

  “Come on in,” said Theodosia.

  “I brought you a cup of tea.”

  Theodosia leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Fantastic. I could use a pick-me-up.”

  “It’s that Formosan oolong that you like.” He set down a small tray that held a single small teapot and a cup and saucer. “Better allow it to steep for another minute to bring out that nice bold taste. Oh, and I have something to show you.” He pulled what looked like a roll of dark blue flannel from his jacket pocket and slowly unwound it.

  “What have you got there?” Theodosia asked.

  “A set of strawberry forks,” said Drayton. He held them up to show her a neat row of six small forks, tucked into a roll of tarnish-proof cloth.

  “Wow,” said Theodosia.

  “Victorian in design,” said Drayton, “though it’s more likely that this particular set is from the twenties.” He laid them on her desk.

  “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Six inches in length, quite narrow and linear, and only three tines,” Drayton said. He described them as if he were an announcer on The Price Is Right, trying to tantalize an audience with a prize offering.

  “Why such long tines?” Theodosia asked, even though she pretty much knew the answer.

  “Ah,” said Drayton, pleased that she’d asked. “That’s for the express purpose of spearing your succulent little strawberry and dipping it in cream or sugar.” He smiled. “Or even a tasty chocolate sauce.”

  “You’re quite the collector,” said Theodosia. “Always on the hunt.”

  “Me? What about you and your constant scavenging for old hotel-era silver?”

  “I do have a penchant for that stuff,” Theodosia agreed. She’d just bought a vintage silver teapot that had been used in the early 1900s at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. Maybe it had even gone through the earthquake.

  Drayton nodded at the list she’d been going over. “So . . . does anyone pop out at you? Even though you’ve looked at it before?”

  Theodosia shook her head. “There’s nothing here. Not that I can see anyway. Nobody in particular jumps out at me, and none of the names match up with even tertiary suspects that Jordan and Pandora have mentioned.”

  “You know what?” said Drayton. “There’s nothing anywhere. I’m starting to lose hope.”

  “In me?” Theodosia asked.

  “No, never!” Then Drayton hastened to explain. “Theo, you’ve done everything humanly possible. You’ve turned this mess upside down and inside out and still nothing seems to shake loose.”

  Theodosia took a sip of tea and looked thoughtful. “I suppose there are some murders that never get solved. What do the police call them? Cold cases.”

  “This murder isn’t cold yet,” said Drayton. “It’s still warm. Well, lukewarm anyway.”

  “You know what?” said Theodosia. “We still haven’t talked to Jordan and Pandora Knight’s silent partner.”

  “The liquor distributor,” said Drayton, holding up an index finger. “You think it would be worthwhile?”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” said Theodosia. “Nothing else has panned out so far.”

  “Well, let me give Jordan a call and see if we can track this fellow down. His name was Alec something?”

  “Maybe Alex?”

  “I think that’s it,” said Drayton.

  “Drayton?” Miss Dimple’s tentative voice suddenly called out to him.

  Drayton spun on his heels, eyebrows arched. “Yes?”

  Miss Dimple appeared in the doorway. “You have a visitor. Actually you both do.” She smiled and stepped back. “It’s Miss Josette!”

  Dra
yton was suddenly upbeat. “Miss Josette! Come in, dear lady.”

  Miss Josette was an African-American woman, probably in her late seventies, but who could easily pass for early sixties. She had intelligent, almond-shaped eyes, smooth skin the color of rich mahogany, and the skillful, facile hands of an artist. She was a particular favorite of Drayton’s because they both shared an interest in English poetry.

  Miss Josette greeted them both, then shoved the sweetgrass basket she’d brought along with her into Drayton’s hands. “That’s the style you wanted, correct? A cross-handle basket with a pedestal base?”

  “It is?” said Drayton. Sweetgrass baskets had become celebrated pieces of art in the low country. They were elegant and utilitarian baskets, woven from long bunches of sweetgrass, pine needles, and bulrush, then bound together by strips of native palmetto trees. The skill to weave one, and it was formidable, was usually passed down from generation to generation.

  “I asked her to bring that particular basket in,” said Theodosia.

  “You just need the one?” said Miss Josette, turning her attention to Theodosia. “Because I’ve got a stack of baskets in my car if you want a few more. A couple of fruit baskets and some bread baskets, too.”

  “Just the one for now,” said Theodosia. She gestured over her shoulder where a few sweetgrass baskets were stacked. “As you can see, we still have a good stash of your baskets. But I wanted one of your larger, handled baskets so I can assemble a special tea basket for a silent auction.”

  “Which silent auction is that?” asked Miss Josette.

  “You know that Art Crawl that started last night?” said Theodosia.

  Miss Josette nodded. “I’ve heard about it, sure.”

  “Well, there’s also a fancy party on Saturday night for all the gallery owners and some of the people from the different museums,” Theodosia said.

  “And corporate sponsors, too,” said Drayton.

  “Anyway,” said Theodosia, “they’re asking businesses in particular to donate merchandise for a silent auction.”

  “To help raise money for the arts,” said Drayton.

  “So that’s what you two are up to?” Miss Josette asked.

  “Pretty much,” said Theodosia.

  Miss Josette let her sharp gaze wander from Theodosia to Drayton and then back to Theodosia. “Somehow I don’t quite believe that. You both look a little unsettled.” She moved a step closer to Drayton. “You in particular have a perplexed look on your face.”

  “I do?” said Drayton. Even though he tried to look impassive, he scrunched up his face.

  Miss Josette studied Theodosia. “And I’m guessing that you’re working on another one of your mysteries.”

  Drayton was flabbergasted. “How on earth did you know that?”

  “My dear fellow,” Miss Josette said in a patient voice, “my granny Alisa Mae was a gris gris lady. And I happen to be the one in the family who inherited a tiny bit of her sparkle.”

  “Sparkle,” Drayton repeated slowly. Now he really looked puzzled.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” said Miss Josette. She lifted a hand halfway to her face. “The ability to see.”

  “See,” said Drayton.

  “The future,” said Miss Josette. This time she almost but not quite rolled her eyes at him.

  “Oh my, I am being dense,” said Drayton. “See into the future? Really? You certainly never mentioned that particular gift before.” He sounded more than a little doubtful.

  But Theodosia was more than willing to jump on board. “Well, there you go,” she said. “That’s exactly the kind of outside help we’ve been looking for.”

  “Really?” said Drayton. He glanced at Miss Josette, who cowed him with a serious look. Then he turned his eyes to Theodosia. “I guess I’d be willing to give it a try. But does it really work?” Doubt still colored his voice.

  Miss Josette continued to gaze at him with hooded eyes.

  “Okay then,” said Drayton, obviously unsettled. “How exactly do we tap into this rather remarkable gift of yours? Can we lay out some playing cards? Or read some tea leaves? Maybe you . . . um . . . do have the ability to see what we more distracted mortals can’t.”

  “Tea leaves,” said Miss Josette. “That should work just fine.”

  “Any particular type of tea?” asked Drayton.

  “Strong tea,” said Miss Josette.

  Drayton was back a few minutes later. He had a teapot filled with Ceylon black tea along with three cups and saucers. He set the tray on Theodosia’s desk and said, “Shall I do the honors?”

  “Just one cup,” said Miss Josette.

  “That’s all you need?”

  “That’s all you need,” said Miss Josette.

  “All right, fine,” said Drayton. He picked up the floral teapot and poured a stream of golden tea into one of the teacups. “No tea strainer,” he said. “Isn’t that how it works? We just let the tea leaves burble and swish around in the cup?”

  Miss Josette nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Now what?” Theodosia said.

  “You must drink some of the tea,” Miss Josette instructed.

  “Me?” said Theodosia.

  Miss Josette nodded. “You’re the one seeking an answer, correct?”

  So Theodosia took a few sips, and then slowly drank the rest of it down to the last inch or so.

  “Now we take a look,” said Miss Josette. She bent over the teacup and studied it carefully as Theodosia and Drayton moved in tentatively, the better to see. “Okay,” she said finally.

  “Everything’s going to be okay?” asked Drayton.

  “Not okay,” said Miss Josette.

  “Then what?” Theodosia asked. “Is there trouble on the horizon?”

  Miss Josette turned bright, watchful eyes on both of them and said, “You need to be very, very careful. Both of you.”

  “We do?” said Drayton.

  “We are,” said Theodosia.

  Miss Josette held up an index finger. “Especially . . .” She stopped.

  “What?” said Drayton.

  “Especially if you set foot anywhere outside of Charleston.”

  Theo and Drayton exchanged hasty glances.

  “Gulp,” said Theodosia.

  “You’ve been investigating something out of town?” she said. But it wasn’t meant as a question.

  “Yes, sort of,” said Drayton. “As a matter of fact—”

  “I don’t mean to frighten you,” Miss Josette told Theodosia. “Because you do have some powers of your own.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you,” said Theodosia.

  Miss Josette favored her with a kind smile. “You’re a bit of a gris gris lady yourself, Miss Theo. When you go out into the forests and swamps, you understand some of the secrets about roots and herbs and tree bark and tea.”

  Theodosia nodded. “Okay, I suppose I do. I know some of it anyway. Like dandelion greens and things.”

  “Really, Miss Josette,” said Drayton, sounding a little unsettled. “This prognostication thing is a whole new side of you that we’ve never seen before.”

  Miss Josette nodded, but her concentration remained firm. “You’re looking for a thief?”

  “More like a killer,” said Theodosia.

  “A killer is a thief,” said Miss Josette. “He steals life.” She glanced sideways at Drayton. “Do you have a bayberry candle?”

  He frowned. “We probably have one out front.”

  “Keep one close to you,” said Miss Josette. “Remember, a bayberry candle burned to the socket, reveals the thief with wealth in his pocket.”

  “This is all very confusing,” said Drayton.

  Miss Josette smiled serenely. “All I’m really telling you is to trust your own instincts.”

  • • •

  “Well, that was beyond strange,” said Drayton. He was standing behind the front counter, tapping a finger on a tin of tippy Yunnan tea.

  “It was
different, that’s for sure,” said Theodosia. She’d just returned from a spin around the tea shop, where she’d poured refills for all their guests. Miss Dimple was hustling out plates of scones and tiny glass dishes mounded with Devonshire cream.

  “Who knew Miss Josette could read tea leaves?” said Drayton.

  “Who knew?” said Theodosia.

  “I don’t mean to change the subject . . .”

  “Yes, you do,” said Theodosia. “Miss Josette’s words unnerved you because you tend to be a practical, linear thinker who relies on logic. Kind of like Mr. Spock on Star Trek.”

  Drayton pursed his lips together. “I don’t believe I understand that reference at all.”

  “You can’t fool me,” she told him.

  “Changing the subject,” said Drayton as he dug into the front pocket of his apron and pulled out an index card, “Haley deigned to give me our luncheon menu for today.”

  “I guess we are changing the subject.”

  Drayton made a big production out of clearing his throat. “Chicken and vegetable soup, crab Rangoon with an Asian slaw, blue cheese and grape tea sandwiches, and . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “Something Haley calls her ladybug tea sandwiches?”

  “With cream cheese and cherry tomatoes sliced so they look like wings,” said Theodosia. “You remember, she’s made them before.” Haley did enjoy being fanciful and creative.

  “Okay,” said Drayton. “And you remember about the candied fruit scones and white chocolate chip muffins?”

  “And the poppy seed bread,” said Theodosia.

  “Right.”

  Theodosia walked over to the highboy, which served as her gift shop area. She perused the shelves, thinking about which items might go into her tea basket. A couple of tins of tea were critical, of course. And so was a teapot. She had a nice stash of teapots she’d picked up at tag sales around the area, but maybe she would pop next door to the Cabbage Patch and buy a brand-new one. That might be better. Theodosia eyed the shelves again. And then, because there was an assortment of candles sitting right in front of her, Theodosia decided to heed Miss Josette’s words. So she reached out and grabbed a bayberry candle.