Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  And what a bar it was! Oak Hill Winery had seemingly turned out ten different wines—five red, four white, and one sparkling—and they were all lined up and available for tasting tonight. And if that wasn’t enough, two men in aprons and tall white chef’s hats were manning an enormous outdoor grill, where chicken, ribs, and miniature shish-kabobs sizzled and snapped over open flames.

  The first thing Drayton said, when he saw the guests, grill, picnic tables, and country-western band, was, “I think I’m overdressed.”

  “Nonsense,” said Theodosia. She patted his arm. “You look perfectly fine.” Drayton was, of course, wearing a beige linen jacket, bow tie, and tan slacks.

  “Do you think I should ditch the tie?”

  “I think you should stop worrying so much,” said Theodosia as she tugged at his elbow and pulled him into the fray. They wove their way through a group of energetic dancers and headed for the wine bar.

  Two glasses of wine and he’ll relax. Well, maybe three.

  “What would you like to taste first?” asked the bartender. He had curly dark hair and his face was flushed pink. Probably from imbibing in his own offerings.

  “How about we start with the white wine?” Drayton suggested.

  “Fine with me,” said Theodosia.

  “This is our White Shadow,” said the bartender, holding up a bottle. “Crisp and light with a hint of apple and citrus.” He poured out two small servings with a flourish. “I think you’re going to like it.”

  Theodosia and Drayton both sipped gingerly.

  “I do like it,” said Theodosia.

  “Very refreshing,” Drayton pronounced as he swirled his glass to oxygenate the wine even more.

  “A full pour then?” said the bartender.

  “Please,” said Drayton.

  They sipped their wine as they strolled the grounds. Colored lights twinkled in stands of oak and palmettos. Small fire pits had been set up with three or four chairs snugged around each one, perfect for conversation. The mood of the party was languid and casual. People laughed, smoke wafted enticingly, a few young women strolled barefoot, and a tricolor collie dog wandered the grounds.

  After they’d sampled their wine and nibbled a steak and onion shish-kabob, Drayton was all set to head back to the bar and sample one of Oak Hill’s red wines.

  “Red wines are really my favorite,” he confided to Theodosia as they sauntered along. “I consider white wines more of . . . an appetizer.”

  “Did you know that there is actually wine-flavored tea?”

  “Now that sounds a little too strange,” said Drayton.

  “But it’s true,” said Theodosia. “Crispin’s Tea makes one. And there are all sorts of recipes for wine-flavored tea popping up on the Internet.”

  “Just please don’t serve it to me. I prefer to keep my tea and wine worlds quite separate.”

  But just as they set out for the bar, who should they run into but Tom Grady!

  “Mr. Grady!” said Theodosia. She was surprised to see him here but knew she shouldn’t be. Hadn’t Grady made mention of the fact that he might be looking for another job? Sure he had. Of course he had. Now she also knew for sure how Georgette Kroft had known she was looking into things. Grady had simply told her.

  Theodosia made hasty introductions.

  “Ah,” said Drayton. “You’re not about to jump ship, are you?” He was making a joke, but his words seemed to make Grady more than a little uncomfortable.

  “It’s a small world,” said Grady. “The winery world is anyway. There aren’t that many around here.”

  “I understand there are a couple more wineries just north of here,” said Theodosia. She was trying to be polite and maybe drag a few tidbits of information out of this fairly reticent man. Because, face it, she was curious and a little suspicious of Grady. Was he thinking of accepting a job at Oak Hill, or was he running away from his job at Knighthall?

  “Ayuh,” said Grady. “There are a couple more wineries in the area. Maybe you’ve heard of Spring Grove Winery and Chesterfield Cellars?”

  “How are they doing?” Theodosia asked. She thought about Timothy Neville’s dire remark that barely half of the upstart wineries had managed to survive.

  Grady held out his hand and made a seesawing motion. Obviously, he knew the score, too.

  “But Georgette seems to be doing fine,” said Theodosia. “Better than fine. She confided to me that she has distribution in several states.”

  “That’s true,” said Grady. “She’s doing well and has developed a real cult following for her sparkling wines.”

  Drayton was watching Grady intently. “So are you simply checking out the competition? Or are you getting ready to jump ship?”

  Grady cast his eyes downward and did everything but dig his toe into the sand. Finally he said, “Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been in talks with Georgette about coming on board here as her manager.”

  “What about Knighthall Winery?” asked Drayton.

  “It’s getting awfully depressing over there,” said Grady. “Jordan just hasn’t been the same for the last half a year. And now with Drew . . . well, it feels like everyone’s just thrown in the towel.”

  “You realize,” said Drayton, “it takes time to build a business.”

  “Five years is a long time,” said Grady. “Long enough for me anyway. Knight Music was the light at the end of the tunnel, but now it’s just not going to happen.”

  Theodosia’s brows pinched together. “It seems to me that everything is beginning to turn around for them. Pandora just cinched a huge distribution deal in Japan. Maybe that’s all it takes for Knighthall to really make a go of things.”

  “I’m happy for Pandora,” said Grady. “But all she ever talks about is turning out red wine. She doesn’t need me for that. All along, Mr. Knight and I had our heart set on doing a white Bordeaux and even some sparkling wines.” He hesitated. “But Pandora is just obsessed with this whole Japan deal. And Pandora always seems to get her way.”

  “I’d have to agree,” said Drayton. “She’s a very forceful woman.”

  “But the thing with Drew . . .” Grady shook his head sadly. “That just tore the heart out of things. For me and for Jordan.” And with barely a nod good-bye, he walked away.

  “That’s one way to add a downer note to the evening,” said Theodosia as she watched him go.

  “But he’s right,” said Drayton. “Even we’ve let up on our investigation somewhat. We’re sad about Drew’s death, but feel like we should probably move on.” Now he seemed thoughtful and a little morose, too. “Though it’s still tragic that his murder remains unsolved.”

  “I hear you,” said Theodosia. “But . . . what are you saying exactly? That we should respect Pandora’s wishes to no longer be involved?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m saying,” said Drayton.

  “You know,” said Theodosia, “Grady could be lying.”

  “About . . .”

  “About everything. Grady could be lying to ease his way out of Knighthall Winery. Or for all we know, he could be the killer. Who knows what went on between him and Drew Knight?”

  “This is all very confusing,” said Drayton.

  • • •

  Theodosia wandered over to one of the fire pits while Drayton went to fetch glasses of red wine for them. All around her, young people laughed and joked, kissed and danced, while she mulled things over. She knew Drayton was ambivalent about their continuing investigation, and part of her also wanted to walk away from it. Just . . . let it go. At the same time, that little voice deep down inside of her scolded at her, telling her she should not walk away. Because she’d never walked away from any challenge in her life! So why start now?

  When Drayton returned, he presented a glass of red wine to Theodosia and said, “This is their Palmetto Passion. Supposed to be a mix of five different grapes.”

  Theodosia took a sip. “It’s good. There’s kind of a plum and cherry taste.”
>
  “Do you think it’s as good as the red wine we tasted at Knighthall Winery?”

  “It’s awfully close,” said Theodosia.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice at her elbow. “May I offer you a piece of bruschetta?”

  Theodosia turned as the waiter held out his tray and hastily continued his pitch.

  “We have fig with goat cheese bruschetta and pesto with plum tomatoes.”

  Theodosia stared at the waiter until recognition finally dawned. “Carl?” she said slowly. Then with more urgency. “Carl Van Deusen?” She’d just been looking for him!

  Van Deusen’s dark eyes bore into her for a few seconds, then he, too, blinked with recognition and said, “You almost got me fired from Smalley’s, you know!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Theodosia. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

  Van Deusen seemed to soften a bit. “Aw, that manager you had the run-in with is a real jerk. Hardly anybody gets along with him.”

  Theodosia and Drayton each took a piece of bruschetta as Theodosia made hasty introductions.

  “You know,” said Theodosia, “you never did tell me about your relationship with Drew.”

  “There’s not that much to tell,” said Van Deusen.

  “But you and Drew were friends. You attended his funeral.”

  Van Deusen nodded. “Drew and I were buddies, yeah.”

  “What kind of buddies?” said Theodosia. Drinking buddies? Drugging buddies?

  “Just . . . buddies,” said Van Deusen. “Friends.”

  “Good friends?” said Drayton.

  Van Deusen took a step backward and clenched his jaw. “Hey, what is this? An episode of Law & Order?”

  “Very funny,” said Theodosia.

  “Look,” said Van Deusen. “We were friends; we helped each other out. Drew even gave me his car to drive.”

  “When did he do that?” asked Theodosia. Is that the answer to the missing Porsche?

  Van Deusen stared at her. “I don’t remember.”

  “Could it have been last Sunday?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know . . . maybe.”

  “Does anybody else know about this? Did you talk to Sheriff Anson about this?” Theodosia asked.

  Van Deusen saw the look on her face and went into full protest mode. “Look, lady, I didn’t touch a hair on Drew’s head! I just told you, he was my friend!”

  “Then who do you think killed him?” asked Drayton.

  Van Deusen thumped a hand hard against his chest. “That’s what I’d like to know!”

  “Excuse me.” Georgette Kroft, wearing a red-and-black Burberry dress and matching sandals that would have been better suited for a teenage girl, was suddenly staring at them. “Aren’t you supposed to be circulating with that tray of hors d’oeuvres?” she asked Van Deusen. She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I definitely think you are.”

  Van Deusen eased away. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “And don’t call me ma’am,” she snorted. “I don’t look that old!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Van Deusen. And this time he bolted.

  • • •

  “Theodosia,” said Georgette, grinning broadly now. “Thank you for coming.” Her eyes flicked toward Drayton. “And this must be the infamous Drayton?”

  “Thank you for your kind invitation,” said Drayton. “This is a lovely affair.”

  “Yes, isn’t it just?” said Georgette. Her eyes flicked back to Theodosia. “You know, dear, we really must talk about our collaboration.”

  “You’ve said that before,” said Theodosia. “About a joint tea and wine tasting?”

  “Now that sounds interesting,” said Drayton.

  “Doesn’t it?” said Georgette. “I do believe your tea shop and my winery cater to the same sort of crowd. Which is why I think a joint tasting event would be spectacular.”

  “Perhaps it could be done to benefit a particular charity,” said Drayton. “Say the Heritage Society or the Opera Society.”

  “Or it could also be done for profit,” said Georgette.

  “There’s that, too,” agreed Drayton, barely suppressing a smile.

  “Anyway,” said Georgette, “I want the two of you to think about it. And after you taste my special surprise wine in a few minutes, you might be even more excited about the concept.”

  “Okay,” said Theodosia.

  “Oh,” said Georgette. She had turned away from them and now she looked back at them. “Are the two of you still scrambling after clues in the death of that young man?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it scrambling,” said Theodosia. “Why, do you have something you want to share with us?”

  “Not exactly,” said Georgette. “But I do have a suspect in mind.”

  Theodosia frowned. “And that would be . . .”

  Georgette held up a finger. “All in good time.”

  19

  “What on earth was that woman babbling about?” said Drayton as he watched Georgette push her way through the crowd. “Do you really think she knows something?”

  “It’s more likely she suspects someone,” said Theodosia. “But then again, don’t we all harbor our own suspicions?”

  “I suppose so,” said Drayton.

  Feeling a little unsettled by Georgette’s words, Theodosia took another sip of wine and glanced around. That was when she spotted a strange-looking man slinking through the crowd.

  “Oh my,” said Drayton. He’d spotted him, too.

  “What?”

  “Flagg,” said Drayton. “You know, the writer?”

  Dressed in a pair of too-tight khaki slacks and a red polo shirt, Harvey Flagg moved through the crowd like a nasty virus on a crowded cruise ship. He was back-slapping and high-fiving any number of people who could easily serve as fodder for the next juicy story in Bill Glass’s Shooting Star.

  When Flagg noticed Theodosia and Drayton watching him, he casually sauntered over to them.

  “Hey, Drayton,” Flagg said in an annoying bray. “Sorry I didn’t make it to your lunch thing the other day.”

  “Don’t be,” said Drayton. “Our idea of publicity doesn’t include one of your nasty little stories filled with gossip and innuendo.”

  “Or one of your photographs of someone in an unflattering pose,” Theodosia added.

  Flagg smiled crookedly at Theodosia. “You must be Theodosia.” Though he was short and overweight, he had a narrow, pinched face and one eye that never seemed to focus completely.

  “Run along,” said Drayton. “We’re not interested in your brand of gossip.”

  Flagg reared back as if highly offended. “Don’t get all holier than thou on me, folks. There’s a good reason gossip rags outsell old school magazines like Newsweek and Time. Readers want dirt. In fact, they crave it. Who doesn’t want to know what celeb’s got a coke problem, or who just got kicked off a movie set.” He winked. “Even locally, our audience is dying to know who’s coveting whose neighbor. Or which fat cat’s fancy house just slid into foreclosure!”

  “If you were looking for a salacious story,” said Theodosia, “it’s too bad you missed the barrel tasting at Knighthall last Saturday.”

  Flagg suddenly looked as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

  “That’s right,” Drayton echoed. “You missed a heck of a scoop.”

  “Couldn’t you smell the blood in the air?” said Theodosia. “Or have we all been giving you just way too much credit?”

  Flagg’s mouth pulled into a wolfish snarl and his eyes blazed. “I’ll have you know I am writing a story about that! In fact, I’m talking to a few people who seem to be flying way, way under the radar. You just wait and see.” He glanced around quickly, then added in a slight wheedling tone, “You know, if you’ve got a couple of minutes right now, I wouldn’t mind interviewing the both of you. I hear you’re thick as thieves with Jordan Knight.”

  “Doubtful,” said Theodosia, turning away from him.

  Drayton flap
ped a hand. “Run along, we’re simply not interested.”

  Flagg was about to say something else when a loud blast of static pierced the air. Theodosia glanced around and saw Georgette Kroft, microphone in hand, standing atop a makeshift stage. She was smiling like she was about to announce the new Miss America.

  “May I have your attention in three?” Georgette boomed. The crowd quieted a little. “May I have your attention in two?” The crowd was nearly silent except for a few giggles. “May I have your attention in one?” she asked. Now the crowd was silent.

  “Here we go,” Drayton whispered to Theodosia.

  “Friends,” Georgette began. “Thank you all for coming tonight. Oak Hill Winery is supremely honored to host so many local dignitaries. I’d love to name names, but I’m sure I’d miss someone.”

  The crowd laughed on cue.

  “We are also incredibly pleased to share our exquisite new Syrah with you tonight,” Georgette continued. “No, you haven’t had the pleasure of tasting it yet, but in a matter of moments you’ll get your chance. Waiters will be coming through the crowd to offer you a taste of our new Palmetto Prestige Syrah.”

  As she said the name, a cadre of waiters appeared in two lines from each side of the stage. Then they moved into the crowd, their trays rattling with wineglasses. Immediately, a waiter with a long dark ponytail stopped in front of Theodosia and Drayton and offered them a glass.

  “Thank you,” said Theodosia as they both accepted wineglasses filled with the Prestige Syrah. She saw that the wine was reddish-orange, almost copper in color, seeming to defy the notion of what was a traditional Syrah.

  “Friends,” Georgette boomed again, “you don’t need to get your eyes checked. This is most definitely a Syrah, but it’s our own unique spin on what we’re calling a white Syrah. Palmetto Prestige is made from a combination of home-grown Sangiovese grapes and special Cannaiolo grapes that were imported direct from Italy.”