But as Theodosia drew closer, she realized that this dark car, with its reinforced bumper and side spotlight, suddenly looked more than a little familiar.
A Crown Vic? Don’t tell me . . .
Theodosia stepped out into the street and walked quietly up to the driver’s side window. She bent down, peered in the open window, and found herself staring into the bright, beady eyes of Detective Burt Tidwell.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked him.
A corner of Tidwell’s mouth registered the slightest of twitches. “Let’s just call it house arrest for now,” he said in his trademark big cat growl. Then he paused. “May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Burt Tidwell was the brash and rather brilliant detective who headed the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department. He was beefy and bulky and possessed a heroically oversized head with slightly protruding eyes. His personality was outsized, too, and his temperament often ranged from that of an angry grizzly bear to that of a slightly disgruntled walrus. Tonight, even though the weather was warm, Tidwell wore a slightly frayed tweed jacket with a matching vest, which stretched tightly across his bulging stomach.
Tidwell followed her into her house, stepping lightly for such a large man through her living room, dining room, and finally, into the kitchen.
Earl Grey rose from his bed to give Tidwell an inquisitive meet-and-greet sniff and then calmly retreated. He’d met this man before. No problem, no threat.
Tidwell, who barely fit between the stove and the refrigerator on the opposing wall, gave a cursory glance around and said, “Nice. Homey.”
“It needs some work,” said Theodosia.
“The cupboards,” said Tidwell, nodding.
“Yes, they’re old and tired.”
“Still,” said Tidwell, “you wouldn’t want to compromise the character of your house.” That was the thing about Tidwell. He was a brilliant cop and an all-around smart guy, too. NCIS meets HGTV.
Theodosia pulled a tin of Nilgiri tea down from a shelf. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. Then decided something stronger might be in order. “Or perhaps a glass of wine?”
“Wine,” said Tidwell. “That does seem to be the problem, doesn’t it?”
Theodosia turned to stare at him. “Why exactly are you here again?” she asked. “Because this doesn’t strike me as a social call. And let’s face it, Detective, you’re not exactly anyone’s idea of a welcome wagon.”
“I’m here because Drayton asked me to come and talk to you,” said Tidwell. She and Drayton had befriended Tidwell over the past few years. She had gotten involved in a few of his cases—well, dragged in, actually. And Tidwell had subsequently started showing up on the doorstep of the Indigo Tea Shop. He had a nose for tea and a never-ending appetite for scones.
“Drayton called you? Really?” Theodosia didn’t know if she should be thankful or a little offended.
Tidwell strolled over to the kitchen table and poked a fat finger at a pot of purple violets. “Did you grow these?”
“Yes. Well, after I brought them home from the garden store, I did.”
“Gardening,” said Tidwell. “Nothing like it. Thrusting your hands into the rich, dark soil. Teasing life into tiny, new buds.”
“Excuse me,” said Theodosia. She somehow doubted that Tidwell ever got down on his hands and knees to plant rhododendrons or pull weeds. He was merely smoke screening or pontificating or whatever. “But Drayton called you?”
“Yes, he did. In fact, your erstwhile tea blender and quasi-partner made it sound like a matter of utmost importance. Life and death.” He spun and faced her. “Thus . . . here I am.”
“It’s nice that the two of you are so concerned about me.”
Tidwell tilted his head. “Please do not take this lightly,” he told her. “It seems that you have once again embroiled yourself in a rather nasty murder investigation.”
Theodosia shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I kind of noticed that.”
Tidwell continued. “And I believe Mr. Conneley was hoping you might heed my sage advice.”
“Which is?” said Theodosia.
“Stay out of it.”
“You already said I was in it. And you do know about last night, don’t you? The crash in the swamp?”
“Yes, I’m well aware of all aspects of this thing.” Tidwell’s eyes narrowed. “You really aren’t taking my visit seriously, are you?”
“On the contrary,” said Theodosia, “I’m taking it very seriously.”
“You believe that the semi-incarcerated Mr. Van Deusen is not the killer everyone thinks he is.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Is that what Drayton told you?” asked Theodosia.
One of Tidwell’s furry eyebrows raised a half an inch. “That is what he has surmised.”
Theodosia was at a loss for words. “I . . . I really don’t know what to think about Van Deusen.”
“Still, you have doubts about his guilt. Or his being complicit in the murder.”
“Let’s just say I have doubts.” Theodosia opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Chardonnay. She pulled out the cork, grabbed two Riedel wineglasses, and poured a glass for each of them. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Enjoy.”
Tidwell accepted the glass from her. “Thank you.”
“So now what?” Theodosia asked.
“I’m going to enjoy this lovely wine and then I’m going to make a note to call Sheriff Allan Anson first thing tomorrow morning. Try to see if I can get a look at his case file.”
“You can do that?” said Theodosia. What she really meant was, You’d do that for me?
Tidwell looked into her eyes and saw their shimmer of gratitude. “Dear girl,” he said. “Once I set my mind to it, I can do just about anything.”
23
“It’s a good thing we’re only open until one o’clock today,” said Haley. “I can really use an afternoon off.”
“I think we could all use a little time off,” Theodosia responded. She was eyeing the shelves of her highboy, knowing she really did have to decide on what went into her tea basket for tonight’s silent auction. The Art Crawl Ball organizers had called earlier and left a brief message for her, asking if she could please, please, please have her basket delivered to the Ballastone Hotel by early afternoon.
So . . . carrying the sweetgrass basket that Miss Josette had created for her, she shopped her own shop, making her final choices before they opened for business this Saturday morning.
Theodosia had settled on a pink-and-yellow floral teapot, brand new, from the Cabbage Patch next door. Now, as her eyes wandered across the jam-packed shelves, she picked out three tins of Cross & Cromwell Tea. Into the tea basket they went. Then she added a jar of DuBose Bees Honey, a wooden honey dipper, and two prepared scone mixes that were Haley-approved.
Her basket wasn’t quite filled yet, so she chose an assortment of T-Bath products—Chamomile Calming Lotion, Feet Treat, and Verbena Hand Lotion. Oh, and she couldn’t forget to include her candle. The bayberry candle that she’d grabbed earlier and set on her desk after heeding Miss Josette’s warning.
It was funny, Theodosia thought, that Miss Josette’s warning really had come to pass. The minute she and Drayton had wandered outside of the Charleston city limits to Oak Hill Vineyard, they had encountered trouble! They’d not only had a dustup with Harvey Flagg from Shooting Star, but they’d been pulled into the chase, rescue, and subsequent arrest of Carl Van Deusen.
And now, instead of feeling satisfied that justice had been served, Theodosia was wondering whether Van Deusen was even the killer.
Detective Tidwell had promised to look into things for her, so that was heartening. And Drayton’s concern for her had been wonderful. She’d even gone so far as to thank him this morning when he’d first come hustling in. But he’d cut her off with a wave and a gruff, “No need,” and gone about his business, choosing teas and fussing wi
th tea kettles.
• • •
Haley was standing at the counter, kibbitzing with Drayton, when she carried her basket over.
“Looks like you got generous and picked out a lot of really neat stuff,” said Haley.
“A lovely arrangement,” observed Drayton. “I’m sure it will be much appreciated.”
“It still needs a little finessing,” said Theodosia. “I’ve got some colorful shredded paper in my office that I’ll use as a base, then I’ll arrange everything nice and neat, pop a sheet of clear plastic film over it, and tie it all up with a big pink ribbon.”
“Zhuzh it up,” said Haley. “Hey, if you want me to, I’ll run your basket over to the Ballastone Hotel right after lunch. I know you’re going to want to get out of here as soon as possible so you can run home and make like Cinderella!”
“Thanks, Haley. I’d appreciate that,” said Theodosia.
Haley glanced at Drayton. “What about you, Drayton? Are you gonna get all gussied up for tonight, too?” Drayton and his friend Timothy Neville were escorting two women to the Art Crawl Ball. Though both women were up there in age, they were well-heeled art patrons and Timothy had twisted Drayton’s arm just a bit.
“My tuxedo is brushed and my Thom McCans are shined to a high gloss,” said Drayton. He cocked a wrist and glanced at his ancient Patek-Philippe watch. “The question is, are you ready? Since we open for business in less than five minutes.”
“I’m on it,” said Haley as she dashed back into her kitchen. “Not to worry.”
“Are you looking forward to the big ball tonight?” Theodosia asked Drayton.
“I think I am, yes,” said Drayton. “It should be a nice jolly affair. Especially with the Art Crawl still going on. All the street vendors and food trucks will make for a festive atmosphere.”
“I sure hope so,” said Theodosia.
• • •
The Indigo Tea Shop was swamped that morning. Customers streamed in like crazy, then a red-and-white horse-drawn jitney pulled up in front of the tea shop and let out even more customers. Those who couldn’t get seated at tables seemed content to grab scones and takeout cups of tea and mill around outside in the warm sunlight.
Theodosia and Drayton worked as hard and fast as they could, but could barely keep up.
“We’re so rushed, I feel like we’re letting down our standards,” Drayton worried.
“I feel like we’re caught in the middle of a buffalo stampede,” said Theodosia.
“Huh,” said Drayton, smiling and betraying his first hint of humor today. “Very amusing.”
Haley had come up with the perfect Saturday menu—blueberry scones, goat cheese and pimento tea sandwiches, chicken salad tea sandwiches, and something she called a walking calzone. The calzone was really a large biscuit stuffed with melted cheese, caramelized onions, and sausage slices, which could be eaten with a knife and fork or wrapped in a piece of waxed paper and eaten on the street.
“People just can’t get enough of those calzones,” said Drayton. “Though they’re not exactly traditional tea shop fare.”
“Maybe we should consider doing a food truck,” Theodosia joked.
“Or our truck could just sell a simple cuppa and an assortment of scones to go,” said Drayton.
“Call it the Scone Zone,” said Theodosia.
“Or the Tea Caddy,” said Drayton, his good humor fully restored.
• • •
At twelve forty-five, with scones and tea sandwiches running perilously low, Theodosia ducked into her office and placed a call to Detective Tidwell.
As luck would have it, he wasn’t there.
Okay, then she would try Agent Jack Alston again. He’d promised to call her back. But so far, she hadn’t heard a word.
His phone rang into oblivion, and then flipped over to voice mail.
“Hey,” she said when she heard the customary annoying beep. “This is Theodosia. You were going to call me back, remember? Well . . . I was just wondering if you found out anything about that company in Japan, Higashi Golden Brands. So . . . um, thanks. And call me. Please.”
She leaned back in her chair just as Drayton stuck his head in her office. “That’s it, we’re done,” he told her.
“Done with . . . what? Customers? Serving food?”
“Both,” said Drayton. “Our larder is completely depleted. We’ve basically run out of everything.”
“Did you have to turn people away?” This was always one of Theodosia’s biggest worries.
“Just two couples. Sorry, I know how much you hate to do that.”
“In this case I suppose it couldn’t be helped.”
“Anyway,” said Drayton, “the front door is locked while a few customers continue to linger. But in a few minutes I’m going to try to ease them out . . .” He saw the worried look on Theodosia’s face again and said, “I know, I know, I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia.
• • •
As usual, Theodosia was the last one left in the tea shop. She double-checked the latch on the front door, made sure all the appliances were turned off, and then checked the kitchen for a second time. Okay. Done and done. She was looking forward to going home, sitting in the sun on her patio, and lazing away the rest of the day. Until she had to get ready for the party tonight, that was.
And just as she opened the back door, just as she cast a last glance around and was about to make her getaway . . . the phone rang.
With a small sigh, she eased herself back inside and snatched up the phone.
“Indigo Tea Shop, how may I help you?”
“Miss Browning?” The voice on the other end of the line was a scratchy whisper.
“Yes?” Theodosia said.
“Theodosia?” said the voice, so low it was barely audible.
“Yes,” she said again. “This is she.”
Ten seconds of dead air ensued and Theodosia was about to hang up the phone when the voice whispered, “Thank you.”
Theodosia inhaled sharply. What kind of crank call was this?
“Thank you for what?”
There was a sharp cough and then the voice, sounding even more scratchy and faint, said, “For saving my life.”
Theodosia’s blood ran cold. “Who is this?” she demanded.
“It’s me. Carl.”
“Carl Van Deusen?”
“In the flesh. Or what’s left of it,” said Van Deusen.
“Carl,” said Theodosia, suddenly at a loss for words. “What do you want?”
“Funny you should ask,” said Van Deusen. “Because I really need to talk to you.”
Theodosia clutched the phone tighter. “So talk.”
“In person,” said Van Deusen. He seemed to be fading in and out like a bad radio signal.
Theodosia was stunned. “Excuse me, but aren’t you chained up somewhere under armed guard?”
“Mercy Medical Center,” Van Deusen rasped. “Listen, I need to talk to you. It’s extremely urgent.” This time she could barely make out his words.
“I can’t really . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say to him. And why did he want her to come and see him? Did he want to make a confession of some sort? Was he so close to dying that he felt he had to unburden his soul to her?
There was a loud voice in the background and then Van Deusen whispered to her, “Just come.”
Just as Theodosia hung up, the phone shrilled again, pretty much scaring the beejeebers out of her. Wondering if it was Van Deusen calling back, she picked it up and said in a tentative voice, “Yes?”
“Theodosia!” It was Max.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” Her heart was suddenly pounding.
“You were expecting someone else?” he said in a jesting tone.
“No, not at all.” Could he tell she was up to something? Please, no.
“I’m just calling to give you a heads-up,” said Max. “My ETA at your place is going to be about e
ight o’clock tonight, okay?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling suddenly relieved. “Wonderful. I’ll be ready.”
• • •
When Theodosia pulled into the parking lot at Mercy Medical Center, her stomach was in knots. Should she be here? she wondered. Should she be doing this? Did she even dare talk to Van Deusen?
Of course, the answer to all this was a resounding no. But here she was anyway, creeping across the parking lot, walking in the front door, feeling like any moment a security guard would rush up to her and yell, “Stop!”
But they didn’t.
Instead, she waited in the lobby and watched as the receptionist, a stern-looking older woman with gray hair, turned over her front desk duty to what looked like a young, fresh-faced volunteer.
Lucky, lucky, lucky, Theodosia whispered to herself as she approached the front desk.
The young volunteer looked up with an eager smile. “Help you find someone?”
“Van Deusen,” said Theodosia.
The girl’s eyebrows pinched together. “Could you maybe spell that, please?” she asked as she clicked a few keys on her keyboard.
“V-A-N . . .” said Theodosia.
“I got that part.”
“D-E-U-S-E-N.”
“Here it is,” said the volunteer, peering at her screen. “Room six thirty-two.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia as she skittered away quickly to avoid any questions or warnings. She found the bank of elevators, rode one up to the sixth floor, and got out. Like a little mouse checking for the big bad house cat, she peered around expectantly. The hallway was surprisingly quiet. All she saw was a cart rattling down the hall, picking up lunch trays, and a patient going for a stroll with his oxygen canister trailing behind him.
She tiptoed down the hallway, eyes forward, checking out the room numbers with her peripheral vision. Halfway between the elevator and the nurses’ station, she saw a man in a blue uniform striding down the hall toward her.
Theodosia kept going, her heart suddenly beating a timpani drum solo inside her chest. Please. Don’t. Stop. Me.
Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) Page 22
