Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  The man in the blue uniform, whom she was fairly certain was a hospital guard or policeman, stopped at the desk to chat with one of the nurses. As she passed by, she heard them giggling together over some whispered exchange. And then the nurse said in a teasing drawl, “Oh, George, what would your wife say if she knew what a flirt you were?”

  Theodosia kept going until she spotted room six thirty-two. Without hesitating, she pushed open the door and slipped in.

  The blinds were drawn, so the room was in semidarkness, but she could see Van Deusen lying in his hospital bed. He seemed to be sleeping. But as she moved closer to his bed, he stirred. Then he lifted his head and said, “Hello?” He sounded foggy and confused.

  Theodosia moved a little closer to him. “Hello, Carl.”

  Van Deusen groaned and struggled to sit up. Once he managed to prop himself up on one arm, he looked at her and blinked. Then recognition dawned. “You came,” he said in a thin, reedy voice. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Yes, I came,” said Theodosia. “Because I was curious. Now please tell me what you want.”

  “I . . . I want you to help me.”

  Theodosia shook her head. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

  “You’re the only one who can!” he said urgently.

  “Sorry,” said Theodosia. “If you need a cup of tea, I’m your lady. If you need a lawyer . . . well, there’s the phone book.”

  “But you’re the one who’s been looking into this entire mess!” Van Deusen pleaded.

  “Not anymore. Now I’m out of it.”

  “But I’m innocent!” said Van Deusen. “I didn’t murder Drew. I told you before, he was my friend!”

  “Do you realize that Sheriff Anson found the gun that killed Drew in the trunk of your car? Correction, Drew’s car, which you seem to have appropriated.”

  Van Deusen groaned and shook his head. “If a gun was there, then somebody planted it! You have to believe me!”

  “Did you explain that to the sheriff?”

  “I’ve been trying to. But nobody’s listening.” He fought to draw breath. “Please help me . . . right now you’re all I’ve got!”

  Theodosia wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. But somewhere, in the depths of her heart, his words touched her. She hated that this young man was chained to his hospital bed without anyone to serve as his advocate. Without anyone willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “I can’t promise anything. I’m still . . . oh, let’s say I’m looking into a couple of things.”

  There was a rattle at the door.

  “Jeez,” said Van Deusen, looking startled. “That’s the—”

  Quick as a fox, Theodosia ducked behind a white screen, pulled open a door, and slid into the bathroom. She eased the door shut behind her and stood there in the stark fluorescent light, feeling a little breathless, listening to the guard’s mumbled voice in the room she’d just left.

  Can’t go back in there. So . . . now what?

  She looked at the door opposite her, pushed it open, and stepped out into the adjoining hospital room.

  A man lying in bed and doing a crossword puzzle looked up at her. He had gray flyaway hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. For some reason, he reminded her of Albert Einstein.

  “Everything okay in here?” Theodosia asked in a chipper-cheery voice. “You need anything?”

  The man shook his head slowly. No.

  “Okay then,” said Theodosia. “Have a good day.” She smiled brightly at him and stepped out into the hallway. And breathed a huge sigh of relief even as she wondered what her next move should be.

  24

  Max showed up right on time to whisk her off to the Art Crawl Ball. Theodosia looked elegant and even a bit statuesque in her long black gown and strappy sandals. And she’d wound her hair up into a fun, messy topknot and secured it with a small, jeweled pin that had once belonged to her mother.

  So she should have felt like she was sitting on top of the world as they cruised down Broad Street in Max’s BMW.

  Truth be known, she didn’t.

  After her impromptu meeting with Carl Van Deusen a few hours ago, Theodosia had tried to get in touch with Sheriff Anson. But he wasn’t at his office. In fact, the woman who answered the phone at the Law Enforcement Center had made it quite clear that civilians simply didn’t disturb duly elected sheriffs on a Saturday afternoon.

  So she’d tried to get hold of Detective Tidwell. But he wasn’t around, either. And Jack Alston still hadn’t gotten back to her. And for all she knew, maybe he never would.

  A pickle of a predicament. What to do now?

  Max swung the car over to the curb and stopped at the front door of the Ballastone Hotel. A valet in a snappy red jacket quickly opened his door, while another valet rushed around to open Theodosia’s door and help her out.

  “Thank you,” Theodosia murmured to the valet. As she turned, she saw a black Cadillac Escalade pull up right behind them and Georgette Kroft emerge from the passenger side. No, she told herself, I don’t want to get involved with that crazy lady tonight. Definitely not tonight.

  Then Max held out his hand to her and she was swept along into the hotel. Past a group of smiling onlookers and up a wide marble staircase.

  Theodosia knew that she and Max looked like the perfect couple. Dressed impeccably in black tie, their faces shining with excitement, they appeared ready for a night of fun and dancing and silent auctions.

  Yet Theodosia felt like a fraud. She knew Max would totally disapprove, would have a complete and total meltdown, if he found out she’d gone to see Van Deusen today. In fact, everybody she knew would probably disapprove—Drayton, Haley, Jordan and Pandora Knight, Tidwell, and certainly Sheriff Anson, just to name a few on a large roster of disapprovers. Earl Grey might even raise his doggy eyebrows at her.

  But she’d gone and done it anyway, and now she felt like she was harboring a secret. Not quite an answer to what was going on, but perhaps a small sliver of the puzzle. Because for some crazy reason, she actually believed Carl Van Deusen. Believed that he was innocent, that he had somehow been set up.

  The million-dollar question, of course, was who set him up?

  For that, Theodosia had no answer.

  Which was why, when Max pulled her into the Grand Promenade Ballroom, she wore a slightly perplexed look on her face. People might have mistaken it for bemusement or even curiosity. But Theodosia was in a genuine quandary as to who might have murdered Drew Knight and foisted the blame onto Carl Van Deusen.

  Would she find an answer to her dilemma here, tonight? Hardly.

  Couples swirled about the dance floor as an orchestra played a sexy, romantic fox-trot. Colored spotlights formed giant globs of paint on a large palette that had been sketched in the middle of the dance floor. Oil paintings on easels and sculptures on square blocks of marble were lined up against the walls. The bar and a cocktail lounge of sorts were set up at one end of the ballroom, while long tables filled with donations for the silent auction were on the opposite side.

  “What do you think?” said Max.

  “This place looks absolutely magical,” said Theodosia. “I think you and your crew of volunteers created the perfect gala.”

  Max grinned. “I think so, too.”

  When Max took her by the hand and led her toward the silent auction tables, Theodosia smiled and went along willingly. And promised herself that she’d make the best of it tonight. She’d set everything aside and indulge in a little fun. Correction, make that a lot of fun.

  As they crossed the dance floor, Delaine and Andrew Turner swirled past them, looking radiant and dancing so closely together they looked like they’d just taken a class at Arthur Murray. And Donny Hedges from Plantation Wilds, balancing a trio of drinks, practically bumped into them. When Hedges suddenly recognized Theodosia, he grimaced and quickly darted away.

  “Whoa,” said Max. �
��What did you ever do to him?”

  “Nothing really,” said Theodosia.

  “Who is he?”

  “Just a friend of Drayton’s,” she said as they made their way to the silent auction tables.

  • • •

  “There are a few things here that I want to bid on,” Max was telling her.

  “Which ones?” Theodosia asked, trying to shake off the encounter with Hedges and share in Max’s excitement.

  He grinned. “For one thing, I wouldn’t mind winning your tea basket.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. But I could make one of those for you in about twenty seconds flat. So maybe pick something else.”

  “Okay,” said Max, studying the offerings. “How about we bid on a balloon ride?” He reached for a slip of paper and read, “‘A hot air balloon ride for two floating over the picturesque countryside, complete with a bottle of champagne.’” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Ever ridden in a balloon?”

  Theodosia shook her head. “Never.”

  “Want to?”

  “Are you kidding? Sure. I think it’d be a lot of fun.”

  Max studied the bid sheet. “Let’s see, the bidding’s up to one hundred and fifty dollars. So what should I bid? Maybe one seventy-five?”

  “Give it a shot,” said Theodosia. “But you’ll probably have to keep coming back and posting higher bids if you really want to win.”

  Max scrawled his bid, and then said, “Okay, now I’m going to get us a couple of drinks. What would you like?”

  “Maybe a glass of white wine.”

  “Duly noted,” said Max. “You want to wait here?”

  Theodosia had just spotted Drayton and the rest of his party, seated at one of the low cocktail tables that had been arranged under a trellis of fake grapevines. “I see Drayton over there, so I’m going to stop by and say hello.”

  “Fine,” said Max. “I’ll come find you.”

  Theodosia pushed her way through the crowd of eager partygoers, greeting some people she knew and saying hi to a few of her Church Street neighbors.

  Brooke Carter Crockett, who owned Hearts Desire, was there with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Chad Donovan. She greeted Theodosia with a big hug.

  “Where’s that handsome boyfriend of yours?” Brooke asked. She looked cute in a light blue floor-length gown.

  Theodosia gave a wave. “Max is over thataway, getting drinks. Did I hear that you donated some spectacular piece of jewelry to the auction?” Besides running a very successful jewelry shop, Brooke was also a skilled designer.

  “Did she ever,” gushed Donovan. “A necklace made out of chalcedony and sterling silver. A gorgeous piece.”

  “But a little heavy,” Brooke confided.

  “I’ll have to take a look at it,” said Theodosia. “I love stones with that lustrous, milky color.”

  “Maybe you want to bid on it,” Donovan urged.

  Theodosia continued on her way toward Drayton. But when she arrived at his table, she found he was sitting alone.

  “Where’d everybody go?” she asked. She knew Timothy and the two Heritage Society donors had been here just minutes earlier.

  “They’re flitting about, being social butterflies,” said Drayton. “But the real question is, where did you go?” He lowered his voice and gave her an accusatory look. “This afternoon, I mean.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I don’t?”

  “Well, maybe you do,” said Theodosia. “But you probably don’t want to hear about it tonight.”

  Drayton was suddenly all pretend innocence. “Good heavens, Theodosia, you’ve pulled me into everything else that’s gone on.”

  Theodosia grinned. “Nice try. But if you recall, it was you who pulled me into this mess in the first place!”

  • • •

  Theodosia cut across the edge of the dance floor, looking for Max. Probably, she decided, he’d run into some of his museum or gallery friends and they were chortling away about what a success they had on their hands.

  As she stopped and scanned the crowd, her eyes suddenly caught sight of another familiar face.

  “Tanya?” said Theodosia. Was it really Tanya Woodson, the model, strolling toward her on the arm of Duke Brothers, one of Charleston’s most eligible but marriage-phobic bachelors? Yes, it was. And tonight, wonder of wonders, Tanya seemed almost eager to talk to her.

  “I just heard about Carl Van Deusen,” said Tanya. Her eyes were bright with excitement and she seemed a little breathless. Or maybe it was because Brothers was the heir to a Charleston banking fortune?

  “He’s under arrest,” said Theodosia. “Sheriff Anson booked him on suspicion of murder.”

  Tanya made a face. “The sheriff’s wrong about that one. Van Deusen’s no killer.”

  “They found a gun in his car,” Brothers offered.

  “I know,” Tanya said with a sharp retort. “I do read the newspaper, you know.” Then she turned her focus back to Theodosia. “Carl was a friend of Drew’s. He wasn’t any kind of killer.”

  “You never know about people,” said Brothers, pulling her away.

  It was interesting, Theodosia decided, that even Tanya believed in Van Deusen’s innocence. Then again, if Drew and Van Deusen had been friends, she might know him fairly well. Maybe she could even serve as a character witness if only . . .

  Theodosia stopped herself. No. Not tonight. She was here to have fun and that was that.

  Now if she could just find Max.

  Probably, she decided, he was back at the auction table, worrying about placing a high bid on that balloon ride.

  But when Theodosia returned to the table, Max wasn’t in sight.

  Still as she looked around, she saw that some of the other auction items were equally spectacular. Here was an antique rose gold Cartier watch donated by the Charleston auction house Hubert & Humbolt. And a week’s rental on a luxury town house at Hilton Head. And an Apple iPad. And right next to it was the bottle of Château Latour that Andrew Turner had donated. She peered at the bid sheet and saw that it had already been bid up to eight hundred dollars! Wow. And here was a romantic weekend for two donated by the Lady Goodwood Inn.

  Theodosia moved a couple of steps down the table, looking at the auction items, and suddenly stopped in front of her own tea basket. She gazed at it and her eyes fell on the bayberry candle. What had Miss Josette said about it? Something about revealing a thief? She couldn’t quite remember her exact words.

  When her cell phone tinkled from inside her beaded clutch, Theodosia hastily dug it out and answered. “Hello?” She figured it was Max, calling to try to find her. Trying to triangulate her in the crowded ballroom.

  “Theodosia,” came a rich, warm voice. “It’s Jack Alston.”

  “Jack,” she said, a little surprised that he’d actually called her back. She’d more or less written Jack Alston off.

  “I have a little information for you about Higashi Golden Brands.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Basically,” said Alston, “they’re kind of a shady company.”

  This struck her as strange, since Pandora had raved about them. “How so?”

  “Oh, about a year or so ago, they imported a few hundred barrels of vodka into Hong Kong. It was real rotgut stuff, aged about two days in some Bulgarian distillery. Anyway, long story short, your friends at Higashi Golden Brands bottled it up, slapped labels on it, and then sent it on to Japan, where it was distributed and sold at a rather inflated price under the name Suntory Premium Vodka.”

  “But it wasn’t premium at all,” said Theodosia.

  “It was like battery acid,” said Alston. “And it certainly wasn’t Suntory. Anyway, Suntory Group—they’re a big-deal Japanese company—filed a lawsuit against them.”

  “What kind of suit?”

  “Ah, it was basically a cease and desist. Japanese style.”

  Theodosia’s brows knit together. “Because they appropriated
their company’s name.”

  “Well,” said Alston, “that’s a nice way of saying—”

  “Counterfeiting,” said Theodosia. She was beginning to get a low-level buzz of excitement inside her head.

  “That’s right,” said Alston. “It’s a problem that’s running rampant right now. Especially in Asia. You’d be amazed at the major corporations that are getting ripped off royally. Computer companies, sporting goods companies . . .”

  “And liquor companies,” said Theodosia. She was suddenly staring at the bottle of Château Latour that was sitting a few feet from her.

  “Lots of liquor companies,” said Alston. “In fact . . .”

  “Mr. Alston,” said Theodosia. An idea had begun to slowly crystallize inside her brain and she was barely able to breathe. “I’m going to have to get back to you.”

  “Well, okay . . .” He sounded disappointed.

  “I appreciate your information, really I do. But there’s something I have to do . . .”

  Theodosia dropped the phone into her bag and stared fixedly at the label on the bottle of Château Latour. She studied the cross-hatched etching of the castle. And slowly, as she turned her idea over and over, an answer seemed to click into place.

  Cross-hatched etchings? Weren’t this remarkably similar to some of the artwork that Andrew Turner had stashed in his back room? The pieces he’d kind of covered up when he was searching for Drew’s piece? The pieces he had tried to keep her from seeing?

  No, she told herself, not etchings plural. Just one little etching. That’s all he would need.

  She picked up the bottle of wine and hefted it. Now her curiosity and determination burned like a white-hot flame.

  Deciding to follow both her suspicions and her instincts, Theodosia carried the bottle over to Drayton. He was sitting at a table with two other Heritage Society board members, chatting amiably. When she crooked a finger at him, he promptly jumped up and came over to her.

  “Tell me what you see,” she said, holding out the bottle of Château Latour.

  “Excuse me?” said Drayton.