Broken Bone China

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia turned. “Julie?” She recognized the tall blond in the floral dress as the president of the French Quarter Garden Club and the show’s organizer.

  “Yes, it’s me,” Julie said. “Lovely to see you again. Our club is thrilled that you’ve agreed to help judge this show. Everyone speaks so highly of you and your tea shop.”

  “But for sheer impact it can’t compete with this amazing display of color and creativity.” Theodosia glanced around again, taking it all in. The room was starting to fill up with people. Those who’d come to wander through the maze of tables and enjoy the show, as well as private exhibitors and floral artists who were probably waiting for the results—her votes—with bated breath.

  “I don’t envy you your task of choosing our winners,” Julie said.

  “This isn’t going to be an easy task,” Theodosia said. “Perhaps you’d better give me your parameters for judging so I can do this strictly by the book. I take it you have several different categories?”

  “We do,” Julie said. “But let me pull in our other judge, too. Then I can explain the categories and judging protocol to both of you.” Julie looked around and then threw up a hand and said, “Earl! Over here, please.”

  Theodosia watched as a stocky, pug-nosed man shouldered his way through the crowd. With his freckled scalp, nicotine-stained fingers, and ill-fitting sport coat, he didn’t look like the sort of judge a garden club would enlist. On the other hand, who was she to judge?

  “Theodosia,” Julie said, “I’d like you to meet Earl Bullitt.”

  “Earl . . .” Theodosia faltered momentarily and then quickly recovered. “You’re the antiques dealer,” she said, shaking his outstretched hand. “Lovely to meet you.” I hope it is, anyway.

  “Yeah, likewise,” Bullitt said. He shook hands with barely a perfunctory glance.

  “Mr. Bullitt is an orchid aficionado,” Julie explained. “He specializes in tropical varieties.”

  “Sounds exotic,” Theodosia said while Bullitt just shrugged.

  “So here are your judge’s name tags and clipboards,” Julie said, handing over the materials. “As you can see by scanning your judging sheets, there are three distinct categories—Floral, Greenery, and Whimsy. In each of these categories you’ll want to pick a first, second, and third place winner.”

  “So nine winners in all,” Theodosia said. She studied her clipboard, while Bullitt seemed oblivious.

  “Ten winners actually. You two will also have to put your heads together and choose a grand prize winner,” Julie said. “We’ve got a big purple-and-gold ribbon for that honor.”

  “Great. Got it,” Theodosia said. “When do we start?”

  “Right now,” Julie said. “I suggest you both wander among the tables first, to get a feeling for the entries, then start making a few preliminary selections.”

  Bullitt hitched up a shoulder. “Do we both have to agree on everything?” he asked.

  Theodosia and Julie just looked at him.

  “Yes, of course you do,” Julie said finally.

  Bullitt gave a terse nod. “Okay.” And walked away.

  “Interesting choice for a judge,” Theodosia remarked. Bullitt seemed like he didn’t want to be here. Like this was an enormous bother for him.

  “One of our board members recommended him based on his skill with growing orchids.” Julie’s teeth nibbled at her lower lip. “I hope he’s taking this seriously. I hope you can work with him.”

  “Not a problem,” Theodosia said, hoping it wouldn’t be. She tucked her clipboard under her arm and started off. She decided to do exactly what Julie had suggested. Wander through the show, try to get a feel for the various entries, and keep an open mind. Then she could start narrowing down the entries she thought were outstanding in their categories.

  Theodosia was perusing her fourth table when Bill Glass walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, tea lady,” Glass said.

  Theodosia whirled around. When she saw who it was, she let out a sigh. Bill Glass was the pushy, acerbic, somewhat shady publisher of Shooting Star, a tabloid-type newspaper that chronicled goings-on in and around Charleston. Glass viewed his tabloid through rose-colored glasses and fancied it as an upscale society paper. Among his readers it was generally agreed that Shooting Star was, at best, a gossip rag.

  “What are you doing here?” Theodosia asked.

  “Shooting pictures,” Glass said. “Looking for the beautiful people.” He aimed a lopsided grin at Theodosia. “What? You think I like flowers?” He lifted up a Nikon camera that was strung around his neck. “Hey, I hear you were tapped to do the judging tonight.”

  “Trying to anyway.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that.” Glass was wearing one of his beige photojournalist vests tonight, a saggy, baggy khaki thing that contrasted sharply with his skinny legs.

  Theodosia studied him. “How come your face looks so tan?”

  “Would you believe it if I told you I’d just returned from some war-ravaged country in the Middle East? On assignment for National Geographic?”

  “No.”

  “Chronicling society babes in Palm Beach?”

  “No again,” Theodosia said.

  “How about bikini babes in Cocoa Beach?”

  “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Hey, I also heard you were front and center at that hot-air balloon fiasco last Sunday,” Glass said, shuffling after Theodosia. He was harder to get rid of than a hunk of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

  “It was more than a fiasco,” Theodosia said. “Three people were killed.”

  One of Glass’s eyebrows crinkled up. “Got a line on who was responsible?”

  “Of course not.” Theodosia jotted down entry number one-forty-eight. It was a swirl of bog grass in a Limoges teacup accented with a tiny ceramic toadstool and a few stems of sweet William.

  “Aw, you disappoint me, tea lady. I thought you’d be poking around like crazy by now, looking for suspects.” Glass favored her with a horsey grin. “Man, I wish I could have been there. I’d have gotten some terrific crash shots.” He grasped his camera and aimed it at her. “Flames and rubble, just like when that zeppelin thing crashed back in the day. You know, the Hindenburg!”

  “Excuse me,” Theodosia said. And this time she really did push her way past him.

  Hoping (and praying!) for no more interruptions, Theodosia buckled down to business. The entries, all ensconced in elegant teacups, were absolutely incredible. Pink roses with baby’s breath, bundles of crocus, shoots of fresh heather, succulents, and lots of small green plants. There were also entries with bird’s nests, robin’s eggs, and tiny silk butterflies tucked in. One teacup was completely covered in bright-green moss, and another teacup was tipped on its side with English ivy tumbling out of it.

  Theodosia was jotting down a few notes when Delaine sidled up to her.

  “So who’s the big winner going to be?” Delaine purred in a soft voice. She was wearing a daffodil-yellow sweater, cream-colored pencil skirt, and floral high heels. She looked as fresh and perky as the entries.

  “Hard to say. But I’ve already noted five excellent contenders,” Theodosia said.

  “You can tell me who’s at the top of your list,” Delaine said in a pouty voice.

  “Of course she can’t,” came a woman’s voice. “Theodosia has principles.”

  Theodosia and Delaine both looked up to find Brooklyn Vance smiling at them.

  “What are you doing here?” Theodosia blurted out. Then realized her question sounded awfully rude.

  But Brooklyn didn’t take it that way at all. She shrugged and said, “Having fun? Killing time?”

  Then, of course, Theodosia hastily introduced Delaine and Brooklyn to each other. And, wouldn’t you know it, two minutes later the two
of them were chatting away like old friends. Favorite fashion designers were mentioned and shrieked about, and then they moved on to comparing each other’s gold charm bracelets.

  Sensing a photo opportunity, Bill Glass moved in.

  “Here now,” Glass said with a cheesy smile. “Why don’t you lovely ladies all squeeze together and let me take a few snaps. Put your picture on the cover of Shooting Star.” He chuckled. “I can title it ‘The Three Graces.’”

  “Please don’t,” Theodosia said. But Delaine was already mugging for the camera, doing her fashion model pose, and Brooklyn wasn’t far behind her.

  Oh, alright. Theodosia joined in and smiled for the camera.

  “Are you going to keep me waiting forever?” Earl Bullitt called out loudly to Theodosia, interrupting their impromptu photo shoot.

  Delaine turned toward Bullitt, her eyes narrowed like a predatory cat, obviously upset by his words. “Excuse me, but how rude are you?” she said.

  Bullitt simply ignored her. He gazed at Theodosia with darkly hooded eyes and said, “Hurry up, will you? We need to put our heads together and decide on these winners. I haven’t got all night.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment, Mr. Bullitt,” Theodosia said. She pulled away from Delaine and Brooklyn, not wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers or cause any unnecessary problems.

  “Bullitt?” Brooklyn Vance suddenly cried out in a sharp, staccato tone. “Earl Bullitt?” Her eyes blazed and her complexion darkened as her emotions seemed to rise to the surface. “I know who you are. I know all about you!” Brooklyn’s mood had downshifted and she was suddenly very upset.

  “That’s nice, lady, now kindly get out of my way,” Bullitt said.

  But Brooklyn stood her ground. “You were one of the bidders on the Navy Jack flag.”

  Delaine’s brow crinkled as her mouth formed a perfect O. Quickly putting two and two together, she said, “Oh, Brooklyn, I guess you were trying to buy that same flag?”

  “You’re Brooklyn Vance?” Bullitt snorted. “Huh. You don’t look like any kind of hot shot.”

  “That would be Dr. Vance to you,” Delaine said.

  “Delaine,” Theodosia said in a warning tone. Please don’t get in the middle of this and cause any problems.

  But it was Brooklyn who had her claws out, ready to tangle.

  “I’ve heard the gossip about you and your tacky little antiques shop,” Brooklyn said. “You’re a crook and a laughing stock.”

  “What do you know about antiques?” Bullitt fired at her. “You’re a snotty, not-very-bright academic who sits in an ivory tower.”

  “That’s better than being a repugnant little reptile who lives under a rock,” Brooklyn flung back at him.

  “Say now,” Bill Glass said, aiming his camera at the snarling group. Or, as Theodosia saw it, a group that might now be categorized as Dante’s third ring of hell.

  “Please don’t,” Theodosia said to Glass.

  But Glass’s reporter’s antennae were up and twitching like crazy. “Hot dog!” he cried. “I thought this teacup show would be a complete and total snooze, but suddenly it’s gotten verrry interesting.” He thrust his camera out and dove forward to capture the fight.

  After all, a picture was worth a thousand words.

  14

  Wednesday morning and the rain still hadn’t let up. The day looked about as dour as Theodosia’s mood. She hated the fact that Brooklyn Vance and Earl Bullitt had gotten into a nasty sniping match last night. And though no blows had been struck and it was pretty much over in a heartbeat, that one sour note had sucked the joy out of the evening. Of course, Delaine had been no help whatsoever when she tried to butt in.

  And if I hadn’t introduced Brooklyn and Delaine, maybe none of this would have happened.

  Or maybe, unbeknownst to her, Earl Bullitt and Brooklyn Vance had already been set on a collision course.

  When Theodosia told Drayton about the almost-fisticuffs last night, he’d been surprisingly philosophical. He assured her that it wasn’t her fault and that she’d done a good deed by judging the show. He said he was proud that she managed to work with the rather surly Earl Bullitt in selecting the prize winners.

  In fact, what Drayton really wanted to know was—who won? And what kind of rare and antique teacups had her keen eyes spotted?

  Oh well. Better today.

  Theodosia finished folding a stack of cream-colored linen napkins and placed them on the tables. She looked over to where Miss Dimple was fluttering about the highboy set against the far wall. Miss Dimple was sipping a cup of tea while she stocked shelves and hung some of the new teacup wreaths that Theodosia had created.

  “Where’d you find this grapevine, honey?” Miss Dimple asked Theodosia when she noticed her watching.

  “Pulled it off a few trees at my Aunt Libby’s plantation,” Theodosia said. “The stuff grows wild and crazy out there. Almost as bad as kudzu.”

  “I love how you make these freestyle, cloud-like structures out of grapevines.” She held one up to study it. “Then you tie in all these dainty teacups and tuck in a bird’s nest, too. You’re so clever.”

  “Thank you, I needed that,” Theodosia said. She walked over and looked at the replenished highboy. “Do we need to add a few more T-Bath products?” These were Theodosia’s private label facial and bath products, formulated from gentle antioxidant teas.

  “Haley said she’d bring some out.”

  “Good. And maybe a few jars of DuBose Bees Honey as well. And some of those wooden honey spoons.”

  “Got them right here,” Haley said as she walked toward them, struggling to balance the enormous cardboard box she was carrying.

  “Is that you back there?” Miss Dimple called out merrily. Then she reached out to grab the box and help Haley muscle it to the floor.

  “Everything going okay in the kitchen?” Theodosia asked.

  “Right as rain,” Haley said. “Most of the food is already prepped. I’m just waiting for scones and such to come out of the oven, then I’ll put the quiche in.” She glanced around the tea room. “You want me to bring out the you-know-whats?”

  “Maybe wait until I get the tables set up,” Theodosia said. “Then we’ll put them out.”

  “What exactly are the you-know-whats?” Miss Dimple asked.

  “Have to wait and see, I guess,” Haley said.

  Miss Dimple practically stomped one of her chubby little feet. “How can you keep me in suspense like this?”

  “It’s a mystery tea,” Theodosia said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Thank goodness we’re only doing takeout this morning,” Haley said. “Gives us time to get our ducks in a row for lunch.”

  “Drayton’s the one who’s been shouldering most of the load,” Theodosia said. “Taking care of our pop-in customers.”

  They all glanced toward the front counter where Drayton had take-out cups and packaged scones precisely lined up and ready to go.

  “He’s doing a great job, too,” Miss Dimple said.

  Drayton glanced over at them. “Neatness counts,” he said. “And, thankfully, I do have a penchant for order and organization.”

  “Some might call it OCD,” Haley said.

  Before Drayton had a chance to answer, the bell above the front door da-dinged once again and he had to ready himself for yet another influx of eager customers.

  “I can’t wait to see what you’re baking,” Miss Dimple said to Haley. “The aromas wafting out of your kitchen are making my nose twitch. You’re such a talented baker.”

  “Thank you,” Haley said, giving her a mock curtsy.

  “Did you ever think about entering the Sugar Arts Competition that the Commodore Hotel sponsors every year?” Miss Dimple asked. “You’re as good if not better than some of the artisans at our local bakeries and patisseries.”r />
  “I don’t know about that,” Haley said.

  “I think you should enter,” Theodosia said, jumping on the bandwagon. “After all, you won that Chocolatier Contest a couple of years ago.”

  “Yeah, but chocolate is easy,” Haley said. “It’s mostly melting and swirling and using molds. In those sugar arts contests you need to really wow the judges. Incorporate flakes of gold leaf, create lots of three-dimensional flowers, and do special effects. You know, like spun sugar birds and butterflies?”

  “Haley, if anybody can master that, you can,” Theodosia said.

  Haley looked hopeful. “You think?”

  “I know,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia went back to primping her tables for the Nancy Drew Tea. First, she set out place mats that she’d made herself. These were color copies of classic Nancy Drew book covers that had been enlarged and laminated with clear plastic. Then she added teacups, saucers, and luncheon plates in Coalport’s Academy pattern, as well as crystal water glasses.

  Okay, now for some fun.

  The tables were pretty, to be sure, but Theodosia was ready to funk it up. After all, this was a fun, nostalgia-inspired tea. So, in keeping with the book titles, she added vases of lilacs, pewter candleholders with twisted candles, a couple of old clocks (still ticking), and a few magnifying glasses that she’d borrowed from the Antiquarian Bookshop.

  “I see where you’re going with all this,” Miss Dimple said as she twirled a finger. “But what about these mysterious centerpieces I keep hearing about?”

  “Haley,” Theodosia called out. “I think it’s time.”

  Haley came bustling out from behind the curtains. “Ta da!” she exclaimed. With a flourish she held up a clutch of old-fashioned lunch boxes that she’d decoupaged with dozens of small images from Nancy Drew book covers.

  “Oh my goodness,” Miss Dimple exclaimed. “Aren’t these just cute as a bug.” She took one of the lunch boxes from Haley and turned it around to study it. “How many did you make?”

  “Twelve,” Haley said. “One for each table.”