by Laura Childs
“May I help you with that package now?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Winkleman said. “I think I’ve . . . yes, we’re all set.”
Drayton picked up the box while Mrs. Winkleman bustled in front of him like a tidy little hen. She held the door open for him and then led him to her car, a Ford Focus that was parked in front of the building.
Theodosia watched as they fussed about, deciding whether to wedge the box into the back seat or stash it in the trunk.
Good, Drayton is stalling. He’s being a gentleman about it, but he’s stalling.
Theodosia made a beeline for the side room. She grasped the doorknob, turned it, and . . . nothing happened.
The door to the mysterious room was locked.
Dipping a hand into her hobo bag, Theodosia pulled out her trusty Visa card. She’d used it once before to jiggle open a lock. Of course, if this was a dead bolt, the old credit card ploy wouldn’t work. But this lock looked . . . doable.
Ever so carefully, Theodosia slid her card into the doorjamb. She angled it carefully and seesawed the card back and forth. She felt, more than heard, a little click. So hopefully it would . . . nope, no dice. The door still wouldn’t open.
Theodosia tried again. This time she pushed her card farther in and worked it back and forth with an even gentler touch. She worked it for five, ten, and then twenty seconds, always keeping one eye on the front door. And then finally, like Indiana Jones touching just the right stone in a spooky old temple, the door swung open. Almost, but not quite, an invitation.
Theodosia dove inside.
It was clearly a storage room and filled with merchandise. She didn’t know if these were new acquisitions or the dregs of the store. Didn’t matter. She dug frantically through box after box, pulled open cupboard doors, searched under a pile of vintage topcoats. Nothing.
Okay. Where else?
Her searching eyes fell upon an old round-top trunk. She dropped to her knees, lifted the lid, and found an odd collection of dolls dressed in turn-of-the-century clothing. Not the most recent turn of the century, the one before it. From the musty interior of the trunk, the dolls’ glassy eyes stared up at her as if to mock her.
Theodosia dropped the lid.
She heard the faint ding of the front door and jumped to her feet. She rushed out of the room, knowing she had only seconds to spare. She pulled the door closed behind her just as Mrs. Winkleman stepped into the shop.
“You see anything you like?” Mrs. Winkleman asked.
Theodosia’s hand fell on the object closest to her. An absurd little glass lamp with a monkey curled around the base. “I’m pretty much loving this,” she said.
“Isn’t that adorable?” Mrs. Winkleman said.
“A remarkable piece,” Drayton said. Theodosia was amazed he was able to keep a straight face.
“If you have your heart set on it,” Mrs. Winkleman said, “I’ll be sure to ask Mr. Bullitt what his best price might be.”
“Please do that,” Theodosia said. “And thank you.”
* * *
* * *
Theodosia dropped Drayton off in front of his house.
“You want me to come in with you?” she asked. “Help set things straight?”
“Thank you for your kind offer, but no thank you,” Drayton said. “You may not realize this about me, but I’m a bit fussy when it comes to arranging things.”
“Noooo,” Theodosia said, a smile in her voice.
“Okay, okay, I know when I’m being humored.” Drayton got out of the car, gave her a backhand wave, and disappeared down his front walk.
Theodosia drove the few blocks to her house, resisting the temptation to take a late night drive past Donald Kingsley’s house.
Theodosia bumped down her narrow alley, parked her car in her small garage, and walked across her patio. Halfway to her back door, a tiny creature was huddled in a puddle of light. Curious, Theodosia bent down to see what it was.
It was a little bluebird, technically an Eastern bluebird. Its feathers were bedraggled and the bird seemed to be breathing heavily.
Flew into a window? Had a nasty encounter with a hawk?
Whatever the reason, it couldn’t stay out here. Some critter—a raccoon, an opossum, whatever—might come along and munch it for a snack.
Theodosia reached into her bag and pulled out a scarf. She placed it next to the little bird and gently scooped him into it. If the little bluebird was just stunned, he should recover in ten or fifteen minutes.
Once inside her kitchen, she placed the bluebird in a cardboard box and covered it with a tea towel. Earl Grey watched her with what looked like deep concern.
“It’s just a little bird that hit its head,” she told him. “Probably be good as new in a few minutes.”
Earl Grey wandered off while Theodosia brewed herself a cup of chamomile tea. She read the newspaper, puttered around her kitchen, and pretty much forgot about the box on the counter, until some fifteen minutes later when she heard the rustle of wings.
Peeking in, she saw that the bluebird had almost fully recovered.
Excellent.
She carried the box to the door, stepped outside, and pulled off the tea towel. Two seconds later the bluebird spread its wings and swooped up into a nearby magnolia tree.
Theodosia smiled to herself while silently bidding the little bird to take care.
24
Friday morning and the skies over Charleston were still a mottled gray, but the rain had receded to a slight mist. If conditions continued to improve, Theodosia figured they might see a peep of sunshine. Peep being the operative word.
Theodosia fussed about the tea shop—Haley was in the kitchen, Drayton was searching through his tea trove—happy to be setting up the tables by herself this morning. She smoothed pink place mats onto her tables and pulled out cups and saucers in Royal Albert’s Old Country Roses pattern. She figured the red roses and greenery would brighten everyone’s day. Next came glass teapot warmers, tiny votive candles, flatware, and, finally, newly filled cream pitchers and sugar bowls. It felt good to be busy as the scent of cinnamon scones, jasmine tea, and fresh oranges slowly permeated the Indigo Tea Shop.
Still, the triple murder hung heavy over Theodosia’s head. She supposed it was mostly because Angie had the most to lose and had begged her for help. And Theodosia, being a stickler for justice, for desperately wanting things to come to a logical conclusion, felt frustrated. Because that surely wasn’t happening.
Strolling up to the front counter, Theodosia said, “It’s a pity about last night, isn’t it? I figured we might be on to something.”
“A pity,” Drayton echoed. He was standing there in deep contemplation, as if he was working out a new theory for particle physics. In reality, he was trying to decide between Earl Grey and an English breakfast tea.
“What’s it going to be?” Theodosia asked. “The tea, I mean.”
“I’m thinking the Earl Grey,” Drayton said. “Haley tells me she’s baking cinnamon scones and orange tea bread this morning, so it seems like a fine match.”
“A match made in heaven.”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Is the front door locked?” Drayton asked.
“Probably not. From when I went out to grab the Post and Courier.”
There was another loud bang and then the door snicked open a few inches.
“Hello?” Theodosia said.
The door opened wider and Bill Glass marched in, slick as you please. He wore his khaki photojournalist vest, a floppy Indiana Jones hat, and a smug smile on his face. He looked like he’d just been ousted from an illegal archaeological expedition but didn’t care.
“I’m sorry, but we’re not open for business yet,” Theodosia said. She didn’t want to deal with this loutish man so early in the morning.
; Glass ignored her admonition. “I just heard the most interesting bit of news,” he said, his voice slightly teasing.
Theodosia shook her head, but Drayton’s curiosity rose up and got the best of him.
“What might that be?” Drayton asked.
“The police just released Charles Townsend,” Glass said. “Like, ten minutes ago.”
“What?” Theodosia stopped in her tracks. Stood there like Lot’s wife turned to salt. Only, unlike Lot’s wife, Theodosia was holding a teapot.
“Yup, Townsend’s a free man,” Glass said. “Free as a bird.” He fluttered his fingers and made an annoying little twittering sound as he meandered over to the counter and set down his camera. “What I heard was this—the police admitted they made a mistake with Townsend and now claim to be looking elsewhere for the hot-air balloon killer.” He poked a finger in Theodosia’s direction. “So you better watch out, tea lady, there’s still a vicious killer stalking our city.”
“How did you find out about Townsend’s release?” Drayton asked.
“I’m press,” Glass said. “It’s my job to know.”
“You’re not press,” Theodosia said. “You publish a skunky little gossip rag.”
“Which people in high places would kill to get their pictures in. Face it, honey, you’d love it if I did a feature story on you.” Glass spread his arms wide. “I can see it now. Tea shop owner helps police solve baffling murder.”
“Please stop,” Theodosia said.
“You’re upset because I hit a nerve.” Glass winked at her. “You’ve got your own covert operation going, don’t you?”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Theodosia said.
“We don’t have time for any kind of amateur investigation,” Drayton said in a haughty tone. “We’re far too involved with our tea events.”
“Yeah, right,” Glass snorted.
For Theodosia, the news about Charles Townsend being released didn’t come as good news. It meant that Harold wasn’t off the hook at all. That he might be the next one to be taken in for questioning. But maybe not released.
Poor Angie. The bail bondsman might just take her B and B as collateral after all.
Glass snapped his fingers in front of Theodosia’s face. “Hey, did you drift off to Planet X or something? How about comping me a cup of tea?”
“Drayton, why don’t you give Mr. Glass a complimentary cup of tea,” Theodosia said. “To go.”
“Aw, you don’t want me around?” Glass asked.
“Like I said, we’re awfully busy,” Theodosia said.
* * *
* * *
And they were busy. Once Bill Glass left, Haley ducked out of the kitchen, all jacked up about reviewing the menu for tomorrow’s Beaux Arts Tea.
“We’ve already agreed on the scones, salads, and lobster bisque soup,” Haley said. “But instead of serving the soup on its own, I’m thinking of adding a small accompaniment—a crostini topped with thin slices of London broil.”
“You had me at London broil,” Drayton said.
“I thought that might tweak your salivary glands,” Haley said. “Which takes us to our entrée and dessert.”
“Which we’ve already got locked down,” Theodosia said.
“And we’re still planning to serve champagne, right?” Haley asked. “Along with the tea?”
“I ordered a case of the good stuff,” Theodosia said. “Genuine methode champenoise.”
Haley turned her gaze on Drayton. “Did you remember to order champagne glasses from the party rental place?”
“All taken care of,” Drayton said. “And in my spare time, of which I have so little and you seem to have in abundance, I’ve also prepared a short talk on the beaux arts period.”
“That ought to have them rolling in the aisles,” Haley mumbled.
“Excuse me?” Drayton said.
“Nothing,” Haley said as she scooted back into the kitchen.
Drayton shook his head while Theodosia just grinned at him. “Tea?” he said. “I brewed a pot of Japanese green tea as well.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Theodosia said.
Drayton reached under the counter and grabbed a teacup and saucer. Interestingly enough, it was the Chelsea Bird pattern by Royal Albert.
“That reminds me, I rescued a bluebird last night,” Theodosia said.
“You what?”
“I found a little bluebird that had either flown into something or escaped the beak of some larger predator bird. Anyway, I brought the bird inside, let him come to his senses as he dried out, and then released him outdoors.”
“That’s almost like the story of Niao-Yu tea,” Drayton said.
“I don’t think I know that story.”
“There was an old couple in China by the name of Ch’en who made their living gathering wild tea. One day they found an injured bird. They took the bird home, nursed it back to health, and then released it. A few days later, they heard a huge chatter and discovered that thousands of birds had perched in the trees surrounding their simple dwelling. When the birds flew away, the couple found their courtyard strewn with fragrant tea leaves that the birds had left—tea of a much finer quality than they had ever seen before. In fact, the birds left so much tea they were able to sell it and start a very prosperous tea business. So Niao-Yu tea literally means Left-by-the-Birds tea.”
“And there really is a tea called Left-by-the-Birds?” Theodosia asked.
“I have a tin right here.”
“I love it.”
Drayton smiled. “Somehow I knew you would.”
* * *
* * *
Maybe it was the warmer weather and the absence of rain, or the return of a lovely spring. Whatever was swirling about the ozone this morning caused the Indigo Tea Shop to suddenly get busy.
“It’s all the tourists who are staying in the B and Bs,” Drayton said to Theodosia. He was brewing pots of Fujian silver needle as well as pots of Chinese rose congou and Assam. “Lots of new folks have hit town for the weekend and are out and about exploring. Thank goodness the weather is much improved.” He tapped an index finger against a blue-and-white teapot. “Theo, this Kertasarie Estate tea is for table six. But kindly take care. It’s a tricky Indonesian black tea that requires an honest five minutes to steep.”
Theodosia poured tea, ferried scones and tea bread, answered questions about teas versus tisanes (yes, all the Indigo Tea Shop’s tisanes were caffeine free and made from fruits, flowers, and herbs). She also delivered extra pots of jam and Devonshire cream. When eleven thirty rolled around, they were hit with a new influx of customers—the luncheon crowd.
“I do believe we’re going to make up for all the business we didn’t have this past week,” Theodosia said to Drayton.
“I hear you,” he said. “But all in one day?” He was manning the phones and writing down take-out orders while he brewed and timed out pots of tea.
Thank goodness Haley’s luncheon offerings were simple to serve. She’d prepared shrimp salad, hearty vegetable soup, grilled cheese sandwiches with apple and arugula, and something she called a scone slider.
“What’s a scone slider?” Theodosia asked Haley as she picked up two soup orders.
“It’s a Cheddar cheese scone stuffed with ham, white Cheddar, and honey mustard,” Haley said.
“Did you just make that up?”
Haley gave her a shy glance. “Yeah. You like it?”
“I’m in awe.”
Just when all the tables were occupied, when a bright-yellow horse-drawn jitney delivered yet another load of tourists to their front door, Delaine showed up.
She cut through the waiting crowd like the Titanic rushing to meet its destiny. Only instead of being shrouded in gray steel, she wore a perky pink jacket with white slacks.
; “The-o-do-sia!” Delaine called out. “I don’t need a table today but I am going to need two take-out lunches. Like, right away s’il vous plaît.”
Theodosia had a teapot clutched in one hand and a tray full of luncheon salads balanced against one hip. “Talk to Drayton at the front counter. All take-out orders are going through Drayton today.”
Delaine eyed the salads. “What are those yummy things? Shrimp salads? That’s what I want.”
“Talk to Drayton.”
Theodosia delivered the salads, poured fresh cups of tea, and circled back to the front counter. “I take it you and Janine are eating in today?” she said to Delaine. Janine was Delaine’s long-suffering assistant at Cotton Duck.
Delaine shook her head, causing her dangly diamond earrings to gently swish against her cheeks. “No, Janine’s on vacation this week. Gone to visit her sister over in Walterboro.” She wrinkled her nose. “Some nasty business about having a bunion removed.” Then she brightened. “As luck would have it, my niece is in town visiting me. Well, actually, I’m hoping she’ll stay on a while. I can always use extra help on the sales floor.”
“That sounds great, Delaine,” Theodosia said. She glanced at the front door where six people were waiting.
“Do you think I could bring her to the Beaux Arts Tea tomorrow? My niece, I mean?”
“Absolutely,” Theodosia said, heading for the crowd at the front door, hoping to placate them. She called over her shoulder, “Tomorrow we’ll have plenty of extra room.”
But things have a way of working out and by one thirty, life at the Indigo Tea Shop had settled down. The tables were still filled to capacity, but the take-out orders had stopped flooding in and there weren’t any more Nervous Nellies waiting at the front door.
“You hanging in there?” Theodosia asked Drayton. His bow tie was crooked and he looked as if he’d just run a half marathon.
“I think so. But, my goodness, that was a trial,” Drayton sighed.
“That’s what you said about your photo shoot yesterday.”
“Did I? Hmm, I don’t recall saying that.”
