by Laura Childs
And they were off and running.
Theodosia and Miss Dimple brought out the scones, Drayton poured tea and worked the tables like a pro, and Haley remained in the kitchen, tossing the salad and then plating it just so.
By the time the salad and lobster bisque had been served, Theodosia knew she had a hit on her hands. “We’re golden,” she told Drayton. “Everything is going beautifully.”
“But have you figured out who our secret sipper is?” Drayton asked. “Perhaps the blond in the beehive fascinator?”
“I’ll make the rounds and chat with our guests. See if I can figure it out.”
“Will you be doing a super fancy tea like this every year?” her friend Bonnie Tracy asked as Theodosia approached her table.
“How about holding a fancy autumn tea here?” another friend inquired.
“Oh, but Theodosia should host a holiday tea,” said Mrs. Pomeroy, another one of her regulars.
“But we adore going to the Indigo Tea Shop,” Jill Biatek put in. “That’s what my daughter Kristen and I love best. It’s such a charming, cozy place.”
“Not to worry,” Theodosia assured them. “We’re always going to have special tea events at the Indigo Tea Shop. Probably one or two a week.”
That seemed to make all their guests happy. But she still hadn’t spotted their secret sipper. Hmm.
30
Theodosia hurried into the kitchen to give Haley an update. “Our guests are absolutely stark raving delighted with your food,” Theodosia said. “You should probably come out and take a bow.”
“You take a bow,” Haley said as she continued working. “I’ve got to scoop my chocolate mousse into crystal bowls and accent them with cookies and candied flowers.” She glanced up from the stove. “Have you told our guests what we’re serving for dessert?”
“Not yet. I thought we’d leave it as a surprise.”
“Works for me.”
Out in the main dining room, Drayton and Miss Dimple were pouring rounds of gingerbread orange tea, a special dessert tea, as well as one of Drayton’s famous house blends.
“As you know,” Drayton said, his voice rising in an almost oratorical manner, “the beaux arts style is closely associated with the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. This style of classicism mixed with opulence prevailed in Paris in the late nineteenth century and quickly spread throughout Europe and America. The ornateness combined with delicate balance became a founding principal in architecture, gardens and landscaping, painting, and home décor.”
That was Theodosia’s cue to enter the dining room bearing an enormous silver tray.
“Which is why,” Theodosia said, as heads turned her way, “our Beaux Arts Tea dessert consists of a classic chocolate mousse, a special sugar cookie, and candied edible flowers.” She tilted her tray carefully for everyone to see. “Now I ask you, could there be anything more elegant, decadent, and rich than this?”
Needless to say, dessert proved to be an enormous success. Spoons scraped the bottoms of parfait bowls and a few cookies were wrapped in foil and deposited in fancy handbags to be taken home for later.
Delaine grabbed Theodosia’s arm just as she swung past her, pouring a final refill of tea. “This was just spectacular,” Delaine purred. “And I absolutely adore this venue.”
“It’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?” Theodosia said.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “This is the kind of place a girl could get married in.”
“How’s that going by the way?” Theodosia wondered if Delaine was still head over teakettle for Tod Slawson. “Are you still dreaming of a future with Tod?” Who I still think of as a sort of suspect.
“Maybe.” Delaine frowned. “The funny thing is, sometimes when you get what you want, you don’t want it anymore.”
Really, Delaine?
Theodosia patted Delaine gently on the shoulder and said, “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
* * *
* * *
Once the guests had departed, once the tables were cleared and the dishes either stacked in the dishwasher or handwashed by Miss Dimple, Drayton collapsed in an easy chair in the Portman Mansion’s cozy library.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Drayton said. “One of these days you’re going to have to find yourself a younger man.”
“I already have.” Theodosia smiled.
Drayton rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. To work in the tea shop. To help you host major events.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, you were the Energizer Bunny today. You ran around all morning and afternoon, decorating, greeting guests, pouring tea, serving any number of courses, and still found time to answer a million miscellaneous questions about tea and tea brewing. Your energy level was heroic.”
“Yes, but . . .” Drayton looked past Theodosia. “Say now, what lovely treat do we have here?”
Haley and Miss Dimple walked into the library. Both were grinning from ear to ear and Haley was holding a tray with four champagne flutes filled to the brim with golden champagne.
“I thought we deserved this,” Haley said. “A post-party pick-me-up.”
“A dram of bubbly to celebrate our success,” Drayton said, brightening immediately. “Good thing we had some champagne left over.”
“Good thing Theodosia stashed an extra bottle in the vegetable drawer,” Haley said.
They each took a glass of champagne and held it up.
“What are we toasting?” Miss Dimple asked.
“Good spirits,” Haley said.
Theodosia smiled. “Good friends.”
“And may the angels protect us and heaven accept us,” Drayton said.
They clinked their glasses together and took a sip.
“My, that’s delicious,” Miss Dimple said. “And quite bracing I might add.” Which gave them all a giggle.
Theodosia was gathering up the linen napkins and tablecloths, when her cell phone made a musical riff from inside her apron pocket. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and smiled. Woody Hovel, the photographer, had e-mailed her the photos from Drayton’s photo shoot.
“Guess what just popped up on my phone,” Theodosia said as she walked into the library where Drayton was flipping through a book on Charleston’s maritime heritage.
He looked up. “Someone called to complain?”
“Hardly. Your photos arrived.” She started thumbing through them, perusing the first few shots. And did they ever look good.
“I’m afraid to ask,” Drayton said. “But how did they turn out?”
“Are you kidding?” Theodosia said, still flipping through them. “Most of these shots are spectacular.”
“Truly?” Drayton sounded as if he didn’t believe her.
“Come on, you know how gorgeous your house is. Now all the readers of Southern Interiors Magazine will be swept off their feet by it, too. Here.” Theodosia passed her phone to Drayton. “See for yourself.”
Drayton scanned a few of the photos, his mouth working silently. Was it approval? Disapproval? “These are actually quite decent,” he said finally. “There are a couple of shots here that show off the fireplace and the seascape hanging above it to perfection.”
“See? I told you the photo shoot was going to turn out great,” Theodosia said. “Take a look at some of the other photos.” She showed Drayton how to scroll through the photos.
Drayton scrolled along gingerly, making random comments as he went along. “Yes, yes, I like that. Oh dear, that one’s not quite perfect. But look here, this one is lovely.”
“Take a look at the dining room shots,” Theodosia said.
Drayton touched a finger to the screen and nothing happened. “Here, you find them for me,” he said. “I’m all fumble fingers with this thing.”
Theodosia took back her iPhon
e and scrolled to the dining room shots. She passed the phone back to him. “See how fabulous it looks? Your Limoges on the table, the candles flickering, the crystal chandelier overhead . . .”
“It does look moody and elegant,” he said.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about. Almost any of these shots will work well in a magazine layout.”
“What’s this?” Drayton asked. His index finger tapped the edge of the screen.
“What’s what?”
“On the dining room window just to the left of the curtains. There’s some sort of fuzzy blur. Drat. That would have been a lovely photo.”
“Let me see,” Theodosia said. She took back the phone and studied the shot. Then she pinched it with her fingers to enlarge it.
“I didn’t know you could do that with a picture,” Drayton said. “Now do you see that strange blur? Do you think it can be removed? Not airbrushed—I know that’s old school. But what do they call that digital technique . . . you photo-shape it?”
“Photoshop. But, what you’re seeing isn’t a blur. It looks more like . . .” Theodosia sucked in a glut of air and then released it slowly.
“What?” Drayton asked. “Problem?”
“You’re going to think I’m absolutely bonkers, but it looks like a face. Like someone was standing outside your house and pressing their face tight against the window so they could look in.”
“Who would do that?”
“Someone who’s extremely curious,” Theodosia said. Or someone who meant to harm us?
“Whose face could it be?” Drayton asked again.
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell with an image this small.”
“Can you enlarge it some more?”
“Let me see what I can do.” Theodosia fussed with the image, touching the screen and trying to expand it a little more. “Is that any better?” She passed her phone to Drayton.
Drayton studied it. “Not really.” Then, “Well, it does kind of look like a woman.”
“Let me see again.”
“Do you think it could be Tawney?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia shook her head. She didn’t think so. She just hoped it wasn’t Angie Congdon.
“This is weird,” Drayton said. “In fact, it gives me chills to know that someone was standing outside and watching us.”
“If we really want to enhance this photo, we’re going to have to go to the Indigo Tea Shop and punch this image up on my iMac.”
Drayton frowned. “That does seem like a bother.”
But Theodosia’s mind was humming and alarm bells were starting to clang.
“No, Drayton, I think we should take a closer look. I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”
“Good funny or bad funny?” Drayton asked. Then he suddenly turned serious himself. “Wait just one minute. Is this the ghostly presence Madame Poporov talked about?”
“I don’t know, Drayton. That’s what we need to find out.”
31
Though the café part of the Indigo Tea Shop was dark, a light burned in the back office where Theodosia and Drayton sat staring at her computer. Theodosia had enlarged the face in the window as much as she possibly could while leaving the image still readable.
“It’s still awfully blurry,” Drayton said.
“Maybe I enlarged it too much,” Theodosia said. “Let me try to tighten it up.” She manipulated the image using her mouse. “Okay, there. Jeepers, look at the ears. Could that be Earl Bullitt?”
Drayton stared at the slightly reduced image. “I was thinking it might be Tawney Kingsley because it kind of looks like her hair. If it is her, then she was lying through her teeth to you this morning, trying to sucker you in.”
“That would point to Tawney being the killer then,” Theodosia said. “It would mean that she murdered her own husband as well as two innocent passengers on that hot-air balloon. But . . .” Theodosia was seriously flummoxed. “It would also mean that Tawney lied quite skillfully to Tidwell. Because after all was said and done this morning, I got the feeling he believed her.”
“Tawney might have wrapped him around her little finger,” Drayton said. He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Of course, the image is not all that distinct. It could be someone else.”
Theodosia worried her upper teeth against her lower lip. “Maybe you should just come out and say it.”
“Okay, I will. That could also be Angie Congdon’s face. If she’s utterly desperate, if she’s covering up for Harold . . . then she’s probably looking for some way to get him off the hook.”
“What if it’s a man wearing some type of disguise?” Theodosia asked. “Then it really could be Earl Bullitt or Tod Slawson wearing some kind of head covering.”
“That would be strange,” Drayton said, “but not out of the question. Especially if someone was desperate to keep a keen eye on us.”
“Because we’ve been investigating,” Theodosia said slowly.
“Poking our nose in,” Drayton said. “Where it doesn’t belong. A lot of people know we’ve been involved.”
“There’s another person who’s squarely in the mix as well.”
Drayton looked at her, puzzled. “Who’s that?”
“Brooklyn Vance,” Theodosia said.
“That lovely museum lady?” Drayton touched a finger to his bow tie. “How could you say such a thing?”
“Because that lovely museum lady was also trying to get her hands on the Navy Jack flag.”
They both peered at the face on the screen, trying to fathom who it might be. Finally, after squinting so hard her eyes felt scratchy, Theodosia said, “You know, this really could be Brooklyn.”
“Hmm.” Drayton leaned back in his chair and stared straight ahead, as if the microprocessor in his brain had started to click away on something.
“Was that a good hmm or a bad hmm?” Theodosia asked. She didn’t know if Drayton had discounted her statement or was weighing it carefully.
Finally, Drayton said, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“As do I,” Theodosia said.
“It would be an impossible long shot . . .”
“But long shots sometimes come in first . . .”
“Yes, they do,” Drayton said. “So it might be . . . it could be . . . Brooklyn.”
“But we’d have to be absolutely sure before we pointed a finger or made any accusations against her.”
Drayton gave Theodosia a cryptic look. “How would we go about checking her story?”
“Brooklyn claimed to be the daughter of Colonel Joshua Vance, am I right?”
“She did,” Drayton said. “Though Colonel Vance has an absolute sterling reputation.”
“Good for him. Let’s give him a call.”
“Right now? I really hate to disturb the man,” Drayton said.
“Drayton, we have to call him. If we’re suspicious of Brooklyn—and it looks as though we’re together on this—then we have to know for sure!”
“How would we go about finding his number?”
“Internet,” Theodosia said. “The stalker’s best friend.”
A few clicks later and they’d found Colonel Joshua Vance’s phone number.
“What am I supposed to ask him?” Drayton hissed as he dialed the number. He wasn’t just hesitant, he had developed seriously cold feet.
“Tell Colonel Vance that you’re trying to get hold of his daughter. Say it’s an emergency. Um . . . concerning a piece of artwork at the museum she works for in Wilmington.”
“That could work,” Drayton said.
Theodosia listened with bated breath as Drayton introduced himself, gave a fast little spiel about art at the Heritage Society, and then asked about Brooklyn Vance. Drayton listened for a few more moments, thanked the Colonel profusely, apologized fo
r disturbing him, and hung up.
“Well?” Theodosia asked. She was hanging on pins and needles.
Drayton’s face registered shock as he stared at her. “There is no daughter.”
“I knew it!” Theodosia whooped. “I’ll bet there’s no Keystone Museum, either.”
“We have to be absolutely sure about that. There could be another family named Vance, after all.”
“Doubtful,” Theodosia said. “But let’s check.” She googled Keystone Museum in Wilmington, North Carolina. And found nothing. Tried to locate a website. Again, nothing came up.
“Nothing at all?” Drayton asked.
“Nada.”
“Maybe because the museum hasn’t opened yet?”
“But something should have popped up. It would have been written about in the local papers. A new museum is a really big deal. Someone would have reported on it.”
“You’d think so,” Drayton said.
“Wait a minute. Brooklyn gave me her business card,” Theodosia said.
“Do you still have it?”
Theodosia dug into her wallet. “Yes, here it is.”
“Dial the number,” Drayton said. “See who answers.”
Theodosia dialed and listened while it rang. Maybe Brooklyn is on the up and up after all?
The phone picked up on the other end.
“Napoli Pizza.”
Theodosia hung up the phone. “Napoli Pizza,” she said. Her voice felt hollow to her own ears.
“So the number’s a fake.” Drayton’s eyes burned into hers.
“She’s a sham and so is her story.” Theodosia wasn’t sure if she was feeling anger or a strange relief that the murder mystery was partially solved.
“So what now?” Drayton was looking for Theodosia to take the lead.
But Theodosia wasn’t sure what their next step should be. “Do you think we have enough evidence to call Detective Tidwell?”
