Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13 (3 page)

“But Parker could swim,” Theodosia told Tidwell. “So why wouldn’t he just kick his way to the surface?” She thought about all the sailing Parker had done, theboogie-boarding he’d enjoyed at his favorite beaches on Hilton Head. “He wasn’t afraid of the water.”

“Again,” said Tidwell, “the initial theory is that the deceased, obviously tangled and somewhat disoriented in the net, banged his head against the protein skimmer. Of course, the ME will have to render a definitive answer.” He paused, a look of regret on his broad, pudgy face. “Perhaps your friend’s fall was caused by a brain aneurysm or cardiac incident? It’s rare in someone so young, but it happens. Again, the ME will—”

“Did you look at his hands?” Theodosia asked. “They were completely cut up!”

“And did you see the enormous coral reef inside that tank?” Tidwell asked, but in a kinder, gentler tone. “I don’t doubt the deceased struggled mightily and gashed his hands rather badly against the sharp coral.”

Theodosia digested this information for a few moments. “I suppose he could have. Still…”

“All in all,” said Tidwell, “a terrible wayto—”

“Please don’t call him
the deceased
,” said Theodosia.

“What do you want me to call him?”

“He was…Parker.”

Tidwell peered at her. “Tell me, if you can, what do you
suppose Parker Scully was doing up there? Climbing on the catwalk that stretched across the aquarium tank?” Tidwell had put his investigator’s hat back on.

“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. It was true. She didn’t have a clue. How could she?

“You didn’t have words with him?”

Theodosia was stunned. “No! I never even saw him tonight!”

“But you knew he was present,” said Tidwell.

“I
surmised
he’d be here,” said Theodosia. “I knew that Solstice was one of the caterers. They were, um, doing appetizers and small plates. Tuna tartare and spring rolls.” What was she doing? she suddenly wondered. A recitation of the menu? Surely, her overtaxed brain was spitting up information that was decidedly unhelpful. Better stick to the subject.

“And you didn’t have any sort of disagreement with him?” Tidwell asked.

Theodosia jerked as if a hot coal had been pressed against her flesh. “No!”

“Oldboyfriend-girlfriend issues?” Tidwell prodded.

“What are you implying?” Theodosia asked. She didn’t like his line of questioning. Not one bit.

“I bring this up,” said Tidwell, “only because someone mentioned seeing the two of you together.

Theodosia practically bared her teeth. “Who said that?”

Tidwell drew back from her. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

Theodosia stared into
the mirror and saw a crazy woman staring back at her. Quickly bending forward, she splashed cool water on her face and blotted herself with a paper towel. Then she dug in her clutch purse for a comb and a tissue, patted down her hair, and blew her nose.

There. Better? No, not really. Not by a long shot.

As she exited the ladies’ room, she wheeled left and ransmack-dab into Chef Toby Crisp, Parker’s friend and executive chef. At which point they pretty much collapsed against each other.

“How could this happen?” Chef Toby cried. The sorrow on his plump and usually garrulous face was palpable. “I was just talking to Drayton and he…” His face crumpled. “Well, he said you were there.”

“I was,” said Theodosia. “It was awful.”

“He drowned,” said Chef Toby, shaking his head, brushing away tears. “In that big tank.”

“Apparently,” said Theodosia.

Chef Toby stared at her. “How could he have drowned?” he asked, his voice practically a growl.

Theodosia gazed at him through a veil of tears. “You think that’s strange, too?”

“Yes, I do,” said Chef Toby. “Sure. I mean Parker pretty much grew up on Hilton Head, something like a mile from Sunset Beach. He surfed, he did boogie boards; Parker even took dive lessons. He was
certified
, for gosh sake.”

“You’re thinking Parker didn’t just fall into that tank and drown,” said Theodosia. She was believing this more and more. Trying to convince herself of what really might have happened? Yes, probably.

Chef Toby scratched at his curly sideburns. “It just doesn’t seem in character that Parker would launch into afull-blown panic, even if he was wrapped in a net. Seems like he’d just…”

“Kick,” said Theodosia. “He would have just kicked his way to the surface.”

“You’d think so.”

“Unless someone held him under,” said Theodosia.

“Huh?” Chef Toby looked surprised. “What are you saying?”

“Parker’s hands were all cut up,” she told him. “I saw him. I looked at the body just before the rescue guys took him away.”

Chef Toby looked confused. “You mean like he cut himself trying to climb out?”

“More like he was fighting with someone and got…” She took a deep breath. “Got stabbed.”

Chef Toby waggled his hands in a questioning gesture. “You mean…murdered?”

She nodded. “Something like that.”
Exactly like that.

“And you talked to the police about this?”

“Yes, but they don’t seem all that interested in my theories right now,” said Theodosia. Even though she felt angry
and frustrated, she fought to keep any note of hysteria out of her voice.

Chef Toby stood there frowning, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white jacket, his chef’s hat canted at a crazy angle atop his head. “Is there somebody else we can get to pursue this? Like a lawyer or something?”

Or me
, thought Theodosia.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“But why?
Who?
” Chef Toby cleared his throat. “That’s the better question. Who would push him in, or push him under?”

“That’s the real question,” said Theodosia.

“You really think… ?”

“Possible.”
Probable.

Chef Toby was having trouble wrapping his mind around it. “So what would prompt… ?”

“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. Her mind whirred in a million directions. But she knew if she was going to find an answer, Chef Toby was as good a place as any to start. “What was going on in Parker’s life?” Theodosia asked. “Recently.”

“You mean businesswise?” said Chef Toby. “Or with his personal life?”

“Let’s start with business,” said Theodosia. She decided that looking in that direction might offer the most possibilities.

Chef Toby let loose a deep sigh. “Parker was mostly negotiating to buy a second restaurant.”

“The one in Savannah,” said Theodosia. She was aware that Parker had been working on that for some time.

Chef Toby shook his head. “No, no, that fell through a while back.”

“Really?” This was news to Theodosia. “Why?”

Chef Toby grimaced. “I don’t know the exact details. But I did hear there were some scary guys involved in that deal.”

That remark sparked Theodosia’s curiosity enough to lead
to another impertinent but necessary question, “Scary enough to commit murder?”

Chef Toby considered her words. “I don’t know. I never met them.”

“Do you know who they are? Do you know their names?”

“Yes, but that’s about it. All the negotiating was happening out of town and Parker was planning to hire a different executive chef, so I didn’t pay all that much attention.”

Theodosia thought for a moment. Was this something she should tell Tidwell? Or would he think she was too emotionally involved and simply trying to send him on a fool’s errand? She let those questions percolate in her brain for a few moments. Finally, an answer bubbled up. Yeah, probably, Tidwell would think she was grasping at straws. Tidwell was a bearish old boy who, like so many men, was a little distrustful of female emotions and intuition. So he’d probably listen politely, then blow her off. So…back to square one. What to do?

“Can I take a look in Parker’s office?” Theodosia asked.

Chef Toby stared at her, then said, “You realize, if the police
do
suspect foul play, they’ll probably start combing through his office first thing tomorrow.”

“That’s why I want to look now. Tonight.”

“Seriously?”

Theodosia gave a tight nod.

Chef Toby gave it about three seconds of consideration. “Okay, but…don’t tell anybody, okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Theodosia!” She turned. Drayton was striding down the hall toward them. “You’re ready to leave now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to give Chef Toby a ride home and then go home myself.” She offered a thin smile. “You can ride with Haley?”

“Of course,” said Drayton. He shook hands with Chef
Toby, then gave him a pat on the back. “Sorry, just so sorry,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Thank you,” said Chef Toby.

Drayton focused his gaze on Theodosia. “Just crawl into bed and sip a cup of chamomile tea,” he advised. “Try to soothe your mind.”

“Good advice,” she told him.

But when the
two of them tiptoed through the back door of Solstice some twenty minutes later, wild thoughts still whirled in Theodosia’s head.

“This way,” said Chef Toby. He clicked on a light above the large gas stove and led her through the narrow kitchen. They passed the walk-in cooler and a storage room, then turned into Parker’s small office. Chef Toby shuffled across the carpet, then turned on a light. A puddle of yellow spilled from the small brass lamp that sat on Parker’s desk. “Okay. Here we are.” He sounded a little unsure, as if they were suddenly trespassing.

Theodosia had been in Parker’s office any number of times. But not for the last couple of months. She stood, hesitant, wondering where to look, trying to figure out what she was looking for. A clue? Something to point her in the right direction, to give her a hint of a possible suspect? Theodosia made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Chef Toby nodded.

“I suppose I should just look around.” Theodosia stood there, her eyes roving the small office, seeing posters, menus tacked on the wall, an old metal restaurant sign that said
CRAWDADS SERVED HERE
.

“Maybe start with his desk?” Chef Toby suggested.

Theodosia plunked herself down in Parker’s chair. She pulled open the top drawer and found the usual mishmash of
guy clutter. Pens, stamps, ahalf-eaten Snickers bar, business cards, loose change, ticket stubs for a Stingrays game last winter.

“Who’s going to run the restaurant now?” Chef Toby wondered.

Theodosia looked up. “I don’t know? Parker’s brother?” Parker’s brother, Charles Scully, lived right here in Charleston, somewhere over near Meeting and Broad. She figured he was probably the heir or beneficiary or whatever the legal descriptor was.

Theodosia pulled open the rest of the drawers. Nothing. An old Sony Walkman, a pocketknife, half-used yellow legal pads, and two blue plastic binders, which proved to be empty.

The top of Parker’s desk was fairly neat. Pen and pencil set. A few stray papers, mostly supplier invoices. A sign that said I
F YOU WANT TO MAKE A MILLION, START WITH $900, 000
. And afour-year-old iMac computer.

Theodosia tapped a finger against the keyboard. “Did he use this much?”

Chef Toby shook his head. “Hardly ever. He was a jot-it-down-on-paper kind of guy.”

“My impression, too.” Theodosia spun the chair around, almost knocking her knees against an old green metalfour-drawer file cabinet. Testing the top drawer, she found it was locked.

“Do you have a key to this file cabinet?”

“No. I didn’t even know it was locked.”

“He didn’t usually lock it?”

Chef Toby looked thoughtful. “Parker was a pretty trusting guy. The only thing he was extremely mindful about was the cooler. We serve a lot of seafood here, and you know how expensive that stuff is. Costs an arm and a leg these days. So he was always telling us to keep it locked. In any restaurant there’s always a bit of what you’d call…lateral transfer.” He sighed. “But the file cabinet…I’ve got no idea.”

Theodosia considered this. Maybe, if she could tiptoe through Parker’s files, there might be some little nit or nat that would point her in the right direction. Maybe. That was, if she wasn’t making a mountain out of a molehill. If Parker really
had
just fallen into that enormous fish tank and drowned.

Her eyes roved across the top of his desk and landed on a ceramic mug with a pinched face sculpted into the side, the kind of mug amateur potters sell at street fairs. She reached out, tipped over the mug, and was shocked when she detected a tinkle of metal against clay and an actual key slid out into her hand. But closer inspection revealed that it was a large brass key, way too large to fit the lock on the file cabinet.

“Back to square one,” Theodosia sighed.

“Got an idea,” said Chef Toby. He grabbed a metal letter opener off the desk and stuck the tip of it into the lock. Then he proceeded to wiggle it back and forth, very gently.

“If you do that, if you force the lock or leave marks, the police are going to know we broke in here,” Theodosia told him. Part of her wanted the file cabinet open; part of her feared they might be tampering with evidence. Which was never a good thing in the eyes of Detective Tidwell. “So maybe you should…be careful.”