Read Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) Online
Authors: Laura Childs
Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (18 page)
And how did any of that relate to Drew’s murder? In this case, was
Follow the drugs
a far better maxim? Is that where the real story was? Theodosia made a mental note to try to contact Tanya again. Maybe there was more information to be had from her. She also needed to get Carl Van Deusen alone. Maybe then he could answer her questions honestly. Other than that, she had nothing. Maybe this conversation with Burgoyne really was a dead end. It had initially felt productive but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Thank you for your time.” Theodosia stood up abruptly and reached out to shake Burgoyne’s hand for a second time. “I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Burgoyne said as she turned and started for the door. “Happy to help—if I really did.”
Then Theodosia saw them, on the wall opposite Drew’s artwork, propped up in the corner. Golf clubs.
“Mr. Burgoyne, do you play golf?” Theodosia turned to ask.
Burgoyne bobbed his head. “I’m certainly not very good, but I have to admit—I find supreme pleasure in chasing a little white ball around on weekends.”
“May I ask where you play?” said Theodosia. Except, deep down, she knew the answer before he said it.
Burgoyne gave her a benevolent smile. “I just got a membership at Plantation Wilds.”
• • •
Theodosia called Tanya
and left a message, asking her to return the call. She was pretty sure the model would ignore her. But no matter. She’d try again later. And keep trying for as long as it took.
Carl Van Deusen was another matter. If she stopped by Smalley’s Bistro, she could probably catch him before the restaurant fired up for the evening.
She checked her watch and decided now was as good a time as any. It was past four o’clock, and if she took the long way down the harbor, she could pretend that Smalley’s was on her way home. It was such a beautiful day, the drive would be worth the effort.
Turning right onto Concord, Theodosia could see that the Fort Sumter Ferry was returning to its launch just up from the Maritime Center. A blaring foghorn announced the boat’s arrival into port.
As she turned onto Calhoun Street, she passed by the Charleston County Library with its impressive front of white pillars. The library was an excellent example of the Greek Revival style so prevalent in Charleston. Just past the library, Theodosia turned onto Anson Street and idly wondered if Sheriff Anson might be a descendant of the street’s namesake. What, she wondered, did Sheriff Anson think of Jordan and Pandora Knight’s contract with Tanaka? Did he even know about it?
Traffic was a series of stops and starts, so she didn’t arrive at Smalley’s until almost five. Evidently the dinner rush hadn’t started yet because only a handful of cars shared space in the bistro’s parking lot.
Removing her sunglasses, Theodosia entered Smalley’s Bistro. She was instantly bombarded with the wonderful aromas of freshly baked dill bread, corn muffins, and grilled fish. Her stomach growled in anticipation, but she ignored it. She had business here.
The maître d’, her nemesis from a few days earlier, was standing at the copperplated host stand leading to the dining room. He was talking intently into the ear of one of the female servers. The server was listening, but seemed more than a little anxious to get away from a man who stood just a little too close for professional conversation.
Theodosia stood patiently a few feet in front of the pair, waiting to catch their attention.
The server finally nodded her assent and quickly made her getaway into the dining room. The maître d’, whose name Theodosia remembered as Philip Rusk, made a couple of notes in a notebook. Then he lifted his eyes and gave her a radiant smile. “Good evening,” he purred. “Welcome to Smalley’s. Do you have a reservation?”
“No,” Theodosia admitted. “I’m not here for dinner. I’d like to speak with one of your employees.”
Instantly, the smooth talk was over and Rusk quickly discarded his smile and all manner of decorum. He pulled himself up to his full height, probably a little over six feet, and stared down his nose at Theodosia. His diction became clipped as he said, “We are just about ready to welcome our dinner guests. I’m afraid we do not have time for anyone to entertain idle chitchat with our staff.”
Theodosia groaned inwardly. This guy was beyond rude. He was just plain nasty.
“You don’t even know who I want to speak to,” Theodosia replied, her anger barely in check. She could feel her face flush as she fought to control her temper.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Rusk. “Please contact our employee when he or she is not at work.”
“But you’re not even busy at the moment,” Theodosia began.
Rusk sighed deeply and a little lightning bolt of a blood vessel began to pulse in his forehead.
“Before we reach an impasse here,” said Theodosia, “maybe you could tell me if Carl Van Deusen is working tonight?”
Rusk studied her and rocked back on his heels. “Is that who you wish to speak with?” His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “You realize Mr. Van Deusen is a suspect in a murder case? The police have already been here asking questions.”
“He’s actually a witness, not a suspect,” Theodosia replied. “Really, I just want to talk to him. A couple of minutes—what can it hurt?”
“You want to ask him some questions, too?” said Rusk. “About the investigation?”
“I . . . yes, I do,” said Theodosia.
Rusk smirked. “And just who do you think you are—Angela Lansbury?”
“Look,” said Theodosia. “I’d love to hang around here and trade witty repartees with you. But all I want to know is—is Van Deusen here?”
“No,” said Rusk. “No, he is not.”
The party at
Oak Hill Winery wasn’t as elegant as the one orchestrated at Knighthall Winery, but it made up for it with casual charm. Dozens of picnic tables were arranged on the grassy lawn that surrounded the winery’s production center. Inside a large open-sided shelter, wide planks had been laid across oak barrels to serve as a rustic, temporary bar.
And what a bar it was! Oak Hill Winery had seemingly turned out ten different wines—five red, four white, and one sparkling—and they were all lined up and available for tasting tonight. And if that wasn’t enough, two men in aprons and tall white chef’s hats were manning an enormous outdoor grill, where chicken, ribs, and miniature shish-kabobs sizzled and snapped over open flames.
The first thing Drayton said, when he saw the guests, grill, picnic tables, and country-western band, was, “I think I’m overdressed.”
“Nonsense,” said Theodosia. She patted his arm. “You look perfectly fine.” Drayton was, of course, wearing a beige linen jacket, bow tie, and tan slacks.
“Do you think I should ditch the tie?”
“I think you should stop worrying so much,” said Theodosia as she tugged at his elbow and pulled him into the fray. They wove their way through a group of energetic dancers and headed for the wine bar.
Two glasses of wine and he’ll relax. Well, maybe three.
“What would you like to taste first?” asked the bartender. He had curly dark hair and his face was flushed pink. Probably from imbibing in his own offerings.
“How about we start with the white wine?” Drayton suggested.
“Fine with me,” said Theodosia.
“This is our White Shadow,” said the bartender, holding up a bottle. “Crisp and light with a hint of apple and citrus.” He poured out two small servings with a flourish. “I think you’re going to like it.”
Theodosia and Drayton both sipped gingerly.
“I do like it,” said Theodosia.
“Very refreshing,” Drayton pronounced as he swirled his glass to oxygenate the wine even more.
“A full pour then?” said the bartender.
“Please,” said Drayton.
They sipped their wine as they strolled the grounds. Colored lights twinkled in stands of oak and palmettos. Small fire pits had been set up with three or four chairs snugged around each one, perfect for conversation. The mood of the party was languid and casual. People laughed, smoke wafted enticingly, a few young women strolled barefoot, and a tricolor collie dog wandered the grounds.
After they’d sampled their wine and nibbled a steak and onion shish-kabob, Drayton was all set to head back to the bar and sample one of Oak Hill’s red wines.
“Red wines are really my favorite,” he confided to Theodosia as they sauntered along. “I consider white wines more of . . . an appetizer.”
“Did you know that there is actually wine-flavored tea?”
“Now that sounds a little too strange,” said Drayton.
“But it’s true,” said Theodosia. “Crispin’s Tea makes one. And there are all sorts of recipes for wine-flavored tea popping up on the Internet.”
“Just please don’t serve it to me. I prefer to keep my tea and wine worlds quite separate.”
But just as they set out for the bar, who should they run into but Tom Grady!
“Mr. Grady!” said Theodosia. She was surprised to see him here but knew she shouldn’t be. Hadn’t Grady made mention of the fact that he might be looking for another job? Sure he had. Of course he had. Now she also knew for sure how Georgette Kroft had known she was looking into things. Grady had simply told her.
Theodosia made hasty introductions.
“Ah,” said Drayton. “You’re not about to jump ship, are you?” He was making a joke, but his words seemed to make Grady more than a little uncomfortable.
“It’s a small world,” said Grady. “The winery world is anyway. There aren’t that many around here.”
“I understand there are a couple more wineries just north of here,” said Theodosia. She was trying to be polite and maybe drag a few tidbits of information out of this fairly reticent man. Because, face it, she was curious and a little suspicious of Grady. Was he thinking of accepting a job at Oak Hill, or was he running away from his job at Knighthall?
“Ayuh,” said Grady. “There are a couple more wineries in the area. Maybe you’ve heard of Spring Grove Winery and Chesterfield Cellars?”
“How are they doing?” Theodosia asked. She thought about Timothy Neville’s dire remark that barely half of the upstart wineries had managed to survive.
Grady held out his hand and made a seesawing motion. Obviously, he knew the score, too.
“But Georgette seems to be doing fine,” said Theodosia. “Better than fine. She confided to me that she has distribution in several states.”
“That’s true,” said Grady. “She’s doing well and has developed a real cult following for her sparkling wines.”
Drayton was watching Grady intently. “So are you simply checking out the competition? Or are you getting ready to jump ship?”
Grady cast his eyes downward and did everything but dig his toe into the sand. Finally he said, “Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been in talks with Georgette about coming on board here as her manager.”
“What about Knighthall Winery?” asked Drayton.
“It’s getting awfully depressing over there,” said Grady. “Jordan just hasn’t been the same for the last half a year. And now with Drew . . . well, it feels like everyone’s just thrown in the towel.”
“You realize,” said Drayton, “it takes time to build a business.”
“Five years is a long time,” said Grady. “Long enough for me anyway. Knight Music was the light at the end of the tunnel, but now it’s just not going to happen.”
Theodosia’s brows pinched together. “It seems to me that everything is beginning to turn around for them. Pandora just cinched a huge distribution deal in Japan. Maybe that’s all it takes for Knighthall to really make a go of things.”
“I’m happy for Pandora,” said Grady. “But all she ever talks about is turning out red wine. She doesn’t need me for that. All along, Mr. Knight and I had our heart set on doing a white Bordeaux and even some sparkling wines.” He hesitated. “But Pandora is just obsessed with this whole Japan deal. And Pandora always seems to get her way.”
“I’d have to agree,” said Drayton. “She’s a very forceful woman.”
“But the thing with Drew . . .” Grady shook his head sadly. “That just tore the heart out of things. For me and for Jordan.” And with barely a nod good-bye, he walked away.
“That’s one way to add a downer note to the evening,” said Theodosia as she watched him go.
“But he’s right,” said Drayton. “Even we’ve let up on our investigation somewhat. We’re sad about Drew’s death, but feel like we should probably move on.” Now he seemed thoughtful and a little morose, too. “Though it’s still tragic that his murder remains unsolved.”
“I hear you,” said Theodosia. “But . . . what are you saying exactly? That we should respect Pandora’s wishes to no longer be involved?”
“I’m not sure what I’m saying,” said Drayton.
“You know,” said Theodosia, “Grady could be lying.”
“About . . .”
“About everything. Grady could be lying to ease his way out of Knighthall Winery. Or for all we know, he could be the killer. Who knows what went on between him and Drew Knight?”
“This is all very confusing,” said Drayton.
• • •
Theodosia wandered over
to one of the fire pits while Drayton went to fetch glasses of red wine for them. All around her, young people laughed and joked, kissed and danced, while she mulled things over. She knew Drayton was ambivalent about their continuing investigation, and part of her also wanted to walk away from it. Just . . . let it go. At the same time, that little voice deep down inside of her scolded at her, telling her she should not walk away. Because she’d never walked away from any challenge in her life! So why start now?
When Drayton returned, he presented a glass of red wine to Theodosia and said, “This is their Palmetto Passion. Supposed to be a mix of five different grapes.”
Theodosia took a sip. “It’s good. There’s kind of a plum and cherry taste.”
“Do you think it’s as good as the red wine we tasted at Knighthall Winery?”
“It’s awfully close,” said Theodosia.
“Excuse me,” said a voice at her elbow. “May I offer you a piece of bruschetta?”
Theodosia turned as the waiter held out his tray and hastily continued his pitch.
“We have fig with goat cheese bruschetta and pesto with plum tomatoes.”
Theodosia stared at the waiter until recognition finally dawned. “Carl?” she said slowly. Then with more urgency. “Carl Van Deusen?” She’d just been looking for him!
Van Deusen’s dark eyes bore into her for a few seconds, then he, too, blinked with recognition and said, “You almost got me fired from Smalley’s, you know!”
“I’m sorry,” said Theodosia. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
Van Deusen seemed to soften a bit. “Aw, that manager you had the run-in with is a real jerk. Hardly anybody gets along with him.”
Theodosia and Drayton each took a piece of bruschetta as Theodosia made hasty introductions.
“You know,” said Theodosia, “you never did tell me about your relationship with Drew.”
“There’s not that much to tell,” said Van Deusen.
“But you and Drew were friends. You attended his funeral.”
Van Deusen nodded. “Drew and I were buddies, yeah.”
“What kind of buddies?” said Theodosia.
Drinking buddies? Drugging buddies?
“Just . . . buddies,” said Van Deusen. “Friends.”
“Good friends?” said Drayton.
Van Deusen took a step backward and clenched his jaw. “Hey, what is this? An episode of
Law & Order
?”
“Very funny,” said Theodosia.
“Look,” said Van Deusen. “We were friends; we helped each other out. Drew even gave me his car to drive.”
“When did he do that?” asked Theodosia.
Is that the answer to the
missing Porsche?
Van Deusen stared at her. “I don’t remember.”
“Could it have been last Sunday?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know . . . maybe.”
“Does anybody else know about this? Did you talk to Sheriff Anson about this?” Theodosia asked.
Van Deusen saw the look on her face and went into full protest mode. “Look, lady, I didn’t touch a hair on Drew’s head! I just told you, he was my friend!”
“Then who do you think killed him?” asked Drayton.
Van Deusen thumped a hand hard against his chest. “That’s what
I’d
like to know!”
“Excuse me.” Georgette Kroft, wearing a red-and-black Burberry dress and matching sandals that would have been better suited for a teenage girl, was suddenly staring at them. “Aren’t you supposed to be circulating with that tray of hors d’oeuvres?” she asked Van Deusen. She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I definitely think you are.”
Van Deusen eased away. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am,” she snorted. “I don’t look
that
old!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Van Deusen. And this time he bolted.
• • •
“Theodosia,” said Georgette,
grinning broadly now. “Thank you for coming.” Her eyes flicked toward Drayton. “And this must be the infamous Drayton?”
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” said Drayton. “This is a lovely affair.”
“Yes, isn’t it just?” said Georgette. Her eyes flicked back to Theodosia. “You know, dear, we really must talk about our collaboration.”
“You’ve said that before,” said Theodosia. “About a joint tea and wine tasting?”
“Now that sounds interesting,” said Drayton.
“Doesn’t it?” said Georgette. “I do believe your tea shop and my winery cater to the same sort of crowd. Which is why I think a joint tasting event would be spectacular.”
“Perhaps it could be done to benefit a particular charity,” said Drayton. “Say the Heritage Society or the Opera Society.”
“Or it could also be done for profit,” said Georgette.