Sweat Tea Revenge (15 page)

“We should go,” Theodosia urged. “The longer we stay here the more upset you’re going to be.”

“Because I
am
upset!” was Delaine’s abrupt reply.

Theodosia went over to Delaine and put an arm around her. “I know you are; you have every right to be. You don’t always have to act so brave.”

“Do you think . . . ?” began Delaine. She stopped, licked her lips, and said, “Do you think it would be okay for me to take some kind of keepsake?”

“I think that would be lovely,” said Theodosia.
As long as it’s not a ninety-five-thousand-dollar oil painting.

“There’s a particular tie that I bought for Dougan. A yellow-and-blue Hermes tie.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Theodosia.

Delaine disappeared into Granville’s walk-in closet. Theodosia waited for a few moments. Then the moments seemed to stretch into minutes.

“Did you find the tie?” Theodosia called. “Do you need any help?”

Delaine suddenly appeared in the doorway. Her face looked puckery and red; her hair was disheveled. She was clutching the door frame with both hands, looking decidedly unsteady.

“Are you okay?” asked Theodosia. Delaine looked like she’d just encountered a ghost. Then again, maybe she had.

“No, I’m not okay,” Delaine croaked out. “I . . . I was looking for the darn tie and I . . . well, I discovered an entire rack of women’s clothes!”

“What? Um . . . ?” Theodosia was suddenly at a loss for words.

Delaine jabbed a fist in the air. “And I can tell you with absolute certainty, they’re
not
mine!”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Theodosia. “Take a good, hard look. Maybe you just forgot that you, ah, left a few things.”

Delaine’s bewilderment was turning to anger. “No, they’re
definitely
not mine!”

Oops, thought Theodosia. Clearly, Granville had had something going on the side.

“Maybe it’s time to leave,” said Theodosia.

But Delaine was clinging to her anger like a rat terrier with a bone. “Those clothes must belong to that skank Simone Asher!”

“You think so?” Theodosia said in a small voice.

“That weasel must have been carrying on with her,” she huffed. “He was two-timing me!”

“You’re positive they’re not your clothes?”

“Are you serious?” said Delaine. “They’re so not my taste at all. Or even my
size
!”

“Okay,” said Theodosia. She wondered what exactly had been going on in Granville’s life. Obviously not a monogamous relationship!

Delaine placed her hands on either side of her head, as if she were having a brain aneurysm. “I have to get out of here!” she shrieked. “I can’t think about this right now!”

“Calm down,” said Theodosia. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
Is there really? No, but it might help if I say there is.

But nothing she could say would calm Delaine down.

In a fit of rage, Delaine thrust the keys to Granville’s house into Theodosia’s hands. “Lock up, will you? I’m . . . I have to leave immediately.” And with that she was gone.

“Yikes,” Theodosia muttered. She thought about the clothes, decided she had to see for herself.
Not that I don’t believe Delaine. But she is good at fabricating stories.

Darting into the closet, Theodosia gazed at double racks of expensive European suits and bespoke shirts. Granville had been a bit of a clotheshorse. Then again, he could afford to be.

At the very back of the closet Theodosia found the offending clothes. A few skirts, blouses, a black cocktail dress, and a pale-pink peignoir set.

Maybe, she thought, the clothes really did belong to Simone. Maybe they were clothes from a couple of years ago. Maybe Simone had just forgotten about them. Maybe she’d lost weight since she’d broken up with Granville. Or maybe Simone, upon opening her vintage shop, had dieted down to a smaller size and no longer needed or wanted these clothes.

Turning off the lights, Theodosia retreated downstairs. Suddenly, she was anxious to get out of there, too. The house did give off a dead and deserted vibe. One that felt more than a little oppressive.

Theodosia made a quick inspection of the first floor, checked the front door to make sure it was locked, and discovered a huge pile of mail in the front hallway. Making a snap decision, she swept up all the letters, bills, and junk inserts and shoved them into her bag. There could be something important among all these papers, something critical to Delaine. And, in the back of her mind, Theodosia was also thinking that she really didn’t want Charles Horton to horn in on this, too.

*   *   *

Earl Grey greeted
her with a woof and a wag.

“You want to go outside for a while?” Theodosia asked him. “Hang out in the backyard?”

Earl Grey lifted his head and aimed his nose at the doorknob.

“But, please, if you should run into a marauding raccoon, do not, I repeat, do
not
engage him in paw-to-paw combat. Okay?”

Theodosia opened the door and Earl Grey scooted out.

Okay then. What now? Maybe a nice cup of tea?

Grabbing her red enamel teakettle, made in the shape of a giant strawberry, she filled it with water and set it on the stove. Then she opened her cupboard and pulled out a tin of her favorite chamomile tea. Chamomile, of course, was the perfect evening tea. It imparted a restful feeling, so conducive to relaxation and sleep.

Theodosia grabbed a small blue-and-white teapot, measured two scoops of chamomile tea into it, and then stood there, waiting for her water to heat. As her eyes roved across the kitchen, they fell on her handbag. She’d haphazardly slung it onto her kitchen table, and it had fallen over and spilled out part of Granville’s mail. She wandered over to the table, idly picked up an insert for Patio Pizza, and then, out of sheer curiosity, pawed through the rest of the mail. There were umpteen bills. From SCE&G, Amoco, Bud’s Lawn Service, and Comcast. What looked like invitations from the Charleston Opera Society and the Library Association. And Granville’s American Express bill.

Theodosia picked this last envelope up, wondering if it might contain any clues as to Granville’s recent activities. And then, because the envelope was just sitting there in her hot little hand and the teakettle was steaming like mad, it was just that easy to wave the envelope through a swirl of steam. As if by magic, the flap unglued itself and popped open.

Open sesame. But what now?

Theodosia tipped the envelope and the statement slid out.

Now I take a look at it. And, no, it’s probably not exactly kosher, but we’re investigating a murder here, folks.

Scanning Granville’s recent charges, Theodosia was struck by how much money the man spent. There were hefty charges for at least two dozen different high-end restaurants, Butterfly Garden Florist, McDougal’s Haberdashery, Popple Hill Decorators, Schaefer’s Rare Books, Metropolitan Barbers, Lightning Delivery Service, numerous gas stations and convenience stores, and one jewelry shop, Heart’s Desire, which happened to be owned by Brooke Carter Crockett, a dear friend of hers.

What wasn’t on the bill were the rooms at Ravencrest Inn. Although Theodosia figured those might not come through until the next billing cycle. And, probably, Tidwell had already checked with the Rattlings about the rooms. Had figured out who had paid for Delaine’s room, the bridesmaids’ room, and Granville’s room.

Which started her thinking again about that other mysterious room. Room 314. Who had occupied that room? The mysterious cigar broker? The ex-girlfriend, Simone? Or someone entirely different? Someone she hadn’t figured out yet?

A high-pitched whistle suddenly jarred her from her thoughts. Her teakettle was seething away. Theodosia grabbed it from the burner and poured hot water into her teapot. And as she watched the tea leaves twist and turn, she wondered what twists and turns might be in store for her.

17

Thursday dawned gray
and overcast. As Theodosia hustled about the tea room, putting out cups and saucers, lighting candles, and wiping an errant spot or two from the silver, she fretted about the weather. Tomorrow night and Saturday night, guests would be trooping through Granville’s home, enjoying the Spring Garden Tour’s block-to-block ramble.

But what if it rained? Then what would happen? Obviously the tour wouldn’t be canceled. If Granville’s murder hadn’t been a good enough reason to call it quits, then rain wouldn’t be, either.

So then what?

At the front counter, Theodosia poured yellow puddles of lemon curd into tiny glass bowls.

Then I’ll have to serve tea and treats inside. And won’t that be a mess?

“Theo,” said Drayton. “What would you say to me brewing a pot of Doomni Estate Assam?”

Drayton’s words snapped her back to the here and now. That particular Assam, grown in the Assam Valley in northeast India, was strong, full-flavored, and sweetly dry. “If you think our guests would go for it, sure,” she told him. “But it’s a bit of an acquired taste. We might want to suggest that people use a touch of milk to smooth it out.”

Drayton’s nose wrinkled. Born in China to missionary parents, he was, and would forever be, a tea purist. Drayton had earned his tea chops working at Croft & Squire Tea Ltd. in London and had attended many of the major wholesale tea auctions in Amsterdam.

Haley came buzzing out, saw Drayton at the counter, and careened to a stop. “Why is your face all puckered up like that?” she demanded of him.

“I suggested a splash of milk for the Assam,” said Theodosia.

“Gotcha,” said Haley. “So Drayton’s on one of his strong tea binges again, huh?”

“Something like that,” said Theodosia.

“It’s not a binge,” said Drayton. “It’s tradition.”

“I think it’s the weather that’s got him all stirred up,” said Haley. “With everything all overcast and cloudy, it does make you want to sip a heartier brew.”

“See?” said Drayton. “Even Haley agrees with me.”

“Haley,” said Theodosia. “Talk to me about scones for our morning guests.”

“Two kinds,” said Haley. “Butterscotch walnut scones and cinnamon raisin scones.”

“Black or golden raisins?” asked Drayton.

“Please. Dude.” Haley drawled her best Valley Girl impression. “Golden. Don’t you know me better than that?”

“And for lunch today?” asked Theodosia.

“It’s a pretty cool menu,” said Haley. “Lentil soup, fennel and apple salad, chicken and asparagus quiche, chicken pâté on French bread, and vegetable terrine tea sandwiches.”

“Remember,” Theodosia told Drayton, “we’ve got a tea club coming in for lunch. A party of eight. And they’re planning to do a teacup exchange.”

“Right,” said Haley. “So we’ll serve the scones first, whichever kind they prefer, then I’ll arrange all the sweets and savories on a couple of our three-tiered serving trays.”

“Excellent,” said Drayton. He frowned and said, “I wonder if
they’d
care to taste my special Assam?”

“When they called their reservation in,” said Theodosia, “they specifically requested a pot of Moroccan mint and a pot of decaf Darjeeling.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to
ask
,” said Drayton.

*   *   *

Midmorning brought the
return of the ghost hunters. Theodosia seated Jed, Tim, and their assorted equipment at a table, then was surprised when Drayton came scurrying over.

“Just the two men I was hoping to see,” was Drayton’s ebullient greeting.

Theodosia raised an eyebrow. What was he up to now, she wondered?

“I want you to taste one of my favorite teas,” said Drayton. He hurriedly poured out steaming cups of the Assam for both brothers. “Just take a sip and tell me what you think.”

They both took a sip.

“Good,” said Jed.

“Bracing,” said Tim.

“A-ha,” said Drayton, beaming.

Theodosia chuckled to herself. Looked like the two sides had finally won each other over.

“We’ve got some exciting news,” Jed told them. “We’re going to be filming at Barrow Hall!”

“Goodness,” said Drayton. “I haven’t heard anyone mention that old place in years.”

“You know about it?” asked Tim.

“Indeed, I do,” said Drayton. “There’s a good deal of history attached to Barrow Hall. Of course, it’s undoubtedly a tumbledown wreck now, but it started out as a thriving plantation.” He closed his eyes as if in deep thought. “Probably built in the early eighteen hundreds.”

“What was grown there?” asked Tim.

“Oh, it was a rice plantation to be sure,” said Drayton. “What else could it be, located out there on the banks of the Dixfield River? Back in the day, when fine Carolina gold was grown and exported to hundreds of overseas markets, Barrow Hall was a force to be reckoned with.”

“But then Barrow Hall experienced darker days,” prompted Jed.

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Drayton. “Following the War between the States, it fell on very hard times.”

“We heard the place was deserted for a while,” said Tim.

“Probably was,” said Drayton.

“Until Barrow Hall was bought by the state and turned into a mental institution,” said Jed, consulting his notes.

“Was it really?” said Theodosia. She hadn’t known about that.

“Yes,” said Drayton. “Back in the dark days of psychiatric medicine. They added on to the original homestead and built an enormous institution.” He drew a deep breath. “But that was all a long time ago and probably best forgotten. I’ll wager that Barrow Hall has been empty for almost fifty years and is practically falling down by now.”

“No,” said Jed. “We took a trip out there first thing this morning. The place didn’t look half bad.”

“Are you serious?” said Drayton.

“Here,” said Tim, sliding his digital camera across the table. “See for yourself. I took a few still shots.”

Drayton slipped on his tortoiseshell half-glasses and peered at the photos. “You’re right. The old place is still standing.”

“And ready to be explored,” said Jed.

“Goodness,” said Drayton, “you’re not going to go inside, are you?” He slid the camera toward Theodosia.

“We see it as prime real estate,” said Jed. “For ghost hunting, anyway.”

Theodosia studied the photos and threw in her two cents’ worth. “Don’t you think the place must be infested with rodents?”

“We’ll soon find out,” said Tim. “We plan to explore Barrow Hall on Saturday night.”

“Now there’s a bad idea,” said Drayton.

“Why would you say that?” asked Jed.

“You don’t want to put that old place in your TV show,” said Drayton. “It just reminds people of the fact that mental institutions used to be sad, overcrowded institutions with primitive conditions.”

Actually,” said Tim, “that’s exactly
why
we want to feature Barrow Hall.”

“The other thing we were wondering,” said Jed, directing his question at Theodosia, “is if we could do some location shooting in Mr. Granville’s home?”

“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “If you buy a ticket and drop by his home tomorrow night, you can look around all you want.”

“How’s that?” Tim asked.

“As it turns out,” said Theodosia, “Granville’s home is on the Summer Garden Tour.”

“So the house will be wide open?” asked Jed.

“The first floor, anyway,” said Theodosia. “As well as the back garden.”

“Hot dang!” said Jed. “That would be pretty much perfect!”

*   *   *

At twelve noon
on the dot, the Leaf Lovers Tea Club arrived. Eight women, all wearing hats and gloves and carrying brightly wrapped packages. They were also bubbling over with excitement.

So, of course, Drayton did the honors.

“Ladies,” he said, greeting them with a deep bow. “Welcome to the Indigo Tea Shop. I have a special table all prepared for you.” He escorted them to their table and pulled out chairs, all the while doling out charm and compliments.

“He’s in his element,” Haley whispered to Theodosia. They were at the counter, watching the whole thing unfold.

“Drayton’s a true Southern gentleman,” said Theodosia.

Haley sighed. “Now there’s a dying breed.”

“You think?” said Theodosia. She knew a few gentlemen, for sure.

“Well, there aren’t many true gents among the guys
I
date,” Haley giggled.

Theodosia gave her a friendly nudge. “That’s because you always go for the motorcycle guys. Tough guys in leather.”

“Aw,” said Haley, “they only look tough. They’re really pussycats.”

Theodosia gazed at Drayton, posed ramrod stiff, rattling off a list of teas. “Face it,” she said. “Guys like him are the real tough guys. When it comes to character and moral fiber, our Drayton never wavers.”

“Gosh,” said Haley, “I never thought of it that way.”

Theodosia was in a whirl then, serving scones, pouring tea, answering questions, then pulling out her Tea Totalers drink menu for one customer who apologetically said she really didn’t care for tea.

“What you might enjoy,” she explained, “is one of our tisanes or infusions.”

“But they’re not really teas?” asked the women.

“Not a hint of
Camellia sinensis
in them, if that’s what you mean,” said Theodosia. “But our Orange Blossom Tisane does contain orange peel, apple pieces, and hibiscus blossoms. And our Rose Hips Tisane has rose hips, red clover, and star anise.”

“They both sound delicious!” said the woman.

“Believe me, they are,” said Theodosia.

“But what’s the very best one? Which one’s your favorite?”

Theodosia thought for a moment. “How about I bring you a pot of Mango Tango, a tisane with a lovely blend of passion fruit, mango, and blueberries?”

“Sounds great!” said the woman.

Theodosia brewed her tisane, delivered it, then scurried into the kitchen to help Haley with her tea trays.

“What can I do?”

Haley was slicing sandwiches into triangles and placing them carefully on the trays. “Just grab that tray of edible flowers,” she said. “And sort of scatter them among the sandwiches and bars.”

“No problem,” said Theodosia. Two years ago, when the economy seemed to be tanking, Theodosia had suggested that they skip the edible flowers for the time being. But Haley wouldn’t hear of it. To her, a tea tray wasn’t complete unless it was a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach.

“Okay,” said Haley, placing the last sandwich and taking a step back. “How do they look?”

“Gorgeous, as always,” said Theodosia.

“Then let’s deliver them,” said Haley. She grabbed one three-tiered tray while Theodosia grabbed the other. Slowly, carefully, they made their way out into the tea room.

Drayton saw them coming. “Ladies,” he announced to the table of eight in his melodic baritone. “May I present your luncheon tea trays.” There was a spatter of applause and then he was quickly pointing out the quiche and elaborating on the sandwiches and chocolate bars.

Theodosia, meanwhile, had spotted Bill Glass standing at the front door. She swept over to him and said, slightly out of breath, “You came.”

“I told you I’d drop by,” said Glass. He waved a stack of flimsy newspapers in her face. “Brought you a few copies of
Shooting Star
, too. I figured you might like to pass them out to your customers.”

It was the last thing Theodosia wanted to do, but she accepted the tabloids, thanked Glass profusely, and then stuck them behind the counter.

“And I brought my camera,” said Glass, indicating the Nikon he had slung around his neck. “So you can look at my wedding snaps. Well, prewedding, anyway.”

“Great,” said Theodosia. She was frantically busy and didn’t have time to drop everything and take a look this instant. So she said, “How about you sit down and have some lunch first?”

Glass narrowed his eyes. “You really mean it? Usually you’re trying to give me the bum’s rush.”

“I don’t do that,” said Theodosia. She grabbed his arm and steered him over to a vacant table in the corner, where she hoped he wouldn’t be too intrusive. “You relax here and I’ll be back with some scones and sandwiches.”

“Jeez, thanks,” said Glass.

“Haley,” said Theodosia, as she squirted around the doorway and into the kitchen, “I need a quick plate for Bill Glass.”

“What?” said Haley. “What’s that jerk doing here?”

“He took photos the day of Delaine’s wedding,” said Theodosia. “He’s going to let me look at them.”

“Oh.”

“Just throw a scone and a couple of sandwiches on a plate; that’ll be good enough.”

“Hold everything,” said Haley. “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it properly.” She mounded a citrus salad on a plate, then added a scone, two sandwich wedges, and a brownie bite.

“Perfect,” said Theodosia.

“Wait,” said Haley, as Theodosia snatched it up. “What about a cup of Devonshire cream, too?”

“No. We don’t want to make him feel
that
welcome.”

*   *   *

While Glass was
munching away, Theodosia poured refills for the tea club. They were busily exchanging their gifts with each other and tearing them open. Mildly curious, she hovered at their table to see what kind of teacups the ladies had found. Theodosia always prided herself on being able to source vintage teacups and teapots at various antique stores, tag sales, and yard sales. But lately, everyone seemed to be having the same idea. So it was getting tougher and tougher to find unique pieces.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed a woman named Jenny who was a frequent visitor to the tea shop. “Look at this!” She held up a floral decorated cup.

“Haviland,” said Theodosia. “Their tulip-and-garland pattern.”

“Is it old?” asked Jenny.

“From the forties,” said Theodosia. “So old enough.”

Another woman held her teacup up. “What do you know about this one?” The teacup featured multicolored floral bouquets on a white background and had a jaunty handle and a scalloped saucer.

“That’s H&G Bavaria,” said Theodosia. She gazed at another teacup set. “And that one’s a Shelley. I think it’s called Dainty Pink Polka Dots.”

“Because of the polka dots, no doubt,” said Drayton. He held up his teapot. “Refills anyone?”