Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13 (6 page)

Shelby frowned. “I don’t know.” She swiped at her eyes again with her damp hanky. “Are you…will you still look into things?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Theodosia told her. But deep in her heart Theodosia told herself,
I really do need to look into this.

Theodosia didn’t return
to the scene of the crime, but she did return to Solstice. Right after lunch, once she was sure Drayton and Haley had customers and food service well in hand, she jumped in her Jeep and zipped across town. Bumping down a narrow cobblestone alley, she parked at the back door.

And wondered how many times in the past couple of years she’d casually navigated this back street, then parked here and run in? How many times, in more recent days, had Shelby done the same thing?

The restaurant looked closed, but Theodosia pounded on the back door anyway, in the off chance somebody might be there. And just when she was about to give up, the lock clicked, the door opened, and René Martine, the sous chef, stuck his head out the back door.

“Hey,” René said, a smile blooming on his handsome face when he recognized her. “It’s you.” He opened the door wider to let her step inside.

René was half French, half African American, a talented young man who’d emigrated from Montserrat in the Caribbean and just recently graduated from Charleston’s Johnson and Wales culinary school. Theodosia figured in another two years or so, René would be executive chef at one of Charleston’s premier restaurants. That was, if he didn’t open a place of his own.

“You okay?” Theodosia asked, giving René a quick hug.

René’s face crumpled. “Not so good. Just…still in shock, I guess.”

“Of course you are,” said Theodosia. “It’s impossible to prepare for a tragedy like this.” She glanced into the kitchen, where baskets of green goods sat on the counter. “You’re not prepping, are you? The restaurant’s not going to be open tonight?”

René made a
What can you do?
gesture. “His brother, Charles, he says we should stay open.”

Theodosia was shocked. “That’s just plain weird! You’d think Charles would want to close for a few days, um, out of respect.”

“Maybe he thinks because we’re all on the payroll…”

“Maybe,” said Theodosia. She drew breath and said, “So, have the police been by?”

René nodded. “They just left, maybe twenty minutes ago.” His voice carried a pleasing, languid Caribbean lilt.

That was a positive sign, Theodosia decided. It meant Tidwell had given some credence to her fears. So, hopefully, he was proceeding full speed ahead, treating Parker’s death as a possible homicide. “Do you know…did they find anything interesting in Parker’s office, or take anything with them?”

“Not that I could tell,” said René. “Mostly they just nosed around the place and took a few photos.”

“Did the police go through Parker’s computer?”

“One of them sat down and took a look. Then he e-mailed whatever he thought was significant to their tech people. He also stuck a flash drive in and copied everything.”

“They’ll send it all to the forensic computer lab,” Theodosia murmured.

“Parker’s computer wasn’t password protected or anything,” René added. “In fact, I don’t think he’d updated his software for a while. There was just an old Word program he used for keeping track of menus and recipes.”

“Did Parker have a calendar?”

“Probably. But I don’t know where it is.”

“Mind if I take a look? Go in his office?”
Yet again.

René cast an appraising eye at her. “I don’t think Parker would have minded. You know, back in the day, he was pretty crazy about you.”

“Thank you,” Theodosia said, her voice sounding dry and papery, just this side of choked. “That means a lot to me.”

Theodosia was sitting in Parker’s desk chair, spinning listlessly from side to side, when Chef Toby walked in.

“Find anything else?” he asked.

She shook her head. “But the police were just here, so maybe they uncovered something.”

“You think?” said Chef Toby. He seemed doubtful, especially since their search last night hadn’t produced much of anything.

“I know I asked you this before,” said Theodosia, “but do you know if Parker was having problems or issues with anyone?”

René poked his head in. He’d obviously been listening. “That guy in Savannah,” he said to Chef Toby, who nodded immediately.

“The scary guy?” said Theodosia. The restaurant guy Shelby had mentioned?

“Manship,” said René. “His name is Lyle Manship.”

“And he currently owns a couple of restaurants?” said Theodosia.

“Chimera, a fairly fancy restaurant, and another one named Violet’s,” said René.

“Successful?” asked Theodosia.

“According to the grapevine, yes,” said René.

“And maybe someone local that Parker was having trouble with?”

Chef Toby and René stared at each other.

“News to me,” said René, while Chef Toby just shrugged.

“What about Joe Beaudry?” said Theodosia. Shelby’s story about the freeloading Beaudry was still fresh in her mind.

“That’s right,” said Chef Toby, “the lawyer.”

“I think Beaudry might have promised some financing, then pulled it,” said René.

“But it sounds as if Parker had more cause to be angry than Beaudry,” Theodosia mused. After all, what would Beaudry have been upset about? There didn’t seem to be any motive.

“Still,” said René, “Beaudry’s a sleazy guy.”

Theodosia gazed at ared-and-yellow poster tacked to the wall, thinking about Joe Beaudry, feeling a certain fuzziness. As her mind rambled, she noted that the typeface on the poster said F
UND-RAISER
in bouncy black letters. Then Theodosia’s mind seemed to snap back into focus and she said, “Perhaps I should pay Beaudry a visit.”

A quick Google
search revealed that Joe Beaudry’s office was located over on Columbus Street. Theodosia thought for a minute, checked her watch, and decided she had time. After all, right now was always better than later. When you just showed up to ask questions, it gave people little time to prepare.

Some ten minutes later, Theodosia was standing outside a tall, elegant red brick building with narrow white shutters and a white door flanked by shiny brass sconces. But that was where any class or elegance ended.

Inside was a small waiting room, filled with ahalf-dozentired-looking people sitting on ragtag pieces of furniture, and a reception desk staffed by atired-looking receptionist.

“Just sign in,” the receptionist told Theodosia without bothering to look up.

“I don’t have an appointment,” Theodosia told her. “I’m here on personal business.”

The receptionist looked up.

Theodosia offered a wistful smile. “I’m afraid it concerns Parker Scully.”

The receptionist, afifty-something woman with frizzy red hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a very kind face, said, “Wasn’t that awful? I was just reading about it in the newspaper.”

Sensing a kindred spirit, Theodosia said, “I was there at the Neptune Aquarium last night. I can’t tell you how bad it was.”

“And he was such a nice man, too,” the receptionist said in hushed tones.

Theodosia glanced across the receptionist’s desk and saw a wooden sign that spelled out
BETTY
. “Betty,” she said, “I just need a minute with Joe.”

Betty considered her request for a moment, then held up a finger and said, “Give me a sec.” She stood up, smoothed her tight black skirt, and disappeared into a nearby office with a swish of taffeta. Thirty seconds later, Betty was back at her post. “You can go in, but Mr. Beaudry says he’s only got two minutes. I’m afraid he has a very full afternoon.”

“Understood,” said Theodosia. “And thank you.”

Joe Beaudry didn’t
bother to stand up when Theodosia entered his office. Instead, he looked up, creaked back in his chair, and said, “So you were there, huh?” He was aslat-thin man with a long, thin face and piercing dark eyes. He had a shock of unrulysalt-and-pepper hair even though he looked to be in his midforties.

“That’s right,” said Theodosia. She crossed his office swiftly and seated herself in one of the black leather club chairs that faced his desk. “And it wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Beaudry studied her for a few moments, then said, “Seeing as how it’s not within my power to bring him back, how is it I can help you?”

“You can answer a few questions,” said Theodosia.

Beaudry offered a thin smile. “A lady with questions. What kind of questions?”

“I’m a friend of the family,” said Theodosia, “and I’m trying to straighten out a few matters.”

“What matters would those be?”

“Concerning his restaurant.”

“Are you in the restaurant business?” Beaudry asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Theodosia. “I own the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.”

“A
tea
shop,” said Beaudry. He crossed his legs, jiggled his foot.

Theodosia had the feeling Beaudry might be playing with her. “That’s right,” she said. “But what I’m really interested in is knowing something more about the financing deal you and Parker had kicked around.”

Beaudry shrugged his narrow shoulders. “There really wasn’t a deal.”

“But the two of you talked about a deal.”

“Yeah, we talked,” said Beaudry. “But we never came to any agreement.”

“You were going to finance his expansion,” said Theodosia. She gazed about Beaudry’s office, saw a few framed photos, antique golf clubs crossed and mounted on the wall, some kind of citation from the Rotarians.

“Again,” said Beaudry, “we talked about it.”

“So he never expanded,” said Theodosia.

“Mainly because Parker wasn’t able to obtain financing.”

“From you or the bank,” said Theodosia. “Why was that exactly?”

Beaudry shrugged. “He hadn’t done all that well in the past year.”

“A bad economy, an economic slowdown,” Theodosia prompted.

Beaudry nodded. “All the restaurants got hit. You should know that.”

Theodosia smiled. In all honesty, and knock on wood, the Indigo Tea Shop hadn’t suffered much in this tough economy. Whether it was loyal customers, an uptick in catering jobs, or people who came tumbling in because the cozy tea shop offered a momentary respite from hard times, the Indigo Tea Shop was more than holding its own.

“Tell me,” said Theodosia, “just what kind of restaurant did Parker want to open?” She knew the answer; she just wanted to hear Beaudry’s answer.

“Seafood,” he said. “Parker wanted to pattern it after a little seafood restaurant he used to frequent on Johns Island.”

Theodosia knew the place exactly. Houlihans. Great fresh oysters and cracked crab, with a killercilantro-flavored hot sauce made fresh in-house. Parker had taken her there once when they’d driven over to Oak Point to play golf.

“But you two could never agree on terms,” she said.

“No, we couldn’t,” said Beaudry. “And now…” Beaudry sighed deeply and shook his head. “Now he’s gone.”

“It must have come as quite a shock to you,” said Theodosia. She decided Beaudry didn’t look a bit sad. Just casual and relaxed. Was he too relaxed? Good question.

“Yeah, the whole grisly story’s been played out in the news,” said Beaudry, still leaning back in his chair.

Theodosia glanced at his desk and noticed the
Post and Courier
sitting there, folded to thefront-page story about the drowning at the aquarium.

Except, right now, Theodosia was pretty sure it hadn’t been a drowning.

When Theodosia arrived
back at the Indigo Tea Shop, afternoon tea was well under way. Ahalf-dozen or so tables were occupied and Drayton was buzzing about, teapots clutched in both hands. She smiled, feeling comforted and grateful that her little shop was in such good hands. But when she saw Detective Burt Tidwell’s bulk hunkered at the small table by the stone fireplace, Theodosia’s smile slipped from her face.

“Tidwell,” she murmured.

Drayton nodded. “He’s been waiting for you.”

Theodosia hustled over and stared down at Tidwell with marked disapproval.

Burt Tidwell was sprawled at his table looking carefree and casual, like the lord of the manor who didn’t have a care in the world. His bright eyes roved hungrily across the basket of cream scones and peach-pecan bread that sat in front of him as he methodically stirred his cup of tea. In his giant
paw, the tiny silver spoon looked like something from a doll’s tea set.

“How nice that you’ve shown up to enjoy a tasty afternoon repast,” Theodosia told Tidwell, biting off each word sharply. “Instead of investigating Parker’s death.”

Tidwell ignored her until he’d finally finished his annoying stirring. Then he set down his spoon and gazed at her with beady bright eyes that revealed nothing. “You were right,” he said, finally, in a conversational tone of voice.

Theodosia blinked and stared back at him. What was he being elusive about now? “Right about what?”

“Sit, please,” said Tidwell.

Theodosia pursed her lips and slid stiffly into the chair across from Tidwell.

“Parker didn’t drown,” said Tidwell, lasering dark eyes on her. “In fact, I just received a preliminary report from the coroner and…”