Ming Tea Murder (21 page)

“I'm going to stop at the museum,” she said out loud. “I want to take another look at that tea house.”

She turned right on Broad, hooked a left on Meeting Street, and turned down the alley behind the museum. She pulled into one of the parking spaces that said
RESERVED FOR MUSEUM PER
SONNEL
.
She didn't care if she wasn't supposed to park there. Nobody was going to shoo her away or tow her car. She wouldn't be inside long enough.

This morning, the back door was unlocked. Theodosia pushed her way through, recalling her covert operation on Saturday night. Down the corridor she hurried, heading directly for Percy Capers's office. He was a friend and an Asian expert, so maybe he could render a learned opinion. Or maybe . . . maybe he harbored a few suspicions, too.

Theodosia knocked on a frosted glass door that had two names with titles stenciled on it in gold ink—
PERCY
CAPERS
,
ASIAN
ART
and
SUMNER
MO
TTE, AMERICAN ART
.

Without waiting for an answer, she twisted the knob and barged in.

A man looked up from a sheaf of papers and smiled at her. “Hello,” he said, pleasantly. He had messy Albert Einstein hair and narrow, tortoiseshell glasses, and wore a black turtleneck. Theodosia thought he looked like a beatnik, or what a beatnik from central casting might look like. She also recognized him as one of the curators who'd accompanied Capers to the
Titanic
Tea.

“I was looking for Percy Capers,” she said.

Sumner Motte touched the eraser end of a yellow pencil to the tip of his nose. “I'm afraid you just missed him. He drove over to Columbia this morning to meet with some people at their museum of art. We're thinking of doing a kind of South Carolina version of
Antiques Roadshow
and are putting our heads together to hammer out some of the details.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” said Theodosia. “I'm sorry I missed him.”

“That sure was a lovely tea you put on Sunday night,” said Motte. “We enjoyed it immensely.” He twiddled his pencil.

“I'm glad you did,” she said, backing out of his office. “And just FYI, we're having a Tower of London Tea tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Sounds like it's been especially themed for Halloween.”

“That's right.”

“You've got a pretty clever gang over there.”

Theodosia gave a quick wave. “Drop by anytime.”

Because Theodosia's curiosity was still running at a fever pitch, she hurried down the corridor and popped out into the central rotunda.

Museums were traditionally closed to the public on Mondays, and this one was no exception. So she had the place pretty much to herself. Off to her right, a group of art students—probably from the museum's Fine Arts Program—were bent over large pads of paper. They clutched sticks of charcoal and were diligently sketching their version of a statue done by Charleston sculptor Willard Hirsch.

Theodosia turned left and headed for the museum's newest acquisition—the Chinese tea house.

Once again, the blue ceramic roof tiles; smooth, weathered wood; and the architecture in general looked and felt genuine to her. She stepped inside into the calm and quiet to take an even closer look.

She was struck again by the utter serenity of the place. Tea houses—tea pavilions—had been constructed in ancient China as simple, elegant retreats to foster the poetic feeling that was long associated with tea drinking. And most tea houses, like this one in particular, typified an ancient ideal of simplicity. Hence the rustic feel, unadorned walls, and natural colors of rice paper and bamboo. Nothing was supposed to intrude or jar the tea drinker's sensibilities. She'd even heard that a tune played on a lute in a tea house should be no louder than the hum of a bumblebee.

Theodosia reached out and touched the interior wall. The wood felt ancient and soft, as if it had been rubbed smooth by a thousand loving hands.

She smiled softly. This tea house was the genuine article, all right. It was everything else surrounding it that felt false and brittle.

“Hey, you're finally
here,” said Haley. She poked her head out of the kitchen as Theodosia rushed by. “It's important that we talk.”

“About the menu for the Tower of London Tea,” said Theodosia. “I know. Drayton mentioned it to me.”

“When's good?” called Haley.

“Not this minute,” Theodosia sang over her shoulder as she continued on toward the tea shop. It was late morning, and customers would be arriving for lunch, if some hadn't shown up already. Job one was to assist Drayton and make sure all the tables were polished and pretty and ready to go.

Turns out they'd already been set up. In a Halloweenish sort of way. Their standard white tapers had been swapped out for orange candles, filmy ghosts floated from the rafters, and plastic skeletons clicked and clacked in the breeze. Seemingly overnight, her chintz-and-china tea shop had gone over to the dark side with broomsticks and bones.

“You've been busy,” said Theodosia, slightly taken aback by the tea room's changed appearance. “And I see everything's already set up for lunch.”

“It's set up,” said Drayton, “just not to my particular taste. As you can see, Haley's been indulging herself in a Halloween fantasy.”

Haley sauntered toward them carrying a fat orange pumpkin that she'd carved. “Theo, you had a couple of phone calls.”

“Who needs me now?” Theodosia asked. She reached out and rapped the top of the grinning pumpkin with her knuckles. “Knock, knock. Nobody home?”

“Hah,” said Haley, pleased. “Detective Tidwell called. He wants you to call him back ASAP.”

“Okay,” said Theodosia. “And who else?”

Haley snickered. “Delaine. She says you're late.”

“I'm what?” That stopped Theodosia dead in her tracks. “Wait a minute, what time is the Hunt and Gather Market supposed to start?”

“I believe it kicks off at one o'clock,” said Drayton.

Theodosia checked her watch. “It's just eleven.” She decided Delaine was certifiably Type-A crazy.

“There you go,” said Drayton. “You have plenty of time to help with lunch, go set up your table, and prove Delaine wrong.” He let loose a dignified snort. “As if
that's
ever going to happen.”

“Right,” echoed Haley.

While Drayton and Haley argued about where to display the pumpkin, Theodosia went back to her office and called Tidwell. She was put on hold for what seemed like an interminable amount of time before he finally came on the line.

“What?” Tidwell barked.

“Hey, you called me,” said Theodosia.

“Oh, yes. So I did.”

Theodosia heard papers rustling, as if he were combing distractedly through a stack of scribbled notes.

“Probably concerning the firebombing at Charlotte Webster's last night?” she prompted.

“Why were you there?” Tidwell asked brusquely.

“Not that it's any of your business,” said Theodosia, “but Charlotte asked me to step in and take over her Bloody Mary Crawl.”

“So you are honchoing yet another event.” For some reason he sounded put out.

“My world and welcome to it. So . . . what part of the walk is bugging you the most? Me, Bloody Marys, or the ghosts?”

He ignored her question. “I'm reading the report filed by the engine company captain,” said Tidwell. “An incendiary device was actually
hurled
through Mrs. Webster's back window?”

“If that's what it says, then that's what happened.”

“Do you know any reason why a person might throw something like that?”

“As you keep reminding me,” said Theodosia, “
you're
the detective, not me.”

“But if you could venture a guess?”

“You want me to speculate? Detective Tidwell, you're always cautioning me never to speculate.” Theodosia was enjoying herself. This little joust with Tidwell was invigorating. Just what she needed to lighten her mood.

“I'm glad you find our conversation so amusing,” said Tidwell. “But, need I remind you, there is a murderer on the loose.”

“And a stalker and now an arsonist,” said Theodosia. “Which means you have a lot on your plate.” She hesitated, wanting to go on, but deciding not to. “But, I promise you, I will think about your question and get back to you.”

“Sooner rather than later,” said Tidwell. There was a distinct click. He'd hung up.

Theodosia had wanted to tell Tidwell about Harlan Duke and the dangerous-looking hoof pick. She really had. And she'd wanted to share her concerns about the Chinese tea house—how something seemed not quite right to her about it. That the tea house felt like it could be some weird nexus for all the events that had taken place. But she'd consciously held back her information.

Why? Fear of ridicule? No, not at all. Tidwell had never actually pooh-poohed any of her theories.

No, Theodosia decided she wanted to keep these little tidbits of information tucked away for herself. It would give her a chance to noodle things around and see if her hunches led anywhere else.

With her phone still in her hand, Theodosia dialed Max's number. He answered right away.

“Hey, how's it going?” asked Max.

“Busy,” said Theodosia. “Par for the course. How are things with you?”

“Making calls,” said Max. “Just putting the word out.”

Doggone
, she thought. “I was wondering if you're still planning to run with us tonight in the five-K?”

“Of course, I am. We can't let Earl Grey down, after all. Hey, how's his costume coming?”

Theodosia looked over at a puddle of brown fur that sat on one of her office shelves. “It's coming.”

“Okay,” said Max. “See you tonight?”

“See you,” said Theodosia. She leaned sideways and grabbed the hunk of brown fur that was supposed to be Earl Grey's costume.

She'd gone to the fabric store last week with an idea in mind of creating a Chia Pet costume. If she could just find some shaggy green fabric, then maybe she could fashion it into a kind of wrap for Earl Grey. But then she'd seen a hunk of golden-brown fake fur. And it seemed to cry out
lion's mane
. So it seemed easier, in the long run, to just fashion a collar for Earl Grey that would resemble a lion's mane. She was already going as a witch, so why couldn't they be
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?

Theodosia pulled the needle out from where she'd stuck it earlier, when she'd been in the middle of whipstitching the last seam. Just a few more stitches and . . .

“Now can we go over that menu for our Tower of London Tea?” asked Haley. She was standing in the doorway, fanning an index card that was clutched in her hand. Her tall, white chef's hat was canted jauntily to one side as if she'd been caught in a strong wind and spun about.

“Sure,” said Theodosia. “But I thought you had everything pretty much set to your liking.”

“But is it to
your
liking?” said Haley. “You know I prefer to run everything by you.”

Theodosia smiled as she leaned back in her chair. She and Drayton knew who the real boss was—it was the diminutive Haley who ruled the kitchen with an iron potholder. “Okay, then. What's on your menu?”

“We kick off with crown jewel scones,” said Haley. “Which are really cream scones chockablock with candied fruit. Those are followed by Anne Boleyn chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

Theodosia grinned. “You had me at crown jewel scones.”

Haley held up a finger. “But there's more. Tea sandwiches of honey-roasted ham and English mustard on caraway seed bread. And English smoked salmon with cream cheese on brown bread.”

“Wonderful.”

“And for dessert,” said Haley, “I was thinking about chutney crescents and Victoria sponge cake.”

“It all sounds great, but what about the teas? Has Drayton worked out his tea offerings yet?”

Haley nodded. “He's got something called Lady Jane Grey, which is a variation on Earl Grey. And then a War of the Roses tea, which is basically his own blend of a Ceylon black tea infused with rose petals.”

“Perfect,” said Theodosia. “And tickets are all sold out?”

“Oh yeah. Have been for a couple of days. We're gonna have another full house tomorrow.”

“I think we've discovered the magic key,” Theodosia mused. “Maybe we should just switch to having themed teas.”

Haley looked shocked. “You mean every day, all the time?”

“Well . . . maybe two or three a week?”

Haley shook her head so vigorously, her curtain of long blond hair swished about her shoulders. “No way. Then people would start taking our themed teas for granted. No, we need to keep them in reserve for special occasions only.”

Theodosia had to smile at Haley's intensity. “I see your point. Okay, we'll do it your way.”

“Whew.” Haley touched a hand to her chest. “I don't like to rock the boat, but . . .”

“You prefer to stick to a routine. Same as Drayton does.”

Haley nodded sagely. “Routines are good. It's what keeps us all sane.”

“I could use a little more sanity in my life,” said Theodosia. “Especially after the past couple days.”

“You've been running yourself ragged all over the place. And now you're off to that Hunt and Gather thing?”

“Afraid so.”

“Does it feel like you're chasing your tail?”

“Truer words were never spoken, Haley. Because the crazy thing is, Earl Grey and I are supposed to run in tonight's Halloween five-K.”

“Oh, Earl Grey's a marathoner now?”

“I guess so, since we're entered in Big Paw's Run and Romp Division.” Big Paw was a local service-dog organization that both Theodosia and Earl Grey volunteered with.

“You guys are regular little Energizer Bunnies, aren't you? Me, I'm just gonna stay home tonight and loaf on the sofa, watch a chick flick, and down a bag of Chips Ahoy!”

Theodosia tipped her head. “Haley. Really?”

“You think my own scones or muffins would be better?”

“Infinitely.”

• • •

Lunch was busy,
which kept Theodosia and Drayton hopping from table to table. They served croque monsieur sandwiches, citrus salads, and egg white omelets accompanied by spiced plum and Ceylon black teas. At twelve forty-five, Theodosia glanced at her watch and said, “Uh-oh.”

“What?” said Drayton.

“I've got, like, fifteen minutes to get to Delaine's market and set up my table.”

“I already loaded the tea into the back of your Jeep if that's any consolation.”

“Thank you.” Theodosia glanced at her watch again.

“Now you've got fourteen minutes,” said Drayton. “Perhaps you'd best get moving.”

“I . . . I need to tell you something.”

“What's that?” He picked up a Meissen teapot decorated with a swirl of pink peonies.

“When I drove out to the equestrian center this morning to talk to Harlan Duke . . .”

“I hadn't realized he had horses,” said Drayton.

“He has horses and a very sharp hoof pick,” said Theodosia.

That got Drayton's immediate attention.

So Theodosia told him about the shiny metal hoof pick and how she wondered if something like that could have served as a murder weapon to kill Edgar Webster.

“I suppose it could have,” said Drayton. “Did you tell Tidwell about this?”

“No.”

“Keeping a lot from him, aren't you? Do you think that's wise?”

“I don't know. Maybe not. Probably not.”

“Well, think about telling him, okay?”

“I'll think about it.” Theodosia glanced at her watch again. “Are you going to be okay here without me? You and Haley are literally a skeleton crew.”

Drayton gave her a deadpan look. “Please.”

Theodosia ran into her office, snatched up her jacket and bag without missing a beat, and was out the back door. Then it was a matter of a five-minute drive down to Queen Street, where Delaine's market was setting up.

Luckily, Theodosia found a parking spot just a block away. A woman in a white Escalade was just pulling out, and Theodosia was able to nose into the vacated spot.

Thank you,
parking space fairy godmother.

And, once she'd grabbed her cardboard boxes filled with tea and sprinted the block to her table, she arrived with about one minute to spare.

Good thing Delaine was nowhere in sight. She would have had a major conniption.

Theodosia whipped an indigo blue cloth onto her table, and then quickly arranged her packages of English Hedgerow tea in neat little rows. She'd printed out a sign that said
INDIGO TEA SHOP, ENGLISH HEDGERO
W TEA, $6.99 A BAG
,
so that went into a plastic table topper for all to see.

Theodosia took a deep breath and looked around. Tables stretched to either side of her as far as she could see. They held dried flower arrangements, jams and jellies, pottery, jewelry, fluttering scarves, and even used books.