Devonshire Scream

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Childs

Tea Shop Mysteries

DEATH BY DARJEELING

GUNPOWDER GREEN

SHADES OF EARL GREY

THE ENGLISH BREAKFAST MURDER

THE JASMINE MOON MURDER

CHAMOMILE MOURNING

BLOOD ORANGE BREWING

DRAGONWELL DEAD

THE SILVER NEEDLE MURDER

OOLONG DEAD

THE TEABERRY STRANGLER

SCONES & BONES

AGONY OF THE LEAVES

SWEET TEA REVENGE

STEEPED IN EVIL

MING TEA MURDER

DEVONSHIRE SCREAM

Scrapbooking Mysteries

KEEPSAKE CRIMES

PHOTO FINISHED

BOUND FOR MURDER

MOTIF FOR MURDER

FRILL KILL

DEATH SWATCH

TRAGIC MAGIC

FIBER & BRIMSTONE

SKELETON LETTERS

POSTCARDS FROM THE DEAD

GILT TRIP

GOSSAMER GHOST

PARCHMENT AND OLD LACE

Cackleberry Club Mysteries

EGGS IN PURGATORY

EGGS BENEDICT ARNOLD

BEDEVILED EGGS

STAKE & EGGS

EGGS IN A CASKET

SCORCHED EGGS

Anthologies

DEATH BY DESIGN

TEA FOR THREE

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of Penguin Random House LLC.

Copyright © 2016 by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc.

Excerpt from
Little Girl Gone
by Gerry Schmitt copyright © 2016 by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information, visit
penguin.com
.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19737-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Childs, Laura.

Devonshire scream : a tea shop mystery / Laura Childs.—First edition.

pages ; cm.—(A tea shop mystery ; 17)

ISBN 978-0-425-28166-6 (hardcover)

1. Browning, Theodosia (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives— South Carolina—Charleston—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 4. Jewelry theft—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3603.H56D49 2016

813'.6—dc23

2015034281

FIRST
EDITION
:
March 2016

Cover illustration by Stephanie Henderson.

Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

A hearty thank-you to Sam, Tom, Amanda, Bob, Jennie, Danielle, and all the amazing people at Berkley Prime Crime and Penguin Random House who handle design, editing, publicity, copywriting, bookstore sales, and gift sales. Heartfelt thanks, too, to all the tea lovers, tea shop owners, bookshop folks, librarians, reviewers, magazine writers, websites, radio stations, and bloggers who have enjoyed the Tea Shop Mysteries and have helped to spread the word. You make it all possible!

And I am especially indebted to you, dear readers. You have embraced Theodosia, Drayton, Haley, Early Grey, and the rest of the tea shop gang as family. For that I am eternally grateful and pledge to bring you many more
books.

Crusted with emeralds,
diamonds, rubies, and amethysts, the butterfly brooch glittered enticingly before Theodosia Browning's eyes. Perched in its own glass case, the butterfly looked as if it had just landed on some tasty, succulent flower. The butterfly's lithe wings were a virtual aurora borealis of precious gems.

The piece was whimsical yet spectacular, Theodosia decided. Like something the Duchess of Windsor might have pinned to the lapel of her chic Dior suit in an earlier, headier era. Or perhaps this bejeweled treat
had
belonged to the infamous duchess. After all, this Jewelry Extravaganza, which had just kicked off with a black-tie party, was intended to showcase antique and collectible gems and jewelry from the previous century.

Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari, Van Cleef & Arpels. The names ticked through Theodosia's brain in a litany of jeweler's ateliers. They were the finest and most respected designers and
purveyors of diamonds and gems in the entire world. And what a privilege to have been invited to this amazing event.

Of course, her invitation had come compliments of Brooke Carter Crockett, her good friend and proprietor of Heart's Desire Fine Jewelry here in Charleston, South Carolina. Brooke had negotiated with major jewelers and private collectors, dickered with two museums, and pretty much moved heaven and earth to bring this stunning show to fruition in her shop.

Though Theodosia adored feasting her eyes on fine jewelry (what woman didn't?), her immediate goals and dreams tended to be a bit more practical in nature. She knew she'd have to sell about a million scones and serve another million cups of Darjeeling tea to even begin to afford one of these pricey baubles. And with or without the adornment of fine jewelry, she was quite content to do what she'd set out to do in life. That is, create a romantic, relaxed environment at her Indigo Tea Shop, enjoy the company of Drayton and Haley as they served and soothed their customers, and still, knock on wood, manage a decent living.

But of course a girl could dream.

Theodosia's eyes bounced from the butterfly about to take flight to a tilted mirror that sat on the glass counter. As she caught her own reflection, her lips twitched in a fey smile and she immediately glanced away. Her grand inheritance was in her looks. High cheekbones and an almost porcelain complexion gifted from distant English ancestors, sharp blue eyes, full lips, a fine-boned oval face. An abundance of curly auburn hair that only she found problematic and that any reasonable woman would have killed for.

As champagne corks popped and bone china teacups clinked, Theodosia continued to take in the crowded shop. Well-dressed ladies on the arms of well-dressed titans of business drooled over Tahitian pearls and diamond rings, ruby earrings and emerald necklaces. Yes, the elite of Charleston had
turned out en masse this crisp November evening for a little pre-Christmas shopping. And why not? Who didn't love to receive a blingy little trinket on Christmas morning? French perfume being so last year.

“Find something you like?” a cheery voice asked.

Theodosia turned to find Haley, her young baker and chef extraordinaire, smiling at her.

“Everything,” Theodosia laughed. “It's all gorgeous.”

Haley was accompanied by Kaitlin Crockett, Theodosia's friend Brooke's twenty-year-old niece. Brooke and Kaitlin both traced their ancestry back to the Crockett clan of Kentucky.
The
Crockett clan.

“How are the scones holding out?” Theodosia asked. She and Haley had baked eight dozen scones earlier today just for this occasion. In fact, Haley had come up with a special recipe for what she called
jeweled scones
—that is, cream scones studded with colorful bits of red, green, and gold candied fruit.

“We've still got plenty of scones in reserve,” Haley said. “As well as Drayton's fabulous Devonshire cream to accompany them.”

“Our customers are mostly drinking champagne right now.” Kaitlin smiled. “But when that runs out and they're ready for a nosh . . .”

Theodosia touched a hand to Kaitlin's cheek and gently pushed back a strand of her dark hair. “What are you wearing there? Diamond earbobs?”

Kaitlin nodded eagerly. “Aunt Brooke said it was okay. They're almost identical to the ones Scarlett O'Hara wore. You know, in
Gone with the Wind
? The diamonds that belonged to Scarlett's mother?”

“Well, they look very glamorous on you,” Theodosia told her.

Haley twisted a strand of her stick-straight blond hair and grinned. “I mean, duh. Who wouldn't look good in diamond earrings that probably cost fifty grand?”

“That's retail, not wholesale,” Kaitlin said.

“Ah,” Theodosia said. “I see you're learning the ropes.”

Kaitlin lifted her chin. “I really want to work here with Aunt Brooke when I finish school. I think it would be inspiring to be surrounded by such beautiful things all day long.”

“Are you interested in jewelry design, too?” Theodosia asked. Brooke was a terrific designer. Her forte was sterling silver free-form bracelets and earrings. And she sometimes crafted enormous knuckle-duster rings with gemstones wrapped in thin strands of gold wire, like enticing little packages.

“I'm taking a couple of design classes right now,” Kaitlin said. Her eyes roved the shop, taking in the packed house, the busy buffet table, and her aunt Brooke, who was suddenly smiling and waggling her fingers in Kaitlin's direction. “Oops, gotta get back to work.”

“Hey, Brooke,” Theodosia said, raising a hand.

Brooke waved back. She was midfifties, yet athletically built, with a sleek mane of snow-white hair. Though she was juggling about a million details tonight, she still looked calm and in charge.

Kaitlin tried to push her way through the crowd, then hit an impasse as three women started jumping up and down and screaming over a canary yellow diamond bracelet. She changed course and headed toward the front of the shop, circling around the largest of the glass jewelry cases.

Theodosia's eyes followed Kaitlin as she cut across the shop, then Theodosia turned back to talk to Haley. Just as she was about to ask Haley if she should duck into the shop's small office and brew a couple more pots of tea, there was a sudden, earsplitting crack.

“What was that?” Haley's pale brows knit together. “Is there a storm coming?”

Startled, figuring some hapless soul had fallen headlong into one of the glass cases, Theodosia glanced quickly about the shop. Only to find herself stunned by what she saw.

The plate glass window at the front of the shop was suddenly bending inward, as if an F5 tornado were bearing down full force. A millisecond later, a spiderweb of cracks appeared. Then, like a knife slicing through butter, the shiny chrome grille of a black SUV shoved its way right through the showroom window.

Shards of glass flew everywhere, nicking and slashing the guests. Surprised cries turned into terrified screams as everyone lurched and fought to get out of the way. Even more frightening was the enormous black truck that relentlessly powered its way into the shop, all cylinders firing, its engine roaring like a runaway locomotive.

Reacting to the onslaught, Theodosia reached a hand out, fumbled for the top of Haley's head, and shoved her to the floor. More screams erupted as the SUV continued to accelerate and grind its way into the shop.

Like special effects in an action flick, two more panels of glass exploded inward like a hail of bullets. Everyone shrieked in terror again and Theodosia felt the sting of glass and plaster rain down upon the back of her neck.

Gripping Haley's hand now, Theodosia pulled her along as the two of them, on hands and knees, scrambled for refuge behind the counter at the rear of the store. Constructed of wood and metal, with only the front done in glass, Theodosia figured it might offer some protection versus the all-glass cases.

“What's . . . ?” Haley began. She was anxious to pop up and take a quick look.

“Stay down,” Theodosia ordered. “Keep moving.” Once they'd made their way to the back counter, where they were virtually hidden, she said, “Now roll into a ball and cover your head.”

“But what about . . . ?”

“Please just do it,” Theodosia said. She knew this was a bad situation. People were injured and screaming for help.
Loud, angry shouts added to the din, and glass was still exploding like mad. Slowly, carefully, fearful of what she might see, Theodosia peered around the end of the counter.

The jewelry shop was pure chaos, a war zone. The black SUV had rammed all the way into the shop, its throaty motor still rumbling. Slivers of glass lay everywhere while people crouched on their hands and knees, cut and bleeding. The truck's blast through the front windows had literally pulverized the jewelry cases in front and brought along a rush of cool air.

Theodosia's first thoughts were
Who's hurt?
and
How can I help?
Then her gaze shifted and she found herself staring directly into the blazing eyes of a red demon.

But no, the more rational part of her brain told her it was someone, a person, wearing a hideous demon mask. A terrorist? Here in little old Charleston?

Quick as a snapping turtle's bite, two more demons tumbled out of the black truck, all dressed head to toe in black clothing and looking like hellish clowns in some bizarre circus act.

“Down! Down! Everybody down!” one of the demons screamed.

Theodosia was pretty sure the screamer carried a snub-nosed pistol in his right hand.

Theodosia ducked down behind the case again, her wonked-out brain continuing to scream,
Terrorists!
But she knew it couldn't be. A split second later, a surge of adrenaline kicked in, and she realized she was probably smack-dab in the middle of a bold, highly orchestrated smash-and-grab robbery.

It was the kind of robbery she'd only
heard
about—the kind that took place in London or Paris or Monaco, where daring vandals slammed stolen vehicles directly through storefronts and made off with millions of dollars' worth of jewelry or Chanel and Dior purses.

She snuck another look just as one of the demon invaders pulled a silver canister from his jacket pocket.

“Go!” the demon shouted to his companions.

Now all three robbers pulled gas masks over their demon faces. The leader twisted the lid, there was a loud pop, and black smoke billowed from the canister. A smoke bomb!

Blind panic set in among the screaming, terrified guests. They stumbled and tripped over one another, fighting wildly to escape. Coughing and choking, some tried to lunge for the front door, some blindly tried to batter their way toward the back of the shop. Theodosia flipped Haley's apron over the girl's face and pulled her own scarf up over her own nose and mouth for protection.

The vandals, all wearing rubber gas masks that made them look like high-tech versions of the Elephant Man, went straight to work like practiced professionals. Brandishing crowbars and shiny hammers, they methodically smashed each and every showcase, snatching pearls, diamonds, and gold jewelry from their black velvet nests.

The robbers crunched their way toward the back counter where Theodosia and Haley remained hidden. The glass shattered in the front panel, and then Theodosia heard a hand scrabble around, grabbing jewelry and gold chains like crazy. The robber was so close to her she could hear his breathing, a kind of
ptew ptew ptew
through his mask.

White-hot anger surged through Theodosia. Slowly, carefully, she put a finger in the notch of the cabinet's sliding back door. If she could catch a glimpse of the robber, see anything that might identify him . . .

Theodosia waited, one eye tearing from billows of smoke, yet still pressed hard against the narrow crack. Her vigil was rewarded when a black-gloved hand reached over and grasped a spectacular blue-green alexandrite necklace.
Observe
, she told herself sternly.
Think. Try to take something away from this. Some kind of information or clue that will help the police.

Just as she'd almost given up hope of seeing anything meaningful, the hand scuttled sideways and she caught sight of a small expanse of skin. Was that a woman's hand? Maybe. It was a smaller hand, that was for sure. And under the fingers of the stretchy black glove that the robber wore, could that be the bump of a ring?

Then the hand pulled away with the necklace, and Theodosia caught just a hint of light-blue lines etched against pale-white skin.

The smashing, screaming, and grabbing seemed to go on forever, although Theodosia later figured it was probably more like two minutes all told.

Just as suddenly as they'd begun, one of the robbers, the one who'd released the smoke bomb, yelled, “Time!” and they all jumped back into the black SUV.

They floored the vehicle and, like an Indy car in reverse, shot back out of the shop into the street. There were more loud revving sounds, almost like the scream of a motorcycle, and then a screech of tires on pavement.