Ming Tea Murder (24 page)

“Would you like me to run down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat?” she offered. “Some toast and juice, perhaps?”

“No, no.” Glass placed a hand on top of his sheet and patted his midsection gingerly. “The thing is, I have this extremely sensitive stomach. Powdered eggs, cold toast, that kind of crap will give me the urps all afternoon.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Theodosia also hadn't realized that Bill Glass was such a crybaby. He'd always come off like a cigar-chomping tough guy.

Glass fixed her with a slightly lopsided gaze. “How do I look?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is my face all banged up? Do you have a mirror or something so I can take a look?”

Theodosia dug into her handbag and pulled out a small compact. She flipped it open and handed it to Glass.

He gazed in the mirror and flinched. “Oh, howdy! I look like a bit player from
The
Walking
Dead.
”
He put a hand up, touched his forehead, and winced. “Feel like one, too. Except my entrails aren't hanging out all over the darn place.”

“So there's a bright spot after all,” said Theodosia.

“Oh, man.” Glass was still groaning as he inspected himself in the mirror. “And I think my front tooth is chipped. Crap on a cracker. That's gonna cost a fortune to fix.” His gaze shifted to Theodosia. “Do you hear a whistle when I talk? I thought I just heard a whistle, and I don't think it's from my nose. Oh, man, if it's my tooth . . .”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Theodosia interrupted.
After all, you wanted me to drop everything and race right over here.

Glass snapped her compact closed and handed it back to her. “You know what's so strange? I really don't know
what
happened last night.”

“You don't know what happened to you?”

Glass made a grimace. “I know some creep clobbered me on the head with a baseball bat or something.”

“Were you robbed? Were any of your cameras stolen?”

“Nope. They were still strung around my neck when the ambulance showed up.”

“Do you think your assault had something to do with the fact that you were investigating Edgar Webster's murder?”

“Well,” Glass said slowly, “I think that might be it exactly.”

“Did you get a look at your attacker?”

“Afraid not.”

“Did you get any sort of general impression?”

“Only, you know, that the person who hit me had some heft to him.”

“Heft,” said Theodosia.

A cagey look spread across his face. “But you know what I did after they loaded me into the ambulance?”

“What?”

“I called Charlotte Webster's house,” said Glass. “Just because . . . well, you know why.”

“To see if she was home,” said Theodosia.

Glass nodded. “But she was there.”

Theodosia leaned forward in her chair. “Last night, you mentioned that you might have a lead on someone.”

“That's not what I said.”

“Some evidence, then,” said Theodosia. “Which I have a feeling you might want to share with me now?”

“Aw,” said Glass.

“Come on, what gives?”

Glass hunched his shoulders forward and glanced about his room as if somebody might be listening in.

“What's wrong?” said Theodosia.

“Somebody could overhear us.”

“There's just us and that hemostat stand over there. And I don't think it's going to blab.”

“The thing is,” said Glass, “I talked to this guy at the museum . . .”

“What guy?”

“A guy who works there.”

“A curator?”

“No, no, he's in building maintenance. You know, like a janitor.”

“Okay.” This was brutal, like pulling teeth.

“Anyway,” said Glass, “my guy tells me there are all these late-night meetings and things going on.”

“Staff or board members?”

“He wasn't completely clear on that.”

“So what are these meetings supposedly about?” said Theodosia.

“He wasn't sure. But he said it was the first time anything like that ever happened there.”

“And it's also the first time a murder ever occurred at the museum,” said Theodosia. “So it's reasonable to expect a little extra activity. A little nocturnal action.”

“And then I was nosing around and asking questions as well,” said Glass, “of the staff and whoever else I could buttonhole.”

“And you think what?” said Theodosia. “What's the bottom line here?”

Glass crooked a finger at his bandaged head. “I think somebody at the museum didn't want me hanging around asking all those questions.”

“You think that's why you were attacked?”

Glass gnashed his teeth together. “I
know
that's why I was attacked.”

Tea kettles chirped
and teacups rattled softly as Miss Dimple scurried from counter to table.

“I'm back,” said Theodosia, suddenly putting in an appearance at the front counter. “What did I miss?”

“Just good food and fun,” said Miss Dimple. She shot a sly glance at Drayton. “And Drayton's amazing nonstop comments. It's like being part of a tea documentary.”

“I prefer to think of it as encouragement,” said Drayton.

It was eleven fifteen, and the Indigo Tea Shop was half-filled with customers. Miss Dimple had already reset the empty tables for the Tower of London Tea, which kicked off at noon, so there wasn't all that much to do, thank goodness.

“I see we're using the Coalport china,” said Theodosia.

“What else?” said Drayton. In his mind it was a fait accompli
.

“And the Edinburgh crystal?”

“Tell me what other maker crafts fine leaded glasses in that English thistle-cut pattern?”

“You must have quite a collection of china and glassware at home,” Miss Dimple said to Drayton.

The corners of his mouth crooked upward. “You have no idea.”

“And teapots,” put in Theodosia. “Our Drayton's a bit of a hoarder. Only he's a very organized, OCD-type of hoarder.”

“Everything in its place,” said Drayton. “Carefully and neatly categorized and stored.”

“And labeled,” said Theodosia. “Drayton still uses one of those old-fashioned plastic labeling guns.”

“The kind that makes letters and spits out little plastic tape?” said Miss Dimple. “Oh my, that's quite a relic.”

“Not if it still does the job,” Drayton replied.

• • •

Finally, when the
last of their morning customers had departed, Theodosia flew around the tea shop, cleaning and resetting the rest of the tables, making last-minute preparations. As candles were lit and the polished crystal and silver caught the morning light, the shop sparkled like a miniature jewel box.

And Drayton was front and center with a few surprises.

First off, there were tiny bouquets of pink English roses that he'd ordered from Floradora. Those went on the tables in crystal vases, along with miniature Union Jack flags stuck in place card holders. And there were favors, too. Each guest would receive an individual packet of English shortbread along with a miniature jar of marmalade.

“It looks like merry old England in here,” Miss Dimple marveled. “Like some charming little tea shop you'd visit in the Cotswolds.”

Theodosia scrutinized the tables. “You don't think our table décor is slightly at odds with the Halloween décor?” In what world, she wondered, did ghosts and witches rub their bony shoulders with sweet marmalade and tea roses?

“But it's a Tower of London Tea,” Miss Dimple chortled. “In honor of Halloween. I think you folks struck just the perfect balance.”

“If you say so,” said Theodosia. She decided she'd just go along with the whole thing. Haley adored the theme, the tickets had all been sold, Miss Dimple was a perennial cheerleader, and Drayton . . . well, Drayton was still gloating over his tea choices.

• • •

At eleven forty-five
a line began to form outside the Indigo Tea Shop. It continued to swell until, at precisely twelve o'clock, Drayton threw open the front door and welcomed their guests in his inimitable hale-hearty style. Dozens of folks poured in and began to mill about excitedly. They exclaimed over the Halloween décor,
ooh
ed and
ah
ed over the lovely tables, and then wandered happily about, searching for their place cards.

The few customers who showed up without reservations were regretfully turned away as even more guests rolled in.

“Theodosia!” cried Delaine. Looking like a contemporary witch in a slithery black shift, shiny black leather boots, and a floofy hat, she waved at Theodosia from across the tea room.

Theodosia noticed Delaine windmilling her arms and waved back. Then Theodosia hurried to join her, noting that Aunt Acid was still stuck to her like a tick on a hound dog.

“We're so glad you could make it,” Theodosia said.

“So am I,” said Delaine. “It was touch and go there for a minute. Whew.” She made a big production out of exhaling loudly. “I've been crazy busy, dancing as fast as I can. Well . . . you saw me at the Hunt and Gather Market yesterday. Insane! But we did manage to raise a pile of money.”

“That's wonderful,” said Theodosia. “And as a special reward, I have a table for you and your aunt right over here.” She took Delaine by the elbow and guided her to a table.

“Thank you,” said Delaine. “Come along, Auntie.” The two of them plopped down in their chairs. “Oh, I hear you got roped into honchoing the Bloody Mary Crawl and Haunted Hayride tonight.”

“I'm afraid so,” said Theodosia.

“Good old Charlotte twisted your arm?” Delaine said in a wry voice. Then she added, “The woman's completely nutters, you realize.”

“Charlotte has a lot on her plate right now,” said Theodosia. “I'm just trying to lend a hand.” She glanced over at the front door and saw a familiar puff of multicolored hair.
Who is that again? Oh no, it's Dolly Greaves, Roger Greaves's wife.
“Excuse me.”

But Dolly Greaves had seen Theodosia and was already making a beeline for her.

“We meet again!” Dolly squealed. She reached out and clamped her fingers down on Theodosia's shoulders, pulling her forward in a tight embrace.

“Welcome back to the tea shop,” said Theodosia, trying to pull herself away.

“I have to tell you,” said Dolly, looking back over her shoulder at the two other women who'd come in with her. “I had such a fabulous time Sunday night that I just couldn't stay away.” She grinned at Theodosia. “So you see? I brought two of my BFFs along.”

“We're thrilled to have you,” said Theodosia, finally managing to escape Dolly's clawlike clutches. “You're right over . . . well, let's put you here at table five.”

It was another five minutes before all the guests were seated, but Theodosia and Miss Dimple had already grabbed steaming pots of tea and were busily filling teacups.

Then, finally, as all the guests sipped, chatted with each other, and looked around expectantly, Drayton stepped to the front of the room.

“Welcome,” he intoned in his best Heritage Society lecturer voice. “Welcome to our first ever Tower of London Tea.”

There was a spatter of applause.

“The Tower of London has always enjoyed a dark and storied history,” Drayton continued. “It has been the scene of beheadings and imprisonments, and many dour legends abound. But today, with this special themed tea, we plan to present our own lighthearted version of the Tower of London. Yes, tonight is Halloween, when mischief will abound. And some of you may even subscribe to the notion of orbs, haunts, and spirits that make up so many of our low-country legends.” He gestured for Theodosia to join him.

Theodosia stepped in front of the group and smiled. “But today we shall eat and enjoy a civilized tea. In fact, we hope our sweets and savories will completely captivate you, and you'll never think of the Tower of London in the same way again.”

With that, Haley and Miss Dimple each appeared with a towering four-tiered tray chock-full of food. Upon seeing this amazing presentation, the room erupted in applause. Then, as Haley and Miss Dimple carried their trays to the two round tables, Theodosia and Drayton ducked into the kitchen, grabbed two more trays, and began delivering food to the rest of the tables.

As the tiered trays were placed in the middle of each table, there were questions galore.

“What kind of scones are these?” Delaine demanded.

“On the top tier of our Tower of London you'll find our crown jewel scones,” said Theodosia, “which are cream scones packed full of delicious candied fruit.”

“And then what?” someone asked.

“On the next tier,” said Theodosia, “you'll find Anne Boleyn chocolate-dipped strawberries, in both milk and dark chocolate.”

“And what is this delightful little tea sandwich?” Dolly Greaves asked. She was pointing and chattering away like a manic magpie.

“That particular tea sandwich is honey-roasted ham and English mustard on caraway seed bread,” said Drayton. “And the other one is English smoked salmon with cream cheese and chives on brown bread.”

“And once you nosh your way down to our dessert tier,” said Theodosia, indicating the bottom tier of the tea tray, “you'll find chutney crescents and individual Victoria sponge cakes.”

It was, as they say, your basic piece of cake. Besides enjoying the sweets and savories that were so elegantly presented, their guests were literally eating out of their hands. Nobody complained, everyone seemed deliriously happy, and cup after cup of tea was being sipped with great gusto.

“This was so much easier than I thought it would be,” Theodosia whispered to Drayton.

He nodded. “We should make use of our tiered tea trays more often.”

“It's the presentation that wows them,” said Miss Dimple as she swung by the counter. “Customers see four layers of goodies interspersed with edible flowers, and they just melt. You see, everybody's still grinning like crazy.”

“You're sure that's not gas?” Theodosia joked.

“Theo!” said Drayton, pretending to be horrified.

Miss Dimple just chuckled.

• • •

As Theodosia made
a slow circle around the tea room refilling tea cups, Maggie Twining reached out to stop her. Maggie was a local real estate agent who'd sold Theodosia's cottage to her. She had a friendly, open face surrounded by a tumble of gray hair. Today she wore a nubby turquoise sweater with half-glasses on a chain to match.

“Theo,” said Maggie, “this is a wonderful tea. Just amazing.”

“Thank you,” said Theodosia. “It was fun putting it together.”

“And I so love your décor,” said Maggie. She pointed to a diaphanous ghost that floated overhead and gave a slow wink. “Reminds me of all our local haunted mansions.” Maggie specialized in homes “below Broad,” meaning south of Broad Street, which was the expensive, upper-crust part of Charleston.

“I think you've probably sold a few haunted mansions in your career, haven't you?” Theodosia joked.

“I surely have. In fact, I just sold a grand old Italianate-style place over on Lenwood that's supposedly haunted by a Civil War soldier. The former owner swears he heard spurs and sabers clanking in the night.”

“I believe it,” Theodosia giggled.

“Speaking of Halloween,” said Maggie, “I understand you've been strong-armed to chair that Bloody Mary Crawl tonight.”

“And the Haunted Hayride,” said Theodosia. “Lucky me.”

“Still,” said Maggie. “It sounds like a fun time.”

Theodosia refilled her teacup. “Then I expect to see you there.”

Maggie smiled back. “I just might take you up on that.”

• • •

The bonhomie and
good feelings lasted for another hour and a half, basically until Dolly Greaves was just about ready to leave. She was chatting with her friends and a few other departing guests when she spotted Theodosia. She frowned, held up an imperious finger, and then reached out to pull Theodosia aside.

“My husband mentioned that you stopped by his office the other day,” Dolly said to Theodosia.

“That's right.” Theodosia figured she pretty much had to play it straight. That way nothing could circle back to bite you.

“I didn't give your little visit much consideration,” said Dolly, “until I happened to overhear someone at the next table today. They were talking about how you're quite the amateur investigator.”

“Oh, not really,” said Theodosia. Oops, something
had
just circled back to bite her.

“That's not what I heard,” said Dolly. She flashed a lopsided smile that was chilly at best. “Or overheard.”

“Just whose conversation were you listening in on?”

Dolly snapped a hand at Delaine.

“Oh.”

Dolly's tone grew insistent and her words terse. “So I have to ask myself—are you investigating the murder of Edgar Webster? And, if so, are you trying to pin it on my husband?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Which, of course, would be utterly despicable. I mean, my poor Roger is prostrate with grief!”

“You know what?” said Theodosia. “I was just asking a few questions for Charlotte's sake.”

“That's
so
interesting,” Dolly snapped. “Considering Charlotte Webster is one of the prime suspects.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Don't you know that the wife is
always
a suspect when her husband is murdered? Especially when serious money is involved.”

Theodosia was about to counter Dolly's words when Drayton suddenly cut in to their conversation.