Ming Tea Murder (25 page)

“Thank you for coming,” Drayton said to Dolly. “I hope you and your friends had a lovely time.” He was smiling and flushed with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“It was
most
enlightening,” Dolly said in a snide tone. She'd gone from snappy to downright hostile.

“I'm sorry,” said Drayton, taking a step back. “Did I just interrupt something?”

“I'm sure Theodosia will tell you all about it,” said Dolly, practically spitting out her words. “Aren't you her little confidant? Or would that be Detective Tidwell?” Then, without waiting for any kind of response, Dolly Greaves flounced out of the tea shop.

“What was
that
all about?” asked Drayton, gazing after her. “Clearly, the woman's feathers have been ruffled.”

“Dolly thinks that I think her husband might have killed Edgar Webster,” said Theodosia.

Drayton's eyes slid toward her and he suppressed a small “told you so” smile. “Isn't that exactly what you think? I mean, isn't Roger Greaves a logical suspect?”

“I don't know,” said Theodosia. “The problem is, there's a whole raft of logical suspects.”

• • •

With Drayton and
Miss Dimple cleaning away the detritus of the tea party, Theodosia was back in her office. She was bound and determined to get through to Allan Abrams at the Crenshaw Museum.

But when she placed another call, Mr. Abrams still wasn't answering his phone. So she left another voice message, this one just the teensiest bit more pleading for him to call.

With that unfinished business hanging over her head, Theodosia decided she still wasn't any closer to figuring out Webster's murder.

But something was bound to pop, she decided. She just didn't know what.

• • •

“Do you want
me to wrap these two teapots in bubble wrap?” Theodosia asked. Drayton had brought along his basalt Capri teapot and majolica blueberry-pattern teapot to use today, and now Theodosia wanted to make sure they were returned to him in pristine condition. In other words, unbroken.

“Please,” said Drayton. He was standing behind the counter, tallying up the day's receipts. Theodosia and Miss Dimple were packing up all the teapots, dishes, and glassware that Drayton had loaned them. The tables were bare, the floor had been swept clean, and now there were just a few final chores left to do.

“Knock knock,” called out a tentative female voice.

Everyone looked up from what they were doing to stare at the front door. It was crooked halfway open now, and Cecily Conrad was peering in at them.

Drayton pushed his tortoiseshell half-glasses up on his nose. “What on earth?” he said.

“Cecily,” said Theodosia. “Can we help you?”

Cecily took a step into the tea room. “Can I come in? I mean, is it okay?”

Drayton glanced down at his receipts again, so it was left to Theodosia to say, “Yes, Cecily, come in. What can we do for you?”

Cecily looked nervous and a little fearful. “Can we talk?”

“You want to talk to me?” said Theodosia. She looked around, but Drayton and Miss Dimple were giving her no help at all.
Some allies they are.

“It'll only take a minute,” said Cecily.

“Sure,” said Theodosia. “Okay. I guess we can . . .” She made a pointing gesture. “We can talk in my office.”

Cecily bobbed her head and followed Theodosia without saying another word.

When they were both in her office, Theodosia closed the door and slid behind her desk.

“Are you feeling okay?” Theodosia asked. “You've got a bit of a shiner on your right eye.”

“It's not too bad,” said Cecily, once she'd settled across from Theodosia. “Charlotte didn't hit me that hard.”

“What's up?” said Theodosia. She didn't have a lot of time to waste. The tea shop still needed to be put shipshape for tomorrow morning, then she had to run home and change, and then rush off to the Bloody Mary Crawl. And, oh, yes, the Haunted Hayride.

But Cecily was clearly in no hurry. She twirled a finger in her hair and cleared her throat.

“How can I help?” Theodosia said again, trying to convey a note of urgency.

“I appreciate that you were being helpful the other day,” said Cecily, “when you dropped by with your tea basket.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I didn't know until I talked to Detective Tidwell again this morning that you were so smart at investigating.”

Theodosia smiled faintly. “What exactly did Tidwell say?”

“Just that you were clever and sometimes got involved where you probably shouldn't.”

“That was kind of him,” Theodosia said in a semi-sarcastic tone.

“No, I think he was trying to pay you a compliment,” said Cecily. “Except that he . . . he's not very adept at that kind of thing.”

Theodosia leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “So I've noticed.”

“The thing is,” said Cecily, “when I heard Detective Tidwell sort of . . . well,
vouch
for you, I decided that maybe I should have you on my side.”

“Cecily, is this leading somewhere? Do you have some information for me?” Theodosia paused. “Or do you need to get something off your conscience?”

“Not really,” said Cecily. But the expression on her face belied her answer.

She does want to tell me something, but she's afraid.

“I think you do know something,” said Theodosia. “I think you know more than you're letting on.”

“No, I don't,” said Cecily. She looked like she was ready to cry.

“You say you talked to Detective Tidwell . . .”

“Just this morning.”

“And he questioned you some more regarding . . . the attack on you?”

“That and Edgar Webster's murder,” Cecily grumped.

“Okay.”

“But I told him I didn't
know
anything about that. That I'm going to try and forget I ever knew the man!”

“But you have a sort of suspicion.”

Cecily shrugged.

“Cecily . . .”

“Okay!” Cecily blurted out. “I've had my suspicions all along, but now . . . now I'm too scared to say anything!”

“Surely you can tell the police.”

Tears rolled down Cecily's face. “No, I can't. What if I'm wrong? Worse yet, what if I'm
right?
What if the killer comes after me? I mean, he already did once, I think. How do I protect myself?”

Theodosia stood up and came around her desk. She sat down next to Cecily on the wide, cushy chair. “Cecily, there's nothing you can't tell me.”

“I can't. I'm too afraid.”

Still Theodosia pushed her. “Cecily, you came here today for a reason. So why not share your suspicions—if that's what they are—and let me be the judge of what's going to get you in trouble or not?”

But Cecily just pursed her mouth tightly and shook her head from side to side, looking like a five-year-old who's not about to tattle.

“I see Mother
Nature's fog machine is at work again,” said Theodosia. She was standing on Meeting Street just outside the historic Heywood House. The place was a large Greek Revival home that, tonight, was lit up in spectacular fashion. Orange spotlights splashed up the sides of the home, causing it to glow like a jack-o'-lantern in the dark night. Some sort of green rotating projector cast ever-changing images against the front of the house, enticing streams of visitors through its front doors. And, with most of them clutching plastic cups, the Bloody Mary Crawl was clearly in full swing.

Two volunteers, Mary Grace and Katina, were standing with Theodosia on the sidewalk, taking in the spectacle. Meeting Street had been cordoned off for almost three blocks, so only foot traffic was allowed. Still the crowd continued to swell.

“I had no idea so many people would come out for this,” Theodosia marveled. She clutched the binder Charlotte had given her as if it were a lifeline.

“Oh, yes,” said Katina. She was cute and blond and dressed in a kind of red beetle costume. “And most of them are even wearing costumes.”

Theodosia smiled. “I can see that.”

“But we have a small problem,” said Mary Grace. She was dark-haired and petite, the more serious-looking of the two volunteers. No costume for her.

“What's that?” said Theodosia. This was why she was here tonight, hopefully to solve problems.

“The hay wagons haven't arrived yet,” said Mary Grace.

“That is a problem,” said Katina. “The hayrides are one of our major draws. Particularly for families.”

Theodosia flipped open the white binder and ran her finger down a contact sheet until she found the number for the Equinox Equestrian Center. “Let me make a call and see what the holdup is.”

But just as she grabbed her phone, the
clip-clop
of hooves rang out sharply from down the block.

All three of them turned at once to watch as two enormous black horses steamed directly toward them, pulling an enormous hay wagon. The horses tossed their heads and jingled their harnesses as they pranced right down the middle of the street. Behind that first wagon, Theodosia could see another set of horses pulling a second wagon.

“Problem solved,” said Theodosia. “They're here.” If all problems were resolved this simply, it was going to be an easy, fun night.

“Those are awfully big boys,” said Katina as the first horse-drawn wagon rumbled past.

“Percherons,” said Theodosia. “Horses that were originally bred in France and used as war horses.” She noted that the wooden wagons were stuffed with hay and looked like they could easily accommodate twenty-five or thirty people. That was good, because kids and their parents were already lining up.

The first wagon shuddered to a stop next to a large red barrel with a sign that said
HAY RIDES LOAD HERE
.
Theodosia strolled down there to get a closer look at the monster-sized team.

“These are gorgeous horses,” she said, looking up at the driver. Then she did a double take when she recognized just who was holding the reins. It was Harlan Duke!

“What are
you
doing here?” Theodosia asked. Duke was all gussied up in a western hat and long, white drover's coat.

Duke grinned down at her. “Bet you didn't expect to see me!”

“No, I didn't,” said Theodosia. “But it's a nice surprise.” At least she hoped it was.

“Carriage driving is one of my hobbies,” said Duke. “So I thought I'd help out tonight. I heard that Charlotte roped you in, too.”

“She sure did,” said Theodosia. “You didn't drive those horses all the way in from the equestrian center, did you?”

“Naw, we trailered these big boys to the parking lot at the Coast Guard station and unloaded there. The wagons were hauled in by tractor.”

“Neat.”

“Well . . .” Duke glanced back and saw that he had a full passenger load already. He tipped his hat to her. “Got to get going.”

“Good luck,” she said. “Be safe.”

• • •

Pleased that the
hayrides were finally under way, Theodosia decided to do a quick inspection of the Heywood House. She strolled up the front walk, which was lined with silver and gold luminaries, and stepped inside.

It was absolutely amazing what the owners had done.

They'd turned the entire first floor of their home into a haunted wedding tableau. There was a ghost bride and her four bridesmaids getting gussied up in the front parlor. The hallway was draped in white gauze and fake cobwebs. In the library, on the other side of a white velvet rope, a ghost groom and his groomsmen preened in black and Day-Glo orange tuxedos. And in the large family room, folding chairs held a family of wedding ghosts—
er, guests
, Theodosia thought. She could just imagine them tapping their bony fingers, anxiously awaiting the ceremony.

Just wonderful
, she thought. The home owners had really gone to a lot of effort. In fact, it looked as if they'd brought in a professional set decorator.

Outside, the expansive back patio was lit by hundreds of flickering candles. Flaming torches surrounded a long reflecting pool. Nearby, a Bloody Mary bar had been set up. Guests with the appropriate color wristbands were helping themselves to drinks and garnishing them with olives, shrimp kabobs, pickles, and lettuce stalks. Theodosia was happy to see that there was also plenty of apple cider and soft drinks available for the kids.

Thank goodness for all these hard-working volunteers
, she thought. All these venues had been planned and plotted, and all she had to do was serve as the pro forma chairperson. Really, she thought, if Charlotte Webster had been only 2 percent involved in all of this, she still deserved a ton of credit.

As Theodosia was exiting the house, she ran smack dab into Max.

“There you are,” said Max. “I've been looking all over for you.” He smiled warmly. “But, hey, you didn't wear your costume. I thought for sure you'd wear that witchy thing.”

“I thought I'd be better off in jeans and sneaks tonight,” said Theodosia. “Makes it easier to move around. Sneak around.”

Max spread his arms wide apart. “What can I do to help?”

Theodosia thought for a moment. “You know what? I haven't been over to Gateway Walk yet. Do you think you could take a stroll over there and see how the cemetery tours are going?”

“Of course.”

“That would be great.”

They walked down Meeting Street together, dodging people, bumping shoulders, ducking around lampposts strung with twinkle lights. The street was getting more and more crowded, and there was a crackle of excitement in the air. It felt like a thousand people had turned out this Halloween night. Maybe even some that weren't wearing wristbands? Probably, but Theodosia wasn't going to worry about it. As long as everyone enjoyed the open houses, hayrides, and cemetery ramble, she figured she was way ahead of the game.

As Theodosia turned into the Featherbed House, Max continued on to the cemetery. She smiled as she climbed the steps to the lovely large front porch. Her friend, Angie Congdon, was the proprietor of the Featherbed House, and Theodosia had always found it to be one of the cutest, quaintest B and Bs in the entire area.

Stepping across the threshold, Theodosia was struck by the pitch-perfect mix of elegance and hominess. Quilted patchwork geese, carved wooden geese, and plaster geese were everywhere. Needlepoint pillows with geese motifs were propped on overstuffed chintz sofas and matching chairs. The lobby didn't look spooky at all, but there was a life-sized witch with one boney hand pointing toward the outdoor patio. The sign hung around her neck read
HAUNTED GARDEN
.

That must be the place, Theodosia decided. She crossed the lobby and stepped outside. And practically laughed out loud.

It looked like an outdoor woodland café with the wicked witch from “Hansel and Gretel” as the hostess and proprietor. Trees were strung with orange, purple, and green lights, extra palm trees had been brought in to give the feeling of abundant flora and fauna, and papier-mâché gremlins and trolls peeped out from various groves of shrubbery.

And there, in the corner, sitting at a wrought-iron table, was Drayton. And, glory be, Charlotte Webster and Roger Greaves were also at his table!

Theodosia ducked under hanging branches and tiptoed around a large clump of palmettos.

“Hello there,” she said, popping out at them fast.

“Aiiii!” cried Charlotte, giving a little scream. When she recognized Theodosia, she said, “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Just trying to put you in the Halloween mood,” said Theodosia.

Drayton stood up and pulled a chair out for her. “Sit down, sit down. How's it going out there?”

“I'd have to say everything's running smoothly,” said Theodosia. She reached across the table and touched Charlotte's hand. “And it's all due to your good planning.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte, beaming. “But I had a lot of help from some awfully good volunteers. Everybody really pitched in.”

“From my perspective,” said Theodosia, “it feels like a huge success.”

Charlotte looked suddenly serious. “Thank you so much, Theodosia, for taking this off my hands. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” said Theodosia. Because there really hadn't been any problems.

Charlotte glanced sideways at Roger Greaves, then back at Theodosia. “I wanted to come out and thank you earlier,” she said, “but I was nervous about coming on my own.” She gave a little shiver. “There are so many people, so much going on, and . . . well, you know my circumstances.” She fluttered a hand to her chest. “Anyway, I was lucky that Roger agreed to serve as escort.” She smiled now. “I figured if I hung out back here, you'd turn up sooner or later.”

“And here I am,” said Theodosia. “I've been making the rounds . . .” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “And now I'd better continue doing so.”

“Can't you stay for a drink?” said Charlotte. She looked pleadingly at Greaves. “Make her stay. Just one little drink?”

But Theodosia was insistent. “No, I've got four more venues to visit yet. If everything goes well, I'll try to swing back here a little later.”

Drayton stood up, too. “I have to take off, as well.” He nodded toward Charlotte and Greaves and wished them a pleasant evening. Then he turned to Theodosia, and said, “I'll stroll with you for a while.”

• • •

Back out on
Meeting Street, things were getting wild. There were throngs of people wearing masks and costumes, and kids running wild. Fog streamed in from the Atlantic, and the evening had turned considerably cooler and darker. A vampire swooped by in a velvet cape, five teenaged boys wearing green alien masks charged past en masse, and a Venetian lord scrambled onto a front porch.

“I should check things out at the Ames-Parker House,” Theodosia told Drayton.

“Let's do that,” said Drayton. “I haven't been there in ages, and I've always been enamored of that free-floating staircase in the entry hall.”

When they went in, the staircase was still there, but it was decorated with bats and spiders.

“Dear me,” said Drayton. “They've gone positively batty.”

“Still,” said Theodosia, “it's kind of cute.”

“If you like that sort of thing.”

They pushed their way through a library that had been decorated in a Sherlock Holmes theme, and headed out to the back patio. As they stood on the back stoop, Theodosia caught a glimpse of Elliot Kern, the museum director. He was sitting at a table with several other people, enjoying a drink.

Hmm. Maybe a quick visit is all that's needed here.

But just as they turned to go, they ran into Percy Capers.

“Hello, you two,” said Capers, grinning at them. He was holding a Bloody Mary in a plastic cup and dressed in a black ninja costume.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Theodosia. She took a second look at his costume. “I hope you're going on to another party,” she said in a good-natured tone.

“I am,” said Capers. “One of the other curators, Donald Ross—I don't know if you know him—is having a party. But it doesn't start until much later.”

“An adult party,” said Drayton.

“That's right,” said Capers. “No dunking for apples, no mob of trick-or-treaters.” He held up his glass. “Just adult beverages and conversation.”

“What's not to like?” said Theodosia. They walked back outside with Capers. As he wandered down the street, Delaine and Aunt Acid were just coming up the walk.

“Ha,” said Drayton. “You two are the last people I ever expected to see at this mob scene.”

“Mostly we're just going to drop by the Featherbed House,” said Delaine. “I hear their Haunted Garden is really something.”