Ming Tea Murder (4 page)

“Why did they break up?” Theodosia asked.
And was it even a legitimate breakup if Edgar was still married to Charlotte?

Delaine scooped up a blob of Devonshire cream and deposited it on her scone. “Webster just got fed up with Cecily, I guess. She's a very pretty girl, nice eye candy and all that, but she was a complete money-grubber. She talked Webster into buying her a new BMW as well as bankrolling her new furniture shop. So she probably sank her talons into him to the tune of at least a half-million dollars.”

“That's a major chunk of change,” said Theodosia.

“But Webster was demanding his money back,” said Delaine.

“You mean calling in his loan?” said Theodosia.

Delaine nodded. “You might say that. Only, from the chatter I heard, Cecily never considered it a loan. She thought it was her due. That's what their big fight was all about.”

“Money!” spat out Aunt Astra. “That's always a huge motive to kill someone!”

“Of course it is, dear,” said Delaine. “Even though we all know Charlotte Webster is rich as Croesus.”

“So his wife controlled all the money?” said Theodosia.

“Pretty much,” said Delaine. “Don't you know Charlotte's been living fat and sassy on a ginormous inheritance? Edgar Webster did okay with his business, but he was a piker compared to his wife. I'd say he was mainly along for the ride.”

“But now poor Charlotte is stuck in a terrible middle ground,” said Theodosia. “Her husband not only cheated on her, he got himself murdered.”

“With a nasty ex-girlfriend talking smack about him,” said Delaine.

Theodosia shook her head. “Charlotte must be brokenhearted as well as angry.”

“Mostly angry,” said Delaine. “She's an extremely volatile woman, you know.”

“She is?” said Theodosia. “How so?”

“Didn't you ever hear about the Corvette incident?” asked Delaine. “About how Charlotte drove her husband's classic 1976 Corvette right into an antique lamppost on Tradd Street just because he came sneaking into the house at four
AM
?”

“Sounds right to me,” said Aunt Astra.

But Delaine wasn't finished. “And how about the time Charlotte had a bloody blue hissy fit right in the middle of a Broad Street Garden Club meeting?”

“What happened there?”

“Somebody proposed planting lowly zinnias in the garden between the Library Society and the Governor Aiken Gates, when what Charlotte really wanted were Juliet roses.”

“That does sound a bit unreasonable,” said Theodosia.

“Oh, Charlotte's unreasonable,” said Delaine, touching an index finger to her lips and then helping herself to another scone. “In fact, the woman's a complete whack job.”

Standing at the
front counter, watching Drayton pull down a tin of Empire Keemun tea, Theodosia said, “Do you know Cecily Conrad?”

Drayton pried off the lid and looked pensive for a moment as the heady scent perfumed the air around them. “Yes. If I remember correctly, Cecily moved here a year or so ago and got caught up with the Opera Society, even though she's a bit of a wild child. Her father is Colonel Josiah Conrad from down Savannah way.” He measured out two heaping scoops of tea into a blue-and-white teapot. “You know, Cecily was at the museum opening last night.”

“She was?” This was news to Theodosia. “Did you notice if she was, um, interacting in any way with Edgar Webster?”

Drayton looked at her sharply. “Why are you asking? For some reason, it feels like you have some sort of hidden agenda.”

“Not so hidden at all,” said Theodosia. “I just found out from Delaine that Edgar Webster had been cheating on Charlotte and that Cecily was the so-called other woman. And to top things off with a nice, fat maraschino cherry, Webster apparently had a recent and highly volatile falling out with Cecily.”

Drayton stared at her. “This is conjecture, right?”

“I know it sounds like an episode of
The Good Wife
, but I swear it's the honest truth.”

“Hmm.” Drayton seemed to mull everything over for a moment. “You're sure about this affair?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Then your information, even though it's dreadful and gossipy, might possibly . . . um . . . impact the police investigation?”

“Is that a question?” said Theodosia.

“Mmn. No, I guess not.”

“So you're saying that Tidwell and company might not look at suspects who are fairly close to home?” said Theodosia. “That the investigation could go off in a another direction? Maybe questioning past and current business associates, or something like that?”

“That could be the case,” said Drayton, looking a little worried.

Theodosia drummed her fingers against the counter and fidgeted with a Royal Vale cup and saucer decorated with a sprightly yellow daffodil. “So both Charlotte and Cecily should probably be regarded as prime suspects,” she said slowly.

“Your newly procured information,” said Drayton, “even though it came from an unreliable source like Delaine, could definitely point to motive.”

“Because Charlotte might have been jealous and Cecily might have been angry,” said Theodosia. She tilted her head to one side. “So what do you think? Should I call Detective Tidwell and drop a few heavy-handed hints about Webster's extracurricular activities? Sort of clue him in?”

Drayton stared back at her, his gray eyes practically boring into her, his brow furrowed. “Knowing what you do now, I think you have to share this information with him.”

Theodosia set the cup and saucer down on the counter. “That's what I was afraid of.”

• • •

They got busy
then, brewing tea, ferrying plates of scones and pots of tea to all their customers. And because it was Friday, with its usual onslaught of weekend tourists as well as regulars, morning teatime at the Indigo Tea Shop stayed rush hour busy as they eased their way through the morning. And then, suddenly, it was time for Theodosia to duck into the kitchen and consult with Haley about lunch.

“The tea shop is jammed,” Theodosia told her. “And in about two minutes we're going to have a few of our guests inquiring about lunch offerings.”

Haley spun around like a ballerina, dipped a ladle into a pot of steaming sausage and gnocchi soup, tasted it, and said, “So you'd like to know what's on the menu?”

Theodosia smiled. “That would be the general idea, yes.”

“Okay.” Haley dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a three-by-five-inch index card. She glanced at it for all of one second, and then handed it over to Theodosia. “Here you go, boss.”

“Thank you,” said Theodosia. “And please don't call me boss.”

Haley cocked her head. “Why not?”

“Because we're all in this together.”

“You think?”

Theodosia chuckled. “I've always looked at it that way. Besides, I don't want to be that one lonely soldier who's always walking point.” She scanned the card quickly. “Haley, this is just super.” In her cramped, left-canted printing, Haley had listed sausage and gnocchi soup, chicken and wild rice salad, prosciutto and fig tea sandwiches, apple and Cheddar cheese scones, and chocolate cupcakes.

“I just hope our customers like everything,” said Haley.

“Are you kidding? They'll love it.”

• • •

And love it
they did. Theodosia served bowls of soup until the pot was empty. Then she tried to steer customers to the salads. When those started to dwindle, she had Haley whip up extra prosciutto and fig sandwiches.

“Another success,” said Drayton. He was lounging against the counter, his eyes focused on the busy café even as he sipped a cup of Darjeeling.

“Don't get too relaxed,” Theodosia told him. “This is going to be a long slog of a weekend. Remember, we're going to be open on Sunday, too.”

“How could I forget?” said Drayton, smiling. “Our
Titanic
Tea.”

“A night to remember,” said Haley as she dashed out to deliver a plate of fresh apple and Cheddar scones. “Just like the title of that old black-and-white
Titanic
disaster movie.”

“And to think the
Titanic
Tea was all Drayton's grand idea,” said Theodosia. “We could have gotten off easy by hanging up ghost and goblin decorations, but no, he wanted to go all out.” Halloween would be arriving in a few days' time, and this Sunday's
Titanic
Tea was Drayton's clever
homage
to that quasi-holiday. No witches, ghosts, or goblins for him, just the grand, haunting memory of the
Titanic
tragedy.

“I think our guests will enjoy a Halloween tea without benefit of the same old ghoulies, don't you think?” said Drayton.

“I have to admit, I was nervous about the idea at first,” said Theodosia. “But now that we're completely sold out, I take my hat off to you. It's a grand idea.”

“Wait until you see the décor I've got planned,” said Drayton. “It's going to blow your socks off.”

“I even did research on some of the menus that the White Star Lines featured,” said Haley. “So we'll be serving some of those actual dishes.”

“You two,” said Theodosia, shaking her head. When Drayton and Haley sunk their teeth into a new themed tea, it was like dealing with a couple of rabid jackals.

“But we're gonna decorate with a few ghoulies later on,” said Haley. “After all, it is Halloween.” She gave a little shiver. “One of my very favorite holidays.”

“Why is that?” said Drayton. “Why do women go into an absolute swoon over Halloween?”

“I think it's because we get to wear a costume,” said Theodosia. “For one crazy night, we can let ourselves be anybody or anything we want.”

“Absolutely,” said Haley. “Wicked witch costumes, fairy princesses, crazy ladies with ripped bodices . . .”

“So I suppose you two plan to be appropriately attired for our Tower of London Tea, as well?” said Drayton. This particular tea had been Theodosia's idea. A semi-spooky, British-themed tea to be held at lunch on Halloween day.

“Are you kidding?” said Haley. “I've got my Anne Boleyn costume ready and rarin' to go.” She grinned at Drayton. “Who are you going to be?” she asked. “King Henry VIII?”

“Good heavens, no,” said Drayton.

“Then who?” said Theodosia.

One of Drayton's brows lifted into an arch. “You'll just have to wait and see.”

• • •

Just as Theodosia
was serving plates of cupcakes and making a final round with a teapot filled with Keemun, Max came sauntering in. He stood by the front door, waiting patiently until she noticed him.

“Hey,” she said, swinging by him. “Are you here for a late lunch?”

“I am if you've got any food left.”

“I think we could scrape something up.” Theodosia pointed to a small table wedged next to a highboy stacked with colorful tea tins. “You're lucky we even have one table left,” she told him somewhat breathlessly. She was juggling desserts, trying to deliver checks to the guests who were finished, and still hadn't had a chance to run back to her office and call Tidwell. “I hope you don't mind perching at that smaller table?”

“Not a problem.” Max gave her a sly wink. “Makes it easier to keep an eye on you.”

She led him to the table, hastily laid out silverware, and poured him a glass of ice water. “So how are things at the museum today?”

“They're in turmoil, just as you might expect. Elliot Kern, our director, is pretty much yanking his hair out. What's left of it anyway.”

“Have you heard anything specific? I mean . . . the police . . . Tidwell . . . have they been nosing around?”

“I was stuck in my office all morning, taking calls and fending off our local press, so I really couldn't say.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Well, there was constant chatter and lots of urgent footsteps shuffling up and down the hallway. So, yes, the investigators were there all right. Probably wearing their little Sherlock Holmes caps while they tried to sniff out clues.”

“I picked up a couple of interesting bits of information this morning,” said Theodosia.

Max raised his eyebrows. “Concerning . . . ?”

Theodosia waved a hand. “They're just rumors really.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Theodosia quickly filled him in on the Charlotte-Edgar-Cecily love triangle.

Max tapped a finger against his water glass. “That's fairly weird. So what are you really saying?”

“Just that, I don't know . . .” She was a little nervous about sharing the gossip now. “That it was a strange situation, with no love lost between any of them?”

Max's eyes went suddenly huge. “Oh, jeez, Theo. But I do get your inference. You're saying that either of those two women could be a prime suspect in Webster's murder!”

“Well, that would be the general idea, yes.”

“Holy crap,” said Max. “Now there's a can of worms.” He paused, studying Theodosia carefully as if she were a science project. “So . . . do you think you're going to kick that can wide open?”

“I'm planning to call Detective Tidwell, yes.”

Max gazed at her. “To spill the beans about Charlotte and Cecily. Huh. You're really getting involved in this, aren't you?”

Theodosia lifted a shoulder. “I picked up some critical information that the police should probably know about.”

Max made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh of resignation and a protest. “Okay, I'm sure you're going to relay all of this information to Tidwell. But that doesn't mean there's going to be any quid pro quo involved. I seriously doubt that he's going to open up to you about what
he's
already discovered.”

“Probably not,” said Theodosia. “But with this kind of information, I can at least prime the pump.”

• • •

Theodosia took advantage
of a lull in business a few minutes later. She whipped into her office, plunked herself down behind her desk, and dialed Tidwell's number. She didn't have the good detective on speed dial, but wondered if maybe she should.

It took a few minutes for Theodosia to bluff her way through Tidwell's gatekeepers, but finally she had him on the phone. Then she spent a fast three minutes bringing him up to speed on what she knew about Edgar and Charlotte Webster and Cecily Conrad. She laid her information out as smoothly as she could, hoping that this new information—well, some of it was hearsay—would spur him into action.

But when she was finished, there was dead silence.

“Detective Tidwell?” she said. “Have you heard any of this before?”

There were a few more moments of silence, then he said, “Miss Browning, this is all hearsay and conjecture on your part, correct?”

“It's information,” said Theodosia. “A few basic facts that I think you should be aware of.”

Tidwell sighed. “Please tell me you're not calling to horn in on my investigation.”

“Of course I'm not.” She grimaced. She kind of was. “I'm really just being a concerned citizen, trying to share some pertinent information.”

“I see,” said Tidwell.

“So did you know?” asked Theodosia. “About the . . . affair?”

“Yes, I did.”

That brought her down a peg or two. “Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not really. Oh, but I did want to ask you a question.”

“Just one question?”

“Um . . . that's right.”