Ming Tea Murder (10 page)

“According to the ME's preliminary report,” said Tidwell, “it was more likely his temporal lobe.”

“In any case,” said Theodosia, “I have some information that might interest you.”

Her words were greeted by silence.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“What is it you wish to tell me?” Teasing and taunting her, Tidwell was once again playing cat to her mouse.

“I happened to attend the open house last night at Cecily Conrad's new furniture shop.”

“Ah, the rather aptly named Pine Nut.”

“Where Max and Cecily got into a knock-down, drag-out screaming match. Or rather, Cecily did the screaming and I dragged Max out.”

“Sounds like a lovely night on the town,” said Tidwell. “Date night.”

“There was also a workshop there,” Theodosia continued. “One that was well stocked with woodworking tools.”

“As one might expect,” said Tidwell.

“Are you familiar with an awl? Or better yet, a row of awls of various lengths and sizes?”

Again there was a moment of silence. And then Tidwell said, “Are you telling me what I think you are?”

“What do you think I'm telling you?”

“That Cecily Conrad had ample access to what could possibly be a murder weapon?”

“My goodness, you're perceptive,” said Theodosia. “It appears all that FBI field training paid off.”

“No need to get snarky,” said Tidwell, though he actually sounded excited. “It's quite unbecoming.” Then he added, “This could yield a potential break.”

“Yes. Cecily could be more than just a suspect. She could be the killer.”

“But we must not leap to conclusions just yet,” Tidwell cautioned.

“Really?” said Theodosia. “I've never seen you leap to anything at all.”

“Dear girl,” said Tidwell, sounding even more enthusiastic, “if this information pays off, I shall leap for joy.”

Theodosia stashed her phone in her purse and stared at the scroll that hung on the wall opposite her. It was a lovely Chinese brushstroke painting of a swimming carp. With the fish's large eyes and scales and decorative ink swirls, the painting reminded her of a poem Drayton often quoted about heating water for tea.

Fish eyes going, carp eyes coming, soon will be the wind in the pines.

It referred, of course, to the small bubbles making way for larger, roiling bubbles, and the whistle of the teakettle.

“Excuse me,” said a man's voice.

Startled, Theodosia practically jumped out of her chair. In fact, she half rose and spun around. It had been so quiet and restful in the tea house that she'd almost lost track of the fact that she was sitting in a public museum.

A man's face, large and ruddy, floated before her eyes.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” said the man. He held his hand out in a gesture of greeting. “I just wanted to take a second look at this place.”

Theodosia stared at him as she shook his hand. “I know you,” she said. “Or at least you look familiar.”

The man bobbed his head. “Yes, ma'am. I'm Harlan Duke.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crisp white business card, and handed it to her.

Theodosia scanned his card. “You're an art dealer.” From the address on his card, it looked as though his shop was located maybe two blocks from Pine Nut.

Duke smiled happily as he sat down across from her. “I surely am.” He extended a bulky fist and knocked it against one of the cypress posts of the tea house. “I'm also the man who located this baby in Shanghai, on one of the lanes behind Fuxing Road.” He smiled. “And persuaded the owner to sell it.”

“That couldn't have been easy.”

“No, ma'am. Since this fine edifice had stood there since the middle eighteen hundreds, it took a fair amount of persuading.”

“And a good deal of money, I would guess,” said Theodosia.

Duke smiled. “I wasn't involved in that part. The financial negotiations were all handled by the folks here at the museum.”

Theodosia studied Duke. With his string tie, brown jacket embellished with swirls of fancy white topstitching, and Western boots, he presented quite a spectacle.

“You're not from around here, are you?” she said.

Duke gave a genial guffaw. “I'm from Texas. Dallas in particular. Newly transplanted.”

“What brings you to Charleston?”

“Money,” said Duke.

“Excuse me?” Theodosia had heard direct answers before, but this one took the cake.

Duke chuckled at her reaction. “You know who John Dillinger was?”

Theodosia gazed at him. “The gangster? Of course I do.”

“When a famous newspaper reporter once asked Dillinger why he robbed banks, he replied, ‘Because that's where the money is.'”

Theodosia tapped a finger against the table. “And you think this is where the money is?”

“Judging from what I've seen so far, I'd have to say yes. Why, Charleston's got all sorts of fine folks with great big houses, upscale taste, and a burning desire to spend some of that old family money to build up their art collections.”

“So you're here to pick their pockets?” said Theodosia. But she said it with humor. She was warming up to this big Texan. He seemed straightforward and honest.

“In a way, yes,” said Duke. “And it's been good so far. I'm in the process of selling a Tang horse to Percy Capers, the Asian curator here. And I've almost got Charlotte Webster talked into a pair of Ming tea bowls.” He frowned slightly. “Of course, that poor lady's got more than tea bowls on her mind right now.”

“I'm afraid she does,” said Theodosia. “So . . . you attended the infamous soiree here two nights ago?”

“I sure did. And managed to catch the final act.” Duke shook his head. “Never seen anything like it. Horrifying. I'd only met Edgar Webster a couple of times, but I liked him right off. He seemed like a real gentleman. And he was a real admirer of Chinese art. Actually
studied
it instead of just collecting it because it was the trendy, posh thing to do.”

“So he was a true connoisseur. I hadn't realized that.”

“Oh, yes,” said Duke. “Mr. Webster not only knew his dynasties, he had a fairly keen eye.” He stopped, adjusted his string tie, and said, “So I understand you're the proprietor of a tea shop?”

Theodosia glanced around. “Yes, but my tea shop isn't quite as historic or breathtaking as this one. It's the Indigo Tea Shop, just a few blocks over on Church Street.”

“Sure, I know exactly where you're located. Near that lovely old church that juts out into the street.” A broad grin split Duke's weathered face. “You know, I just happen to have a Chien-lung teapot that might interest you.”

“You're taking a guess at my taste?”

“I consider myself a pretty good judge of people. And I pride myself on being able to match them up with lovely objects that they often can't resist.” He gave a wink. “And this particular teapot that I have in mind has your name written all over it. What do you say, should I bring it by your tea shop so you can have a look?”

“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “You bring your teapot, and I'll at least fill it with tea.”

Duke grinned. “You've got yourself a deal.”

By the time
Theodosia got to the Indigo Tea Shop, it was almost eleven o'clock and the joint was jumping. Every table was occupied, and Haley was ferrying out plates of scones and green-tea donuts as well as small cut-glass bowls filled with Devonshire cream and lemon curd.

“There you are,” said Drayton. “I was wondering if you'd ever get here. I thought we might have to send out a search party.” He snapped the lid off a tin of Nilgiri tea. “We've been buzzing with customers all morning.”

“Apologies,” said Theodosia as she slipped a black Parisian waiter's apron over her head and tied it in back. “I got hung up at the museum.”

Drayton measured out two heaping scoops and added his proverbial pinch. “Were you trying to get Max reinstated?”

“Something like that.”

He glanced up. “Have any luck?”

“Not really.”

“I'm surprised,” said Drayton, as he carefully poured hot water into the teapot. “You're usually fairly keen at working your magic.”

“It appears I'm all tapped out when it comes to spells and charms.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Drayton chuckled. He set the teapot on a silver tray and added a small dish of lemon slices. “Can you run this over to table seven?”

“Of course,” said Theodosia, all business now.

Theodosia delivered the tea, stopped to chat with a table of ladies who'd driven over from Goose Creek for the day, took a couple of orders, and then made the rounds pouring refills.

When Theodosia finally had a free moment, she said to Drayton, “Did you hear about the screaming match last night?”

Drayton offered a faint smile. “Delaine was in earlier and regaled us with all the sordid details. So, to answer your question, yes.”

“Did she make it clear that it was Cecily Conrad who was doing all the screaming?”

“Oh, you know Delaine. She ratcheted up the drama to make it sound as if a pack of wolves were fighting over snippets of raw meat. But Haley and I pretty much picked up on the true gist of things, that Cecily overheard Max talking about suspects and sort of snapped.”

“Did Delaine mention the carpentry awls?”

Drayton gave a disparaging look. “I'm afraid she took great pleasure in describing them. And insinuating that any one of them could have made a dandy murder weapon.” Drayton fingered his bow tie nervously. “Have you informed Tidwell about this new development?”

“I called him half an hour ago, so he's on it.”

“Good,” said Drayton. He looked up. “What else have you got going on?”

“I ran into Percy Capers at the museum,” said Theodosia.

“The Asian art curator. Seems like a nice enough fellow.”

“Capers mentioned to me that Charlotte is lobbying to get on the museum's board of directors.”

“I find Charlotte's interest in the museum a little odd,” said Drayton, “but I still don't see her stabbing her own husband. I mean, would she do it just to get a seat on the museum's board of directors? I think not.”

“Remember, he'd been cheating on her, too,” said Theodosia. “With Cecily.” She picked up a tin of orchid plum tea, flipped the lid, and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

Drayton looked worried. “This all seems like a gigantic web of lies and deceit.”

Theodosia snapped the lid back on the tin. “Don't forget murder.”

• • •

Haley had designed
the perfect autumn luncheon menu. Squash bisque topped with roasted pumpkin seeds, curried chicken salad tea sandwiches, cream cheese–and-strawberry tea sandwiches, and Cheddar and mushroom quiche.

As was expected, their customers dug into their lunches with relish. Which also meant that à la carte tea sandwiches were ordered, and as Haley's date-and-walnut tea bread and ginger scones emerged from the oven, they were voraciously snapped up, too.

“We're having one of our busiest Saturdays ever,” Drayton proclaimed. “The food is selling like hotcakes, and people have been shopping our little gift area.” He glanced over. “In fact, there's a woman fingering one of your homemade wreaths right now.”

“Then I'd better go over and help her,” said Theodosia.

“Did you make this?” the woman asked. She was holding a grapevine wreath woven with blue and gold silk ribbons and hung with miniature teacups and saucers.

“Guilty as charged,” said Theodosia.

“You made the actual wreath, too?”

“It's just local grapevine that I pulled down out of trees.” Theodosia had gone out to Cane Ridge Plantation, where her aunt Libby lived, and ripped the grapevine out of the trees it had been trying to choke the life out of. From there it had been a simple matter of wrapping her vines around a few old barrels and letting them dry for a couple of months. Then she wired the wreaths for stability and added the ribbons and teacups.

“Do you have any more of these wreaths?” asked the woman.

“How many would you like?” Theodosia smiled to herself. She had ten more wreaths stacked in her back office.

“This one and maybe two more,” said the woman.

“I'll be back in a second.”

Theodosia grabbed two wreaths from the tangle that sat in the corner of her office and carried them out to the front counter. Drayton helped her wrap each wreath in tissue paper and secure them in large plastic bags.

“Maybe you should have made more,” said Drayton, once the wreaths had been rung up and the customer had departed.

“I did. There are another dozen barrels covered with grapevines out at Aunt Libby's. Stuck behind the old pump house.”

“You're always thinking, aren't you?”

“Not really,” said Theodosia. “That plantation is just terribly overgrown.”

• • •

By two o'clock,
most of their customers had cleared out and Theodosia was sitting in her office sipping a cup of Japanese green tea and nibbling a sandwich. She had gone to the museum's website, sought out their list of directors, and printed out that list.

Now she was muddling it over.

“Can I freshen that tea?” asked Drayton. He was standing in the doorway holding a pink-and-green Famille rose teapot. With his ramrod posture and aristocratic bearing, he looked like an aging but fit ballet impresario.

“Thank you,” said Theodosia, pushing her teacup across the desk.

As Drayton carefully filled her cup, he gazed at the list she'd been studying.

“The museum's illustrious board of directors,” he said. “All ten of them in attendance at the reception Thursday night.”

“And then there were nine,” said Theodosia.

“I hope you don't think someone is trying to kill them off one at a time like some kind of bizarre Agatha Christie tale.”

“Nothing quite that sinister,” said Theodosia. “But someone certainly wanted to get rid of Edgar Webster.”

“You think it was one of his fellow board members?”

“I suppose it's possible.”

“Tricky,” said Drayton. “Since all are well-heeled and quite powerful.”

Theodosia picked up a pen and twiddled it. “Any one of them could probably buy and sell this tea shop without batting an eye. So I have to be careful who I mess with.”

“Then don't mess with any of them,” Drayton cautioned. “Stand back and let Tidwell do the heavy lifting.”

Theodosia bit her lower lip.

“I take it you were thinking about making an appeal to one or several of these board members,” said Drayton, “to try and get Max reinstated?”

“The thought had occurred to me. But I'm not sure I have an argument that's persuasive enough to change anyone's mind.”

“You don't. That's why they're basically deferring to Elliot Kern.”

“Then what's the answer?”

“I think,” said Drayton, “that you should continue doing what you do best.”

“Worry and bite my nails?”

The corners of Drayton's mouth twitched upward. “No, I mean investigate. But on the side. You know, run a kind of parallel investigation to the one Tidwell is doing.”

“I think they call that a shadow investigation.”

“That all sounds very drama filled, like the NSA. But I don't believe that national security is at stake.”

“Just Max's job security,” said Theodosia. “Which is hanging by a very tenuous thread. So thanks for your vote of confidence, Drayton, but I really am stumped. I'm not sure where to look next. Or who to look at.” She thought for a few moments. “I suppose if I focused on figuring out some sort of motive . . .”

Drayton flashed her a look of encouragement. “When you find the motive . . .”

“It can lead to the killer,” Theodosia said slowly.

“Then I'd say you have to cast a fairly wide net,” said Drayton. “Take a look at all the guests who were at the event Thursday night. See how many you can connect directly to Webster.”

“There could be quite a few.”

“Or there might only be a handful,” said Drayton.

“You make a good point,” said Theodosia, “even though you are an optimist. So . . . I suppose I need to get my hands on a guest list.”

“Which Max probably has at his office.” Drayton cocked an eye at her. “If he can get to it.”

Theodosia took a quick sip of tea. “So one more thing to worry about.”

• • •

While Drayton and
Haley finished putting the tea shop to rights, Theodosia took some time to handle a few items of business. There were bills to pay, orders that had to be e-mailed to vendors, and marketing decisions to be made. And since she and Earl Grey were planning to run in the Halloween 5K race Tuesday night, there was the simple matter of figuring out a costume for him. Not an easy thing to do when he had to look cute and still be able to move.

Adding to that to-do list, the phone on her desk started to ring.

Theodosia snatched it up. “Yes?”

“What's going on?” asked Max.

“Oh. Hi. Well, just business as usual I guess.”
Or is it business as
unusual?

“How was your meeting?” Max asked. “Did you talk to Kern?”

“I did, but he's still undecided as to when you can return.”
Boy, is he
ever.

“It was sweet of you to plead my case,” said Max. “But I didn't figure he'd welcome you with open arms.”

Haley suddenly loomed in the doorway of Theodosia's office.

Theodosia dropped the phone away from her mouth, and said, “What?”

“Tidwell,” Haley mouthed. “He's here. He wants to talk to you, like, now.”

“Well, send him in.”

“Something going on?” said Max.

“Sorry, but I have to hang up,” said Theodosia.

“Customers?”

“Trouble.”

• • •

Detective Burt Tidwell
barely fit in Theodosia's office, even though the overstuffed chair across from her desk, the one she'd dubbed the tuffet, offered ample seating.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked him once he'd sat down.

“Fine,” said Tidwell. Clearly he was not fine. He threw withering glances at the various stacks of baskets, red hats, and wreaths that clogged the office. It was all a little too girly for his cop sensibilities.

“May I offer you a cup of tea?” Theodosia asked.

Tidwell's lips pursed. “Do you still serve that lovely Japanese green tea with bits of cherry?”

“Of course,” said Theodosia. She lifted the phone, buzzed Drayton on the intercom, and relayed the request.

“Should I bring in a couple of scones, too?” asked Drayton.

“What do you think?” said Theodosia. She hung up and smiled brightly at Tidwell. “What can I do for you?” She figured he was going to tell her about his investigation into the awls. Instead, he blindsided her.

“I need you to tell me about last night,” said Tidwell. “The—how shall I phrase this?—the rather heated argument between Max and Cecily.”

“Didn't I already mention that?” she said.

“Yes, but now I need to hear the full story. I just returned from Pine Nut, where Cecily Conrad, who feels much maligned, wasted a good deal of my time caterwauling in my ear.”

“Let me guess,” said Theodosia. “You asked her about the awls and she proclaimed complete and total innocence.”

“That's a fair assessment,” said Tidwell.

“But Cecily
could
have murdered Webster,” said Theodosia. “She was angry at him, and she did have access to those wicked-looking weapons.”

“My people are looking into it. Examining the awls carefully.”

“Microscopically, I hope,” said Theodosia.

“I have your tea,” said Drayton, suddenly interrupting. He bustled into Theodosia's office with a large silver tray and placed it on her desk. He indicated the teapot. “Shall I pour?”

“Thank you, Drayton,” said Theodosia. “I can manage.”