Chapter 3 #2
“Got it,” Theodosia said as she grabbed both pots and set off to deliver them.
Finally, when all her guests were sipping and munching, when the air in the Indigo Tea Shop was redolent with a mélange of rose hips, chamomile, and lemon, Theodosia took a few moments to survey her cozy little tea shop.
She’d been in business for just over six years and, knock on wood, she prayed she could continue for several more decades.
The Indigo Tea Shop was the culmination of her life’s dream.
It was tucked into a small space, which made it feel cozy and intimate.
The heart pine floors might creak when you walked across them, but that’s because the wood was a hundred and fifty years old.
Wavy leaded glass windows were hung with French blue toile curtains, the walls were constructed of ancient brick, and a small stone fireplace crackled merrily on cool days.
Theodosia’s tea shop was a bit of Olde England with a smattering of French country.
A small crystal chandelier hung from overhead wooden beams and imparted a warm, romantic glow, while antique highboys were well stocked with giftware that included tea towels, tea cozies, tins of tea, jars of honey, and an assortment of Theodosia’s proprietary T-Bath products.
None of this had come easily, of course.
Theodosia had cashed out her 401(k) from a previous marketing job, scraped together some savings, and tossed in a little inheritance for good measure.
Then she’d bitten the bullet and bought the shop outright, never once regretting her decision.
Drayton as tea sommelier had been her first hire—now he was practically a partner.
And Haley, her chef and baker, had answered a help wanted ad and immediately wooed them with her cooking and baking skills.
Not to mention her grandma’s collection of old-fashioned recipes, which in South Carolina were known as receipts.
Theodosia had scoured dozens of Charleston antique shops and driven out into the low country to shop tag sales and flea markets. That’s how she’d found an amazing array of vintage teacups, dishes, glassware, and silverware—all pre-loved but still so very serviceable.
Now Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley were a caring, enthusiastic team, always striving to delight guests with baked-from-scratch scones, muffins, and crumpets, as well as serving bistro-style lunches with extraordinary teas and staging special event teas.
* * *
Theodosia had just finished folding two dozen white linen napkins into a showy bishop’s hat arrangement when Haley wandered out of the kitchen, bringing with her a drift of wonderful aromas.
“Smells so good, you must have started lunch,” Theodosia said.
“Got a pot of Frogmore stew bubbling on the stove and two pans of mushroom lasagna baking in the oven. Then I’ll start whipping up tea sandwiches even though”—her voice caught—“you know.”
“Even though we’re all still on edge?” Theodosia said.
Haley bobbed her head. “Yeah. Kind of.” Haley liked a scare, but not too much of a scare.
“I know. Last night was brutal and I’m sorry you had to be part of it.”
Haley could talk tough with her vendors and greengrocers, but inside she was a gentle soul. “You’re still going to look into things, right? I mean, you weren’t just blowing us off, were you?” Haley asked.
“I wouldn’t do that, Haley. Though I’m still not sure how to get a handle on last night’s disaster.”
“Yeah, I hear you. But…” Haley stopped mid-sentence, her eyes suddenly fixed on the front door. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Theodosia asked.
Haley did a subtle motion with her index finger. “That TV guy just walked in.”
Theodosia spun around to find Ken Lotter, the news reporter from K-BAM, picking his way through the tea shop, heading in her direction.
Haley turned and fled back into the kitchen as Theodosia held up a hand to Lotter and said, “Stop right there.”
Like an obedient puppy, Lotter stopped right there.
Then a cheesy grin lit his face and he said, “You know I deserve an interview, don’t you?
” Lotter was thirty-something, slick-looking in a slim-cut European suit, and had artfully gelled Hollywood hair.
With warm brown eyes and a slightly crooked grin, he looked both photogenic and appealing.
But only if you thought a wolf at your door was appealing.
“Why would you want to interview me?” Theodosia asked. Then she reached out, grabbed him by a lapel, and tugged him into the back hallway where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I don’t know anything.”
“But you’re Charleston’s own mystery lady,” Lotter said. “When people are in your vicinity, they tend to get murdered.”
“Hardly,” Theodosia said. For some reason, Lotter looked brown and shiny this morning.
As if he’d just come from getting a spray tan.
She thought about making a joke about him looking like a chocolate Easter bunny, then decided it would be rude and impolite.
After all, she’d been raised to be a Southern lady with proper manners.
Lotter lifted a single eyebrow. “Here’s the thing…murder tends to follow you around. Remember that hotshot director at Brittlebank Manor? And what about the poor rich lady last night?”
“Pure coincidence,” Theodosia said.
“Yeah? Maybe you’re Charleston’s very own angel of death.”
Theodosia stared at him. “That’s an unkind thing to say.”
“But you were there. I mean, it was your tea party. I believe it was billed as a Firefly Tea? I wanted to talk to you last night but the police wouldn’t let me in.” Lotter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black notebook. “I made some notes here.”
“Yes, but…”
“Just give me a minute of your time for a quick interview.”
“Ken, this is not a good time. As you can see, the tea shop is rather busy.”
“My cameraman and sound guy are right outside so we can set up fast. And like I said, it won’t take but two minutes.”
“You said one minute.”
“How about we split the difference?” Lotter laughed. “Make it a minute and a half.”
“I’m sorry, but I really can’t,” Theodosia said. She spread her arms wide in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know anything. You’d be better off if you interviewed Detective Tidwell himself. Gave him the third degree.”
“Already did that.”
“Or talk to their media relations people.”
“Did that too.”
“Then you’ve got the latest…”
“Is it true Mrs. Van Courtland has a greedy son?” Lotter glanced down and consulted his notebook. “Brody Van Courtland?”
“I’ve never met the man. Never even heard his name until just now.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes,” Theodosia said emphatically, even though it was a bit of a white lie.
“Huh.” Lotter snapped his notebook closed. “But you’re still going to investigate.”
“No!”
Lotter gave her a sneaky grin. “Excuse me, that was a statement, not a question. Which means, my dear Miss Browning, that I will be back.”