Chapter 9
Tuesday morning at the Indigo Tea Shop found teakettles burbling and chirping their merry songs while Theodosia, seated at a table with Drayton and sipping tea, gave him a quick rundown of her meeting last night with Birdie and Brody.
“So Brody still harbors some anger against his ex-wife?” Drayton asked.
“More than that, he despises her,” Theodosia said.
“Sad that it’s become so toxic between them.”
“Money seems to be the serious sticking point with Payton,” Theodosia said. She took a sip of Puerh tea that Drayton had brewed, savored it, and said, “And I met Amber, Brody’s sort-of-fiancée.”
“Sounds as if you spoke to Brody at some length.”
“Enough to get a first impression.”
“In that case, do you think there’s any chance Brody could have murdered his own mother?”
“That’s a strange, impertinent question. Then again, Brody’s a strange guy. Might be on the spectrum with a touch of ADHD because he seems to operate in his very own headspace…”
“But?”
“But I don’t think so,” Theodosia said. “Brody Van Courtland struck me more as a hot reactor than a cold-blooded killer.”
“How about the so-called fiancée? What was her name again?”
“Amber. But I don’t think it could be her either.
First of all, she’s teeny-tiny. As in one hundred and five pounds soaking wet.
And the person I accosted Sunday night was considerably taller and more substantial.
No, Amber seemed more concerned with lip gloss and scoring tables at hot new restaurants,” Theodosia said.
“I’d be more inclined to think the ex-wife, Payton, had a hand in Mrs. V’s murder.
Brody even admitted she was number one on his hit list.”
“Payton? You really think so?”
“Actually, I have no idea. Three minutes of Payton’s crocodile tears weren’t enough to form an opinion.”
“It sounds to me as if you have formed an opinion,” Drayton said.
“Only concerning Payton’s personality—which struck me as rather theatrical.”
“She does have a hint of Cruella de Ville about her,” Drayton said as he started to stand up from the table.
Theodosia reached out and touched his sleeve. “One more thing.”
Drayton sat back down. “What’s that?”
“There’s an addendum to last night’s story. Someone threw a flash-bang at me.”
“A what?” Worry lines formed in Drayton’s normally placid face.
“It was when I took a late run with Earl Grey…” Theodosia swallowed hard, then continued. “At least I think it was a flash-bang. I looked it up on the internet this morning and it’s apparently a type of grenade that throws sparks and goes boom.”
“Where did this happen? Near your house?”
“No, over on Tradd Street. A car came roaring out of nowhere and somebody tossed a flash-bang thing out the window causing it to spin across the street at us.”
“And it literally flashed and banged?” Drayton was amazed.
“Like we were in a war zone. On the streets of Fallujah or something. Luckily, Earl Grey and I were able to jump clear of it.”
“And this happened right after you visited Mrs. V’s house with Gordon Twombley?”
“Maybe thirty minutes after. I went home, changed clothes, and got Earl Grey.”
“This is serious. What if someone knows you’re involved in her murder investigation and they were sending you a warning to back off?”
“But who’s the someone?” Theodosia asked. “I’ve only made a few inquiries so far and asked a couple basic questions. I mean, who even knew I was investigating?”
“Do you think Delaine’s been running her big mouth?”
Theodosia thought about this. The rusty old joke they sometimes shared was telephone, telegraph, tell Delaine. “I suppose she could have told a few people that I was looking into things.”
“Delaine could have told a lot of people.” Drayton rapped his knuckles against the table.
“If I had to venture a guess about the flash-bang warning, my money would be on Payton. Just because she seemed so unhinged when she stormed in here yesterday morning. Do you think she might have been doing a little reconnaissance outside Mrs. V’s house and saw you come out? Then kind of fixated on you?”
“I suppose it could have happened that way. But why me? Why not Brody? He’s the one she really hates.”
Drayton held up a finger. “I know you don’t believe this, but let’s for a moment imagine that Payton is the killer.”
“But I don’t think—”
“Indulge me for a minute. Maybe Payton knows you’re the one who chased after her Sunday night.”
His words brought a pensive frown to Theodosia’s face. “Jeepers, I never thought about it like that.”
“And the person who poisoned Mrs. V had a butane torch. And the person who tried to frighten you last night launched some type of grenade,” Drayton said.
“So someone familiar with pyrotechnics.”
“Someone intent on creating havoc,” Drayton said. “Someone dangerous.”
“That goes without saying.”
“What did you do with the inert flash bomb? At least, I imagine it was inert once it exploded.”
“I dropped it off at Detective Tidwell’s office on my way in this morning. With a note explaining the circumstances.”
“You think he’ll respond?”
Theodosia nodded. “I know he’ll respond.”
* * *
It was time to get busy then. Theodosia hung out her curlicue, hand-painted sign that said Open for Tea and Light Lunches. Drayton got busy behind the counter. And Miss Dimple arrived shortly afterward to help.
“Today’s your Queen Victoria Tea, right?” Miss Dimple asked as she bounced through the door. She was their still-spry octogenarian bookkeeper who adored helping out at special event teas.
“It sure is,” Theodosia said.
“Hello, dear lady,” Drayton called to Miss Dimple.
“Hey there, Drayton,” she called back. Miss Dimple was plumpish, barely five feet tall, and had a cap of pink-tinged curls.
She was crinkly and wrinkly and looked like your favorite old aunt who loved cats and knitting, except for the fact that Miss Dimple could tally a column of numbers in milliseconds and rattle off quarterly tax payments as if she had a computer chip in her brain.
“Thanks for coming in to lend a hand,” Theodosia said as she helped Miss Dimple off with her sweater. And when she saw what Miss Dimple was wearing, she smiled and said, “Bless you. As an ode to our Victorian tea I see you wore a long skirt.”
“Along with a silk high-neck blouse,” Miss Dimple said, touching a ruffled collar. “And my vintage cameo.”
“Then you’re perfectly turned out and tuned in,” Theodosia said.
Miss Dimple glanced around the tea shop, suddenly all business, and said, “What do you want me to do first?”
“I’ve pots of fresh-brewed tea that go to tables three and four,” Drayton said.
“And you could check to see who needs refills on Devonshire cream,” Theodosia added.
“Got it.” Miss Dimple shrugged into a black Parisian waiter’s apron, tied the strings around her ample waist, and was on her way.
“She’s a little gem,” Drayton remarked.
“Tell me about it,” Theodosia said. “This Queen Victoria Tea isn’t going to be easy to pull off. With those two late reservations you took this morning, we now have a full house.”
“But Haley’s concocted a remarkable menu and with your impressive decorating skills…well, I have faith that our guests will adore it.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Theodosia laughed.
But smooth sailing was the watchword for the morning.
Theodosia served cherry scones, walnut tea bread, and golden crumpets to her guests along with pots of Irish breakfast tea and black Yunnan tea.
The Indigo Tea Shop hummed along as guests came and went and Drayton deftly handled any number of takeout orders at the counter.
By eleven fifteen, they had two tables of guests left and Theodosia was chomping at the bit to start decorating.
So she did. Each table was covered with a floral tablecloth, then draped with a second see-through lace tablecloth.
Bluebells, tulips, pink roses, and blush-colored peonies were arranged in antique vases and placed on tables.
Pink and lavender candles in glass candleholders followed, along with pairs of white lace gloves for favors.
“Which dinnerware do you want to use, honey?” Miss Dimple asked.
Theodosia walked over to one of her highboys and surveyed her collection of vintage china.
“Let’s use the Victorian Violets by Hammersley. Violets were a favorite flower of the Victorians.” She pulled out a few smaller plates. “And we’ll use these plates for lemon wedges and sugar cubes.”
“The Victorians must have liked pastels, judging from the way you worked out your color scheme.”
“Blue, white, lavender, and pink were definitely the trendy colors of the day,” Theodosia said. “Which reminds me, I have some of those lacey Victorian mobcaps if you’re so inclined. Or I can set you up with a straw garden party hat.”
“Oh, the mobcap please,” Miss Dimple said.
“Let’s both do that then, and switch out our black aprons for long white ones.”
Miss Dimple grinned. “Like characters out of Mary Poppins.”
* * *
Some ten minutes later, Gordon Twombley burst into the Indigo Tea Shop juggling two large cardboard boxes.
“A little help here,” he sang out as he approached the counter somewhat unsteadily.
Both Drayton and Theodosia ran to help him.
“Whew, I parked a half block away and seriously misjudged my ability to carry these boxes,” Twombley said, as Drayton grabbed the larger box and set it on one of the tables.
“But bless you, you brought the antiques as promised,” Theodosia said. She could hardly wait to see what Twombley had delivered. She’d once visited his shop and had been impressed with his collection of British and French antiques.
“Now this is not terribly large,” Twombley said as he opened one of the boxes and carefully unwrapped a bone china teapot with an elaborately twisted handle. “But I can assure you it’s genuine Victoriana. The Royal Antoinette pattern by Royal Crown Derby to be exact.”
“Spectacular,” Drayton breathed. “I wouldn’t mind adding it to my collection.”
“Make me an offer,” Twombley chuckled.
“What else?” Theodosia was eager to unpack the boxes and get these precious objects on her tables.
“Let me show you.” Twombley went on to unearth a lead crystal bowl, rosewood tea caddy, music box, ornate hand mirror, and a copper milk pot. “And as the pièce de résistance I brought this Staffordshire toby jug.”
“This is too kind of you,” Theodosia said.
“Just remember,” Twombley said, turning serious now, “if anybody wants to buy one of these Victorian treasures, they’re definitely for sale.”
“I will for sure mention that to my guests,” Theodosia promised. Then she gazed into Twombley’s open, earnest face and said, “Are you very disappointed that Brody Van Courtland didn’t want to consign his mother’s antiques to your shop?”
Twombley gave an offhand shrug. “Not really. I’m already packed to the gills with merchandise, so it would have meant putting half of my antiques in storage. And, fact is, I’m being compensated more than fairly. So…”
“So it’s all good,” Theodosia said.
“Horses for courses.”
Theodosia gave a crooked grin. “Come again?”
“British slang,” Twombley said. “It basically means different folks are suited to different situations. In other words, it all worked out.”
Once Twombley’s antiques were arranged on the tables, Theodosia ducked into her office to change. She pulled on a long floral skirt and ruffled pink blouse, then added her frilly cap and apron. When she rushed out, she almost bumped heads with Queen Victoria.
“Lucy!” Theodosia cried. “Is that really you?” The actress she’d hired to play Queen Victoria stood there actually looking like the spitting image of Queen Victoria.
Poufy black dress, floor-length black veil, and multiple strands of pearls draped around her neck.
“Your costume looks so spot-on authentic. How on earth did you manage that?”
“It helps to be a member in good standing of the Westside Theatre’s repertory company,” Lucy said in a faux British accent, “because they have the most delicious costume department.” Lucy Harris, stage name Lucinda Harrington, gave a theatrical eye roll as she continued.
“Anyway, I did a bit of research on Queen Victoria and learned that after her beloved Prince Albert died, she mourned him for forty years, right up until the time of her own death. And that the entire time all she wore was a black mourning dress and long veil. And, lucky me, there were oodles of black gowns to choose from.”
“But you’re…”—Theodosia’s hands indicated her own athletic figure—“you’re thin. And now you’re…not.”
Lucy touched a hand to her ample hips and giggled. “This is all cotton padding. Like, tons and tons of padding. Apparently, our dear departed Queen Victoria adored her custard trifles and sticky pudding desserts right up until the bitter end.”
“Well, you look wonderful, as if you time traveled in from another century. My guests are going to adore sitting with you at the tea.”
Lucy patted her hips again. “Only if I can figure out how to wedge myself into one of your chairs.”