Chapter 17
Drayton hated the ER. First he wanted to turn around and go home.
Then he didn’t want the nurse to take his blood pressure.
Even when she said it was simply routine, he kept trying to decline.
Finally, his good manners won out and he relented.
He held his breath as he looked away and let her put the cuff on his arm.
“One sixty over one twenty,” the nurse told him. She was older, with curly gray hair and a ruddy complexion, dressed in pink scrubs.
“Is that high?” Drayton asked. The cuff made a ripping sound as she pulled it off him.
The nurse patted him on the shoulder. “Any higher and I’d be calling for the crash cart. Try to relax, I promise you’re in good hands.”
“You see?” Theodosia said.
They sat in a curtained area, listening to people all around them.
Someone moaning about a bloody toe, a crying baby, a woman who thought she might be in labor but wasn’t.
Finally, a doctor showed up. He wore blue scrubs, white Mephisto shoes, and, with his smooth face and curly brown hair, looked like he was about sixteen years old.
“I’m Doctor Eddy Randall. I understand someone here might have some broken ribs?” he asked. Despite his youthful look, he seemed warm and caring.
Drayton gazed at the doctor. “You’re an actual MD? Not a medical student?”
“Graduated from Stanford Medical and duly licensed in the State of South Carolina,” Dr. Randall said. It probably wasn’t the first time he’d been asked about his bona fides.
“You’re quite positive?” Drayton said.
The doctor fingered his stethoscope. “Let me see, I did go to school for about eighteen years, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Theodosia turned to leave. “I’m going to let you two work this out yourselves,” she said.
Fifty minutes later, after wandering down to the cafeteria and getting a tepid cup of tea, Theodosia was called back to the curtained area.
“How is he?” she asked Doctor Randall. Drayton was looking in a miniscule mirror and trying to adjust his bow tie. “What about those ribs?”
“The good news is there’s nothing seriously fractured,” the doctor said as he held up Drayton’s jacket so his patient could gently slip into it. “Though there’s always the off chance of a hairline crack that the X-ray didn’t pick up.”
“So what do we do now?” Drayton asked. He seemed relieved and in much better spirits.
“Go home, swallow some Tylenol, and take it easy,” the doctor said. “If you start to feel terrible, I mean really terrible, call the ER and have me paged.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be here for another seven hours.”
* * *
“I have an idea,” Theodosia said, once Drayton had gingerly eased himself into the passenger seat of her Jeep. He looked pale and wiped out, but he’d stopped wincing every time he drew breath.
“Let me guess, we’re going to drive over to Francis Marion National Forest and go flying down their gravel roads. You’ll hit every bump and rut and make me scream for mercy.”
“Nothing quite that dramatic. I’m going to stop by my house and pick up Earl Grey, then we’ll go to your place and have dinner.”
“Dinner for the dogs or dinner for us?”
“How about for all of us?”
“Sounds like a plan. I have to confess, I am kind of hungry.”
Earl Grey was more than happy to jump in the back of Theodosia’s Jeep and go for a ride. His tail thumped even harder once they arrived at Drayton’s house and he realized he was going to be able to have some serious playtime with Honey Bee, Drayton’s King Charles spaniel.
“First dinner for the dogs,” Theodosia said as they all milled about in Drayton’s kitchen. “Then I’ll send them out to play in the backyard and fix dinner for us.”
“Please don’t fuss,” Drayton pleaded. But Theodosia fully intended to fuss over all of them.
Once the dogs had lapped up their kibble and slopped up a half pail of fresh water, they were ushered outside into Drayton’s fenced backyard.
It was a veritable Japanese dog park, complete with winding paths through bamboo groves, a small koi pond, and displays of twisty bonsai.
Then Theodosia got down to business. She opened cupboards and peeked into Drayton’s refrigerator and pantry. She found fresh chicken breasts, broccoli, red peppers, cashews, and the rest of the fixings for stir-fry chicken.
Of course, working in Drayton’s kitchen was always a treat because it was so darned perfect.
His stove was a six-burner Wolf range, the sink was custom hammered copper, and the cupboards were faced with glass, the better to show off his collection of teapots and Chinese blue-and-white vases.
A small indoor herb garden sat on a windowsill.
“Can I help?” Drayton asked as he eased himself up against the counter.
“You’re allowed to kibitz and that’s all,” Theodosia told him. “Although it would be better if you changed into something more comfortable and downed a couple of Tylenol.”
She got busy slicing chicken, chopping broccoli and onions, whisking together a soy and sugar sauce, and heating oil in one of Drayton’s copper fry pans. Once the oil was sizzling, she added the vegetables and chicken. As those ingredients began to cook, Drayton wandered back into the kitchen.
“Feeling some better?” Theodosia asked. She stirred a few more ingredients into her sauce mixture.
Drayton nodded. “Some. I took a couple of Tylenol like you and the doctor suggested.”
“Good for you.”
“But I’ve been thinking…who on earth could have attacked me? Or, worst-case scenario, was it meant for you? And could the attack be somehow tied to Mrs. V’s murder?”
“A lot to wonder about,” Theodosia said as she halved her cashews. “But, yes, I think it could be tied to the murder.”
“So who was our nasty intruder? Could it have been Amber? Or Brody?”
“Probably not Amber. This person was big and she’s way too petite.”
“She could have hired someone,” Drayton said. “Maybe she thinks you’re trying to stop Brody from marrying her so she was going after you.”
“Sounds far-fetched since I don’t really know Brody and I doubt he’d listen to my advice.”
Drayton unconsciously rubbed a hand up and down his ribs. “Then who?”
“This could be a long shot, but maybe it was that kid from Honey Badger House who tried to shake me down,” Theodosia said.
“What!”
“I guess I didn’t tell you the full story, did I?”
“No, but now might be a good time.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “When I dropped by Honey Badger House last night there was a kid on the front porch who was smoking weed. Desi, his name was, and he made a half-hearted attempt to shake me down.”
“He actually asked for money? Tried to extort you? When were you going to tell me about this?”
“I didn’t think it was all that important”—Theodosia stirred her chicken dish as she tried to put her thoughts in order—“but now that I think back, I might have mentioned the Indigo Tea Shop, or maybe the kids knew I was from the Indigo Tea Shop. Anyway, maybe, just maybe, that kid came by to rob us.”
“And when I answered the door…” Drayton said.
“He panicked at seeing you and punched you in the ribs.”
“You think this was a robbery, not something related to Mrs. V’s murder?”
“Again, I’m not sure. I suppose it could have been Brody or even Payton.”
“Payton? Really?”
“I know. Payton doesn’t strike me as any kind of skilled assailant.
She’s a little too ‘Don’t mess with my manicure.
’ And Brody seems too much like a good-time Charlie, not your street brawler type at all.
” When Drayton strategically raised an eyebrow, Theodosia added, “Then again, you never know. It could’ve been someone who’s not even on our suspect list.”
Five minutes later the chicken and vegetables were fully cooked and the sauce bubbled enticingly.
Theodosia added the cashews, gave it another minute, then ladled the stir-fry chicken onto Drayton’s favorite Buckingham by Minton plates.
She mounded a few leaves of Bibb lettuce next to the stir-fry and dressed them with a lemon vinaigrette she found in the refrigerator.
They put their plates on silver trays and carried them into the dining room, settling down on comfortable chairs.
Theodosia glanced around, smiled, and finally started to relax.
Drayton’s dining room was both expansive and elegant.
Silk wallpaper covered walls that were hung with large oil paintings, the dining table was real-deal Chippendale, and a crystal chandelier (French, of course) dangled overhead.
Then again, that’s what you got when you lived in an impeccably restored brick home that had been built by a Civil War doctor.
“Do you think I should open a bottle of wine?” Drayton asked.
“Uh, no,” Theodosia said, “probably not a good idea.”
“Porky Pig punched me in the ribs, not my head.”
“I saw you trying to shield your head,” Theodosia said, “but who knows? You could have sustained a minor concussion.”
“All this fuss,” Drayton muttered. Then he took a bite of chicken. “Mmn…good. Really tasty.”
Theodosia just smiled.
They ate their dinner, talked quietly—but not about the attack—and, when they finally heard scratching and a few woofs at the back door, let the dogs in.
Drayton couldn’t help but give Honey Bee a few bits of chicken, which she gleefully accepted.
Earl Grey, who was a tad more reserved, lay at Theodosia’s feet until she too slipped him a few goodies.
“It’s late,” Drayton said finally, “or at least it feels late. I should probably let you go.”
Theodosia checked her watch. “You’re not going to believe this, but it’s only seven thirty.”
“Feels like the middle of the night.”
“It probably should be for you. Don’t worry about clearing the table or cleaning up in the kitchen.
I’ll take care of all that. I want you to go upstairs and climb into bed.
Maybe tuck yourself between a couple of pillows so you don’t roll over and hurt your ribs, then get some sleep.
If you’re sore when you wake up please don’t bother coming into the tea shop. Haley and I will manage just fine.”
“But tomorrow’s our Moulin Rouge Tea.”
“And Miss Dimple will be there to assist.”
“Who’s going to brew the Mariages Frères tea?”
“I am?” Theodosia said. She shrugged. “We’ll manage.”
Drayton shook his head. “No, I’m coming in. I might not be Johnny-on-the-spot at eight Am, but I’ll be there.”