Chapter 35
The Rosebud Tea Shoppe was no bigger than Mary Helen Dunagin’s kitchen back in Savannah.
Six small café tables were arranged on well-scrubbed brown-and-white tile floors.
The place was empty except for a young woman with spiky dyed-black hair who sat alone at a table, knitting something with sparkly green yarn.
The sisters ordered full tea, which consisted of tiny butter-and-jam sandwiches, slivers of fruitcake, shortbread cookies, and bowls of berries topped with clotted cream.
Maeve stirred sugar and milk into a delicate bone china cup painted with pink and yellow roses. She took a sip and sighed. “This feels so civilized, doesn’t it?”
“Reminds me of going to Nanny Dunagin’s house when we were really little, before Dad died,” Therese said. “Remember the little tea parties she’d have for us? Only instead of tea we’d drink orange Kool-Aid out of her teacups. And she’d fix us little sandwiches with date-nut bread and cream cheese.”
“I don’t remember that,” Maeve said sadly. “I guess I was only four or five when she died.”
“So,” Therese said, leaning across the table, mischief glinting in her eyes. “How was last night?”
“The pub? It was okay. Liam told me how he became a distiller. And, once I told him our theory about the IRA heist, he let it drop that his cousin Maddie, who runs the home farm on the estate, is married to the son of the woman who was the ringleader of that IRA gang.”
“No way. What are the chances? Did Liam have any dirt on the robbery?”
“Nope. He did say that the ringleader’s name was Starr McGahee, and she was from some rich London family. She’s dead now, all the members of the gang are. And he said that Jamie, that’s Starr’s son’s name, doesn’t usually like talking about it.”
“Okay, but what about after? Like, after you took the old lady home? Please tell me you went home with Liam and made bouncy-bouncy.” Therese mimicked the sound of rusty bed springs.
“God. You are so crude.”
“Stop evading the question. Come on, Maeve. I’ve been involuntarily celibate for like, six months. Help a sistah out. I need all the dirty details.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Maeve said primly. She nibbled the last cookie on the plate and dabbed her lips with the linen napkin. “I swear, nothing like that happened. We had a few drinks at the pub, and you know the rest. Perfectly innocent. No bouncy-bouncy.”
“Maeve!” Therese exclaimed. “You’re killing me. When I said I wanted you to spill the tea I wasn’t talking about literal tea.” She scraped her chair legs on the wooden floor as she pushed away from the table. “I’m starting to seriously doubt whether we really are sisters.”