Ming Tea Murder (13 page)

Theodosia wandered over to her closet.

No, he wouldn't. Of course, he wouldn't.

She decided to lay out her clothes for tomorrow in an effort to calm her nerves. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

Cecily attacked? Why? And by whom?

Against her better judgment, Theodosia decided she needed to find out a little more about this.

Okay, all cards on the table, I want to know a
lot
more.

Which meant that, five minutes later, Theodosia was in her Jeep, bumping down Tradd Street. When she got closer to the Lady Goodwood Inn, she could see flashing red and blue lights from three police cruisers and an ambulance. Plus it looked as if there were uniformed officers in orange vests blocking the street in an effort to keep gawkers away from the scene.

Theodosia circled around a block, then flipped a left on East Bay. She drove another half block or so, spotted a parking space, and pulled to the curb. From her nighttime jogs with Earl Grey, she knew this neighborhood like the back of her hand. She had complete familiarity with all the narrow alleys and lanes where palmetto fronds whispered in the night and where the right shortcut could sneak you in close, right to the scene of the crime.

Theodosia ducked down a small stone walkway that was tucked between two enormous Victorian homes. Brushing past a stand of dogwood, she dodged around a gently pattering three-tiered fountain and found herself on Longitude Lane. This was basically a grassy and broken rock path, an unimproved seventeenth-century country lane that passed behind several large and elegant homes. With its brick walls and overhanging shrubbery, Longitude Lane was practically hidden from view. Visitors rarely stumbled upon it unless they'd signed up for one of the special “hidden Charleston” walking tours.

Quietly, carefully, Theodosia emerged from the alley and into a circle of lights and frenetic activity. Acting as if she belonged there—or better yet, lived there—she passed groups of neighbors who buzzed with excitement as they spoke to uniformed police officers. They were giving accounts of their stories—what they'd seen or heard.

Glancing around, trying to scope out the scene, Theodosia was startled when she spotted Cecily sitting in the back of an ambulance, being attended to by a youthful-looking African American woman. In her blue jumpsuit with red-and-white patches on her shoulders, the woman was clearly an EMT.

Theodosia walked slowly up to the ambulance. “Cecily,” she said in what she hoped was a friendly, calming tone. “It's Theodosia. Remember me?”

Cecily lifted her head and stared at Theodosia. Her hair was disheveled, and her white blouse was ripped underneath one arm. There was a bruise on the right side of her face that would surely be the color of an eggplant by morning, and her knees were badly scuffed.

“I heard what happened,” said Theodosia. She offered a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay?”

Cecily stared back for a few moments, then a hint of recognition flickered in her eyes. “Theodosia? The lady from the tea shop?”

“Yes, that's me,” said Theodosia, moving a few steps closer. “Cecily, I just heard about your, um, attack, on TV.” She glanced around. “We all did.”

“Somebody leapt out at me in the dark!” Cecily howled. “It's a good thing I screamed and fought him off.” She hiccupped loudly. “And that some nearby people helped scare him off.”

Theodosia touched a hand to the shoulder of the lady EMT. Her nametag read
CAROLINE BOWIE
. “Miss Bowie,” said Theodosia, “how is Cecily doing? What are the extent of her injuries?”

“He grabbed me and threw me to the sidewalk,” Cecily whimpered. “Smacked me in the face!”

Caroline Bowie's almond-shaped eyes took in Theodosia. “Are you a friend?”

“Yes, I am. Please, does she need to be hospitalized?”

Caroline's Bowie's brown eyes crinkled warmly. “Call me Caroline. And there probably won't be any trip to the hospital tonight for Cecily. I'd say she's going to be just fine. She's sustained a few cuts and scrapes, and naturally she's a little shaken up.”

“I'm a
lot
shaken up,” Cecily sputtered. She was wearing an oxygen mask and kept trying to remove it so she could keep up her running commentary on how awful she felt. “I'm so angry, I'm about ready to jump out of my skin!”

“We can give you some meds for that,” said Caroline.

“I'd rather have a drink,” Cecily snapped.

“How did this happen?” Theodosia asked. She was a little surprised that Cecily was even talking to her. After all, they barely knew each other. Maybe Cecily was badly shaken up and her brain wasn't pumping out synaptic connections in the proper way. Maybe she'd forgotten that Theodosia was linked romantically with Max.

“I was . . . I was . . .” Cecily blubbered.

“Take your time,” said Theodosia.

“I was coming from the Lady Goodwood Inn,” said Cecily. Now tears coursed down her cheeks. “I had dinner and a . . . few drinks.” She fanned her arms expressively. “On the way to my car . . .”

“Keep that oxygen on,” Caroline advised.

“And somebody jumped you?” Theodosia prompted.

“A maniac!” said Cecily. “It was horrible. He came leaping out of the bushes and I . . . I had to fight for my life.”

Theodosia patted Cecily's shoulder. “You poor thing.”

“How could this happen?” Cecily screeched. “This is genteel Charleston. People call it the Holy City because of all the churches!”

“I'm guessing your attacker doesn't regularly attend church,” said Theodosia. She glanced sideways and saw Detective Tidwell issuing orders to two uniformed officers. Then, without looking over toward the ambulance, he cocked a thumb in its direction. She decided that if he was about to interview Cecily, this was probably her cue to get out of there.

“Take care, Cecily,” said Theodosia. She gave a little wave. “Feel better.”

“I . . . I just wanna . . .” said Cecily. Then she dissolved into loud, choking sobs.

Theodosia slipped back through the darkness of Longitude Lane. In all the time she'd jogged through this neighborhood, or walked home from parties, she'd never felt unsafe. She wondered if this assault on Cecily might change things for her.

But as she climbed into her Jeep and started the engine, other thoughts began to lodge in her head. Thoughts about Max. About his angry standoff with Cecily. Thoughts that could easily be construed as . . . doubts.

But as she drove down the street, she told herself,
No way. No, he couldn't have.

“Where were you
last night?” Theodosia asked. It was barely seven
AM
and still dark. She'd just woken up, and the first thing she'd done was grab the phone and dial Max's number.

“Um . . . what?” Max said, sounding sleepy.

“Do you know what happened last night?”

“Uh . . . no. Why?” There was a soft rustling on his end of the line, as if he were struggling with the bed covers, trying to throw them off and sit upright. Then he said in a grumpy voice, “Jeez, Theo, do you know what the heck
time
it is?”

“Do you know what
happened
last night?”

“Didn't I just answer your question? No, I have no idea what happened.”

Theodosia swallowed hard. Max sounded so . . . angry.

“I . . .” Max cleared his throat. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across quite so obnoxious. What exactly happened that you're so upset about?”

“I'm not upset, I'm concerned.”

“About . . . ?”

“Cecily Conrad was attacked last night.”

“What!”

“I said Cecily . . .”

“I got that, I got that,” said Max. “But what . . . ? Where . . . ? Maybe you better tell me what happened.”

“I don't have all the details,” said Theodosia. “But apparently she was attacked as she was leaving the Lady Goodwood Inn. I guess she'd met up with some friends there for dinner and drinks. Anyway, someone just . . . jumped out at her.”

“Is she hurt badly?”

“She was bruised and extremely shaken up. The police called for an ambulance, but she wasn't seriously injured enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.”

“Wait a minute,” said Max. “It sounds as if you were there.”

“I heard about it on the late news,” said Theodosia. “So, yes, I went over there.”

“And you talked to her?”

“Yup.”

“She mention anything about our dustup on Saturday night?”

“Nope.”

Max was quiet for a few seconds, and then he said, “It sounds as if someone was stalking her. Who would do something like that?”

“Um . . . maybe the same person who stabbed Edgar Webster?”

“Do you really think so?”

“I think it's certainly possible,” said Theodosia.

“But why? Why go after Cecily?”

“Gee, I don't know,” said Theodosia. She was suddenly annoyed that Max didn't seem to be taking this very seriously. “Maybe because Charlotte hates her. Maybe because Cecily's privy to some sort of secret. Maybe because Cecily killed Edgar Webster and somebody was trying to get back at her. There are more than a few permutations that could explain this.”

Max yawned loudly. “Or maybe it was completely random.”

“Somehow,” said Theodosia, “it doesn't feel that way to me.”

• • •

Theodosia forgot all
about stopping at City Market. Instead, she was anxious to get to the Indigo Tea Shop and talk to Drayton and Haley about this new twist of events. If Max didn't have any ideas—or didn't
want
to have any ideas—maybe they did.

But when she arrived, shortly before noon, Drayton and Haley had already heard the news about Cecily and were chattering about it, exchanging theories about the attack. And when Theodosia told them that she'd actually
gone
to the scene of the crime, that revelation ignited a whole new round of talk.

“I think last night's attack means that Cecily isn't the killer,” said Drayton. “That she's definitely not the one who took an ice pick to Edgar Webster's ear.”

“So she's free and clear?” said Haley. She brushed her stick-straight hair back from her face and stared confrontationally at Drayton.

“Not necessarily clear,” said Drayton.

“So you're saying the killer is now targeting Cecily?” said Haley.

“If it was the killer,” said Theodosia, jumping in, “then he almost got her. It's a good thing Cecily has a strong pair of lungs. She screamed for help, and people came running right away.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Haley. She was always a stickler for nailing down details. “Have you guys crossed Cecily off your list as the possible killer?”

“Yes,” said Drayton.

“No,” said Theodosia.

“Ooh,” said Haley, peering at Theodosia. “Aren't you the suspicious one?”

“The thing is,” said Theodosia. “Cecily wasn't hurt all that badly. She could have . . . I don't know . . . staged the whole thing?” The idea had been percolating in her brain, but this was the first time she'd actually let herself vocalize it.

“You mean she
faked
being attacked?” said Haley. “To kick the investigation in a different direction? To have the police searching for some random guy? Hmm . . . that would mean she's a very clever girl.”

“Not so clever at all,” said Drayton. “Because if the police are the least bit suspicious about Cecily's cry-wolf scheme, they're going to be watching her even more carefully.”

“Not just watching, but investigating,” said Theodosia.

“Keeping an eye on her every move,” said Haley.

“If you ask me,” said Drayton, “I think Cecily
knows
something. That's why someone tried to kill her.”

“What do you think she knows?” said Haley.

Drayton fingered his bright pink bow tie. “It's still unclear.”

“Maybe it has something to do with Edgar Webster?” said Theodosia. “Or his company?” Theodosia knew there was the IPO to consider. She was sure that, at the start of business tomorrow, the IPO would be rammed through. Could Cecily somehow have a role in that? Well . . . maybe.

“Yes,” said Drayton. “Cecily might possibly know something about Webster's company, some proprietary business secret. What's the company name . . . Datrex? That would be my guess, too.”

They batted around theories for a few more minutes, then Haley retreated to her kitchen and Theodosia and Drayton got to work on the tea shop. Even though the
Titanic
Tea didn't kick off until five o'clock, they wanted to get things rolling. They started by draping starched white linen tablecloths across all the tables, and then put out the good crystal along with a set of antique Gorham sterling silver flatware in the Baronial Old pattern.

Haley had found photos depicting the
Titanic
leaving the dock at Southampton, as well as photos of some of the first-class passengers, and those had been blown up into posters and were now hung on the walls. And Drayton had brought in his personal collection of Royal Crown Derby English bone china, so that had to be unpacked and laid out carefully.

“It's looking good,” said Theodosia as she placed bouquets of white lilies in the center of all the tables.

“Wait until you see what else I cooked up,” said Drayton.

“Show me.” Theodosia wasn't gung ho on surprises. Or waiting. She was an immediate-gratification type of gal.

Drayton ducked behind the counter and pulled out a large white box.

“What little trick do you have up your sleeve?” Now her curiosity had really been tweaked.

He popped the lid and tilted it toward Theodosia so she could take a peek.

“Oh my.”

“I took the liberty,” said Drayton, looking a little smug. He set the box down on the counter and pulled out a stack of white paper napkins emblazoned with the ubiquitous White Star Line logo. “First of all, monogrammed napkins from our friendly stationery store down the street.”

“That monogram certainly lends a touch of authenticity,” said Theodosia. “Our guests will be looking around for the lifeboats.”

Drayton held up a finger. “Ah, but there's more.” He dug into his box again and pulled out a small white ship, about ten inches long, with the White Star logo on its bow. “Actually, there are ten more ship models, to serve as proper décor for our tables.”

“They're perfect. Well, maybe a little eerie, too.”

“And I know you're not a fan of paper placemats,” said Drayton. “But you might change your mind when you see these.” He handed her a stack of placemats that were basically reproductions of the front page of the
London Herald
. The headline screamed “RMS
Titanic
Sinks” and depicted an antique etching of the ship.

Theodosia fingered them. “These are fantastic. You are so clever.”

“And one last thing,” said Drayton. He pulled out a small black tea tin. “Our friends at Harney and Sons created this lovely Titanic Tea. I wish I could say they made it just for us, but they've been offering it for quite some time.”

Theodosia grinned as she studied the elegant black tea tin that featured the doomed
Titanic
ship surrounded by a gold porthole motif. “This is just fantastic.” She balanced the tea tin in her hand. “Favors for our guests?”

Drayton nodded. “Everything but the icebergs.”

“You really did it. You came up with a unique themed tea that actually works for Halloween. It's not spooky, but it certainly is haunting.”

Drayton beamed. “And isn't that the whole idea?”

• • •

When Theodosia stepped
into the kitchen to check on Haley, she was bombarded by a medley of enticing aromas coming from the stove, as well as English tea bread and éclairs baking in the oven.

“It smells like a genuine restaurant in here,” Theodosia smiled.

Haley looked up from her stovetop. “Even though we're only working out of a postage stamp-size kitchen?”

“You're the one who said she doesn't ever want to move to a larger space.”

“No, and neither does Drayton. We love it right here. Besides, I like walking to work.” Haley now lived upstairs, in the apartment above the tea shop, where Theodosia had once lived. It was convenient, to say the least.

“I want to thank you for working today,” said Theodosia. “I know you usually like to spend Sundays with your friends.”

“Or reading in bed,” said Haley. She grinned impishly, and added, “With my friends.”

“Too much information,” boomed Drayton. He was standing in the doorway, trying to muster a haughty demeanor. “Or, as your generation likes to say, Haley, TMI.”

“Drayton's gettin' down,” laughed Haley. “Pretty soon he's gonna turn hipster on us. He'll start dressing all in black and wear narrow ties. Maybe even affect a pork pie hat à la Justin Timberlake.”

“Never,” said Drayton.

“Do you even know who I'm talking about?” asked Haley.

“No,” said Drayton. “And I don't care to know.”

“Come on,” Theodosia teased, getting into the act. “You can't tell me you don't sneak a peak at MTV once in a while. I happen to know you subscribe to cable TV.”

“I capitulated only because I enjoy history and nature programs,” said Drayton. And with that, he turned and disappeared.

“We tease him too much,” said Theodosia.

“I don't think we tease him enough,” replied Haley. She grabbed a large stainless steel bowl filled with sliced cucumbers.

“We kind of need to talk about the funeral luncheon tomorrow,” said Theodosia.

“What are your thoughts on that?” asked Haley as she added a handful of fresh herbs.

“I suggested to Charlotte that we keep the menu fairly simple. Perhaps a salad or fruit plate, scones, and an assortment of tea sandwiches.”

“Easy peasy. I could do a citrus salad, honey scones, and maybe three different tea sandwiches. Like . . . chicken and green goddess, cream cheese with crushed walnuts, and roast beef with thinly sliced Cheddar cheese. And maybe a dessert. What do you think?”

“It all sounds perfectly lovely. Can you get everything you need first thing tomorrow?”

“I'll make out my list this afternoon and e-mail it in. That way I can do morning tea and still get an early morning grocery delivery. Oh, what time do you think the luncheon guests will start arriving?”

“The funeral's set for ten,” said Theodosia. “So I'm guessing everyone will start staggering in around eleven fifteen.”

“Hmm, maybe we should just put a sign on the door that says
CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY
?”

“You mean not be open for morning tea?” said Theodosia.

“Otherwise things could get a little sticky.”

“You make a good point,” said Theodosia. She thought for a few moments. “Okay, let's do that. We'll be closed for our private party until one o'clock. Then we'll open for afternoon tea.”

“Works for me,” said Haley.

Theodosia pursed her lips. “Now let's just hope it works for Drayton.”

• • •

But Drayton was
fine with the arrangement.

“A smart idea,” he said. “That way we won't have two different groups to contend with.”