Stake & Eggs (35 page)

Put all ingredients into a saucepan and simmer together for about 20 to 25 minutes.
Pour into a container and let cool in refrigerator overnight. Now you’re ready to
use this zesty concoction on ribs, pork, or even chicken!

R
AIN
slashed against stained glass windows and thunder shook the rafters as Theodosia
Browning hurried up the back staircase of Ravencrest Inn. Her long, peach-colored
bridesmaid’s dress swished about her ankles as she balanced a giant box of flowers
that had just been delivered to the inn’s back door. It was the second Saturday in
June, the morning of her friend Delaine Dish’s wedding. Normally, Charleston, South
Carolina, was awash in sun and steamy heat this time of year. But today, this day
of all days, a nasty squall had blown in from the Atlantic, parked itself over the
city, and turned everything into a soggy morass. Including, unfortunately, the bride’s
temper.

Theodosia reached the top step, stumbled, almost catching her heel in the hem on her
dress, then quickly righted herself.

“Delaine!” she called. “Your flowers have arrived.”

Delaine Dish rushed out into the dark hallway and threw up her arms in a gesture of
sheer panic. “Finally! And, can you believe it, the power’s gone out twice already!”

“I know,” said Theodosia, trying to minimize the problem. “They lit candles downstairs
for the guests. So all the parlors look quite dreamy and atmospheric.” She hustled
past Delaine, carrying the cumbersome box into the suite of rooms that Delaine was
using as her dressing room. The groom, Dougan Granville, was cloistered in his own
suite of rooms down the long, dark corridor.

“How does my bouquet look?” asked a jittery Delaine, as Theodosia carefully opened
the box.

“Hang on a minute.” Theodosia was practically as nervous as Delaine. All the bouquets
had been ordered from Floradora, a florist she often counted on to create distinctive
centerpieces for her Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.

“So many delays,” worried Delaine as another flash of lightning strobed, giving the
room the flickering, jittering look of an old-time black-and-white film. “My guests
must be getting restless.”

“Not to worry,” said Theodosia. “Last I looked, Drayton and Haley were serving peach-and-ginger
tea accompanied by miniature cream scones. Your guests were happy as clams.” She pulled
the bridal bouquet, a lovely arrangement of orchids, tea roses, and Queen Anne’s lace,
from its tissue paper wrapping and handed it to Delaine. “There you go. And it’s perfect.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Delaine, smiling as she accepted the bouquet. She stepped
over to a full-length mirror and peered into its murky depths. “How do I look?” she
asked.

“Beautiful,” said Theodosia. And she meant it. She and Delaine had had their differences
over the years, but today Delaine looked positively radiant. Her ivory strapless ball
gown–style wedding dress, with its delicate ruche bodice, highlighted her dark hair
and extraordinary coloring and set off her thin figure perfectly.

Delaine stretched a hand out to Theodosia. “Come over here, you.”

Theodosia joined Delaine at the mirror and stared at her own reflection in the pitted
glass. With masses of curly auburn hair to contend with, Theodosia sometimes projected
the aura of a Renaissance woman captured in a portrait by Raphael or even Botticelli.
She had a smooth, peaches-and-cream complexion, intense blue eyes, and often wore
the slightly bemused look of a self-sufficient woman. A woman who in her mid-thirties,
had found herself to be a successful entrepreneur, possessed a fair amount of life
experience,
and had hooked up with a nice boyfriend to boot. So life was good.

Delaine patted her dark upswept hair, and her eyes glittered. She was successful,
too, with her Cotton Duck boutique. But she was of a predatory nature, always on the
prowl for the next new experience or thrill. Theodosia, on the other hand, had found
contentment. Her tea shop was cozy, charming, and filled to the rafters with good
friends and guests. And Drayton and Haley, her two dear friends, worked there with
her.

Delaine turned from the mirror and shrugged. Her nerves were fizzing and she could
barely stand still. She whirled one way, then the other and asked, “Have you seen
my sister? Where on earth is Nadine?”

“I know,” said Theodosia. “She’s late.” Then again, Nadine was perpetually late.

“That woman would be late to her own funeral,” Delaine spat out.

There was a
clump clump
from out in the hallway and then an overly chirpy cry of “Here I am!” Nadine charged
into the room, looking damp, self-absorbed, and not one bit apologetic. “Sorry to
be late,” she chortled. “But did you know Bay Street actually flooded? My cab driver
had to detour for
miles
!”

Delaine’s mouth fell open as she stared in horror at her sister, who was practically
the spitting image of her, even if a couple of pounds heavier. Nadine brushed rain
from her Khaki trench coat as she struggled with the handle of a pink paisley umbrella.

“Close that umbrella!” Delaine cried.

Nadine stopped fussing, frowned distractedly, then stared down at the damp, half-open
umbrella that was clutched in her hands. “What’s wrong now?” she asked.

“Don’t you know it’s bad luck?” cried Delaine. “You
never
open an umbrella in the house.” Delaine was a big believer in signs, portents, and
superstitions.

“Sorry,” Nadine mumbled. Then added, in a more
acerbic tone, “But in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining buckets out there!”

“I noticed,” said Delaine, gritting her teeth. “Really, do you think I
planned
for bad weather? Do you think I called the National Weather Service and asked for
the
precise
day on which we were going to have a deluge of Biblical proportions?”

Nadine stiffened. “You don’t have to get snippy!”

“Whatever,” said Delaine.

Not wanting to get dragged into a sister-versus-sister fight, Theodosia continued
to unpack the five smaller bouquets made up of tea roses and chamomile. These, too,
were perfectly composed. Dainty and fragrant and frothy with blooms.

“Maybe you could take these bouquets into the next room,” Theodosia suggested to Nadine.
“And hand them out to the other bridesmaids.”

“I suppose,” said Nadine, whose nose was still out of joint.

When she was finally alone with Delaine, Theodosia said, “Okay, what else do you need?”
She was finding maid-of-honor duties to be more trouble than she’d ever imagined.
Good thing it would all be over in a matter of hours.

Delaine did a little pirouette, letting her enormous ruffled skirt billow out around
her. Then she peered in the mirror again. “I really look okay?”

“Gorgeous,” said Theodosia, trying to stifle a yawn. She’d been up late helping decorate
and arrange seating in the downstairs Fireplace Room.

“I do feel we could have used a touch more planning,” said Delaine.

“It is what it is,” said Theodosia. “You had such a short engagement.”
Like about four weeks.

“Which is why I had to settle for this place,” said Delaine, her mouth suddenly downcast.

“It’s lovely,” said Theodosia. Truth be told, Ravencrest
Inn, with its old-world cypress paneling, narrow hallways, and looming presence in
the Historic District, was dark and a trifle shabby. The rooms were claustrophobic
and furnished with mismatched pieces, and the plumbing clanked noisily. But Delaine
had pushed everything ahead at warp speed so she could hastily tie the knot with one
of Charleston’s top attorneys. It was your basic Southern shotgun wedding without
a baby.

“Did you see that this place even has a widow’s walk?” said Delaine.

“Which makes it quaint,” said Theodosia.

“It’s a dump,” replied Delaine.

“But this is a pretty room,” said Theodosia, trying to find some spark of joy. Delaine
was like a hummingbird; flitting, sipping, constantly in motion.

“You think?” said Delaine. She pointed to a shelf of antique dolls that stared blankly
at them. “Look at that. Another silly collection.”

“I find it interesting,” said Theodosia, “that every room has been themed with a different
collection. Teapots, dolls, angels, leather-bound books, you name it.”

“But you know how I feel about dolls,” said Delaine, tapping her foot.

“I really
don’t
know,” said Theodosia.
But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.

“They’re horribly creepy,” said Delaine. “With their little glass eyes and puckered
rubber faces. And look.” She pointed a pink-enameled finger at the offending shelf.
“There’s even a bride doll swaddled in ghastly lace. Makes me think of
Bride of Chucky
or something nasty like that.”

“This is not what you should be fretting about on your wedding day,” said Theodosia,
determined to stay upbeat. “Come on over here and let’s pin your veil on.”

Delaine ghosted across the room. “You know, I had a fight with Dougan this morning.”

Theodosia gathered up a long veil of French lace and
held it a few inches above Delaine’s swirl of dark hair. “That’s probably normal.
Frayed nerves and all that.”

“Don’t you want to know what it was about?” asked Delaine.

Theodosia knew when she was being goaded. “Not really.” She centered the veil, then
set it carefully on Delaine’s head. Gently spread the sides of the veil over her bare
shoulders.

“He wants to cut the honeymoon short,” said Delaine. “Because of work. We screamed
and hollered. I’m quite sure everyone here heard us.”

Theodosia picked up Delaine’s bouquet and shoved it into her friend’s twitching hands.
“Time to get you married.”
Could I be any chirpier?
she wondered.
Could I be in any more of a hurry to jumpstart this wedding?
“Let’s get you and your lovely bridesmaids all lined up at the top of the staircase
so we can make any and all final adjustments. Then you, my dear, shall make the world’s
grandest entrance in front of all your guests.”

The lights flickered once again and thunder crackled loudly as five bridesmaids, one
maid of honor, and a nervous bride gathered at the top of the stairs.

“Remember,” Theodosia told the bridesmaid at the front of the pack, a distant cousin
of Delaine’s who was supposed to lead the procession. “As soon as you hear that first
note of music…”

Swish, swish, chuff.
Someone was hurrying up the back staircase. They all turned en masse, silk and lace
rustling, to look.

It was Drayton Conneley, Theodosia’s tea expert and dear friend. Dressed in a slim,
European-cut tuxedo with a plaid cummerbund, Drayton’s patrician face was drawn and
slightly flushed beneath his mane of gray hair. Despite his normally quiet reserve,
his eyes were crinkled with worry.

Theodosia hastened over to meet him. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Drayton put a hand to his chest to still his beating heart.
He was edging into his high sixties and not used to dashing up two flights of stairs
like a gazelle. “We have a problem.”

“No lights?” asked Theodosia.

“No groom,” said Drayton.

“Typical.” Delaine’s voice floated out behind them. “He’s probably holed up in his
room texting away. Dealing with some important client or political bigwig.” She sighed
deeply. “That’s my Dougan. Always puts his work first.”

Before Delaine could get any snappier, Theodosia said, “I’ll take care of this. I’ll
go get him.”

“Please,” said Delaine, in an arch tone.

“Thank you,” said Drayton, turning on his heels and disappearing back downstairs.

Theodosia flew down the narrow hallway to Dougan Granville’s room. Interestingly enough,
Granville was her next-door neighbor. Her home, her quaint Hansel and Gretel–style
cottage, had once been part of his larger, more grand estate.

She rapped on the door of Granville’s suite. “Dougan, it’s time,” she called out.
Theodosia knew he was a hard-driving attorney who was probably working right up until
the last millisecond.

Nothing. No movement, no answer.

Theodosia leaned forward and put an ear to the door. Maybe he was…slightly indisposed?
Maybe he really was a nervous bridegroom?

“Dougan? Mr. Granville? It’s Theodosia. We’re all waiting for you.”

Still nothing.

Wondering what protocol she should observe for something like this, Theodosia hesitated
for a few moments. Then decided it didn’t much matter. Guests were waiting; it was
time to get moving. She gripped the doorknob and turned it, pushed the door open a
good six inches.

“Dougan,” she called again, trying to put a little humor in her voice. “We have an
impatient bride who’s waiting for her handsome groom.”

There was no sound, save the monotonous drumming of rain on the roof and the gurgling
of water as it rushed through the downspouts.

Theodosia pushed the door all the way open and stepped across the threshold.

“Dougan?”

The room was completely dark and ominously quiet. Straight ahead, she could just make
out a faint outline of heavy velvet draperies pulled across a bay window.

Did Granville fall asleep? He must have. Wow, this is one relaxed guy on his wedding
day.

Shadows capered on the walls as she stepped past a looming wardrobe and another piece
of furniture. The room had a strange electrical smell, as if an outside transformer
had exploded. Theodosia tiptoed across the carpet, her silk mules whispering softly.
When she reached the foot of the bed, she stared. A tiny bedside lamp shone a small
circle of warmth on a battered bedside table, but there was no one lying on the bed.
Nothing had creased the dusty pink coverlet.