“Seriously?” This was good news for Theodosia. Took a load off.
Angie nodded. “I decided, pretty much on the spur of the moment, to partner with the Charleston Fashion Week people.”
“Smart.”
“Actually, Brooke Carter Crockett was the one who steered me in that direction. She knows this great designer . . .”
“I’ll bet it’s Echo Grace!” Theodosia exclaimed.
Angie was both surprised and pleased. “You know her?”
“Kind of. Well, I fell in love with Echo’s clothes, anyway. They’re gorgeous and amazing. Your guests won’t just be entertained, they’ll be enthralled.”
“Looks as if I made the right choice—with a little help from Brooke, that is. Oh, and when I spoke to Echo she suggested we bring in another designer as well. A woman by the name of Kiki Everhart who creates these elegant one-of-a-kind clutch purses, hobo bags, and leather cuffs. The bags are basically stitched-together swatches of brocade fabric, most of it vintage, that are embellished with faux gems and use fancy drapery cords as drawstrings. She calls her line Hart Song.”
“Sounds fabulous.”
“I’ve seen the bags and they are,” Angie said. “Of course, I still have a few logistics to work out. And I’m praying that this tea will go smoother than your Limón Tea did last Sunday.” Angie’s face took on a commiserating expression. “I read all about it in the Post and Courier and I’m so sorry that happened to you.” She reached out and gently touched a hand to Theodosia’s shoulder.
“Thank you. But it didn’t so much happen to me as to poor Nadine. Her death—her murder—was a crushing blow to Delaine and Bettina.”
“I wish I could have attended the funeral this morning, but we had a huge group check in at the last minute. A bunch of birders from Kentucky. They’re here to visit the Ravenel Caw Caw Interpretive Center and hopefully spot a fulvous whistling duck or two.”
“Well, good luck to them,” Theodosia said. “I’ve been to that center, and the rarest bird I spotted was an indigo bunting.”
Angie gave a sly smile, lightening the mood. “Is that your official tea shop bird?”
Theodosia grinned back at her. “Good one.”
* * *
* * *
When she returned to the tea shop, Theodosia thought some more about Julie Eiden as she cleared tables and reset them for afternoon tea. And how much Nadine had hated that poor girl.
But swirling around in her mind was the million-dollar question—had Julie also hated Nadine? Had Julie gotten fed up with Nadine’s hostility and simply snapped? Experienced a complete mental breakdown, a total lapse in judgment? Or had Julie seen an opportunity in the making and simply murdered Nadine?
But as Theodosia continued to kick her ideas around, the idea of Julie as a gun-toting, stone-cold killer began to feel a bit improbable. Mostly because she came across as soft-spoken and a little mousy.
So who else could have put a gun to Nadine’s head and pulled the trigger?
Actually, there was another quiet, mild-mannered person who’d been peripherally involved in Nadine’s life. And that was Simon Nardwell. The man looked innocent, acted as if he was devastated by Nadine’s death. But what if Nardwell wasn’t what he appeared to be? Maybe he was a passive-aggressive type. A man who held it all inside until—boom—he finally blew his cork.
Theodosia thought about the packages Nardwell had received the day she’d visited his shop. Could a fusty middle-aged antique weapons dealer also be a well-connected drug dealer? He could be.
Or could he?
Theodosia racked her brain to remember the return addresses on those two packages. Okay, one was from Germany. She remembered that okay. The other package was from . . . where? She thought hard but couldn’t quite pull it up. Oh well, the address probably wouldn’t have led anywhere . . .
Ecuador. That’s where it was from. A town called San something. What was it again? San Leandro? No, I think it might have been San Lorenzo.
Pleased that she’d been able to conjure up the name, her curiosity suddenly rising to a fever pitch, Theodosia decided to do a little primary research on San Lorenzo. She got on her computer, clicked along, read a few articles . . .
What she found shocked her.
Really? Whoa.
Feeling apprehensive as well as tingling with excitement, Theodosia got up from her desk, walked halfway down the back hallway, and said, “Drayton, could you pop in here when you have a minute?”
“What?” he said, looking up from where he was putting the final touches on a takeout order. He pushed his half-glasses up on his nose and said, “Okay, yes. Soon as I’m finished here.”
When Drayton wandered into her office a few minutes later, Theodosia said, “I’d like you to take a look at this.” She surrendered her desk chair to Drayton and waited while he skimmed the article she’d pulled up on her computer.
Drayton stared at the screen, blinked, and said, “This article says that San Lorenzo, Ecuador, is one of the cocaine trade’s main dispatch points. For drugs coming out of Colombia.” He gave her a questioning look. “Highly informative, but how is it relevant to us?”
“Simon Nardwell received a package from San Lorenzo yesterday.”
“Probably a coincidence,” Drayton said.
“What if it isn’t?”
“Then we . . . hold on a minute.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his chin. “I see an ominous twinkle in your eye and feel suspicion oozing out of that crafty brain of yours. What exactly do you have in mind?”
What Theodosia had in mind was a creepy-crawl through Nardwell’s shop. Best-case scenario, they’d pick a lock, go inside, and look around. Of course, it wasn’t certain they’d be able to get inside.
When she told Drayton her idea, his answer was a resounding, “No!”
“Why not?”
“Because what you’re proposing is breaking and entering.”
“Not exactly,” Theodosia said as she quickly rethought her idea.
“What’s not exactly about it?”
“I just realized that, since Nardwell sells valuable guns, he probably has secure locks on all his doors as well as a serious alarm system.”
“Thank goodness,” Drayton said. “Saved by the proverbial alarm bell.”
“So what I have in mind is poking around.”
“Define poking around.”
“Looking in the back alley, searching through his trash,” Theodosia said.