“Here’s one now,” Drayton said as the front door opened.
They all turned to watch as Bill Boyet sauntered in. He was the proprietor of Boyet’s Camera Shop down the block and a semi-regular at the tea shop. Boyet was in his early fifties and husky, with pink cheeks and sparse white hair. Today he wore khaki slacks with a navy golf shirt tucked in.
With a big grin on his face, Boyet continued to the counter and said, “Any plans to stage another one of your murder mystery teas? Because I’m happy to take a dive and play victim again.”
“We’re probably going to do another one real soon,” Theodosia said. “Since our last one . . .”
“Murder at Chillingham Manor,” Boyet filled in.
“. . . was so popular,” she finished.
“You even remembered the name,” Drayton said.
“Because I had so much fun playing the dastardly Lord Bledsoe.” When Drayton pursed his lips, Boyet said, “No, really, it was a blast. I never got to do playacting of that caliber before.”
“Then we’ll have to give you a starring role in our next production,” Theodosia said as she began stacking scones in the glass pie saver.
Drayton poured out a cup of tea and slid it across the counter to Boyet. “Assam tea work for you?”
“Absolutely,” Boyet said. He lifted his cup, took a hearty sip, and set it back down. “Good. Bracing.” He slid his hand sideways, saw the metal spring sitting on the counter, and picked it up. “Which one of you is into drones?” he asked.
At which point Theodosia looked up from her scones and said, “What?”
21
“Drones,” Boyet said as he fingered the metal spring. “Because it’s not every day you find a gimbal spring just lying around.”
“What, pray tell, is a gimbal spring?” Theodosia asked. Her heart had skipped a beat, and she felt a tickle of anticipation. Was this a clue? Then she asked the all-important question. “You say it’s a part from a drone?”
Boyet held the spring up between his thumb and forefinger. “Yup, it’s small but critical because it helps stabilize the wings.” He raised it to eye level. “You really didn’t know?”
“We do now,” Theodosia said. But her thoughts were firing on all eight cylinders. A drone, who used a drone? Had Eddie Fox mentioned shooting film with a drone?”
And now a semi-interesting connection had just tweaked her curiosity yet again. She’d discovered this gimbal spring in the cooler at Orchard House Inn. So did that mean Fox had been inside the cooler? Or had wandered around the inn? And if he had, was he the one who’d pulled the trigger on Nadine? And did that mean he was involved in some sort of cocaine deal? It felt like serious evidence was beginning to pile up.
Which is exactly what Theodosia said to Drayton once Bill Boyet had left.
Drayton was semi-amused. “Ten minutes ago you were hot for Harvey Bateman. Now you’re back on the Eddie Fox bandwagon.”
“I’m fairly sure that Eddie Fox used a drone when he shot that bird documentary.”
“So you think he was the one who shot Nadine.”
“Yes. Well, maybe yes. They were supposedly having some kind of affair. Maybe Nadine got too needy. Or . . .”
“Or what?” Drayton asked.
“Or something else happened?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“I’m not sure.”
Drayton poured a stream of hot water into a Brown Betty teapot, then pushed it across the counter to Miss Dimple. “The black currant tea for table five,” he said. “But let it steep for at least three minutes.” Then he turned back to Theodosia. “You’re making this extravagant leap just because you found a teensy little metal part? A part that could have come from anywhere? That someone—even one of us—could have inadvertently kicked into the cooler?”
“The gimbal spring is like a clue,” Theodosia said. “Well, not like a clue, it is a clue.”
“If you say so. The question is, what do we do with it? How do we run with this?”
“I think we need to dig into Fox’s business a whole lot more.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But my hunch is we’d best pussyfoot around him. He’s a fairly smart guy, and we don’t want to tip him off.”
“I’m of the mind that we should confront Fox head-on,” Drayton said. “Go ahead and ask our probing questions and try to ascertain if he really does make use of a drone for filming.”
“Because if he’s clueless about drones, then he might not be our guy?”
“Right.”
Theodosia thought for a few moments, then said, “We’ll be seeing him at the Lemon Squeeze Couture show in about”—she looked at her watch—“an hour and a half.”
“True, but Delaine’s shop is going to be a madhouse and Fox is going to be busy. You can bet that Marvin Chauvet and Harvey Bateman will be riding him like a rented mule when it comes to filming the show.”
“Maybe we could drop by Fox’s studio tonight,” Theodosia said, unwilling to let the subject drop.
“Might work if you can arrange it,” Drayton said. But he didn’t sound all that convinced.
* * *
* * *
Just as Theodosia was clearing dishes from the last table, Holly Burns from the Imago Gallery came bouncing in. She brushed back her mass of dark hair, sniffed the air, and seemed to find it most agreeable. Then she turned and gestured to a man who’d trailed her in.
“Holly,” Theodosia said, “I’m afraid we’re closing the shop in about fifteen minutes. But if you’re okay with a fast cuppa and a scone, we can surely accommodate you.”
Holly raised both hands and made scrubbing gestures in the air. “No, no. No tea is necessary. I came here with a request.”
“And a guest,” Drayton said, leaning across the counter and nodding at the man who’d accompanied Holly.
“Excuse my goofball manners,” Holly said. “Theo, Drayton, this is Jeremy Slade. Jeremy, this is Theo, the tea lady I told you all about, and her tea sommelier, Drayton Conneley.”
Jeremy Slade was tall and lean, with slicked-back dark hair, a long face, and flat gray eyes. He wore round John Lennon glasses that caught the light and was dressed from head to toe in black. He looked, Theodosia thought, like a hip funeral director.