“Did you tell them Eddie would be scouting a location at the dogtrot house?”
“I don’t know anything about a dog. But maybe . . . yeah. They, um, might have called right before you did.”
“Before I called.” Theodosia’s heart quickened a beat. Somebody had been looking for Eddie, planning to . . .
“I guess I did tell them.” Josie’s voice rose. “But I had to, it’s my job!”
* * *
* * *
Back in the tea room, Theodosia leaned across the counter and replayed her conversation for Drayton.
“The killer was hunting him,” Drayton said. “Maybe attempting to tie up loose ends?”
“It sure looks that way.”
“We must have just missed him. The killer, I mean.” Drayton gave a little shiver. He picked up a teapot and poured amber liquid into a teacup. “Here.” He pushed it across the counter to Theodosia. “Take a sip.”
“What is it?”
“Something strangely apropos. A strong black tea called Death by Tea.”
“Death by Tea,” Theodosia murmured. “You’re right, it is rather fitting.”
* * *
* * *
Soft morning light filtered through the windows, lending a warm glow to the Indigo Tea Room. Life went on as Theodosia welcomed guests, took orders, and poured tea into pristine china teacups. When the tea room was half-filled and she had a minute to spare, she grabbed her cell phone and called Marvin Chauvet. She wondered if their catering gig was still on.
“Oh my goodness,” Marvin Chauvet wailed in answer to her question. “We’re as shocked about Eddie Fox as you are!”
Are you really? Theodosia wondered.
“We were depending on him,” Chauvet said. “Now I guess we’ll have to edit all that raw footage ourselves. Or hire somebody . . . I don’t know.”
“It’s certainly a bizarre twist of events,” Theodosia continued. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure your hospitality tent at the Concours d’Carolina was still happening.”
“Absolutely it is,” Chauvet said. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’ll have the food ready, right?”
“Yes, so one o’clock, then,” she said, not wanting to start an argument. “We’ll be there.”
Drayton looked up from measuring orchid plum tea into a pale green teapot. “I take it their hospitality tent is still on?”
“In the immortal words of Marvin Chauvet, ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ ”
At ten thirty, Haley came out of the kitchen and said, “I just want to give you guys a heads-up. I’ve got a pan of French Quarter beignets in the oven along with two loaves of banana bread.”
“Sounds yummy,” Theodosia said.
“And you know I’m doing a slightly scaled-back luncheon today?”
“I assumed so, since you’re also working on the appetizers for this afternoon.”
“I’m going with lobster bisque soup, shrimp salad with tarragon, and two kinds of tea sandwiches.”
“What kind?” Drayton asked.
“Cream cheese with roasted red peppers on rye and cashew chicken on homemade nut bread,” Haley said. “Do you know what time Miss Dimple is coming in to help?”
Theodosia checked her watch. “Another hour or so.”
“Okey dokey.” Haley spun on her heels and ran lightly back to the kitchen.
Drayton looked up from his tea brewing. “She seems to be over her vexation.”
“Looks like.”
“Do you think she’ll have the appetizers ready in time?” he asked. “We should leave by twelve thirty at the very latest.”
“I ask you, when has Haley ever let us down?” Theodosia said.
“I’d have to say never.”
“Then they’ll be ready.”
* * *
* * *
Miss Dimple arrived precisely on time and proceeded to bustle about the tea room, pouring tea, taking orders, refreshing glasses with ice water. She’d been helping out so much lately that she’d developed a real comfort level. Which was just fine with Theodosia since she considered everyone who worked there to be family. Even though some of her customers viewed her as the posh and elegant tea lady of Church Street, she was really a mother hen at heart.
Just as Theodosia delivered a pot of cardamom tea to table four, the front door whapped open and a red-faced Delaine stepped in. Theodosia hurried over to greet Delaine just as she burst into tears.
“Delaine!” Theodosia cried. “What?”
Delaine stood there trembling as tears streaked her face. Even though she was stylishly dressed in black slacks, a designer jean jacket, and a treasure trove of clanking gold jewelry, she looked for all the world to be in the middle of an emotional crisis. Actually, a whirlwind.
“What’s wrong?” Theodosia asked again. When she’d left Cotton Duck late yesterday afternoon, Delaine had been in fine form. Laughing and joking with the fashion show guests, basking in the glow of a successful show, even writing up orders. Now she seemed completely unhinged.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Delaine stammered out.
“About what?”
“Everything!” she cried. “I just heard about Eddie Fox’s murder—which is just plain awful. But mostly because I’ve been so callous about Nadine, about her . . .” A shudder ran through her entire body. “Her murder.”
“You’ve endured a terrible shock,” Theodosia said in what she hoped was a calm, comforting voice. Was it possible that Delaine was experiencing a delayed reaction?
It was indeed.
“I’ve been wandering around in a daze these last few days, sickened by my sister’s murder yet unable to come to terms with it,” Delaine said. “At the same time, I’ve been slightly intoxicated by my involvement in Lemon Squeeze Couture.” She grabbed Theodosia’s arm and squeezed hard. “But what I haven’t done is take precious time to focus on the sad reality of Nadine’s death. To actually mourn her passing.”
Theodosia led Delaine to the small table by the window and got her seated.
Like the caring soul he was, Drayton hurried over with a pot of tea for Delaine. “Chamomile,” he said. “To help settle your nerves.” And then, seeing the abundance of tears that still flowed down her cheeks, he slipped her a clean hanky.