“Which isn’t all that much,” Chauvet hastened to add.
“I see,” Theodosia said. “No rifts in your relationship with Nadine?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Outside issues or jealousies, then? Problems with creative people or vendors?”
“Nothing we can think of,” Bateman said. “And, believe me, we’ve tried. Racked our brains, turned everything upside down and over sideways, but couldn’t find a doggone thing. No reason at all to murder that poor woman in cold blood.”
“It’s a complete mystery,” Chauvet said.
No kidding, Theodosia thought as she started to get up from her chair. “In that case . . .”
“Hang on a minute, will you?” Chauvet lifted a hand. “We want to ask you something.”
Theodosia sat back down. “Yes?”
“You’ve heard of the Concours d’Carolina?” Chauvet said.
“Sure,” Theodosia said. The Concours d’Carolina was a major car show that took place annually, usually at a local country club. It featured classic and high-end cars, attendance was limited, and tickets generally cost upward of a hundred dollars each.
“It’s happening this Friday at the Juniper Bay Country Club, and we were wondering if you and your staff could cater our portion of the event?” Bateman said.
“We’ll have a hospitality tent and do informal modeling. You know, a few girls wearing Lemon Squeeze Couture,” Chauvet said.
Theodosia thought fast. She didn’t have a tea party scheduled for Friday, so an afternoon catering gig would definitely help fluff the week’s receipts. And she wanted to stay close to these two men because she still wasn’t sure of their complete and total innocence.
“We could probably accommodate you,” Theodosia said. “What sort of menu did you have in mind?”
“Kind of like what you did yesterday,” Chauvet said. “Only we’ll be serving gin fizzes and salty dogs, so we’ll need something that pairs well with cocktails.”
Theodosia glanced toward the counter and curled a finger at Drayton. He came over to the table and stood there while she explained the event to him.
“Any recommendations?” Chauvet asked him.
“What about crab salad tea sandwiches for starters?” Drayton said.
“Not bad,” Bateman said. “But we were thinking of something more in the heartier appetizer realm. There’ll be lots of men at the show.”
“In that case,” Drayton said, “how about duck pâté on crostini, steak bites, and shrimp tartlets? And maybe a nice charcuterie board of meats and cheeses?”
Chauvet nodded. “I like it. Very upscale. So you can do all that for us?”
“I don’t see why not,” Theodosia said. “As long as it’s in your budget.”
“The budget’s not a problem,” Bateman said. He stood up, dug in his wallet, and handed Theodosia a business card. “Here. If you have any questions, call our office and talk to Julie Eiden, our intern.”
Bateman hurried out of the tea shop while Chauvet stayed and dawdled.
“Tea, huh?” Chauvet said. He looked around the shop. “You make any money at this?”
“We do okay,” Theodosia said.
“I’ll say one thing, it’s a cute place. A little flouncy for my taste, but I’m sure your customers love it.”
“Our customers are all very loyal,” Drayton said.
Chauvet took a final sip of tea, looked at his watch, and stood up slowly. “Well, time to bounce. I’ve got a session with my personal trainer.” He patted his stomach. “You two work out?” He looked from Drayton to Theodosia.
“Heavens no,” Drayton said.
“Run a bit,” Theodosia said.
Chauvet smiled. “Good for you.”
* * *
* * *
“They’re strange ducks, aren’t they?” Drayton said from behind the counter. The lunch rush was over, only a few guests lingered, and he was getting ready to taste test some new teas.
Theodosia walked over to the counter and leaned on it with her elbows, stretching the kinks out of her neck. “You’re referring to Chauvet and Bateman? Yeah, I got a weird vibe from them, too.”
Drayton measured tea into a teapot as he talked. “I hope you don’t mean a murder vibe.”
“Not sure. But there is something a little off about their attitude.”
“Are you referring to their utter lack of empathy concerning Nadine’s murder?” Drayton said. “Or the way they hastily dimed her out in favor of her sister?”
“I hear what you’re saying. On the other hand, it is fashion week, and they’re business people with a lot on the line. This is when they need to connect with clothing buyers.”
“Meaning the partners gotta do what they gotta do?”
“Something like that,” Theodosia said.
“Here.” Drayton poured tea into a small dark green ceramic cup, then slid it across the counter. “I’d like you to try this.”
Theodosia raised the cup and took a sip. She tasted green tea with fruit. “It’s delicious.”
“This is mango-apricot green tea from Plum Deluxe. Light with a lovely fragrance.” He poured her another cup of tea. “And this is their sugar plum cardamom tea.”
“They’re both wonderful. I think we should feature them on our tea menu.”
“And here’s a dessert tea to top things off,” Drayton said as he poured her a third cup. “Harney and Sons chocolate mint.”
“I taste peppermint and chocolate, kind of like a yummy cookie.”
“Exactly,” Drayton said, pleased. Then the front door yawned open and Drayton suddenly looked unhappy. “Oh my, look who’s come to call,” he said under his breath.
Theodosia looked. It was Bill Glass, the publisher of Shooting Star, a weekly tabloid that was filled with glitzy photos, gossip, and ads for local clubs and watering holes. Today Glass wasn’t wearing his usual photojournalist vest and scarf. Today he was dressed like a refugee from a California commune, circa 1968. He wore faded jeans, a patchwork shirt, and leather huaraches on his feet. Two Nikons were slung around his neck.
“I ran into that Chauvet guy on the street,” Glass said as he slouched toward the counter. “Was he just in here?”