Ming Tea Murder (11 page)

Drayton spoke to Theodosia as he looked pointedly at Tidwell. “Let me know if you need anything else. Tea, Devonshire cream, moral support.”

“Thanks, Drayton, I will,” said Theodosia. She poured a cup of tea for Tidwell and handed it to him. “And there are scones here, too. Please help yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Tidwell. He took a sip of tea and his eyes half closed. “Excellent. Such a lovely vegetal flavor contrasted with the sweetness of the cherry.”

“You've become quite a tea connoisseur.”

“And you're very clever at turning the conversation.”

“I am?” said Theodosia.

“Last night,” Tidwell reminded her.

“What was it you wanted to know?”

“The argument.”

“I wasn't present when the fireworks started,” said Theodosia. “I was in the workroom making what might be considered an important discovery.”

Tidwell sipped his tea. “Nicely done. Still, you witnessed a good portion of the argument. Tell me, what exactly set Cecily off?”

Theodosia helped herself to a pumpkin scone. “Oh, Max apparently made some offhand comment to Bill Glass that Cecily overheard.”

“About her being a suspect?”

“That was the general idea, yes.”

“He didn't accuse Cecily of murder and then attack her?”

Theodosia broke off a piece of scone. “No, that's not Max's style.”

“Still, she took umbrage at his remark,” said Tidwell.

“No,” said Theodosia. “Cecily completely flipped out. Big difference. Ask anyone who was there.”

“I already have,” said Tidwell.

Theodosia eyed him carefully. “Excuse me, why exactly are you doing this little tap dance? Are you trying to tell me that Max is a suspect?”

Tidwell shrugged.

“You are so barking up the wrong tree!” Theodosia cried. “You know who you should really be looking at?” Now she was practically shouting.

“Enlighten me,” said Tidwell.

Theodosia held up a hand so she could tick off the suspects.

“Charlotte Webster. Edgar was cheating on her and making her look like a fool. Plus, Charlotte's no slouch with an ice pick. Just go check out her bar.”

“I'll do that,” said Tidwell.

“Two,” said Theodosia. “Cecily. No more Edgar, no more repayment of the enormous debt that she incurred.”

“Point taken.”

“And three,” said Theodosia. “Roger Greaves. He wanted to take Datrex public, and Edgar Webster was violently opposed to the idea. No more Edgar, no more barrier to an IPO.” She sat back in her chair and said, “Get it?”

“I most certainly do,” said Tidwell. The entire time she'd been ranting away he'd been nibbling his scone. Now he looked around. “Is there any more of that lovely almond-flavored Devonshire cream?” he asked.

“No,” said Theodosia. She crossed her arms and stared at him. “We're all out.”

“Are you finished with your rant?” said Tidwell.

“Yes,” said Theodosia. “And you're finished, too. I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

Tidwell made no motion to leave. “It's funny you should mention the blocked IPO. Another person brought that up to me as well.”

“Who was it? Cecily?”

“No, it was some transplanted art dealer that I interviewed yesterday.”

“Harlan Duke?”

“Yes, that's the fellow. He worked closely with Webster on the importation of that tea house.” He paused. “I take it you know him?”

“I met him this morning at the museum,” said Theodosia. “He seemed very nice.”

“Mmn,” said Tidwell. He stood up and brushed at his tweed jacket, causing a miniature waterfall of crumbs to tumble down his lapels.

“Don't tell me poor Mr. Duke is on your suspect list, too,” said Theodosia. She stood up to indicate the meeting really was over.

Tidwell just smiled at her. “I'm keeping all my options open.”

“Good for you,” said Theodosia. “Oh, and Drayton will give you a takeout box if you'd like. On your way out.”

“He really sees
me as a suspect?” said Max. He was sitting across the dinner table from Theodosia in her small, elegant dining room. Candles flickered and paintings gleamed on the walls. Overhead, a small crystal chandelier cast a flattering pink glow. But Max was stewing as he fumbled his fork, and it clattered to the table.

“Tidwell was just trying to provoke me,” said Theodosia. “He's playing his cards close to the vest, and I think his nose is a little out of joint because I stumbled upon those awls.”

“But that's a
good
thing, a really tangible clue. So why is he still on my case?”

“You don't know Tidwell,” said Theodosia. “Until a murder is solved, he's on everyone's case.”

“Maybe so, but it's very unsettling.”

“I know it is. And I wish I could have done more to dissuade him.”

“He's a formidable presence,” said Max.

“Which is why we want him squarely in our corner. We don't want to tick him off.”

“I didn't think that I did,” said Max. He looked at Theodosia expectantly. “Theo?”

She sighed. “I might have been a little forceful with him this afternoon.”

“What did you do? Did you kick Tidwell out of your office?”

“Not exactly.”
Gulp.
She knew she'd pretty much given him the bum's rush.

“Doggone,” said Max. “Here you poached this wonderful salmon and made my favorite broccoli slaw, and now I've completely lost my appetite.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Theodosia.

Earl Grey stood up suddenly. He'd been lazing under the table and enjoying a little doggy snooze. But now he gazed at them with an appraising eye. If there was spare food to be had, actual people food, he was more than willing to partake of his fair share.

“Rrrrr,” he said.

“Yes, we know you're there,” said Theodosia. She cut a bite of salmon and held it out to him.

Earl Grey's pink tongue shot out and, voilà: the salmon disappeared as if by magic. Now he was gazing at her again with sad, pleading eyes.

“Yes, I know,” said Theodosia. “If I give you one more bite, you'll never, ever ask me for anything again, right?”

“Rrrrr.”

“The killer,” Max said slowly.

Theodosia glanced at him. “Mmn?”

“He had to have been in attendance Thursday night.
Had
to have been. This wasn't some random maniac who just wandered in from the street. Or who infiltrated the party at the last minute.”

“Well . . . yes. I think that's pretty much a given.”

“What we need to do,” said Max, “is go over the guest list with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Okay.” Theodosia slipped another shred of salmon to Earl Grey. She'd been thinking about the guest list, too. In fact, she'd been thinking about it all day long.

“Will you help me do that?”

“You know I will,” said Theodosia. “But we need to get our hands on that list. You have one, right?”

Max's face fell. “Sure, but it's locked away in my office.”

“We can't just go get it?”

“I'm not sure I can waltz in and grab it, if that's what you mean. It would look . . . suspicious.”

“How about if I waltzed in?”

“That's not such a great idea, either,” said Max. He picked up his wineglass and took a sip.

“Then what do you say we sneak in and get it?” said Theodosia.

Max almost choked on his wine. “You mean now? Tonight?”

“No, next Tuesday,” said Theodosia. “Yes, I mean now. Like, put your glass down and get your jacket on right this minute.”

“But what if something's going on? Like a private event or a donor party?”

“Then we'll deal with it,” said Theodosia. She flashed him a slightly crooked grin. “Max, what is it you don't understand about the words
sneak in
?”

• • •

They turned on
Meeting Street, cruised past the museum, and then turned down a narrow alley. The night was full-on dark, and the tunnel of trees overhead seemed to make their mission feel slightly more ominous.

“Turn your lights off,” said Max.

Theodosia flipped off her Jeep lights.

“What about the dome light?” said Max. “Won't it come on when I open the door?”

Theodosia hit a button. “Not anymore.”

They sat there, the engine purring softly, both of them feeling a sense of nervous anticipation.

“Well?” said Theodosia. “It's now or never.”

Max bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Now,” he said, then slipped quietly out the passenger door. He cut directly in front of her, and then crossed the back patio where, in warmer weather, outdoor receptions were often held.

Theodosia watched him carefully. Max wove his way through the statue garden, past a small fountain, and was closing in fast on the museum's back door. So far so good.

She saw him reach the door and stand there for a moment, as if assessing the situation. Then his hand reached out and punched his code into the keypad.

Good. He'll be inside in about two seconds flat.

But two seconds passed and Max was still fussing with the keypad.

What?

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. She watched him, frustration building as Max continued to punch in numbers. Finally, in a gesture of exasperation, he threw his hands in the air and headed back toward her.

“What?” Theodosia said once Max had climbed back inside her Jeep.

“Crap!” said Max. He was practically shaking with anger.

“What?”

“They changed the code on the keypad.”

“All because of you?”

“That snake Kern probably did it,” said Max. “There's no way I'm going to get inside now.”

Theodosia mulled this over. “How many numbers is the code usually?”

“Four.”

“How hard can that be?” said Theodosia. “To come up with the correct sequence, I mean. Wait a minute.” She made a few quick calculations and frowned. “Hmm, could there really be nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine possible combinations? Could that even be right?”

“I'm no math genius, but I'll bet it's something like that,” said Max. “And if we enter too many false tries, it could trip a warning.”

“Plan B then,” said Theodosia.

“What exactly is plan B?”

Theodosia gripped the steering wheel. “I'm thinking.”

“Jeez, Theo,” said Max. “I thought you had this all figured out. You're always so good at this sleuthing thing.”

“Chill. Please.”

They sat there for a couple more minutes.

“Okay, I've got another idea,” said Theodosia.

Max still looked defeated. “What now?”

“I ran into Percy Capers this morning, and he was kind enough to offer his help. He basically said he was in your corner one hundred percent.”

“He really said that?” Max blinked rapidly and his voice suddenly sounded hoarse. “That's really something. I guess he is one of the good guys.”

“I think we should call him,” said Theodosia.

“I'd feel funny doing that,” said Max.

“I wouldn't,” said Theodosia.

• • •

The phone call
took less than sixty seconds, and Percy Capers was there in under five minutes.

He came rolling down the dark alley and pulled up behind them, the engine of his bottle-green Jaguar XJ thrumming quietly.

“He's here,” Theodosia whispered.

“What a guy,” said Max. He sounded surprised. “Especially since he could be putting his job in jeopardy.”

“I think I've got this worked out,” said Theodosia. “Give me your office key.”

“What?”

“If you go pussyfooting around inside the museum and get caught, it'll be your head on a platter. But if I go, no problem.” She pushed an errant fluff of hair away from her darting eyes. “You don't think they changed the lock on your office, do you?”

“Probably not,” said Max.

“Then give me your key.”

“No way are you going in there,” said Max.

“Sure I am. Where's your guest list stashed?”

“Top drawer on the left. But what if you get caught?”

“I told you, if I get caught, it's no big deal.”

“Sure it is,” said Max. “If they catch you, you'll be charged with breaking and entering.”

“Not really,” said Theodosia. “Because I won't be breaking anything.”

Reluctantly, Max handed over his office key. “Only the law.”

• • •

“Thank you for
coming,” Theodosia whispered to Capers. They were crouched between the two vehicles, whispering. It was so dark in the alley, she could barely see him.

“I never could stand a damsel in distress,” Capers said. Then, “You want me to come with you? I assume you're making a foray into Max's office.”

“I'm trying to retrieve the guest list.”

“Ah.”

“I really just need the code for the keypad,” said Theodosia.

“The director changed it yesterday afternoon,” said Capers. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to her. “Here. Good luck.” A smile flickered across his face. “If you get caught, chew it up and swallow it or something. Anyway, don't get caught.”

“I don't plan to,” said Theodosia.

• • •

The code was
one nine zero three. Theodosia was pretty sure it was the year the museum had been founded. Some code. If a thief really wanted to get inside and load up a pillowcase full of priceless artifacts, wouldn't he run through all the logical four-digit numbers that related to the museum? Sure, he would. In fact, that's what she would have done if she'd had more time.

As it was, the scenario was a simple
open sesame
all the way. Theodosia eased her way through the back door, tiptoed down a dimly lit hallway, then hooked a right down another hallway that led to the wing that housed the offices for the curators, administration, and support staff.

Max's office was the third door on the left.

She slipped the key into the lock, heard a click, and then turned it slowly. The heavy wooden door swung open and, just like that—bim, bam, boom—she was inside his office.

Theodosia closed the door and stood with her back pressed up against the cool wood. She waited a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then headed straight for Max's desk. He told her he'd stuck the guest list in the top left drawer, so that's where she looked first.

Sliding the drawer open slowly, so there were no telltale creaks or squeaks, Theodosia peered in. And saw a jumble of papers. Hmm, Max wasn't as neat as she thought he was. She pulled out a handful of loose paper and piled it on top of his desk. Then—slowly, carefully—she turned on the small desk lamp.

The flash of light jolted her at first. It felt so bright, like a signal flare that would betray her presence at any moment. But when Theodosia didn't hear the clatter of footsteps running toward her, and when no armed guards appeared to haul her off to jail, she inched up her nerve and began to pour through the unruly nest of papers. There were press releases, expense reports, office memos, and dozens of other papers. She
really
hadn't realized that Max was such a pack rat. Not only that, he seemed to like to print out pages from his computer, whereas she was content to let her e-mails and memos reside on her computer in digital form for all eternity.

Still, she kept sorting and searching until, finally, there at the bottom of the pile was the guest list.

Eureka.

Theodosia folded up the single page and jammed it into her jacket pocket. Then she snapped off the lamp.

Retracing her steps, she put a hand on the doorknob, drew a hesitant breath, and turned it. When she was standing back outside in the hallway, she inserted the key and locked the door.

There. Done and done. Now to get out of here.

She glanced down the long, dark corridor and noticed a faint spill of light.

Unless . . .

Someone besides her was in the museum. Sitting in their office, late at night, all by themselves.

And they were doing . . . what?

Curiosity burned brightly within her. She knew she probably shouldn't risk it. On the other hand, she wondered if there might be some information to be gained.

Putting one hand against the wall to steady herself, Theodosia reached down and slipped off her loafers. Clutching them, she tiptoed soundlessly down the corridor in her stocking feet.

The light was on in Elliot Kern's office. For some reason, this didn't surprise her. Her meeting with him today had set off some low-level warning vibe, some sixth sense, as if the man knew more than he was letting on.

On the other hand, the culprit tonight could be his secretary, Mary Monica. Snarfing up the last bit of scone? Tidying up?