Shades of Earl Grey (24 page)

“Fine idea,” declared Drayton.

“Only if it isn't too much work,” said Theodosia. “After all, we're all still recovering from yesterday.”

“I'm sure Haley can manage just fine,” offered Drayton. “And if I could interject a thought, might I suggest a coconut cake?”

“Haley, can you manage?” asked Theodosia, amused by Drayton's ravenous desire for cake.

“Seeing how much it means to Drayton,” she said, assuming an exaggerated hands-on-hips stance, “I'll try.”

 

Detective Tidwell pushed open the door, eased himself into the tearoom. He let the door close behind him, yet made no effort to move to a table, preferring to stand there in an ill-fitting tweed jacket and pork pie hat, surveying the premises with a slightly haughty air.

Haley noticed him first. “Uh-oh,” she said under her breath. “That
detective
is here again.”

Theodosia looked over and gave a quick wave.

“He looks like he's been shrink-wrapped in tweed,” murmured Haley.

“Ssssh,”
warned Drayton as he tried to stifle a grin and Theodosia hurried forth to greet Tidwell.

“Detective Tidwell, nice to see you again,” said Theodosia in her best tea shop hostess patois. “Won't you have a seat?”

Tidwell shuffled to a table, lowered his bulk carefully.

“Can I offer you some tea?” asked Theodosia.
Goodness,
she decided,
in the wake of Tidwell's sullenness, I sound hideously chirpy.

Tidwell gave a faint nod.

“Do you have a taste for anything in particular?” she asked.

“Surprise me,” said Tidwell in an uncharacteristic move.

Theodosia bustled into the kitchen to scrounge a muffin while Drayton busied himself with a fresh pot of tea.

“Surprise him,” Drayton muttered under his breath. “I'd like to surprise that fellow, all right.”

Tidwell was already sipping his tea when Theodosia came back with a reheated muffin and small pot of peach jam.

“And this tea is . . .” said Tidwell, still not wasting any time on pleasantries.

“Earl Grey,” said Theodosia. “Taste the bergamot?”

Tidwell gave a perfunctory nod. “I do. And a hint of something else, too.”

“A touch of white tips,” said Theodosia. “Just to lighten things up.” White tips meant, literally, the white tips or most prized leaf of the plant.

“Excellent,” said Tidwell, finally uttering a positive word. “I take it this is one of your own special Indigo Tea Shop blends?”

“Drayton created it. He calls it Shades of Earl Grey.”

“Rather pleasant,” responded Tidwell.

Theodosia smiled patiently. She was getting used to these strange exchanges with the venerable detective. They so often started out adversarial then veered toward semipoliteness.

Tidwell dribbled a spoonful of jam onto his muffin. “Not that you'd be interested, Miss Browning, but there has been a report of another theft in your neighborhood.”

“Is that a fact?” said Theodosia.
Play it cool,
she told herself.
He's bursting to tell you, but if you ask him outright, he'll probably clam up.

Tidwell shook his jowly head. “A rather expensive collectible disappeared last night from the Hall-Barnett House.”

Built in the mid-eighteen-hundreds and located over on Tradd Street, the Hall-Barnett House had first served as a convent and then a private home. Now it was a small museum, a period house, furnished with the trappings of the era and open to the visiting public.

“I only mention it to you,” added Tidwell, “because one of the items missing is a tea caddy.”

Theodosia stared at him.
The tea caddy from the Hall-Barnett House was missing?

“Ah,” said Tidwell, noting her surprise, “you're familiar with that particular piece?”

“Of course,” said Theodosia. “It's a lovely tea caddy crafted from tortoiseshell and inlaid with ivory. It's probably from the mid-eighteen-hundreds yet still in excellent condition.”

“Yes,” agreed Tidwell. “Worth quite a pretty penny, I'm told.”

Several thousand dollars,
Theodosia thought to herself. “And it's disappeared?” she said to Tidwell.

“That's the strange thing,” replied Tidwell. “Mrs. Roman, the woman who was guiding the tours yesterday afternoon, swears she saw the tea caddy sitting in its rightful place on the fireplace mantel. Right before she locked up late yesterday.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No reason not to.”

“Then what do you suppose happened to it?” asked Theodosia.

Tidwell's eyes burned brightly even as his face assumed a hangdog expression. “I suppose, Miss Browning, it could have caught the fancy of your cat burglar.”

“The Hall-Barnett House was broken into?”

“Let's just say a window was open upstairs.”

Theodosia conjured up a mental picture of the Hall-Barnett House. Built completely of brick, it was tall and stately, fashioned in the Italianate tradition.
Hard to clamber up the side of a brick building, though,
she decided.

“Did the police find a ladder anywhere?” she asked. “Lying in the yard or stashed in the carriage house out back?”

“Nothing,” said Tidwell. “If I had to hazard a guess, although I prefer
not
to, I'd say your cat burglar probably scaled a nearby tree then made a rather heroic leap.”

“Why do you keep calling him
my
cat burglar?” asked Theodosia, somewhat testily.

“Because you were the first one to put forth the cat burglar theory,” said Tidwell. “Pray tell what's wrong? Aren't you pleased? Here I thought for sure that you'd be pleased.”

“No, of course I'm not
pleased,
” she cried out, and the frustration that had built up inside her for the past week suddenly began to explode. “Poor Drayton and Timothy Neville are worried sick about the public opening of the Treasures Show tomorrow night. Captain Buchanan was
killed
at the Lady Goodwood Inn . . . probably in an accident caused by this very same cat burglar. And now, because someone, presumably this cat burglar, stole Delaine's watch and stashed it in Claire Kitridge's desk, Claire stands to lose her job! So no, Detective Tidwell, I am in no way pleased. I am angry, frustrated, and worried beyond belief, but the very last thing I am is pleased!”

Drayton, upon hearing Theodosia raise her voice to Tidwell, suddenly grabbed a pot of tea and hustled over to their table.

“Everything okay here?” he asked as he approached.

“Fine,” said Tidwell, putting a chubby hand over his teacup. “No need for a refill.”

Drayton pointedly ignored Tidwell and focused his lined countenance squarely on Theodosia. “Are
you
okay?” he inquired.

Theodosia shrugged and her voice was slightly tremulous. “Yes. I'm just feeling . . . embroiled . . . in this rapidly unfolding cat burglar mystery.”

“I believe Haley needs you in the kitchen,” said Drayton. Now he shifted his gaze to Tidwell.

Theodosia waved a hand. “Haley's fine, Drayton. She's doing . . . I don't know . . . the cake. Remember?”

“I am quite certain Haley is in need of your assistance,” repeated Drayton. Now his stare turned into a glower and Tidwell seemed to squirm just a bit under Drayton's intense scrutiny.

“What's the problem?” asked Theodosia, still not picking up on his cue.

“There's a dire problem with the coconut,” said Drayton. “A question of toasting or not toasting, I believe.”

Now it was Tidwell's turn to look mildly disconcerted. Theodosia rose from her chair suddenly. “Forgive me, Detective Tidwell, but there
is
a pressing business problem I must attend to.”

“Very pressing, indeed. I understand,” he said and walked out.

 

“Are you all right?” asked Drayton as he pushed his way into the kitchen. “Because that detective seemed far more annoying than usual.”

“I'm fine, Drayton,” replied Theodosia. She was sitting on a stool, sipping a cup of tea. “But thanks for the rescue, anyway. I was pretty much at the end of my rope.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” said Drayton. He reached over and picked up a small plate decorated with purple flowers that was sitting on Haley's small counter. “What's this?” he asked.

“Remember the muffin plate I dropped the other day?” said Theodosia. “Along with the teacup?”

Drayton nodded. As he studied the plate, recognition dawned. “Oh. This is the plate that broke in half!”

“Haley fixed it,” said Theodosia.

“I superglued it,” volunteered Haley. “I was going to toss the pieces out, but after I saw the charm bracelet Brooke created, and how delighted Theodosia was at her reclaimed treasure, I decided to try a little glue.”

“It was very sweet of you, Haley,” said Theodosia.

“Not bad,” said Drayton, turning the muffin plate over. “You can hardly see the repair.”

“Thanks,” said Haley. “It turned out to be kind of a fun project.”

“We might have to tap your services for the Heritage Society,” grinned Drayton. “Put you to work in our restoration department. Maybe your talents run toward restoring old prints and photographs, too.”

“Speaking of the Heritage Society,” said Haley, “are you-all still going ahead with the opening tomorrow night?”

Drayton grimaced. “Yes, we are. Up until yesterday there were still nasty rumblings from the executive advisory committee about canceling or even delaying the public opening of the Treasures Show. But of course, Timothy Neville fought them tooth and nail. He's quite adamant about adhering to his predetermined schedule. Don't you know, all the invitations have been sent out and all the publicity done. So what else could Timothy do? Plus, he didn't want to look like an alarmist. After all, this cat burglar fellow could have moved on, just like Detective Tidwell suggested.”

“He hasn't,” spoke up Theodosia. “In fact, it seems there's been another break-in. Tidwell just told me about it. That's the reason I was so upset.”

Drayton put a gnarled hand to his head, rubbed his gray hair. “Oh, no. Did he mention where?”

“The Hall-Barnett House,” said Theodosia.

“Wow,” said Haley. “What was snatched this time?”

“An antique tea caddy,” said Theodosia.

Drayton and Haley just stared at her.

“Weird,” said Haley finally.

“So, like the shark with his territorial feeding habits, this fellow is still circling the neighborhood,” sighed Drayton.

“And it looks like he's making tighter circles,” said Theodosia. “The Hall-Barnett House is just a couple blocks from here.”

Haley shuddered. “That feels a little
too
close for comfort.”

“This new information is absolutely appalling,” declared Drayton, fingering his bow tie nervously. “Who else knows about this?”

“I honestly don't know,” said Theodosia.

“If Timothy or the executive committee find out, they'll for sure cancel the opening,” said Drayton glumly.

“Then don't tell them,” piped up Haley.

They were all three silent for a moment.

“What if,” said Haley finally, “what if we could concoct some kind of scheme? Something that would trap this guy for good?”

“We already tried that,” snapped Drayton, obviously feeling dispirited and dejected.

“Not really,” said Haley. “The electronic devices you set up weren't exactly a
trap.
You said yourself they were more of a security precaution.”

“Which didn't work,” said Drayton with a dispirited air.

“Because the
electricity
went off,” offered Haley. “Not because you guys screwed up.”

The timer on the oven suddenly emitted a loud
ding.
Startled, Drayton gave a little jump, then watched sheepishly as Haley slipped an oven mitt onto her hand and opened the oven door. The two round cake layers looked perfect. Beautifully golden brown and pocked with tiny bubbles like the surface of a miniature moon. Smiling, Haley pulled the two pans of coconut cake from the oven.

“Perfect,” murmured Drayton as he gazed at the cakes.

Haley set the cakes to cool on the scarred wooden table. “You just said a mouthful, Drayton,” said Haley. “Because what you need
this
time is the perfect plan.”

He stared at her. “I'm sure I don't know what you're jabbering about.”

Theodosia, deep in thought, suddenly spoke up. “Tell me, Drayton, what's the most valuable object that the Heritage Society has in their collection?”

Sidetracked by Theodosia now, Drayton scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don't know. I suppose it would be a silver tray made by Paul Revere. The Calhoun family had it in their possession for ages until they donated it to us two years ago.” He threw Theodosia a dubious glance, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “But I
hardly
think Timothy's going to allow us to use a valuable such as that for bait. Especially in light of how our efforts failed so miserably at protecting the Blue Kashmir in the European Jewel Collection.”

“Exactly,” said Theodosia. “Which means we're going to have to pull something out of a hat.”

“What?” Drayton's voice rose in a squawk. “What are you talking about?”

“And,” said Theodosia, “it's going to have to be a very tasty little item.” She gazed at Drayton, her blue eyes sparkling, her enthusiasm suddenly back with a vengeance. “Drayton, your friend still writes the arts column for the
Post & Courier,
doesn't he?”