Shades of Earl Grey

“Thank you,” said Theodosia as a smile lit her face. She was touched by Miss Dimple’s thoughtfulness. “It’s lovely. Perfect for the tea shop, too. We keep setting hot pots down and scorching our nice wooden counter.”

“It’s you who deserves the thanks,” said Miss Dimple. “If you hadn’t pushed me into this freelance gig, I’d be just another old gal sitting alone in her house conversing with fifty cats.”

“You don’t really have fifty cats, do you?” asked Theodosia in mock horror.

“No, just the two. Sampson and Delilah. But loneliness can drive a person to do strange things.”

“Here,” said Haley after Miss Dimple had left. She placed a tall, frosty glass filled with cinnamon-scented froth in front of Theodosia. “Try this.” Pulling a postcard advertising the historic district’s upcoming Lamplighter Tour from the mound of papers on Theodosia’s desk, she added, “Use this as a coaster.”

“And what is this?” asked Theodosia, intrigued by the interesting concoction that now sat before her.

“A tea smoothie,” said Haley proudly.

Theodosia couldn’t help but grin. Any smoothie she’d ever had usually consisted of fruit, low-fat milk, and yogurt. Trust Haley to come up with a smoothie using tea. “Okay, what’s in it?”

“Take a sip and find out,” said Haley. She was fairly dancing on the balls of her feet, waiting for Theodosia to taste her new recipe.

Obediently, Theodosia took a sip. “Mmn,” she said. “Apples and cinnamon for sure . . .”

“That’s Drayton’s blend of apple-cinnamon tea,” said Haley in a rush. “I whipped it in a blender with some frozen yogurt then added an extra dash of cinnamon.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she gazed at Theodosia. “Like it?”

“It’s terrific,” said Theodosia. “I’ll bet we could even sell these at lunchtime. Or as afternoon pick-me-ups.” She took another sip, feeling pleased. This was what running a small business was all about. Everyone pitching in, everyone contributing new ideas. And doing it in an atmosphere that was fun, fluid, and not a bit stuffy or inhibiting.

“Actually,” said Haley. “I was hoping to add a couple smoothie offerings to our menu. I’ve got an idea for a Moroccan mint tea smoothie and one with green tea and mango.”

“They’re a far cry from a little Victorian teapot filled with English breakfast tea, but I love the idea of showing people how versatile tea can be. After all, people all over the world have been improvising with tea for centuries, frothing it with milk, blending it with spices, adding dried fruits and herbs.” Theodosia took another sip. “Plus, we’d be extending our product line.”

“Kind of like what we’re doing with the T-Bath products,” said Haley.

“Exactly,” agreed Theodosia. “When I worked in marketing, we called it brand extension.”

“Okay then,” said Haley, “what about chai?”

Chai was black tea with a blend of spices, usually cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, and ginger, steeped in milk, then sweetened and served hot.

“I can get Drayton to blend the spices, the rest is a snap,” enthused Haley. “Well, we might have to get a small cappuccino machine to steam and froth the milk—but that would be it.”

“Haley,” laughed Theodosia, “this is the Indigo Tea Shop, not the International Food Corporation. Let’s go with the tea smoothies for now and see what happens, okay?”

“Okay,” Haley agreed. “Hey, is that from Miss Dimple?” She’d just noticed the wrought iron tea trivet that sat on Theodosia’s desk.

“She brought it back from Florida for me,” said Theodosia. “Wasn’t that sweet.”

“She’s a neat old gal,” said Haley as a low buzz suddenly issued from the kitchen next door. “Oops! There goes the oven timer. Gotta check my quiche.” And Haley zipped out the door like a jackrabbit.

Theodosia took a few more sips of her tea smoothie with the intention of sorting through the stack of papers on her desk. Besides being a compulsive hoarder of junk mail, she found it difficult to toss out the various tea and tea ware catalogs that found their way to her on an almost daily basis. What if, at some point in time, she just had to have some of those pedestal mugs to sell in the tea shop? Or some of those neat wooden honey dippers. After all, they sold a tremendous amount of honey along with their packaged teas. And then there was this wonderful little biscotti company in North Carolina that offered dreamy flavors such as chocolate raspberry and lemon almond.

Better save these catalogs, she told herself. And as she gathered them up, her eyes fell once again on the wrought iron trivet Miss Dimple had brought her from Florida. She stared at the black wrought iron that had been heated then formed into a rounded teapot outline.

So Miss Dimple had known of another strange robbery that had a cat-burglar-like MO. Have there been other robberies of valuables? She’d have to check with the police.

Deep inside her a warning bell sounded.

She tried to push her unsettled feelings into the back of her mind, but couldn’t.

There’ll be more robberies to come, she told herself. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 11

Haley pulled open the door of the large institutional oven and peered at her quiche. She had three pans of the stuff baking away inside the oven. And right now all of them were bubbling like crazy and turning a nice golden brown on top.

Looking good, Haley murmured to herself as she eased the oven door closed, then slipped the oven mitt off her hand.

The three pans of quiche would hopefully serve today’s luncheon crowd. Hopefully. They were all double pans, but then again, their luncheon business had been increasing at an alarming rate.

Haley hummed to herself as she moved a stack of mismatched salad plates onto the serving counter. Plates that she and Theodosia had picked up at flea markets and estate sales. The fact that none of them matched seemed to contribute to the general feeling of cozy and chaos that reigned at the Indigo Tea Shop.

She remembered very well the day Theodosia had first opened her doors. They’d served fifteen customers that first day. Fifteen inquisitive souls who’d made their way down Church Street and ventured into the tea shop, intrigued by the sights, sounds, and smells.

That had been almost three years ago and business had grown in decisive spits and spurts ever since.

Haley turned back to the oven and flipped open the door. Perfect. She quickly pulled all three pans from the oven and set them on top of the large, institutional stove.

The aroma wafting from the quiche was heavenly, she decided. But then, her bacon and red pepper quiche was always a thing of pure joy. How did she know? Haley smiled contentedly to herself. Because lots of folks, oodles of folks, had told her so. And because she used a secret ingredient—almost a half-pound of cream cheese in every pan—to guarantee that her quiche would turn out extra smooth and creamy.

Why, just this morning, Brooke Carter Crockett had urged her to put together a recipe book. And Brooke hadn’t been the first one to make that suggestion, either. Lots of folks, including Drayton and Theodosia, had brought up the idea.

Haley slid a knife through the first pan of steaming quiche, cutting it into even squares. The idea of a recipe book appealed to her. Heck, she decided, restaurants and church groups all over Charleston had put together recipe books. Some featured gorgeous four-color photos and were professionally printed and bound, others were typed on computers, laser-printed at home, then hand-punched and tied with ribbon.

What would mine look like? Hmm. Have to think about that.

“Haley,” said Drayton as he stuck his head around the corner. “Our luncheon crowd awaits today’s offering with bated breath.”

“Then don’t just stand there being erudite, Drayton, kindly help me. Nestle a small bunch of green grapes on each plate and let’s get going.” Haley saw him hesitate for a split-second. “Yes,