Shades of Earl Grey

president of the Heritage Society. But neither he nor any of his people had ever come under such merciless scrutiny before.

He fairly shook with indignation as he strode down Church Street. Dressed in a double-breasted camel hair blazer and cocoa brown slacks, Timothy was the picture of style. His jacket with its nipped-in waist, his paisley yellow ascot, his highly polished shoes, had been chosen with great care this morning. But after the events of this morning, and his infuriating phone conversation with Vance Bernard, the chairman of the Heritage Society’s executive advisory committee, Timothy Neville was beyond caring. In fact, he was positively livid. And when Nell Chappel of the Chowder Hound Restaurant waved hello to him as she collected her morning mail and headed into the kitchen to set a nice pot of she-crab soup to simmering, Timothy didn’t even take notice.

“Drayton. A moment of your time, please,” said Timothy as he strode into the Indigo Tea Shop like a martinet, ramrod stiff and utterly devoid of any extraneous pleasantries.

“Timothy... oh, of course,” said Drayton. Clutching a teapot in each hand, his tortoiseshell half-glasses sliding down his aquiline nose, Drayton was completely taken by surprise. “Give me a minute,” he told Timothy. “Take that table over there,” he said, pointing with his chin, “and I’ll be right with you.”

Timothy strode over to the table, sat down. Even though he sat perfectly erect, with one leg crossed over the other, his pleated slacks falling elegantly, his face was a thundercloud.

“Timothy,” said Theodosia as she rounded the corner from the kitchen. “Good morning, this is a surprise.” Stopping in her tracks, she suddenly took a good look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” he snapped. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Simply start at the beginning,” said Drayton as he arrived at Timothy’s table, somewhat breathless. “Haley,” he called, “can you get a plate of scones for table three and another pot of Darjeeling for table two?”

She nodded.

“Now tell us,” said Drayton. “What’s happened to put you in such a state?”

“The Charleston Police came to the Heritage Society some forty minutes ago, that’s what happened,” said Timothy. “Apparently they received an anonymous tip that Claire Kitridge was somehow involved in the recent thefts that have plagued our neighborhood.”

“That’s absurd,” said Drayton while Theodosia inwardly cringed.

Timothy held up a gnarled finger. “Wait,” he cautioned, “it gets much worse. Because of the recent death and apparent theft at the Lady Goodwood and the theft of the Blue Kashmir necklace, the police took this tip rather seriously. Claire, on the other hand, did not take the police seriously.” Timothy grimaced. “That was her mistake.”

“What happened?” asked Theodosia, a sick feeling suddenly gripping her.

“Oh, they asked Claire a few routine questions. Where do you live? How long have you worked at the Heritage Society? That type of thing. Then they wanted to know if they could have a look inside her desk. Claire said yes, knowing she had nothing to hide.”

“I still don’t see the problem,” said Drayton. “Didn’t you tell them the notion of Claire as sneak thief was utterly ridiculous?”

“Of course I did,” sputtered Timothy. “Until they rifled through the bottom drawer of Claire’s desk and found Delaine Dish’s missing watch.”

“What!” said Drayton. Now it was his turn to sputter.

“You know, that fancy Chopard with all the diamonds,” said Timothy.

“But Claire didn’t steal it . . . wouldn’t steal it,” fumbled Drayton.

“Of course she wouldn’t, she’s above reproach. You know that and I know that, but the police . . .” Timothy shrugged. “Well, it isn’t good. Obviously, the discovery of Delaine’s expensive watch is very incriminating.”

“They came looking for a watch without benefit of a search warrant,” said Theodosia slowly, “and the whole thing’s based on an anonymous tip? I’d say that’s awfully fishy.”

“So fishy it stinks!” declared Drayton.

“Doesn’t it,” said Timothy, his voice brimming with bitterness. “And now our illustrious executive advisory committee wants Claire Kitridge fired. Of course, they’re calling it a temporary leave of absence, but it’s just a matter of time before it becomes a formal disciplinary firing. Unless, of course, we somehow find the person responsible . . .” Timothy’s voice faltered and he gazed at Theodosia in despair.

“This is awful!” howled Drayton, gazing at Theodosia with an equal degree of unhappiness.

Timothy reached for his handkerchief, blew his nose, cleared his throat. “Claire . . .” he began, “is a very good person. She’s been with the Heritage Society for almost four years. In that time I’ve seen her diligence and kindness shine through.” Timothy’s voice faltered again. “I’ve seen Claire go out of her way to make people feel welcome and appreciated. People who’ve donated things to the Heritage Society, little things like an old letter or a small antique... they receive the same heartfelt thank-you letter from her as a million-dollar donor would. Claire is just that kind of person.”

Theodosia stared at the two men unhappily. She couldn’t help but remember Brooke and Aerin’s conversation about Claire bringing in a citrine and diamond broach for sale. Was it possible Claire Kitridge wasn’t what she appeared to be? That she was, instead, a sly fox in the weeds who took careful advantage of her position at the Heritage Society? Could she have heard about Camille’s wedding ring through the grapevine or via Delaine’s bragging and gone after it? Because Claire had inside access at the Heritage Society, could she also have snatched the Blue Kashmir necklace? Was she responsible for the other art thefts? The Tiffany vases, the half-dozen other thefts Tidwell had mentioned?

The thought of Claire Kitridge as a cat burglar was sickening to contemplate.

On the other hand, someone very wily and clever could have maneuvered to set Claire up. Someone who needed to deflect blame from themselves. Someone who had access to the Lady Goodwood Inn and the Heritage Society. Someone with a working knowledge of the historic district and all its wealthy residents.

Someone like Cooper Hobcaw or Graham Carmody.

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind at the Indigo Tea Shop. Customers had to be served, finishing touches put on the T-Bath display, sweet-grass baskets had to be stuffed to the brim with T-Bath products and stacked on the counter. And all the while, they worried about Timothy and Claire.

Drayton had decided they should close the Indigo Tea Shop at one o’clock in order to prepare for the afternoon’s open house. And just as soon as Haley returned from Gallagher’s Food Service, their favorite restaurant supply house, with ingredients for the California rolls, they’d push three of the tables together to form the head table for the buffet. Then, of course, they’d have to set everything up and decorate the rest of the tables with Drayton’s bonsai.

“Drayton,” said Theodosia, “I know this isn’t a good time to ask, but when is Hattie bringing the centerpiece by?”

“Any minute,” he said. “And you’re right, it isn’t a good time. Why does everything have to happen at once? Good things and bad things all mulled together.”

She sighed. “Life does seem to unfold that way, doesn’t it?”

“We worked so hard on these T-Bath products and looked forward to this day and now it . . .” He searched for the right word. “It feels tainted.”

“I know,” said Theodosia. “The good shoulder to shoulder with the bad. Maybe it’s a test of fortitude.”

“Makes us stronger?” he asked.

“That’s what my mother believed,” said Theodosia. Her mother had passed away when she was eight, but she could always remember her saying something to the effect that problems can’t be solved, but only outgrown.

“Hey, you guys!” The door flew open as Haley rushed in, her long hair streaming behind her, her arms filled with bundles.

“Good heavens, Haley,” said Drayton. “You’re a regular beast of burden with all those bags. Here, let me give you a hand.”

“Thank you, Drayton,” said Haley as she handed over her packages. “Hey, Theo, guess what? When I was on my way back from Gallagher’s, I came back past Heart’s Desire. Guess who I saw in there? Standing at the counter?”