Death By Darjeeling

Turns out, the Crab Shack was the exact same place where she and her dad had eaten, a quaint little roadside shack where you studied the hand-painted menu on the side of the building, then went to the window and ordered your food. All dining was outdoors, at sun-bleached wooden picnic tables with faded blue umbrellas. Because of her fond memory and the fact that it was almost noon, Theodosia ended up ordering crab cakes and a side of cole slaw. She and Tanner Joseph sat on wobbly wooden benches, enjoying the sun, salty breezes, and surprisingly tasty food.

Throughout lunch, Tanner spoke convincingly about the mission of the Shorebird Environmentalist Group, how they were dedicated to the preservation of coastlines and natural marshes, as well as nesting grounds and marine sanctuaries. He also filled her in on his credentials, his degree in ecology and his graduate work in the dynamics of ecosystem response.

“What does one actually do with a degree in ecology?” asked Theodosia out of curiosity. “What avenues are open?”

Tanner Joseph shrugged. “Today, you can go any number of ways. Work for the Forest Service, the EPA, or Department of Natural Resources. Go private with literally thousands of corporations to choose from, including groups like the Nature Conservancy or Wilderness Society. Or”—he spread his arms wide and grinned—“you can work for a struggling little nonprofit organization. Try to drum up public interest, writing brochures, illustrating them—”

“Those are your drawings?” Theodosia interrupted.

“One of my many talents.” Tanner Joseph smiled. “And duties. Along with writing dozens of grant requests to various foundations in hopes of getting a thousand dollars here, two thousand dollars there. That is, if I’m lucky enough to touch a responsive chord with a sympathetic foundation director.”

“Sounds tough,” said Theodosia.

“It is.” Tanner Joseph popped a French fry in his mouth. “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. After grad school, I spent a year in the Amazon studying land surface–atmosphere interaction. It was amazing how just building a one-lane dirt road through an area of jungle severely impacted the ecosystem. I was able to observe all the effects firsthand. I understand now how important it is for a community to plan and manage growth. It’s okay to think big, but it’s generally more prudent to take small steps.”

“What about the newly expanded road out here? It makes the commute a lot easier to Johns Island from Charleston proper.”

“Sure it does. But it’s also probably a mistake,” said Tanner Joseph, “although no one thought so at the time of construction. But think about it. There are hundreds of acres of saltwater marshes out here and almost a dozen species of wildlife on the yellow list, the nearing endangered list.”

“And the Edgewater Estates?” asked Theodosia.

Tanner Joseph grimaced, set his crab salad sandwich down, and gazed intently at Theodosia. “You just touched a raw nerve. Our group was opposed to that development from the outset. Everything about it was fraudulent. The developers lied to the eighty-two-year-old farmer who sold them the land. And the shark lawyers who represented Goose Creek Holdings pressured the local town council for some fast zoning changes. We think they had two council members in their pocket.”

“You fought a good fight,” said Theodosia. “Got lots of press from what I hear.”

Tanner Joseph snorted angrily. “Not good enough. We lost, and the damn thing got built. Right on twenty-five acres of prime snowy egret nesting ground.” He shook his head with disgust. “To make matters worse, the place is a monstrosity.” He peered at Theodosia sharply. “Have you seen it?”

Theodosia nodded.

Tanner Joseph picked up his sandwich again, held it in both hands like an offering. “Do you believe in karma, Miss Browning?”

Theodosia brushed back a ringlet of hair and smiled. “Some things do seem to have a way of coming full circle.”

“Well,” he said, staring at her intently, “Edgewater Estates turned out to generate some very bad karma for one of its developers. The so-called money man, Hughes Barron, died three days ago.” The statement hung in the air as Tanner Joseph narrowed his eyes and smiled a tight, bitter smile. “It looks as though cosmic justice may have been at work, after all.”

Chapter 17

Delaine Dish was sitting at a quiet table in the corner when Theodosia returned to the tea shop. The owner of Cotton Duck Clothing, Delaine had arrived at the Indigo Tea Shop earlier, insisting to Haley and Drayton that she simply had to speak with Theodosia. Told that Theodosia would probably be back shortly, Delaine sat pensively, sipping a cup of tea, waving Haley off every time she advanced with a muffin or cookies.

“She’s been here almost forty minutes,” whispered Drayton as Theodosia brushed past him. “Didn’t say what she wanted, just that she wants to talk to you.”

“Delaine.” Theodosia slid into the chair across the table from her shopkeeper neighbor. “What’s wrong?”

Delaine Dish’s heart-shaped face was set in a look of serious repose. Raven hair that normally fell almost to her waist was plaited into a single, loose braid, making her face seem all the more intense. Her violet Liz Taylor eyes flashed.

“Do you know what’s being said out there on the street?” she began.

No, thought Theodosia, but I’ll bet you do. “What’s that, Delaine?” she said.

“There are rumors flying, literally flying, about what happened the night of the Lamplighter Tour.”

“I am aware of some talk, Delaine. But I’m sure they are petty words spoken by a very few.”

“Dear, dear Theo.” Delaine reached across the table and grasped Theodosia’s hand. “Always giving people the benefit of the doubt. Always such a positive outlook. Sometimes I think you should be put up for canonization.”

“I’m no saint, Delaine. Believe me, if someone offends me or hurts someone close to me, I’ll fire back. Have no fear.”

Delaine’s fingernails only dug deeper into Theodosia’s hand. “Didn’t I warn you?” she spat. “Didn’t I tell you Hughes Barron was up to no good?”

“As I recall, you told me he put in an offer on the Peregrine Building next door.”

“Yes. Hughes Barron and his partner, Lleveret Dante.”

Theodosia stared at Delaine. She was obviously upset over something. Maybe if she gave Delaine some space, she’d spit out whatever was bothering her.

“Cordette Jordan stopped by the Cotton Duck this morning. You know, Cordette owns Griffon Antiques over on King Street?”

“Okay,” said Theodosia.

“And, of course, we started chatting. Hughes Barron’s mysterious death is a fairly hot topic of conversation right now. I mean, how many people just fall over dead in a beautiful garden while sipping tea?”

“You don’t really believe he died from sipping tea, do you?” said Theodosia.

“No, of course not. And I didn’t mean to imply it was your tea, Theodosia. It’s just that . . . Oh, Theo...A lot of people are curious. I mean, the police are playing it very close to the vest and haven’t released any information about cause of death. And the man was fairly dastardly in his business dealings. Who knows what really happened!” Delaine pulled a linen hanky from the pocket of her perfect beige smock dress and touched it to her cheek.

“What was it you and Cordette were chatting about?” asked Theodosia, trying to gain some forward momentum in the conversation.