Death By Darjeeling

“Oh, that,” said Delaine. She swiveled her head and scanned the tea room. When she was satisfied that the few patrons who were sitting there sipping tea and munching scones were probably tourists and completely uninvolved, she leaned toward Theodosia. “This is very interesting. Cordette told me that Hughes Barron and Lleveret Dante have their office in her building. One floor above her antique shop.”

“Really,” said Theodosia.

“It gets better. Cordette also told me she overhead the two men in the throes of a terrible argument last week. It was when she went up to use the ladies’ room. The ladies’ room is on the second floor, so Cordette would have been on the same floor as their offices. Anyway, and these are Cordette’s exact words: She said the two men were having a knock-down, drag-out fight.”

As Delaine talked, Theodosia scanned her memory. King Street was definitely not the address Jory Davis had given her for Goose Creek Holdings. She was sure of that. So what had Cordette really heard, if anything? Had the two men really been there that day, locked in some kind of argument? Or had Delaine heard pieces of this, fragments of that, and put it all together in one big, juicy story as she was wont to do?

“Delaine.” Theodosia pried Delaine’s tiny but firm paw off her own. Embroiled as she was in Hughes Barron’s death, she decided to give Delaine the benefit of the doubt. “Did Cordette say what Hughes Barron and Lleveret Dante were arguing about?”

Delaine studied her ring intently, trying to recall. It was a giant, pearly moonstone that Theodosia had often admired, and now Delaine twisted it absently.

“Something about buying or selling and one of them wanting to renege or rescind,” said Delaine. “Or maybe it was revenge,” she added.

Not terribly enlightening, thought Theodosia. Even if Cordette Jordan’s story about the loud argument was true, the two men could have been fighting about anything. Money, property, their long distance phone bill.

Theodosia patted Delaine’s hand. “You’re a dear to try to help. Thank you.”

Delaine blinked back tears. “You mean the world to me, Theodosia. I mean it. When my Calvin passed on, you were the only one who really understood.”

Calvin had been Delaine’s fourteen-year-old calico cat. When he died last spring, Theodosia had sent a note expressing her condolences. It was what she would have done for anyone who was sad or emotionally distraught.

After Delaine had departed, Theodosia fixed herself a small pot of dragon’s well tea. Technically a Chinese green tea, dragon’s well yields a pale gold liquor that has a reputation for being both refreshing and stimulating. Because of the tea’s natural sweetness and full-bodied flavor, milk, sugar, or even lemon is rarely taken with it.

“We need to talk about the holiday blends.”

Theodosia looked up to find Drayton staring intently down at her.

“Absolutely,” she replied. “Now?”

“Only if you’re not too distracted,” said Drayton. “I know a lot of things are weighing heavily on your shoulders right now. And haven’t Haley and I helped enormously by putting added pressure on you to try to salvage Bethany’s job at the Heritage Society?” Drayton rolled his eyes in a self-deprecating manner.

“Drayton, nothing would make me happier than to focus on what I love best. Which is the Indigo Tea Shop and the wonderful teas you continue to blend for us.”

An enormous grin split Drayton’s face as he plopped down next to Theodosia. He balanced his glasses on the tip of his nose, flipped open a leather binder, and wiggled his eyebrows expectantly.

Theodosia rejoiced inwardly at this show of unbridled enthusiasm. Drayton was in his element. Blending tea was his passion, and every autumn, Drayton blended three or four special teas in honor of the upcoming holidays.

“You realize we’re starting late,” said Drayton.

“I know. Somehow, with our initial work on the Web site and taking part in the Lamplighter Tour, things fell through the cracks. But if we need to jump-start things,” said Theodosia, “we could repackage the Lamplighter Blend.”

Drayton managed a pained expression. “We’d have to. It hasn’t exactly been a top seller since . . .” His voice trailed off. “Let me put it this way. Even when we had a display of the Lamplighter Blend, nobody bought any. People seemed to view it more as a curiosity. Except for one woman who came in and bought a pound.” Drayton paused dramatically. “She said she was thinking about killing her husband.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Theodosia unhappily. “Delaine might be right after all. Rumors are flying!”

Drayton nodded sagely. “They certainly are.”

“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “Let’s just start from scratch as usual. You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into the holiday blends, and I’m dying to hear your ideas.”

Drayton picked up his notebook. “This year,” he began, “I suggest we use an Indian black tea as our base. I’d recommend Kahlmuri Estates. It’s well-balanced and rich but highly complementary to added flavors.”

At the top of one of the pages in his notebook, Drayton had written Kahlmuri Estates black tea.

“I like it.” Theodosia nodded.

“Okay,” said Drayton, pleased. “Now for the tricky part. I’ve come up with four suggested holiday blends.”

Theodosia inclined her head toward Drayton’s notebook, following along as he read aloud his notations. For the moment, all thoughts of the disastrous events at the Lamplighter Tour were pushed from her head.

“Apple,” said Drayton, tapping his notebook. “Apple pies, cider, and dried potpourris are a holiday staple, so let’s add it to our black tea as well. The aroma will impart a sweet, crisp fragrance and make a delightful beverage for holiday parties. More sophisticated than apple cider, but still warming and flavorful.”

“Have you got a name for it?” asked Theodosia.

“That’s your province, isn’t it?” Drayton grinned. “Or have you left your advertising and marketing days behind?”

“I don’t think you ever stray far from that,” said Theodosia. “Seems like most decisions made in business these days are marketing-related.”

“Including naming these teas and creating labels.” Drayton smiled slyly.

“You come up with the blends, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Deal,” said Drayton. “Okay, then. Next holiday blend, black currant. This should be a big, fruity berry flavor. Great for afternoon holiday teas, pleasing with desserts.”

Theodosia smiled. Dear Drayton. He had thrown himself headlong into this project and, like everything he attempted in the realm of tea, wine, or the culinary arts, it would be a rousing success.

“Next,” said Drayton, “I want to do an Indian spice. Overtones of cardamom with various spices to be determined. We’ll aim for a slightly heady, intoxicating fragrance.”

“Sounds heavenly,” said Theodosia.

“For my final tea, I pulled out all the stops. A cranberry blend. Heavy on the cranberry with an accent of dried oranges and a nip of orange flavoring. Tangy, tart, perfect for the crisp days ahead. Very complementary with holiday dinners.”

“You were thinking of getting your dried cranberries from the Belvedere Plantation in the low-country?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton tapped his black Mont Blanc pen against the page. “They’re the best.”

Theodosia retired to her office where she brainstormed on names for Drayton’s tea blends for the rest of the afternoon. By the time long shadows dappled her windows and Earl Grey rose from his rug and stretched, ready for his late afternoon walk, she had devised quite a few names.

Drawing upon her advertising background, she had come up with a list she thought might intrigue holiday shoppers. For the apple tea blend she liked the name Applejack. It was casual and fun. She had pondered the name Black Magic for the black currant tea, but finally settled on Au Currant. It sounded punchier and a little more elegant.

On the Indian spice blend, Theodosia decided to be straightforward and name it exactly that, Indian Spice. She knew from past experience that a good, descriptive name would usually outshine an overly clever one.