heart until, like a pocket watch not properly wound, it simply stopped.
Chapter 30
Drayton was deep in thought behind the counter, his gray head bent over the black leather ledger. He scratched numbers onto a yellow legal pad, then added them up using a tiny credit card–sized calculator. When he saw the total, he frowned. Painstakingly, he added the numbers again. Unfortunately, he arrived at the same total the second time through.
Sighing heavily, Drayton massaged the bridge of his nose where his glasses had pinched and looked out at the tea shop. Haley and Bethany were doing a masterful job, pouring tea, waiting on tables, coaxing customers into having a second slice of cream cake or taking home a few scones for tomorrow’s breakfast. But once again, only half the tables were occupied.
Clearly, business was down, and his numbers told him they were down almost 40 percent from the same week a year ago. Granted, Thanksgiving was two weeks away, Christmas just around the corner. With the holidays would come the inevitable Christmas rush. But that rush should have showed signs of starting by now, shouldn’t it?
The tourist trade brought in revenue, to be sure, as did the special tea parties they catered, like the bridal shower tea yesterday or the various birthday celebration teas. But the real bread and butter for the Indigo Tea Shop was repeat customers from around the neighborhood. For whatever reason (although in his heart Drayton was quite confident he knew the reason) many of the locals were skittishly staying away.
“We need to talk.” Drayton’s quiet but carefully modulated voice carried above the light jazz that played on the radio in Theodosia’s office.
When she saw Drayton standing in the doorway, trusty ledger and sheaf of papers clutched in hand, she snapped off the music. “Rats. You’ve got that look on your face.”
Drayton crossed the faded Oriental carpet, hooked a leg of the upholstered side chair with his toe, and pulled it toward him. He deposited his ledger and papers atop Theodosia’s desk and sat down heavily in the chair.
“It’s not good,” she said.
“It’s not good,” he replied.
“Are we talking tailspin or just awfully slow?” asked Theodosia.
Drayton chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.
“I see,” said Theodosia. She leaned back in her high-backed leather chair and closed her eyes. According to the Tea Council of the USA, tea was a five-billion-dollar industry, poised to boom in much the same way coffee had. Tea shops and tea salons were opening at a dizzying rate. Coffee shops were hastily adding tea to their repertoire. And bottled teas, although she didn’t care for them personally, were highly popular.
All of that was great, she mused. Tea was making a comeback, big time. But all she wanted to do was make a secure little living and keep everyone here on the payroll. Would that be possible? Judging by the somber look on Drayton’s face, perhaps not.
Theodosia pulled herself up straight in her chair. “Okay, what do we do?” she asked. “Try to roll out the Web site fast? Open up a second front?” She knew the battlefield analogy would appeal to Drayton, since he was such a World War II buff.
“We probably should have done exactly that earlier,” said Drayton. His eyes shone with regret rather than reproach.
Theodosia’s manicured fingers fluttered through the cards in her Rolodex. “Let me call Jessica at Todd & Lam-beau. See what can be done.” She dialed the phone and, while waiting for it to be answered, reached over to her bookcase and grabbed the stack of Web designs. “Here. Pick one.” She thrust the storyboards toward Drayton.
“Hello,” said Theodosia. “Jessica Todd, please. Tell her it’s Theodosia Browning at the Indigo Tea Shop.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “They’re putting me through,” she said.
Drayton nodded.
“Hello, Jessica? I’m sorry, who? Oh, her assistant.” Theodosia listened intently. “You don’t say. An online brokerage. And you’re sure it won’t be any sooner? No, not really. Well, have Jessica call me once she’s back in the office.”
Theodosia grinned crookedly as she set the phone down. “Plan B.”
Drayton lifted one eyebrow, amused at the magnitude of his employer’s energy and undaunted spirit. “Which is?”
“Until this entire mess is cleared up, a dark cloud is going to be hanging over all of us.” Theodosia stood, as if to punctuate her sentence.
“You’re probably right, but you make it sound terribly ominous,” said Drayton. “What is this plan B that you spoke of?”
Theodosia flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’m going to a funeral.”
Chapter 31
It isn’t for naught that Charleston has been dubbed the Holy City. One hundred eighty-one church steeples, spires, bell towers, and crosses thrust majestically into the sky above the low-profile cityscape, a testament to Charleston’s 300-year history as well as its acceptance of those fleeing religious persecution.
The First Presbyterian Church, known as Scots Kirk, was founded in 1731 by twelve Scottish families.
Saint Michael’s Episcopal Church, established in 1751, was where George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette worshiped.
The Unitarian Church, conceived as the Independent Church in 1772, was appropriated by the British militia during the Revolutionary War and used briefly to stable horses.
It was in this Unitarian Church, with its stately Gothic design, that mourners now gathered. Heads bowed, listening to a sorrowful dirge by Mozart echo off the vast, vaulted ceiling with its delicate plaster fantracery that painstakingly replicated the Henry VII Chapel at Westminster Abbey.
Theodosia stood in the arched stone doorway and shivered. The weather was still chilly, not more than fifty degrees, and this great stone church with its heavy buttresses never seemed to quite warm up inside. The stained glass windows, so beautiful and conducive to contemplation, also served to deflect the sun’s warming rays.
So far, more than three dozen mourners had streamed past her and taken seats inside the church. Theodosia wondered just who these people were. Relatives? Friends? Business acquaintances? Certainly not the residents of Edgewater Estates!
Theodosia knew it was standard police technique to stake out funerals. In cases of murder and sometimes arson, perpetrators often displayed a morbid curiosity, showing up at funerals and graveside services.
Would that be the case today? she wondered. Just hanging out, hoping for someone to show up, seemed like a very Sherlock Holmesian thing to do, outdated, a trifle simplistic. Unfortunately, it was the best she’d been able to come up with for the moment.
“My goodness, Theodosia!”
Theodosia whirled about and found herself staring into the smooth, unlined face of Samantha Rabathan. She noted that Samantha looked very fetching, dressed in a purple suit and jaunty black felt hat set with a matching purple plume.
“Don’t you look charming in your shopkeeper’s black velvet,” Samantha purred.
Theodosia had made a last-minute decision to attend Hughes Barron’s funeral, hadn’t had time to change, and, thus had jumped into her Jeep Cherokee dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, long black velvet skirt, and comfortable short black boots. She supposed she might look a trifle dowdy compared to Samantha’s bright purple. And it certainly wasn’t uncharacteristic of Samantha to insinuate so.
“I had no idea you were friends with Hughes Barron,” began Theodosia.
