“Again,” said Jory, “that is the point.” He hesitated. “Theodosia, I have two tickets for the opera tomorrow evening.
She smiled, her first genuine, heartfelt smile in days.
“Realizing this is a rather late invitation, I offer, by way of explanation, that they are my mother’s season tickets, actually quite excellent seats, and she is just now unable to attend. But I would love it if you’d accompany me.”
“As it so happens, Mr. Davis, I am free.”
“Wonderful. Black tie, of course. There’s a cocktail party preceding the performance and afterwards a number of small parties to choose from. I shall call for you at precisely six-thirty P.M.”
“I look forward to it.”
Theodosia hung up the phone and whirled about to face the tea shop. So genuine was the smile that graced her face that two elderly ladies seated near the door smiled back at her.
“You look energized, Theodosia,” commented Haley. “Your face is absolutely glowing.”
“Drayton.” Theodosia fairly skipped over to where he was sitting. “Why don’t we start filling the tea tins with the holiday blends? Get a jump on the whole process?”
“Today? Now?” he asked, surprised by her shift in mood.
“As soon as the customers leave. I’ve been dragging everybody down with my snooping and sleuthing, and all it’s done is put us farther and farther behind. Jeopardize business.”
He was still staring at her.
“Where’s the tea?” she asked. “Over at Gallagher’s?”
“Of course.”
Drayton always used the extensive food-prep facilities at nearby Gallagher’s Food Service to blend his teas. Now they were stored there as well, all four of the holiday blends, in their twenty-gallon airtight canisters.
“Can they deliver today?”
“With their fleet of delivery trucks, they can probably have the tea here in thirty minutes.”
“Perfect,” said Theodosia.
Chapter 42
Tables pushed together
“Okay,” began Drayton, “this is going to be assembly-line style. Haley and I will begin at opposite ends. She’ll measure out the black currant blend, and I’ll do the Indian spice. You two—” he nodded at Theodosia and Bethany— “have to keep tabs and let each of us know when we’ve filled two hundred fifty tins. Then we’ll put covers on and restack the filled tins back in their original cartons to await the labels.”
Bethany looked at the daunting task that loomed ahead. “Machines can’t do this?” she asked.
Drayton snorted disdainfully. “Can machines create the perfect blend? Can machines add just the right touch of bergamot oil? Can machines impart care and love into each tin? I hardly think so.” Drayton dipped a glass scoop into the twenty-gallon canister, filled it to equal approximately six ounces of tea, and began pouring tea into tins at his end of the table.
“Trust me, dear,” said Theodosia. “It won’t feel like love an hour from now. It will just feel like a sore back.”
“You got that right,” agreed Haley, who’d done this chore for the last two years.
“And remember,” warned Drayton, “when you close up the filled tins and put them back into the cartons, mark each carton carefully as to the blend. We don’t want to mix them up!”
“Yes, Drayton,” said Theodosia obediently, and the two girls chuckled.
They worked quickly and efficiently. Soon the aroma of the spicy teas filled the air, and bits of loose tea clung to their clothing.
“This is like working in an aromatherapy factory,” joked Haley. “There are so many different essences and aromas swirling around, I don’t know whether to feel relaxed or invigorated.”
“Just feel diligent,” said Drayton. His personality was so task-oriented that, once he started a project, he doggedly kept at it until he finished.
“My back is killing me,” complained Haley. She had just added a fourth layer of filled tins to one of the cartons and was bending over it, about to close it up.
“We’re almost done,” said Drayton. “It can’t be more than...” He carefully surveyed the table of empty tins. “Perhaps forty more tins to fill with cranberry orange blend.”
“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “Why don’t you let me finish up?”
“Okay,” agreed Haley. She was tired and ready to throw in the towel.
“But we’re almost done,” protested Drayton.
“Exactly,” said Theodosia. “It’s late. It’s been a long day. I don’t mind finishing myself. It’ll be fun.”
“Well . . .” said Drayton. “Be sure to mark each...”
“I’ll mark each carton, Drayton,” she assured him. “Now, you folks scoot!”
Theodosia breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the latch on the door.
It was nice to be alone in the tea shop, she decided. Nice to be able to finish this chore at her own pace instead of whipping along, trying to keep up with Drayton’s production line.
She turned on the radio and found a station that was playing a whole set of songs by Harry Connick. She sang and hummed along, thoroughly enjoying herself. It took her almost an hour to finish filling the tins, replace the lids securely, pack them up, and stack the boxes in her office. When she was done, she enjoyed a real sense of accomplishment. All that was needed now were the printed labels.
Drayton was right, Theodosia decided as she surveyed the wall of floor-to-ceiling cartons. She did need a hard hat and forklift. What a huge amount of tea to sell. She definitely had to buckle down to business!
Once upstairs in her apartment for the evening, Theodosia’s thoughts turned to her date tomorrow night. She was determined to find just the right moment to tell Jory Davis all about her private sleuthing and what she’d uncovered. He was a smart man, a lawyer. It would be valuable to get his input and hard-nosed advice. She certainly didn’t seem to be making much headway. Maybe Jory Davis would see an angle that had eluded her.
Now, she asked herself, what would she wear? Jory Davis had specified black tie, so that narrowed it down. And the weather was still cool, so that was a factor, too. Were we talking black cocktail dress and beaded jacket or long gown with velvet opera cape? she wondered. Even though a long gown was technically not black tie, women in Charleston did tend to favor them. Especially for opening night at the opera. Oh, and there was that wonderful hand-painted velvet jacket hanging in her closet, too. Could she wear it with black velvet slacks and get away with it? Hmm... probably not. Might be just a tad casual. Better to go with the black dress and beaded jacket. That outfit would be classy and slimming.
Now, what about jewelry? Small, tasteful diamond stud earrings or glitzy drop earrings?
Just as she was beginning to think she should get Delaine on the line and do a quick consultation with the fashion police, Theodosia straightened up, cocked an ear. She’d heard a noise downstairs. A slight rattle. Subtle. Surreptitious.
Panic gripped her heart. Her hand flailed for the light switch and hit it, dousing the lights. Now she pressed her face up close against the window and peered down into the alley.
There was a car down there, all right. Its lights were off, but she could hear the low throb of an engine. It sounded almost as loud as the pounding in her chest.
She contorted her head, trying to see more. A shadowy figure moved from her doorway to the car and climbed inside.
What to do? Where was the security guard? She had a phone number to call—should she dial it? Yes!
