Death By Darjeeling

Drayton gazed at her glumly. “If that’s the case, it means there are two nut cases walking around.”

Theodosia put both hands to her temples and massaged them. “Chilling thought, isn’t it?”

A gentle rap on the door interrupted them.

“What?” called Drayton.

The door cracked open no more than an inch.

“Tidwell just came in,” said Haley. “He wants to speak with Theodosia.”

“Get out in front right now,” ordered Drayton. “You know Bethany is scared to death of that man!”

“Okay, okay,” grumped Haley. “Take a chill pill. I can’t be in two places at once!”

Theodosia gazed wearily at Drayton. “Everything is falling apart,” she murmured. “Ever since the murder of Hughes Barron, nothing’s been the same.”

Drayton grabbed her hand in his, held it firmly, and met her sad-eyed gaze with genteel fervor. “Hear me, Theodosia. We will get to the bottom of all this. We will unravel this mystery. And when we do, we shall both look back on this and laugh. That’s right; we will find this all terribly droll and amusing, mark my words. Now, Miss Browning, I suggest you smooth your hair and blot your eyes. That’s it,” he said with encouragement. “Can’t have terrible Tidwell thinking anything’s amiss, can we?” He fell in step behind Theodosia. “Bear up, dear girl,” he whispered.

Theodosia unleashed a warm smile on Burt Tidwell that she somehow managed to dredge from the depths of her soul. “Good morning, Detective Tidwell.” Her voice, still husky from anger, passed for throaty.

“Miss Browning.” Tidwell favored her with a quick grimace, his rendition of a smile, and Theodosia wondered if there was a Mrs. Tidwell attached to this quaint, quirky man. Pity the poor woman.

Tidwell half stood as Theodosia seated herself, then crashed down heavily into his chair. They both kept tight smiles on their faces as Haley set cups and saucers, spoons, milk, and a pot of Dimbulla tea in front of them. But no goodies. Theodosia intended to keep this visit brief.

Tidwell’s bullet-shaped head swiveled on his beefy shoulders, appraising customers at surrounding tables. “Business good?” he asked.

Theodosia raised her shoulders a notch. “Fine.”

“As you know, our investigation into Hughes Barron’s death has been ongoing.” Tidwell paused, pursed his lips, and took a tiny sip of tea. “Where is this from?” he asked.

“Ceylon.”

“It would go well with a sweet.”

“It would.” Theodosia sat patiently with her hands in her lap. By now she was familiar with Tidwell’s oblique tactics. Tidwell blotted his mouth and favored her with a mousy grin. Unless... she thought as she watched him carefully. Unless the man has something up his sleeve.

“To assure ourselves of a thorough investigation,” Tidwell continued, “we focused much of our attention on Hughes Barron’s business office here in town as well as his place of residence.” He peered at Theodosia over his teacup. “You may be familiar with his beach condominium. Located on the Isle of Palms?”

Theodosia gave him nothing.

“Moving along,” Tidwell continued, “I should tell you that we discovered an object at said condominium. An object that carries the fingerprints of one of your employees.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Yes, indeed. And I’m sure you won’t be at all surprised when I tell you the fingerprints—and we obtained a rather excellent four-point match—belong to Bethany Sheperd.”

Theodosia fairly spat out her next words. “Why don’t you rock my world, Detective Tidwell, and tell me what object Bethany’s fingerprints were found on.”

“Miss Browning.” His eyes drilled at her. “That information remains confidential.”

Chapter 45

Burt Tidwell sat in his Crown Victoria and stared at the brick-and-shingle facade of the Indigo Tea Shop. He had purposely not informed the Browning woman that her dear departed neighbor, Harold Dauphine, had, indeed, died of a heart attack. A myocardial infarction, to be exact.

He knew Theodosia was probably lumping the deaths of Mr. Hughes Barron and Mr. Dauphine together. Putting two and two together, he mused. A trifle off base in this instance. But overall, she hadn’t performed badly for an amateur.

Burt Tidwell sighed, reached down to his midsection, fumbled for his belt buckle, and released it one notch. There. Better. Now he could draw breath. Now he could even begin to contemplate stopping by Poogan’s Porch for an early lunch. Perhaps some shrimp Creole or a bowl of their famous okra gumbo.

Tidwell turned the key in the ignition. The engine in the big car caught, then rumbled deeply. Theodosia Browning had proved to be highly resourceful. True, she was snoopy and contentious toward him, but she had made some interesting connections and suppositions.

Best of all, she’d rattled more than a few cages here in Charleston’s historic district. That had certainly served his purpose well. After all, Theodosia was an insider. He was not.

Chapter 46

“Did you let the police fingerprint you?” Theodosia paced back and forth in her small office while Bethany sat perched on a chair. Bethany’s knees were pulled up to her chin, and her hands worked constantly, nervously twisting her long skirt.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Leyland Hartwell said it was okay. Anyway, the police explained that it was to rule me out.”

“Bethany, you don’t have to be so defensive. I’m not cross-examining you.”

“No, that will come later,” replied a glum Bethany.

“We don’t know that at all,” said Theodosia. Honestly, she thought to herself, the girl could be positively maddening.

The phone on Theodosia’s desk buzzed, and she snatched up the receiver, almost welcoming a diversion. “I understand you had some excitement last night,” said Jory Davis. “The security company called you?” said Theodosia, surprised. “Of course. I hired them.” There was a long pause, then Jory Davis asked quietly, “Theodosia, are you in over your head on this?”

She waited so long to reply that Jory Davis finally answered his own question. “Sometimes no answer is an answer,” he said.

“I promise,” Theodosia said, “to share absolutely everything with you tonight. And to listen carefully to any lawyerly advice you choose to impart.” She paused. “Truly.”

“Fair enough,” said Jory Davis, seemingly appeased by this. “I await our evening with bated breath.” His voice was tinged with faint amusement.

“Can I please go back to work?” Bethany asked. She noted that Theodosia had long since hung up the phone but was standing there in the strangest way, staring down at her desk, seemingly lost in thought.

Theodosia looked up. “What? Oh, of course, Bethany.”

Bethany jumped up to make her escape.

“You don’t have any idea what Tidwell was talking about, do you?” Theodosia called to her back.

Bethany spun on her heel. “About my fingerprints? No. Of course I don’t.” She gazed at Theodosia, the expression on her face a mixture of hurt and humiliation. “I think... I think this should probably be my last day here,” sniffled Bethany.