Gunpowder Green

“If you must know, he’s studying to be a paramedic,” said Haley. “But tell me more about this Billy Manolo character. Maybe he was the one who was peeking in our window Saturday night.”

“You’re still convinced someone was up to no good,” said Drayton.

“I don’t know what they were up to, but somebody was out there,” replied Haley as the timer on her stove gave a loud ding. “Oops, got to pull this batch out,” she said as she sailed around the corner.

By ten o’clock, every table in the tea shop was occupied. Drayton had predicted they’d have a busy morning, even though it had started out slowly, and had readied at least two dozen teapots. Now they were being filled with keeman, puerh, and Darjeeling, and being dispatched to the various tables occupied by tourists as well as tea shop regulars.

Theodosia was behind the counter, manning the old brass cash register and, in between cashiering and handing out change, was scribbling notes she could add later to the “Tea Tips” section of her Web site. When it didn’t appear that the Indigo Tea Shop could hold one more customer, she looked up to see the door swing open and Doe Belvedere Dixon walk in followed closely by Giovanni Loard.

“Hellooo . . .” Drayton flew over to greet them, had an obvious moment of panic when he realized there wasn’t an available table, then demonstrated signs of palpable relief when he saw that two women were just getting up to leave. “I’ll have your table ready in a moment,” he assured Doe and Giovanni.

Theodosia waited until Doe and Giovanni had been seated and served before she went over to their table to greet them. Things had settled down somewhat—all the customers were sipping and noshing—and Drayton seemed to be in a perpetual hover mode near Doe and Giovanni’s table.

For someone who’d recently lost her husband, Doe appeared to have done an admirable job of pulling herself out of her grief. Theodosia watched as she chatted animatedly with Drayton, then with people at two other tables.

“They say Coco Chanel always took her tea with lemon,” said Doe as her elegantly manicured fingertips gently pushed back a swirl of blond hair. “And that she always ordered in toast and jam from the Ritz.” Doe glanced up as Theodosia approached. “Hello,” she said, sipping delicately from her teacup. “I love your tea shop; it’s so quaint.”

“Thank you, how nice to see you again,” said Theodosia, “although it’s unfortunate our first meeting was under such sad circumstances. How are you doing?” Theodosia wondered if Doe would remember that she was the one who’d pushed her about Oliver’s knowledge of guns the day of the funeral. No, probably not, she decided.

“I’m feeling so much better,” replied Doe. “Everyone has been so kind.” She turned luminous eyes toward Giovanni and smiled.

Giovanni fumbled for Doe’s hand and patted it gently. “She’s a strong girl, a real survivor,” he said.

Doe shifted her hundred-watt smile to Drayton, and Theodosia wondered just how long this girl figured she could get by on her mesmerizing beauty. Perhaps until she married a second time? Then again, Doe also possessed enormous self-confidence. She might just sail through life, as some people did, secure in the knowledge that the world would always deliver its bounty to them.

“Can you sit with us a moment?” Giovanni asked Theodosia and Drayton. “I was just telling Doe what a lovely time I had here last week. How helpful Drayton was with the Edgefield teapot and what a gracious hostess Theodosia had been.” He smiled warmly at the two of them. “I feel as though you all are good friends already.”

“We were surprised to hear that your husband’s business was shutting down,” said Theodosia to Doe. First thing this morning, she had scanned the business section of the Charleston Post and Courier. There had been a short article, and details had been fairly sketchy, but it did confirm what Ford Cantrell had told her yesterday. Grapevine was being shut down. Not with a bang but a whimper.

Doe blinked slowly, and a tiny furrow appeared just above the bridge of her nose. “The board of directors has been very kind, particularly Mr. Crowley.”

“Booth Crowley?” asked Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Doe. “He came to inform me in person that it was a business decision prompted solely by Oliver’s death.” She sighed. “It’s comforting to know that Oliver was held in such high esteem and that the company is unable to function without him.”

“Oliver Dixon was a brilliant man,” said Giovanni. “One our community isn’t likely to forget for a long time.”

“It’s a shame the company is being shut down entirely,” continued Theodosia. “To keep Grapevine going, to build it into a success, would have been a tremendous testament to your husband.”

“Unfortunately, it’s just not to be,” said Giovanni. His eyes seemed to have taken on a hard shine, sending a not-so-subtle warning signal to Theodosia.

Giovanni’s overprotectiveness rankled Theodosia and gave her the impetus she needed to continue.

“Well-planned companies usually have a number of capable executives who can take over at the helm,” said Theodosia. “For example—” Under the table, she felt a subtle kick from Drayton. Obviously, he thought she was going too far, pushing a little too hard, as well. “For example,” she continued, “it turns out Ford Cantrell was doing some consulting work with your husband. As a former VP at Vantage Computers, perhaps he could have provided the needed interim leadership.”

Doe frowned and cast her eyes downward, while Giovanni stared at Theodosia with a cold fury. “I’m afraid we’ll be leaving now,” he announced. He stood abruptly, and Doe, tight-lipped and grim, stood up as well.

Then Giovanni Loard headed for the door without uttering another word and Doe, bidding them a clipped good-bye, followed on his heels.

“Well, you certainly got a rise out of them,” said Dray-ton as they huddled at the counter. “And some might say exceeded the boundary of good manners.”

“I take it you disapprove?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton put one hand to the side of his face and patted it absently. “Not entirely,” he said. “Like you, I get a very queasy feeling about a number of people.”

“And your suspicions are focused on...”

“The girl, yes,” said Drayton. “Such a pretty thing. But I can’t help feel that beneath that radiant exterior is a very tough cookie.”

“A girl who arranged to have her own husband murdered?” asked Theodosia.

“It’s true, Doe didn’t pull the trigger,” said Drayton. “Poor Oliver did that all by himself.”

“Rather convenient, wasn’t it?” said Theodosia. “And now sweet young Doe has inherited Oliver Dixon’s home and all his worldly assets.” She turned to arrange a stack of saucers and cups. “Did you get the feeling that Doe knew Ford Cantrell had been working with Oliver Dixon?”

“Hard to tell,” muttered Drayton, “hard to tell.”

Over lunch at her desk, Theodosia reread the Post and Courier article. The byline at the end of the article said

J. D. Darling. She knew J. D. Darling wasn’t one of the regular business writers and, from the tone of the piece, the whole thing sounded like a quick rewrite of a press release. Probably one that had been issued hastily by Cherry Tree Investments over the weekend, then reworked by one of the copy cubs who pulled the Saturday to Sunday shift.

Theodosia drummed her fingers on her desk. The last line of the article intrigued her. It said that Cherry Tree Investments would continue to focus its efforts on several new high-tech start-ups.

Close down one high-tech company to start another? It happened, but it still sounded strange. Especially in light of all the gut-wrenching front-end work that had probably gone into Grapevine; months or perhaps even years of product development, writing a business plan, creating marketing and media strategies, finding a distribution chain, and developing a sales force strategy.

And, truth be known, high-tech companies weren’t exactly the darlings of the venture capital world these days. It wasn’t that long ago that the whole dot com thing experienced a disastrous shakeout on Wall Street, and skeptical analysts, probably the most vocal being those who got burned themselves, had stuck dot coms with the kiss-ofdeath label “dot bombs.”

Theodosia set her tuna fish sandwich down and dialed information. Within seconds, she’d obtained the