Gunpowder Green

trick.

What was it Professor Morrow had called the residue he’d found on the linen tablecloth?

Garden-variety dirt.

Okay, that had to be it. Then, the next big question that loomed in front of her was: Dirt from whose garden?

“Theo, there’s someone here to see you,” said Haley.

Theodosia had let herself in the back door that led directly from the alley to her office.

“Who is it?” she asked as she tucked her handbag into the desk drawer.

Haley shrugged. “Beats me. Some guy who came in about twenty minutes ago. I gave him a cup of tea and a scone and tucked him at the small table by the fireplace.”

Taking a quick peek in the tiny mirror that hung on the back of her door, Theodosia smoothed her hair and decided to pass on the lipstick. The six-block walk back from the Heritage Society had infused her complexion with a natural, rosy glow, infinitely better than anything packaged cosmetics could deliver.

She emerged through the green velvet curtains with a smile on her face and confidence in her step. But her smile froze when she saw who it was waiting to see her: Booth Crowley.

She recovered quickly. “I’m Theodosia Browning,” she greeted the man at the fireside table. “How can I help you?”

Booth Crowley stood and faced her. He was a big man to begin with, but wearing a coal black, three-piece suit, he looked even more imposing. His shock of white hair bristled atop his head, a crooked mouth jagged across his square-jawed face.

“I’m Booth Crowley,” the man said as he took her hand in his and clamped down roughly. “We need to talk.”

Booth Crowley released Theodosia’s hand only when she was half seated. By that time, a single word had bubbled to her brain: bully. She’d been in Booth Crowley’s immediate presence for all of thirty seconds, and already he impressed her as a bully of the first magnitude. But, then again, hadn’t she seen him bullying Billy Manolo that day at the church? It certainly looked like he’d been.

“A very unpleasant man, that Burt Tidwell,” said Crowley in his strange staccato manner. “Stopped by to see me this morning.” His upper lip curled as he spoke, and his pink face seemed to become increasingly florid.

Tidwell, thought Theodosia. He had received my E-mail and must have found some merit to it. Obviously he had, since he’d already had a chat with Booth Crowley.

But would Tidwell have confided to Booth Crowley that she was the one who harbored suspicions about him? Doubtful, highly doubtful. If anything, the pendulum swung in the other direction with Tidwell. He was extremely tight-mouthed about investigative details.

But Booth Crowley wasn’t nearly finished. “My wife attended a meeting yesterday,” he snarled at her. “Ran into a friend of yours. Delaine Dish.”

Theodosia groaned inwardly. Leave it to Delaine to chatter about anything and everything. And to Booth Crowley’s wife yet! Unfortunately, there was no way she could have known that Delaine sat on the same committee that Booth Crowley’s wife did.

Booth Crowley narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve been talking about me. Asking impertinent questions,” he said accusingly.

“Actually,” said Theodosia, deciding to play it absolutely straight, “my questions have been about Oliver Dixon.”

“And Grapevine,” Booth Crowley shot back, “which most certainly does concern me.”

“I was sorry to hear you closed it down,” said Theodosia, keeping her voice light. “Good thing you have two more companies ready to come out of the chute. What are they? Oh, yes, Deva Tech and Alphimed.”

“What do you know about those?” he snapped.

“Probably no more than anyone else,” said Theodosia, “unless you’d care to enlighten me.” There, she had jousted with him and obviously struck a nerve. Now it was his turn.

Booth Crowley smiled at Theodosia from across the table, but the vibes weren’t particularly warm. “You know,” he said, suddenly changing the cadence of his voice and adopting a silky, wheedling tone, “my wife, Beatrix, has always wanted to open a tea salon.”

“How nice,” said Theodosia. Give him nothing, she thought, nothing. Never let them see you sweat.

“Right now, she owns that lovely little sweet shop Le Bonbon. Down on Queen Street. She has a couple of ladies—dear, trusted souls—who’ve been with her for years. They make handmade truffles similar to the ones you find at Fauchon in Paris.” Booth Crowley took a long sip of tea, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tossed it down haphazardly on the table. “But a salon de thé that serves high tea is her absolute dream.” He looked around imperiously. “Of course, it would be far more formal than what you have here. And I have the perfect name for it. Tea with Bea.”

“Cute,” said Theodosia.

“Yes, she’s always wanted a little shop. Somewhere here in the historic district,” said Booth Crowley. “I do so love to indulge my wife.”

Theodosia knew that Booth Crowley and his wife, Beatrix, could squash her like a bug if they wanted to. Booth Crowley’s net worth had to be high, almost astronomical. As CEO of Cherry Tree Investments, he smooth- talked countless investors into providing millions in venture capital for dozens of companies. More importantly, Booth Crowley sat on the Charleston Chamber of Commerce. If he decided to indulge his wife, as he had rhapsodized, he could easily persuade the Charleston tour buses to stop at his wife’s tea shop instead of hers. It wasn’t good, she decided, it wasn’t good at all. She’d stirred up a hornet’s nest, and now she might have to face the consequences.

Booth Crowley stood up abruptly and, reluctantly, Theodosia stood, too. “Good day,” he told her, his grin hard, his gray eyes filled with menace. “If you hear of any vacancies on your block, be sure to let me know. In the meantime, I’ll consult with one of the commercial Realtors my firm has on retainer.” He spun away from her, heading for the door, then stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t go signing any long- term leases, if I were you,” he spat out. “Especially with the economy so uncertain and competition breathing down your neck.” Then he slammed out the door and was gone.

Theodosia was aware of Drayton hovering behind her.

“What did he want?” Drayton asked quietly. He put a hand on Theodosia’s shoulder, gently steering her over to the counter, where they could have some privacy.

“He came here to rattle my cage,” Theodosia told him. “To intimidate me.” She tried to keep her remark light, but she realized that, deep inside, she was rattled and intimidated.

“Who was that big boor?” asked Haley as they all crowded behind the counter, whispering.

“That was Booth Crowley,” Drayton told her.

Haley’s eyes went wide. “Really? Darn. If I’d known who he was, I wouldn’t have been so pleasant to him when he first came in.” She meant her remark to be humorous, but she saw the look of consternation on Theodosia’s face. “Just how did Booth Crowley try to intimidate you?” Haley asked.

“Oh, it was rather indirect at first,” said Theodosia. “He talked about how his wife has always wanted to have a tea salon somewhere in the historic district. Then he escalated things, told me not to sign a long-term lease or anything.” She struggled to maintain an outward calm, but she still came across shaken.

“You’ve had competition before,” said Drayton, trying to be practical. “It hasn’t made a whit of difference.”

“Not real competition,” said Theodosia.

“What about Tea Baggy’s over on Wentworth?” Dray-ton offered.

Theodosia looked thoughtful. “That’s different. Tea Baggy’s is retail, and all the charm is in the name. Besides, they only stock a few canisters of so-so tea. Most of their sales are in candy and glassware. And gobs of giftware.”