"Simone Crispin-or rather Crispin and Weller-are major clients of Jory's law firm. Long story short, Simone's throwing her weight around like crazy and Jory's afraid my investigating is going to destroy his big career move."

  "You mean his move to New York?" asked Drayton. "Which, if you ask me, is a hideous mistake."

  Theodosia nodded.

  "Somehow I just can't imagine Jory's scenario," said Drayton. "To say that a mere one-hundred-twenty-pound woman has superhuman career-destroying powers sounds very farfetched to me."

  "Try to convince Jory of that," said Theodosia unhappily. She picked up a chipped Sevres porcelain teacup, ran a snippet of ribbon through the handle, and tied it to her wreath, positioning it so the chip didn't show. "And you know what?" she continued. "Even though Haley is still begging me to help clear Gracie's name, I can't for the life of me figure out who could have murdered poor Roger Crispin."

  Drayton favored Theodosia with a mournful look. "Maybe Gracie Venable really is guilty."

  "That thought has been buzzing around in my brain, too.”

  “But deep down, in your heart of hearts," said Drayton, "I know you don't really believe that."

  Theodosia hesitated. Deep down in her heart of hearts she'd once believed a lot of things. That Jory Davis might be the one for her. That she would someday live happily ever after. That nations would eventually coexist in harmony.

  So. Did she believe Gracie was guilty or innocent? Theodosia decided she wasn't going to leap to any conclusions until she heard from Burt Tidwell concerning those brushes. Thus far, her wanton leaping had taken her nowhere.

  Five minutes later Tidwell's call came in.

  "We have no match," Tidwell told her without preamble.

  "The lab ran a few preliminary tests, but they're convinced the two materials are not in any way related."

  "Oh no." Theodosia held her hand over the receiver and beckoned to Drayton. "No go on the brushes," she told him.

  "You mean no match?" he asked.

  Theodosia gave a rueful look and shook her head. Then she turned her attention back to Tidwell.

  "There's another problem," Tidwell continued. "Apparently Simone Crispin is extremely friendly with Chief Robert Lords, our illustrious chief of police. They sit on a board of di rectors together, something to do with art in the parks. Anyway, it seems Simone has been pouring her little heart out to Chief Lords and pushing hard for some sort of action against your friend Gracie Venable."

  "I don't much care what Simone is telling people," said Theodosia. "The thing that worries me is, will the chief respond?"

  "Unfortunately, he probably will," said Tidwell. "Which means ... what?" Theodosia asked him.

  "Can't say," said Tidwell cautiously. "But I have a feeling this is all going to come to a head fairly soon."

  "Another suspect bites the dust," said Drayton, once Theodosia had hung up.

  "Could Jester Moody still have been the one up in the balcony?" asked Theodosia. "The one who shot Roger Crispin?" Drayton plucked at his bow tie, looking thoughtful. "Someone was up there that night, that's for sure. The problem is, maybe that little bit of evidence you discovered is meaningless. Here we are, chasing around like lunatics, making suppositions and building theories, arid it could all boil down to nothing at all. Maybe what you found was a little bit of schmutz that the cleaning people missed."

  "It could be," said Theodosia. "The thing is, you watch all these crime scene dramas and forensic TV shows and you become convinced that forensic evidence is the big, hot thing. They discover a strand of hair or a shred of cloth and that always leads directly to solving the crime."

  "Look what I've got, boys and girls," announced Haley as she came flying out of the kitchen, bearing a large tray. "Nice, hot, English raisin scones ready to serve to all our customers. Plus I whipped up a batch of my special honey butter."

  "Excellent," said Drayton. "And not a minute too soon." There was a five-minute flurry in which the scones and honey butter were delivered to eager customers and the teacups refilled. Then Theodosia and Haley set about clearing away the leftover wreath-and-garland decorations. After all, their luncheon crowd would begin arriving in less than an hour.

  "You're coming to the grand opening this afternoon, aren't you?" Haley asked Theodosia as they worked.

  "When do the festivities kick off?" she asked. She didn't feel much like dropping by Gracie's shop but knew Haley would be deeply disappointed if she didn't.

  "Two O'clock," Haley told her, holding up two fingers to emphasize the time. "But I told Gracie I'd be there nearer to one. To help get everything set up. Hope you don't mind. I've got tomato bisque and spinach puffs all ready for lunch with chocolate éclairs for dessert. Oh, Drayton," she said as Drayton came trooping up to the counter. "I was telling Theodosia that all you guys have to do is serve the bisque and spinach puffs and top the éclairs with a couple poufs of Devonshire cream. And then maybe clear the tables. I'll be back later in the afternoon to take care of the rest."

  "In other words, you've idiot-proofed it," said Drayton.

  "Your words, not mine," said Haley, happily.

  Theodosia had never seen so many women trying on hats. It was wall-to-wall pandemonium as she edged her way into Bow Geste. Everywhere she looked women in fluttery summer dresses were exclaiming over elegant hats and accessories. It would appear, she decided, that Bow Geste was a smash hit!

  Gracie Venable was buzzing about, too, looking delighted, snatching hats from display racks and delivering them to outstretched arms. "We've got to make sure your hat frames your face," she told one woman. And to another, "Oh, honey, that brim is awfully wide for your small stature. Let's try this one instead."

  Delaine Dish was there, too. Probably, Theodosia figured, Delaine's curiosity had gotten the best of her. Delaine wanted to know exactly how many customers had been drawn to Gracie's grand opening. In fact, it wouldn't be out of character for Delaine to jot down names and send postcards to the ones who'd shown up today!

  "Isn't this exciting!" enthused Haley when she spotted Theodosia. She was standing at a table toward the back of the shop, dispensing cups of rose-flavored Darjeeling. Anyone who had a spare hand was also offered a tiny plate on which Haley had placed two triangle-shaped tea sandwiches filled with cucumber and chicken spread as well as two Russian tea cakes and a sliver of lemon bar. "It looks like Gracie's grand opening is an absolute smash!" Haley told Theodosia.

  "And her hats are selling like crazy," added Delaine as she sidled up to the table. Delaine's eyes darted about, taking in the gaggle of delighted customers, the lovely hats that seemed to float from woman to woman, the showy displays of beads and boas, and the constantly ringing cash register. Being the prima donna that she was, it was quite apparent that Delaine wasn't exactly overjoyed that the women of Charleston were going gaga over Gracie's merchandise mix.

  "I see you've found another pretty hat," commented Theodosia.

  Delaine touched the brim of the delicate straw hat she was wearing, a different hat than the custom number she'd worn to the Poet's Tea. "I've heard that sunlight filtered through the very thinnest of straw brims is extremely flattering to the face," Delaine explained. "And there seem to be dozens of garden parties popping up on my social calendar."

  "Mine too," said Haley, swooshing her long hair behind her ears. "Of course, I'm probably going to be working at them."

  "Haley's such an amusing girl," said Delaine in her most bored tone of voice. "She must keep ya'll in stitches."

  "Haley's the best pastry chef I've ever had the pleasure to work with," said Theodosia. "And while she certainly keeps us in stitches, she also pretty much keeps us in business."

  "Touché," said Delaine with arched eyebrows as she slid off into the crowd.

  "Oh my goodness, this has got to be the most exciting day of my life," gushed Gracie as she rushed up to greet Theodosia. "I can't believe anything could top the utter joy I'm feeling right now."

  "I'm so happy for you," said Theodosia, returning Gracie's enthusiastic hug.

  "You are so sweet to lend Haley to me," Gracie chattered as she pushed open the door to her workroom. "And to bring along such wonderful refreshments."

  "That was all Haley's doing," said Theodosia as she followed Gracie into her workroom. "Of course, we were all delighted to help, but Haley was the one who worked overtime to whip up the tea sandwiches and cookies."

  "And people are loving them," exclaimed Gracie as she pulled a box from underneath one of her worktables. "Now let's see, I thought I had more summer gloves stashed back here somewhere." She stopped suddenly and drew a deep breath. "I declare, I'm going to have a heart attack if I don't calm down."

  "Take a breath," urged Theodosia who had experienced the same kind of panic attack when customers poured into the Indigo Tea Shop when they were already bursting at the seams. "Everyone's having a marvelous time trying on hats and nosing about your shop. They're not going to just desert you."

  "You're right," said Gracie. "I'm just ... oh, you know ... worried."

  "About the shop?" asked Theodosia. "About making your monthly nut?" Theodosia knew that finances was the common concern that bound many small-business owners together. That omnipresent worry over making enough money to pay rent, utilities, payroll, and taxes. And then have some left over for yourself.

  Gracie wrinkled her nose. "Simone Crispin is calling the shots now as my landlord. And I get the sinking feeling she probably has her attorneys working day and night to find a loophole so she can boot me out of here."

  "Simone does seem to play hardball," said Theodosia. Is that what Jory's working on right now? she wondered. Gosh, I hope not.

  Gracie's face softened as she gazed at Theodosia. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done. Haley told me you've really been looking into things. Investigating."

  "I'm afraid I keep coming up empty," said Theodosia, giving an apologetic shrug. "Sorry."

  "Oh, don't apologize," said Gracie. "It's enough to know you're on my side. The world can be a very cold place when you don't have ... well, when you don't have someone who cares about you."

  "You miss Roger very much don't you?" said Theodosia. Of course, she does. She has to.

  Gracie nodded furiously even as she wiped at her eyes. "More than you know. If only ... if only I'd been able to say a proper good-bye to him."

  "Honey," said Theodosia, "you had no idea that Roger was going to be shot!"

  "That's not what I mean," said Gracie. She stood there with a wistful look on her face, a delicate pair of white lace gloves clutched in her hands. "Roger and I had decided to stop seeing each other," she explained. "We knew our relationship was wrong. We'd been trying to convince ourselves to call it quits for almost a week. I was going to say my final good-byes to him that night ... at the Poet's Tea. But then Roger was all worked up about something."

  "About what?" asked Theodosia. That's right, Gracie did mention this once before.

  Gracie suddenly looked defeated. "I don't know. Something about the auction, I think."

  "The auction?" said Theodosia. No kidding.

  "I think so. But, like I said, I really don't know for sure. Roger didn't go into it. He just told me he'd returned from a day trip to Savannah and had learned something very important, something rather earth-shattering, to use his words. And then the program began; so he had to dash upstairs to do the slides and things for Drayton's reading." Tears welled in Gracie's eyes. "That was the last time I ever saw Roger alive."

  Theodosia put an arm around Gracie's shoulders. "You have to remember the good things," she told her even as she wondered what it was Roger had discovered down in Savannah. What could be earth-shattering? she asked herself. And what did it have to do with the Heritage Society's auction?

  A loud knock knock knock interrupted Theodosia's thoughts. "Theodosia?" called Haley. "Gracie? We've got trouble out here." Haley's voice was loud and insistent, carrying a hint of panic.

  "What's wrong?" asked Theodosia, flinging the door open. But instead of running smack-dab into Haley, Detective Neal Beaderman's broad face loomed in the doorway.

  "I've got a search warrant, ma'am," said Beaderman. "We need to clear these premises immediately."

  "What?" said a stunned Gracie. "You mean tell everyone to leave?"

  Beaderman was suddenly flanked by two officers in blue uniforms. And out on the sales floor, hats were being laid down nervously and women were watching the strange proceedings with stunned expressions.

  "Hold everything," said Theodosia. "You're executing a search warrant now?" She shook her head, trying to remain calm, yet telegraphing to the police the notion that this was highly unorthodox. "Come on," she said, trying to put a bantering note in her voice. "You can see there's nothing illegal going on here at the moment. Hat stores aren't exactly hotbeds of criminal activity. Why don't you guys back off for a few hours." She lifted a hand to indicate Gracie. "Let this poor woman have her grand opening."

  But Beaderman was shaking his head even before she'd finished. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he said.

  "Please!" begged Gracie. "This is just gonna kill my business!”

  Neal Beaderman looked grim but insistent. "Sorry, ma'am, I'm not the one issuing orders."

  "You can't . . ." began a sputtering Gracie. But as she looked over the shoulders of the officers, she could see that her gala afternoon had come to a screeching halt. Her shop was clearing out, customers were beginning to scatter.

  And then like an avenging angel, Haley appeared. Angry, gruff, infuriated. "Forget it, pal," she told Beaderman. "You're not gonna get away with this."

  "Haley," said Theodosia. "Don't. You're not helping matters."

  "Theo," Haley pleaded. "You've got to figure something out! They're acting like the gestapo!"

  But with that official piece of paper being waved in everyone's face, there was absolutely nothing Theodosia could do.

  18

  Late afternoon sun spilled into the Indigo Tea Shop like spun gold. The pegged wooden floors gleamed, the bricks reflected the mellow light, floor-to-ceiling shelves that held jars and tins of Darjeeling, Chinese black tea, African Redbush, and other wondrous offerings from faraway tea plantations seemed etched in neon.

  But for Theodosia, who moved about the tea shop slowly, cleaning and picking up, there was no joy, no basking in the usual afterglow that came from putting in a hard day's work.

  Gracie's grand opening at Bow Geste had been utterly ruined. Customers had skulked off, greatly embarrassed for her. Sales had been lost as the police dug and rooted though all her frivolous finery.

  And what had they found? Theodosia asked herself. Nothing. Nada.

  It had all been a big sham. A harassment designed to discredit Gracie. And Simone Crispin had probably been pulling the puppet strings.

  As Theodosia brewed herself a cup of Japanese sencha, a faint knock sounded at the door. "I'm sorry, we're closed," she called. Then, when she saw a large, wavering image through the leaded glass, she knew who was standing out there.

  "I'm to blame," were Tidwell's first words. "I made mention of the egg pendant. It's circumstantial at best, but it seemed to add fuel to the fire. Then, when Simone Crispin applied pressure to Chief Lords, he presumably thought he was doing the right thing." Tidwell sat down heavily in a captain's chair and sighed. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe he was."

  "And maybe he wasn't," said Theodosia, pouring Tidwell a cup of tea. "Whatever the case, please don't beat yourself up over it. Everything just got way out of hand. And to be perfectly honest, Simone isn't jumping to conclusions any more than I am. In fact I'm still suspicious that Jester Moody was involved." She paused, glanced at Tidwell who seemed to be deep in thought. "Did the lab ever test those brushes?"

  Tidwell nodded. "Oh yes. That's one of the reasons I'm here."

  "Well?" Theodosia asked, eyeing him cautiously. Tidwell shook his huge head and his jowls sloshed sideways. Then he stared at her. "We got a hit back from the Fish and Game Department. It's elk."

  "What's elk?" asked Theodosia, thinking this was some kind of non sequitur Tidwell had engineered just to rattle her. "The feather you retrieved wasn't a feather at all. It's a bit of elk hair." He picked up his teacup, polishing off half of his beverage in one gigantic gulp.

  As Tidwell's words sank in, Theodosia felt both stunned and puzzled. "Good heavens," she exclaimed. "Who raises elk around here?"

  "No doubt the South Carolina Elk Ranchers Association," replied Tidwell.

  "I didn't know there was one," said Theodosia. This was news to her.

  "There isn't," said Tidwell. "I was just trying to be droll."

  "Please don't," said Theodosia. "Things are bad enough already." She thought for a moment. "So the brushes we appropriated from Jester Moody's shop were ... ?"

  "Camel hair. Old camel hair, probably the same poor wretched beasts that once trekked the silk road. But camel hair just the same."

  "Rats," said Theodosia.

  "No," said Tidwell, as Theodosia picked up the little ceramic teapot that sat between them and topped off his cup. "We found none of that."

  "Then we're back to square one," she said, ignoring his strange attempt at humor.

  Tidwell's eyes carried a low gleam. "The possibility does exist, you know, that your friend is guilty."

  "I still don't believe Gracie resorted to murder," said Theodosia. "If you could have heard the way she talked about Roger today. . ."

  "Greed ... anger," murmured Tidwell. "Those are primary motivators that drive people to murder. Even unrequited love . . ." Tidwell's voice trailed off as he took a sip of tea. "Well, you know-"

  "No, I don't," said Theodosia. "I really don't."

  Long shadows stretched across the sidewalk as Theodosia stepped up to the front door of the three-story redbrick building that Crispin and Weller Auction House called home. Pausing at the front door, Theodosia glanced at the high-tech security camera overhead, wondered if anyone was watching her, then rang the bell. From deep within the old building, she heard a faint chime.

 

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