Laura Childs: Dragonwell Dead

Of course, this was Drayton’s domain, too. One wall was floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves lined with shiny tea tins filled with the finest, freshest, and most aromatic teas available. As a master tea taster and tea blender, Drayton demanded perfection. Which was why the Indigo Tea Shop always stocked the best Formosan oolong, first-flush Darjeeling, smoky Lapsang souchong from China, rare Japanese Sencha, and exotic Kenyan teas.

And when the teacups were rattling, the teapots chirping, and customers filled the small shop with their excited hum, Theodosia knew she was clearly at home.

“Say now,” said Drayton as he came up behind Theodosia, rousing her from her reverie. “We have some very hungry customers waiting out here.”

“Isn’t it good, then, that we’ve got some marvelous luncheons ready to serve,” Haley answered blithely.

Drayton peered over his tortoiseshell half-glasses and consulted his order pad. “I require fourteen egg salads and twelve chicken breasts,” he told Haley.

“Coming up,” sang Haley.

But Drayton wasn’t finished. “For now,” he told her. “As you probably know, we’re expecting two rather large groups in another forty-five minutes. Red-hat ladies, I believe.”

“We’re amazingly busy for a Monday,” commented Haley as she pulled a pan of perfectly golden chicken breasts from the oven and set it atop the stove.

“Can you believe how busy?” asked Dayton, making a wry face. Then he glanced toward Theodosia to hurriedly explain. “Not that I’m displeased we’re making such a go of things. It’s just that . . .”

“I know what you’re saying,” said Theodosia, nodding. “I feel exactly the same way.”

“We all do,” said Haley. “We may carry on as usual, but Mark’s untimely death is hanging directly over our heads.”

“We’re still planning to run over and see Angie, aren’t we?” asked Drayton. He watched as Haley carefully placed each plump chicken breast atop a mound of baby field greens, then added a spoonful of honeyed white wine sauce.

“Count on it,” said Theodosia.

A stiff breeze off the Atlantic had chased the last wisps of clouds from the azure skies above Charleston. The afternoon sun sparkled down, highlighting the enormous grand and graceful mansions of the historic district. There were Italianate-style homes with low pitched roofs and wide verandas, Victorian-style homes with fanciful turrets and gingerbread trim, and here and there a few of the old shotgun-style homes, too. And everywhere, a riot of foliage. Gnarled live oaks arched over cobblestone streets, dogwood and box ivy lined cobblestone drives, magnolias, pansies, and English daisies exploded with color in every yard.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” said Drayton as he and Theodosia strolled down Murray Street on their way to the Featherbed House.

“Agreed,” said Theodosia. “There’ll probably be friends and relatives jostling about. So it’s the least we can do.”

“Help fortify them,” added Drayton, trying to put his game face on.

But when Theodosia and Drayton climbed the front stairs of the Featherbed House Bed & Breakfast and let themselves into the spacious lobby with its cypress paneling and twelve-foot-high hand-molded plaster ceiling, the place seemed deserted. Angie’s collection of ceramic, plush, and needlepoint geese were the only inhabitants, tucked as they were in cabinets and nestled on couches. An antique grand-father clock ticked loudly in the silent room.

“Nobody’s here,” said Drayton, looking puzzled.

“Hello,” Theodosia called out. “Anybody home?”

“Hold on,” said Drayton, listening intently. “Somebody is coming. Must be . . . Teddy?”

Theodosia paused, focusing on the sound of approaching footsteps.

Teddy Vickers, Angie’s assistant, suddenly loomed in the doorway. He looked both subdued and a little surprised at seeing them.

“Drayton. Theodosia,” said Teddy. “Nice to see you even under these sad circumstances.” Teddy Vickers was one of those men who was of an indeterminate age. He could have been thirty-three, he could have been forty-five. He was boyish-looking with a crooked grin and a shock of dark blond hair combed to one side. It gave him a distinctly East Coast preppy look, like he might be an assistant headmaster at some exclusive school. Except Teddy worked for Angie.

“We brought tea and sandwiches,” said Drayton, holding up a large basket.

“And scones and madeleines,” added Theodosia. She winced inwardly, thinking her voice probably sounded overly cheerful. “And Mark’s orchid from yesterday.” She indicated the little plant she’d tucked carefully in a box and surrounded with tissue paper.

“I thought there’d be more people around,” said Drayton. “Friends, relatives . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Guests,” said Theodosia, suddenly struck by the emptiness of the normally thriving B and B. Or maybe it was just a sadness that had settled over the old mansion.

Teddy Vickers shook his head. “Angie’s sister and a few other relatives will be arriving from Chicago later this afternoon. As for the Featherbed House, it’s closed for now. We found space for all our bookings at other nearby B and Bs and won’t be accepting any new reservations.” He shrugged. “Basically, we’ve taken the phone off the hook.”

“What about current guests?” asked Theodosia. She was a little surprised to hear that the Featherbed House was in the process of shutting down completely.

“We’ve got two rooms occupied right now,” said Teddy, “but once they leave tomorrow morning . . .” He shrugged his thin shoulders and turned his palms upright as if to say who knows ?

“And how are you doing?” asked Drayton.

Teddy sighed loudly. He’d also been at Carthage Place Plantation yesterday and, in the melee following Mark’s collapse, had accompanied Angie, Theodosia, Drayton, Delaine, and Bobby Wayne to the hospital.

“Holding up,” was Teddy’s terse answer. “Although this hasn’t been a happy place for quite some time.”

Theodosia’s brows knit together at this strange comment. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

“The Featherbed House is in dire need of some rather major repairs,” said Teddy. “And lately, Mark had been extremely involved with his job. So not a lot of decisions got made.”

“I’m sure working at Loveday and Luxor was very stressful for him,” said Theodosia. Considering the circumstances, she felt Teddy’s words seemed somehow disloyal.

“Lots of competition between brokers, too,” added Teddy, dropping his voice. “I got the feeling the place was pretty much a viper’s nest.”

Really? Theodosia thought to herself. Viper’s nest? First I’ve ever heard of that.

Drayton cleared his throat. “Is Angie around? We’d like to say a quick hello and express our condolences.”

“I’m sure she’ll speak with you,” said Teddy Vickers. He waved a hand. “Have a seat and I’ll tell Angie you’re here.”

Theodosia and Drayton made themselves as comfortable as they could in the lobby of the Featherbed House.

“This place is so unnaturally quiet,” remarked Drayton.

Theodosia had to agree. Usually the Featherbed House was bustling with guests checking in or checking out, enjoying wine and cheese in the lobby, or lounging on the back patio amid the gardens. And everywhere Theodosia looked—the polished floors, the hand-painted goose mural on the wall, the overstuffed pillows—were reminders of the love and care Angie and Mark had put into the place.

“Theodosia?” came Angie’s whispery voice as she walked slowly into the lobby. “Drayton?” Angie Congdon stood there looking pale and thin, as though a stray puff of wind could blow her away.