Laura Childs: Dragonwell Dead

“Or did someone know which glass belonged to Mark?” asked Drayton. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and stared at her. “The one painted with purple orchids.”

“That’s an awfully chilling thought,” responded Theodosia. “It would mean someone was stalking him, just waiting for some sort of opportunity.” She paused. “It would mean Mark’s murder was premeditated.”

Drayton grimaced. “Good heavens, there had to be six hundred people at Carthage Place Plantation yesterday. Maybe more. That makes for an enormous pool of suspects.”

“Even so,” said Theodosia, “we should probably get that glass checked out. There could be trace remnants of the toxin or whatever it was. And fingerprints.”

Drayton blinked hard. “I thought Mark dropped it, that the glass got smashed.”

“He did,” said Theodosia. “And it did. But I scooped the broken pieces into a cardboard box and stuck them in the back of my Jeep.”

“And they’re still there?” asked Drayton.

Theodosia gave a tight nod.

“So they could be analyzed,” mused Drayton.

“Sure,” said Theodosia. “If that’s what Sheriff Billings thinks we should do.”

“Good lord. Please don’t tell anyone else that you have those broken pieces,” said Drayton.

“No kidding,” replied Theodosia. She had no intention of broadcasting the fact that she might possess a possible clue to Mark’s untimely death.

“Which means you’re going to be having a rather intense phone conversation with Sheriff Ernest T. Billings?” asked Drayton.

“Soon as we get back,” replied Theodosia.

“It’s terrifying to think someone might have wanted Mark Congdon dead,” said Drayton. “Had schemed and planned for it. I wouldn’t think he had an enemy in the world.”

They walked along in silence for another fifty paces and then Theodosia said, “Do you find it strange that Harlan Noble came sniffing around trying to buy Mark’s orchid?”

“It is strange,” said Drayton, scratching his head. “Then again, orchid collectors are pretty odd ducks.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Theodosia.

“How’s Angie doing?” asked Haley. She was standing at the counter, ringing up a take-out order, when Theodosia and Drayton walked into the Indigo Tea Shop. It was now late afternoon and only two tables were occupied. Sun slanted in the heavy leaded windows giving the interior an Old World, painterly feel. Like background lighting in a fine Rem-brandt painting.

Drayton put a finger to his lips. “Some strange things are happening,” he said under his breath.

Haley was instantly on alert. “Tell me!”

So they did.

But much to their surprise, Haley immediately pooh-poohed their poison theory.

“I still bet Mark suffered a heart attack,” she said.

“Why on earth would you say that?” asked Drayton,“when evidence seems to point to the contrary?”

“That’s not quite true,” said Haley. “From what you told me, Mark exhibited all the classic symptoms of a heart attack. Then factor in the notion that he was just too nice a guy. He didn’t have any enemies.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Theodosia.

“Oh, right,” said Haley, rolling her eyes. “Some visitor to Charleston didn’t like their room at the Featherbed House? Somebody thought the percale sheets were too stiff so they decided to retaliate?”

“He worked for Loveday and Luxor for the past six months,” suggested Theodosia. “Maybe somebody there had it in for him.”

“Maybe.” Haley shrugged. “But we did a tea for them not too long ago. They all seemed like nice, reasonable people. I bet this whole poison thing is just a tempest in a teapot.”

“Interesting choice of words,” remarked Drayton.

“Just you wait,” said Haley, gesturing for Theodosia to follow as she turned and headed for the kitchen. “I bet everything will turn out kosher.”

Theodosia followed Haley through the velvet celadon-green curtains where a sweet, chocolaty aroma suddenly enveloped her. She was still pondering Haley’s words and sincerely hoping that Haley was right.

Haley grabbed a tray of elegant-looking chocolate truffles and held them out to Theodosia. Half the candies were drizzled with zigzags of white chocolate, the other half were smothered in rich-looking cocoa powder.

“Of course,” said Haley, as Theodosia chose a truffle, “Mark is still dead. And that’s a terrible, terrible thing. But murder? I just don’t think so.” She peered at Theodosia. “What do you think?”

“I hope you’re right,” said Theodosia, chewing thoughtfully.

“No, I mean about the truffles.”

“Oh,” said Theodosia, still chewing. “They’re absolutely wonderful.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

“I was thinking of whipping up a few more batches and selling them in the tea shop this week,” said Haley. “On a kind of trial basis. You know, see how it goes.”

“If they’re all this good, we’ll be sold out by noon tomorrow,” said Theodosia, reaching for another piece.

“Ohhh . . . you like them,” cooed Haley.

“What’s this about a trial basis?” asked Drayton, stepping into the kitchen.

“Truffles,” said Theodosia. “Haley thinks we should ex-pand our repertoire.”

“Why not?” said Drayton. He grabbed one, popped it into his mouth. A look of sublime happiness immediately washed across his face. Drayton had a bit of a reputation as a chocoholic. “More than a few tea shops are offering truffles these days,” he commented. “And, lord knows, chocolate pairs beautifully with so many different teas. I mean, think about Moroccan mint tea with chocolate. Or black tea with hints of citrus. Or a raspberry tisane. Or a peppermint-flavored tea. Oh, I could go on and on.”

“No kidding,” said Haley.

“Would you consider serving your truffles at Orchid Lights?” asked Theodosia. Orchid Lights was the combination orchid show and fund-raiser that the Heritage Society was staging this Saturday night. Theodosia had volunteered to do a refreshment table with a small assortment of tea and sweets. Her sort-of boyfriend, Parker Scully, who owned Solstice, a French- and Mediterranean-influenced bistro over on Market Street, was going to handle wine and spirits.

“We could include truffles,” said Haley. “If you think people would like them.”

“Oh, I definitely think they’d be a hit,” said Theodosia.

Drayton reached for another truffle. “You’ll be at the meeting tonight?” he asked Theodosia.

She nodded.

“Shouldn’t run too long,” he told her. “We just need to tie up a few loose ends. You know how Timothy likes to have all the details figured out and everyone accountable.”

Timothy was Timothy Neville, the octogenarian director of Charleston’s Heritage Society.

“Speaking of loose ends,” said Haley. “You did remember that your intern starts work here on Wednesday.”

Drayton feigned a puzzled look. “Intern?” he muttered.

“Don’t try to weasel out of this,” said Haley, taking a stern tone. “This intern thing has been set up for months .”

Drayton drew himself up to his full height and peered down his aquiline nose at Haley. “What possible use would I have for an intern?”

“The general idea is to use her as a sort of assistant,” said Haley. “But remember, it’s supposed to be a positive learning experience.”

“For who?” asked Drayton.

“For the intern ,” said Haley, holding her ground. This wasn’t the first go-round she’d had with Drayton; it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Drayton shook his head, as if scolding an unruly child. “I simply don’t require any assistance whatsoever.”