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Laura Childs: Death By Darjeeling

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Laura Childs Death By Darjeeling
  • Название:
    Death By Darjeeling
  • Автор:
  • Издательство:
    Berkley
  • Жанр:
  • Год:
    2001
  • Язык:
    Английский
  • ISBN:
    1-101-08509-6
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    4 / 5
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Death By Darjeeling: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Ordinarily, Charleston's Indigo Tea Shop is an oasis of calm. But when tea shop owner, Theodosia Browning, caters the annual Lamplighter Tour of historic homes, one of the patrons turns up dead.  Never mind that it's Hughes Barron, a slightly scurrilous real estate developer. Theodosia's reputation is suddenly on the line. Aided by her friends and fellow tea shop entrepreneurs, Theo sets about to unravel the mystery of the deadly Darjeeling and encounters a number of likely suspects.  Tanner Joseph, the fiery environmentalist, held a grudge against the developer for his misuse of land. Timothy Neville, the octogenarian majordomo for the Heritage Society, opposed Hughes Barron's election to the board. And Barron's unsavory partner might very well profit from a cleverly written buy-sell agreement!

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“Agreed,” said Theodosia. “Now tell me what results you’ve gathered from our rather unscientific poll.”

Drayton’s face brightened. “Three to one on the Lamplighter Blend! I’d estimate we have less than half a pot left.”

“Really?” said Theodosia, her cheeks flaring with color, and her usually calm, melodious voice cracking with excitement.

“The people have spoken, madam. The tea’s a knockout.”

“So we package more and include it on the Web site,” she said.

“No, we feature it.” Drayton favored Theodosia with an uncharacteristic grin as he picked up the silver teapot she’d set down earlier and started toward the house. “The pantry awaits. The end of the evening is blessedly in sight.” He paused. “Coming?”

“Give me a minute, Drayton.”

Theodosia stood half hidden under an elegant arch of vines, basking in the glow of success. It was the first tea she’d blended by herself. True, she’d started with two exquisitely mellow teas from the American Tea Plantation. And she’d had Drayton’s excellent counsel. But still...

“Excuse me.”

Theodosia whirled about and found herself staring down at two tiny women. Both were barely five feet in height, quite advanced in years, and wore identical green suits. Twins, she thought to herself, then peered closer. No, just dressed alike. Probably sisters.


“Mavis Beaumont.” Birdlike, one of the ladies in green extended a gloved hand. “Theodosia Browning,” said Theodosia, taking the tiny hand in hers. She blinked. Staring at these two was like seeing double.

“You’re the woman with that marvelous dog, aren’t you?” said Mavis.

Theodosia nodded. This happened frequently. “You mean Earl Grey.”

“That’s the one!” Mavis Beaumont turned to her sister and continued. “Miss Browning has this beautifully trained dog that visits sick people. I had occasion to meet him the time Missy broke her leg.”

The sister smiled and nodded.

“Early Grey is a therapy dog,” explained Theodosia just in case they hadn’t realized he was part of a very real program.

On Monday evenings Theodosia and Earl Grey visited the O’Doud Senior Home and took part in pet therapy. Earl Grey would don his blue nylon vest with the embroidered patch that identified him as a certified therapy dog, and the two would roam the broad halls, stopping to interact with the aging but eager-to-talk residents, visiting the rooms of people who were bedridden.

Earl Grey had quickly become a favorite with the residents, many of whom enjoyed only occasional visits from their families. And just last month, Earl Grey had befriended a woman who’d suffered a terrible, debilitating stroke that left her entire right side paralyzed. In the woman’s excitement to pet Earl Grey, she had tentatively extended her rigid right arm for the first time in months and managed a patting motion on the dog’s back. That breakthrough had led to the woman going to physical therapy and finally regaining some real use of the arm.

Mavis Beaumont grasped Theodosia’s arm. “Lovely party, dear.”

The sister, the one who apparently didn’t talk, at least not tonight, nodded and smiled.

“Good night,” called Theodosia.

“What was that all about?” asked Haley as she shuffled past shouldering a huge tray.

“Fans of Earl Grey.”

“That guy’s got some PR agent, doesn’t he?” she joked.

“Say, thanks for enlisting Bethany,” said Theodosia. “I sure hope we didn’t ruin her plans for tonight.”

“Are you serious?” said Haley. “The poor girl was sitting home alone with her nose stuck in Gombrich’s Story of Art. Not that there’s anything wrong with curling up with an art history book, but between you and me, this was a great excuse to get her out and talking to real people. Believe me, this is the best thing for her.”

From her post at the far end of the garden, Bethany glanced toward Theodosia and Haley and saw by the looks on their faces that they were talking about her. She gave a thin smile, knowing they had her best interests at heart, feeling thankful she had friends who cared so much.

With her elegant oval face, pale complexion, long dark hair, and intense brown eyes, Bethany was a true beauty. But her body language mirrored the sadness she carried inside. Where most young women her age moved with effortless grace, Bethany was sedate, contained. Where amusement and joy should have lit her face, there was melancholy.

Picking up a serving tray, Bethany walked to the nearest empty table. She cleared it, taking great pains with the bone china cups and saucers, then moved solemnly to the next table. Centerpiece candles that had glowed so brightly an hour earlier were beginning to sputter. The Lamplighter Tour visitors were taking final sips, slowly meandering back inside the house, saying their good-byes. The evening was drawing to a close.

Bethany glanced across the patio to where Theodosia and Haley had been standing just a few minutes earlier. Now they were nowhere to be seen. They must have ducked inside the butler’s pantry to start their cleanup, she thought to herself.

Bethany crisscrossed the brick patio, picking up a cup here, a plate there. When she finally broke from her task and looked around, there were only two tables where people remained seated.

Correction, make that one, she told herself as the foursome sitting at the table nearest the central fountain stood up and began to amble off slowly, chatting, admiring the dark foliage, pointing up at overhanging Spanish moss.

Bethany glanced toward the far corner of the patio. Against the large, dense hedge that formed one border of the garden and ran around the perimeter of the property, she could just barely make out the figure of a man sitting quietly alone.

Bethany tucked the serving tray against one hip and started toward him, intent on asking if she could refill his teacup or perhaps clear his table.

But as she approached, goose bumps rose on her arms, and a shiver ran down her spine. The night had turned suddenly chill. A stiff breeze tumbled dry leaves underfoot, whipsawed a final brave stand of camellias, and sent petals fluttering. The candle on the table nearest her was instantly snuffed, and the candle sitting on the man’s table began to sputter wildly.

Bethany was within four feet of the man when a warning bell sounded in her head. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her! But as she squinted into the darkness, the erratic candlelight hissed and flared, illuminating the man’s face.

The calm of the courtyard was shattered by Bethany’s shrill scream. The silver tray crashed to the bricks. Teacups broke into shards, and a half-filled pot of tea exploded on impact.

Theodosia heard Bethany’s cry from inside the butler’s panty. She slammed open the door and rushed outside and through the tangle of empty tables. “Bethany!” she called, urgency in her voice, worry swelling in her breast.

Anguish written across her face, all Bethany could do was back away from the table and point to the man sitting there alone.

Heels clicking like rapid fire, Theodosia approached. She saw immediately that the man slumped in his chair, his chin heavy on his chest. One hand dangled at his knees, and the other rested on the table, still clutching a teacup. As Theodosia quickly took in this strange scene, her fleeting impression was that the tiny teacup decorated in swirling gold vines seemed dwarfed by the man’s enormous hand.

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