Sweat Tea Revenge by Laura Childs Page A

you’ve got a nasty temper
.
    *   *   *
    Theodosia parked her
Jeep in the narrow brick alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop, buzzed through the back door into her office, and dropped her bag on top of her perpetually messy desk. Then she flew into the tea room to find it practically filled with customers. Though Drayton appeared to be more harried than usual, he relaxed visibly once he spotted Theodosia.
    “There you are,” said Drayton. “Thank goodness.”
    “Sorry to be late,” said Theodosia. She slipped a long black Parisian waiter’s apron over her head and tied it in back. “I see we’re busy already.”
    “Now that the sunshine and warm weather have moved in, everyone seems to be out in full force! We’ve had tourists, neighbors, and tea clubs clamoring for tables. We might even have to put our wrought-iron tables and chairs out on the sidewalk.”
    “Good,” said Theodosia. “I’m glad we’re busy.” She didn’t fret unduly about business or about the tea shop being profitable. But the specter of a slowed economy was always in the back of her mind. For some reason, maybe it was their dedicated customer base or the fact that they worked weekends and evenings catering teas, the Indigo Tea Shop continued to hum along rather nicely. And Theodosia, with her business and marketing background, knew that the difference between making a living and making a profit was vast indeed. And her beloved little tea shop, knock on wood, continued to churn out a profit.
    Drayton pulled a floral Spode teapot off the shelf, swished it out with warm water, and added three scoops of Yunnan black tea. “Well, did Simone Asher confess to the murder?”
    “No,” said Theodosia. “But she knew exactly why I was there.”
    “She knew Delaine sent you in to do reconnaissance at the enemy camp? To give her the third degree?”
    “She sure did. Simone’s not stupid.”
    “Neither are you,” said Drayton. He placed the teapot on a silver tray, then added two silver-rimmed bone china teacups and a small plate of paper-thin lemon slices. “Did you pick up any vibes from her at all?”
    “Only that Simone acted like she’d been poked with a hot wire when I mentioned cocaine.”
    “Meaning she denied knowing anything about it.”
    “Let me put it this way,” said Theodosia. “If we’d been doing a scene at an improv class, Simone would have received a gold star.”
    “Huh,” said Drayton.
    “The weird thing is,” said Theodosia, “I went to meet Simone just as a kind of pro forma favor to Delaine. Not really believing she had anything to do with Granville’s death.”
    “Yes?”
    “And now I’m not so sure about her. There’s a sneaky, snarky side to Simone. The woman’s a little . . . nasty.”
    “Wait just a minute,” said Drayton. “You don’t really think she could have murdered Granville, do you?”
    “I don’t know. But Simone certainly likes to push people’s buttons.”
    Drayton snatched up his tray. “But does she also push drugs?”
    Theodosia stood at the counter pondering this for a moment, until a friendly voice called out, “Hey, Theo.”
    Theodosia spun around. “Leigh!” she called out. Leigh Caroll owned the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop down the street. She was an African American woman with beautifully burnished skin, sepia-toned hair, and almond eyes that turned up slightly at the corners, giving her an upbeat mischievous look.
    “I see you’re busy as usual,” said Leigh. “Why don’t you send your customers down to my place when they’re finished here?”
    “Why don’t you give me a stack of business cards and I will,” said Theodosia, delighted to see her friend. “Can I offer you a scone and a cuppa? We could brew your favorite peach tea if you’d like.”
    Leigh gave an airy wave. “Just give me whatever’s handy.” She leaned across the counter. “Did I hear right? That you were at a wedding where some fellow got killed?”
    “Delaine’s wedding,” said