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Riley shook his head. “There is no bottom line. For you, anyway. I just gave you a half dozen reasons why you shouldn’t come anywhere near this case. Why you shouldn’t get involved.”
“That’s funny,” Theodosia said. “Because I thought I was already involved.”
“Only peripherally, but not really.”
“Actually, really,” she said.
“Sweetheart, what we have here is Southern politics at its absolute bottomed-out, mud-slinging, murderous worst. I mean, everyone’s in an uproar over Claxton. The mayor, city council, legislators, business community, every political party operative...”
“But this is a straight-ahead murder investigation, is it not?”
“Not when a politician of his ilk is involved. And not when so many people have a keen interest in seeing how this investigation shakes out.”
“What do you mean? What people?”
“Some people want his murder to be solved, others would rather have the whole case deep-sixed. And we’re talking longtime politicians, campaign contributors, political hacks, people who demand and expect political favors, people who’ve been threatened, others who’ve been ruined or semi-ruined.”
“Claxton’s influence extended that far?”
Riley reached out and took Theodosia’s hand. “You see now why I’m asking you not to get involved? To not activate that famous curiosity gene of yours?”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Of course.” But in her mind she was thinking, There are any number of reasons why I should be involved.
“Then there’s the Lucket factor,” Riley said.
“The lucky factor?”
“Lucket, as in Lamar Lucket. He’s the political big shot who was running against Claxton.”
“Okay, I have heard of him.” Theodosia thought for a moment. “He owns that chichi boutique hotel over on Spring Street. Is he a suspect?”
“Not at this point. But, trust me, Lucket is another someone you don’t want to mess with.”
Theodosia smiled. “You’re telling me his daddy’s rich and his momma’s good-looking?”
“Daddy is probably a billionaire and, back in the day, momma was Miss Georgia.”
Theodosia leaned forward, interested. “Wow.”
“There you go,” Riley said. “That’s exactly what I’ve been talking about.”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got that telltale look in your eyes. That overly curious, meddlesome gleam.”
“No, I don’t,” Theodosia said, wondering if she could somehow will her interested expression away.
Riley sighed heavily. “Yes, you do.”
“Well.” Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “Inquiring minds do want to know.”
4
Tea kettles whistled and steeping teapots released aromatic puffs of Assam and Darjeeling into the air. Theodosia sat at a table sipping her morning cup of tea as Drayton, looking formal and altogether serious in his Harris Tweed jacket and Drake’s bow tie, bustled about behind the front counter. It was early Monday and a long, busy week spun out ahead of them. Daily tea service, luncheons, two event teas to host, dozens of special orders, and catering requests.
And then there was the issue of Claxton’s murder.
Drayton hadn’t said much about Claxton, about all of yesterday’s goings-on, but Theodosia knew it was hanging over his head like a little gray cloud. Still, Drayton remained perpetually busy, selecting today’s offerings from his floor-to-ceiling wall of tea tins, fussing over his various strainers, and lining up bone china teapots like a sweet little armada.
