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The tea shop got busy then, with Theodosia taking orders for cinnamon scones and banana bread and Drayton brewing pots of Keemun and Irish breakfast tea. Haley also had a pan of chocolate muffins in the oven, so a lot of customers were fizzing with anticipation.
As business and buzz hit an all-time high around ten fifteen, Delaine Dish came steaming into the tea shop like a schooner under full sail. She looked sleek as a cat in her black skirt suit and saucy hat to match as she stopped to whisper greetings to a couple of customers she knew, then grabbed Theodosia and quickly pulled her aside.
“I wanted you to know that, besides my aunt Glorene, who’s here for a visit, hopefully a short one, I’m bringing another guest—a lovely new friend—to today’s tea luncheon.” Delaine delivered her message in one long breathless sentence.
“Wonderful,” Theodosia said. She was busy clearing a table, piling teacups and saucers into a blue plastic tub. “The more the merrier.”
Delaine was the owner of Cotton Duck Boutique and a fixture on Charleston’s social scene. She was also a dedicated fashionista, semi-professional gossip, and a type A personality who always acted as if she’d just overdosed on Ritalin.
“The thing is, my friend’s been recently widowed.” Delaine reached into her Chanel bag, pulled out a linen hanky, and daubed at her eyes even though there weren’t any actual tears. With her heart-shaped face, fair skin, and pouty lips, she was pretty. Beautiful, even. But she was also tricky and didn’t always give you the full story.
Theodosia stopped fussing with her dishes. “I’m sorry to hear that. When did your friend’s husband pass?”
Delaine wrinkled her nose as she twisted the hankie in her hands. “Sunday?”
Theodosia narrowed her eyes and stared pointedly at Delaine. Was there a piece of critical information Delaine was leaving out of this conversation? Clearly there must be.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Delaine pouted. “It feels so accusatory, like I’ve committed some sort of heinous crime.”
“Delaine,” Theodosia said in a firm, no-nonsense voice, the same one she used when disciplining Earl Grey. There was a strange vibe radiating off Delaine and it rattled Theodosia. Made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Just come right out and tell me. Who’s the widow?”
The rakish feather on Delaine’s hat bounced as she said, “Mignon Merriweather Claxton.”
“Osgood Claxton’s wife?”
This wasn’t what Theodosia needed right now.
“What are you up to, Delaine? Why would you bring her here when we just hosted the tea where her husband was murdered?”
Delaine’s gloved hand touched Theodosia’s arm. “He was Mignon’s soon-to-be ex-husband, dear.”
Mignon, Theodosia thought. The one Lucket said loved money so much. And who, heaven forbid, could have also killed Claxton. Or paid to have him killed.
Then Theodosia’s gentle, more trusting nature took over and she shook her head. No, she wasn’t here to judge. “It doesn’t matter what their marital status is or was,” Theodosia said. “Today’s luncheon might pose an uncomfortable situation for Mignon. It could trigger unhappiness. Tears, even. Why would you want to do that to the woman?”
“I don’t want to upset her,” Delaine argued. “I want to be kind to her. Show her some compassion.”
Theodosia knew that compassion wasn’t exactly Delaine’s strong suit. Fact was, Delaine was vain, egotistical, and self-centered. She threw barbs behind people’s backs, showed no mercy to men she dated, and had the attention span of a mayfly. It was only when dogs and cats were concerned that Delaine displayed an ounce of compassion.
“What do you want me to do, Theo? Un-invite Mignon?” Delaine’s green eyes glittered, her mouth pulled tight.
“No, that would be rude. Just... okay... bring Mignon along. But please be prepared to deal with some hurt feelings on her part.”
“You’ll like her,” Delaine said, upbeat again now that she’d gotten her way. “Mignon’s a lovely person. Bouncy and smart and an entrepreneur to boot.” She held her thumb and index finger together. “She’s this close to opening a gorgeous new boutique.”
For some reason, the word boutique caught Theodosia’s attention. “What did you say?”
“I was referring to Mignon’s boutique. It’s this really lovely old world shop called Belle de Jour. In fact, she’s just back from Paris where she was shopping the flea markets and some of the more upscale marchés. As you well know, it costs a bloody fortune to stock a boutique.”
“Interesting,” Theodosia said.
“Isn’t it?”
But Theodosia’s interest came from a slightly different angle. She was suddenly curious about the bloody fortune Mignon had spent in Paris. And a little suspicious as well. Could Mignon have dipped into Claxton’s personal fortune, got into trouble for doing so, then had him killed? Money was a powerful motivator when it came to murder. In fact, it was right up there on the FBI’s list of reasons for criminality along with revenge, political ideology, pride, and jealousy.
“Well, ta-ta,” Delaine said. “See you in a bit. Say now, you’re still coming to Cotton Duck tomorrow, aren’t you? For my fabulous trunk show—or should I saw trunk shows since I have three ultra-fabulous designers coming in?” She smiled widely. “Remember? You promised!”
Theodosia gave a quick nod. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
