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Theodosia wrapped everything in sheets of indigo blue tissue paper, then packed it in boxes as best she could. As she handed a blue bag to one customer, she noticed that Mignon Merriweather Claxton was still here. Or rather, Mignon had just gotten up from her table—even though Delaine and her aunt had long since departed—and was headed in her direction.
“Mignon,” Theodosia said as she approached.
“Lovely, simply lovely,” Mignon said. “I don’t know when I’ve had a more pleasant tea. And that includes a few trips to Paris where I enjoyed tea at Mariage Frères and Ladurée.”
Which gave Theodosia the perfect opening.
“Delaine mentioned you’d recently returned from a Paris buying trip.”
“For my new boutique, Belle de Jour, over on King Street. The building is a former woodworking studio, so I retained the old heart-pine floors and a couple of workman’s trestle-top tables—so perfect for displays. Of course I painted the interior walls an eggshell color and am stocking the place with a raft of antiques I picked up in Paris. Old signs, music boxes, some lace, antique French champagne glasses, lots of jewelry.”
“And you’ll have new merchandise, too?” Theodosia asked.
“Tons of it. We’re talking perfumes, French milled soaps, select cosmetics from the Bourjois line, French macarons, Isabel Marant T-shirts... well, you get the idea. Oh, and I’ll be carrying a line of hand-sewn lingerie called Ballerina.” She dimpled prettily and winked. “I think you’d love some of the pieces.”
“Your shop sounds delightful,” Theodosia said. “Just what Charleston needs. We’ve got plenty of touristy shops that carry T-shirts and pepper sauces, but we can always use another high-end shop.”
“Trying to open a retail shop, figuring out how to market it... has been a crazy experience,” Mignon said. “The learning curve has been fairly steep and merchandising the shop... well, it’s been expensive beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve run through almost all of my personal funds. Thank goodness I still stand to inherit Osgood’s money and insurance benefits. But the high cost of doing business is also the reason I filed a heavy-duty lawsuit against the Imago Gallery. I’m hoping to collect on Osgood’s wrongful death.”
“Holly told me about your lawsuit,” Theodosia said. “She’s pretty upset that you’re holding her responsible for your husband’s death.”
“Actually, he was almost my ex-husband.” Mignon lifted a hand and made a fluttery motion. “Though our relationship was finished long ago.”
“But you’re still suing.” Theodosia tried to keep her tone nonjudgmental because she wanted to hear more.
“Of course.”
“The man who came charging in here before, the artist named Booker, do you by any chance know him?”
Mignon shook her head. “Should I?”
“He’s one of Holly’s artists and he knew your husband.”
“How so?”
Theodosia quickly explained how Claxton had influenced the State Arts Board and had Booker’s grant pulled from him.
“Wait a minute.” Eyes wide, color flaring in her cheeks now, Mignon held up a hand. “Do you think this Booker character was holding a grudge? Is it possible he’s the one who murdered Osgood?” She looked horrified.
“The thought had entered my mind. But now that I give it a little more consideration... well, I don’t know.”
“But it’s possible?” Mignon said.
“I’d say fifty-fifty.”
“Have you told the police this same story about Booker?”
“I did. Which is what prompted him to come storming in here.”
“He thought you pointed a finger at him?” Mignon asked.
“Something like that,” Theodosia said.
Mignon was quiet for a few moments, then said, “If you’re really on the hunt for suspects...” Her tone sounded casual but Theodosia could feel ramrod steel behind it.
“What?” Theodosia asked. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“Ginny Bell,” Mignon said, a hard look crossing her face. “She’s the woman Osgood was having a relationship with for the last three years.”
