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But when she walked into the tea shop, it was obvious Drayton had a lot on his mind.
“I’ve been thinking,” Drayton said. “You were the one person who dared chase after that phony beekeeper. Who we keep referring to as a guy... a man.” He paused. “But could it have been a woman? Could it have been Mignon?”
“Could have been, I guess. Or even this Ginny Bell,” Theodosia said. “Who we have yet to meet.” She pondered Drayton’s question for a few moments. “It’s hard to say. I was running after the beekeeper in a kind of blind rage so I wasn’t exactly putting together a detailed profile.”
“Was the beekeeper tall? Short?”
“I honestly don’t remember.”
“What does your intuition tell you?” Drayton asked. “Were you able to get any kind of feeling or impression from the assailant?”
“It felt as though he—or she—was radiating tons of anger. As well as a kind of smugness and self-satisfaction about the toxic gas. Like it had worked out well and they were glad for it. But that’s about it.”
“That, my dear,” Drayton said, “is quite enough.” He turned at the sound of the front door snicking open. “A late customer?” he murmured, glancing at his watch.
Theodosia glanced over as well. And her heart sank.
Detective Burt Tidwell, shoulders slightly hunched, came huffing toward them, his heavy cop’s shoes making a clopping sound against the wooden floor.
“Detective Tidwell,” Theodosia called out. “Are you here for tea?”
Tidwell swerved toward the nearest table and sat down heavily without answering. He glanced around, saw Miss Dimple with a tub of dirty dishes, gave her his trademark glower, and sent her sprinting for the kitchen.
“Not nice,” Theodosia said as she slipped into the chair across from him.
“Hmm?” Tidwell projected an air of total innocence.
“Scaring older women. Scaring any women.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you did.” Theodosia wasn’t about to be buffaloed. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I have a few more questions concerning the Claxton murder.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“When you made the irrational decision to chase after the perpetrator, did anything catch your eye or stand out? I ask you these questions again with the thought that you’ve had a couple of days to process the incident.” Tidwell lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Perhaps your memory has improved over time?”
“I’m afraid not,” Theodosia said. “In fact, Drayton just asked me the same thing.”
“And what was your answer to him?”
“That nothing major jumped out at me.”
“But you must have had an impression? Or a hunch?”
“That doesn’t sound very scientific. Don’t police generally operate on facts?”
“Humor me,” Tidwell said.
“Believe me, I am.”
Tidwell rocked back in his chair and stared at her, beady eyes bright with intensity. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Fine. A request, then.”
