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Theodosia and Drayton both fell silent.
Delaine cleared her throat. “So, anyway, I came here looking for the two of you. But Haley said you weren’t here, so I went on home. Then the police showed up on my doorstep, frightened my poor kitty cats to death, and proceeded to browbeat me for hours.”
“Hours?” Theodosia said.
“That’s what it felt like,” Delaine said. “What with their impertinent questions and nasty innuendos. And once they finally left I was so scared and worried I didn’t get a wink of sleep. I spent the entire night tossing and turning. Then, first thing this morning, well…after I had my nails done…I rushed over here to see you two.” Tears welled up in Delaine’s eyes, then dribbled down her face, streaking her mascara. “I thought I might need your help?” she said in a small, squeaky voice. Then she pulled a second lace hanky from her bag, wiped at her eyes, and said, “And now I see that I definitely do.”
“Delaine, I don’t know what to say,” Theodosia said. “I’m sure you’re not in serious trouble. I mean, the police tend to question anyone and everyone who was in recent contact with a murder victim.”
“That’s all I am. A recent contact?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Theo,” Delaine pleaded. “You’ve got to help me. You were there when it happened, and you’ve got good contacts within the police department, so…”
“So you want me to try and intercede?”
“I knew you’d say yes!” Delaine cooed.
“Actually, I didn’t say yes.”
“But you will help me?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Theodosia said, wondering just how much influence she might have with Tidwell and company. Probably not a lot. But if she could run a quiet shadow investigation, then maybe she could come up with some answers. Maybe even an actual suspect.
“Stay for lunch, Delaine,” Drayton urged. “Sit down and let me brew you a nice relaxing cup of chamomile tea.”
Delaine shook her head and frowned. “No, I have to get to Cotton Duck. I need to keep busy or this problem—this murder—will keep rattling around in my head and drive me batty.”
“Then let us fix you something to take with you,” Theodosia said. “Tea, a tea sandwich, maybe a scone?”
“Are the scones carb-free?”
Theodosia gazed at her. “What do you think?”
“Maybe just some green tea, then. And a teensy-tiny sandwich.”
6
Theodosia finished setting the tables for lunch, lit a dozen tea-light candles, then sidled up to the front counter where Drayton was brewing pots of gunpowder green and Lapsang souchong.
“What do you know about Brittlebank Manor?” she asked.
Drayton glanced up from a steeping, steaming teapot. “Not that much. Unlike so many of our historic homes, I wouldn’t consider it to be architecturally unique, so it’s not on any of the regular guided tours or historical walkabouts. Really, most people are interested only because of the legend.”
“The legend about the woman who was kept prisoner in the attic,” Theodosia said. Her heart did an extra thump inside her chest when she thought about it. Really, how horrible that a woman had been imprisoned in that old house. What had she done to deserve such a terrible fate?
“From what I’ve heard over the years, it was her husband who kept her prisoner up there in the attic,” Drayton said. “Apparently, he claimed she was stark-raving mad.”
“Or maybe she was just mad at him,” Theodosia said. “Was the poor woman ever able to escape? Or did she die up there?”
“I don’t really know. I mean, there’s legend and then there’s fact.”
“Maybe I need some facts?”
“You think so?” Drayton placed the lid on a green ceramic teapot. “Do you really want to get involved in an old mystery that has nothing to do with yesterday’s murder?”
“When you put it that way, maybe not.” Or maybe I do, Theodosia thought to herself as the front door opened and the first of her luncheon customers came bouncing in.
