Page 13 of Honey Drop Dead

Haley folded her arms across her chest. “I am.”

“The witness, whoever it was, could have transposed the numbers on the license plate, right?” Theodosia said. “I mean, you said they only saw a partial number?”

Riley ignored Theodosia and continued to focus on Haley. “Do you know who was running against Osgood Claxton for a seat in the legislature?”

Haley looked puzzled. “Um, no. I’m not really into politics.”

“It’s a man named Lamar Lucket,” Riley said.

“Never heard of him,” Haley said.

“What does Lucket have to do with Ben? Or with Haley for that matter?” Theodosia asked.

“The reason I ask,” Riley said, once again addressing Haley, “is because your friend Ben once worked as a volunteer on one of Lucket’s campaigns.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean anything,” Haley said. But she suddenly looked unsure of herself.

“Have you ever heard Ben say anything negative about Osgood Claxton?” Riley asked.

“I’ve never heard Ben say anything negative about anyone,” Haley said in a rush. Her cheeks had colored bright pink and she looked like she was ready to cry.

“Really,” Theodosia said. “I think we’ve covered everything you came in for. So if you’d kindly let us get back to work...”

“Okay,” Riley said in a reluctant tone. “But this might not be over. There could be a few more questions.”

“We’re not worried,” Theodosia said. Even though Haley looked scared to death.

***

The Indigo Tea Shop was busy all morning. Neighboring shopkeepers dropped by for their de rigueur cuppa and to commiserate about yesterday. Multiple groups of tourists found their way in, perhaps drawn by the charm of the shop—the brickwork, leaded windows, hunter green awnings, and rounded door looked like it might lead to an Alice in Wonderland–type adventure.

And it kind of did. Because the interior of the tea shop was just as intriguing as the exterior. With a touch of country French and a smattering of Olde England, the Indigo Tea Shop was a jewel box of a shop. Blue toile curtains were artfully swagged on wavy leaded windows, while faded Oriental carpets made cozy statements on pegged pine floors. There was a small wood-burning fireplace and a French chandelier that imparted a warm, almost hazy glow—Drayton always referred to it as Rembrandt lighting. In the far corner, antique highboys held retail items that included tea towels, tea cozies, tins of tea, Theodosia’s proprietary T-Bath lotions and moisturizers, and jars of DuBose Bees Honey. A velvet celadon green curtain separated the café from the back half, and brick walls were hung with antique prints and twisty grapevine wreaths decorated with miniature teacups.

Of course, the shop hadn’t magically sprung to life. Theodosia had scrimped and saved, then tossed in some 401k money from her previous marketing job to nail down the small, historic building as her very own. Drayton had come on board as her tea sommelier. And Haley, casually answering a want ad, had suddenly found her baking skills (and her grandma’s recipes) in high demand.

The rest of the tea accoutrements had come about organically, with Theodosia sifting through flea markets, antique shops, and tag sales to find the perfect vintage teacups, teapots, goblets, and silverware.

After several years together, Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley had become a confident, carefully coordinated team that never failed to delight visitors and neighbors with their baked-from-scratch scones and muffins, dazzling array of fine teas, extraordinary catering, and ever-popular special event teas. They’d all come to realize that family didn’t always have to mean blood relatives.

“Thanks,” Haley said when Theodosia popped in to grab a plate of apple scones and of bowl of Devonshire cream for a table of guests. “It’s kind of scary when the cops question you.”

“Not to worry,” Theodosia said. “Especially since it was just Riley.”

“Still, he seemed pretty serious. A little intense, in fact.”

“Just hang in there, I’m sure this will all blow over soon.”

Theodosia dropped her scones off, then stopped at the front counter to grab a pot of tea. Most of the tables were occupied and the tea shop was fairly buzzing.

“I’m thinking of brewing a pot of Ti Quan Yin for lunch,” Drayton said. “It’s such a remarkable spring floral tea.”

“Go for it,” Theodosia said.

“As for the Ceylonese silver tips...” He indicated the teapot in Theodosia’s hand. “Maybe let it steep an additional minute.” He closed one eye, thinking. “Make that two.”

“Gotcha,” Theodosia said. She lifted her shoulders, trying to unkink her neck, and said, “Busy morning.”

“Has everyone been gossiping about Claxton?” Drayton asked.

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