Page 24 of Murder in the Tea Leaves

Andrea frowned, once again looking annoyed. “Everybody here thinks I’m just a dumb blonde, but I see things. I know what goes on around here.”

“That sounds awfully cryptic,” Theodosia said. “As if you have a few ideas that don’t coincide with what everyone here thinks—or even what the police think.”

“That’s me,” Andrea said. “An independent thinker.”

“Care to share your ideas with me?”

Andrea stared at her. “Maybe,” she said slowly. She glanced down the hallway to where Joe Adler was now standing, gesturing for her to hurry up and take her place on set. “But not right now,” she whispered. “And certainly not here.”

Theodosia stood there as Andrea hustled away, thinking about the dope angle. Cole could be a crazy doper. Or maybe even a drug dealer. What if Josh Morro had found out that Cole was involved in some kind of drug deal and Cole had killed Morro to shut him up? But where was the evidence? So far, Theodosia hadn’t found anything that pointed in that direction. After all, smoking a single joint wasn’t exactly a druggie crime spree.

She sighed, deciding she’d better hurry back to the Indigo Tea Shop so she could help set up for today’s Poetry Tea. She’d just reached the back door when, out of the blue, her curiosity gene kicked in big-time and she was seized with a daring idea.

Should I?

Theodosia continued down the hallway, peering into rooms that were shabbily furnished and would probably serve as sets for additional scenes, until she came to what had to be the back stairs, probably the old servants’ stairway. Putting a hand on the ancient banister, she looked around quickly, then started up.

Why am I doing this?

Theodosia didn’t have a good, solid answer. Perhaps because she was curious? About the old house and about what had happened on the third floor? Or maybe snooping satisfied some kind of itch she had.

Okay, that could be it.

As Theodosia explored the second floor, she found it was just as dingy as the first floor and jam-packed with props and gear. Here were rooms with racks of costumes, extra klieg lights, and boxes of camera cables and cords.

Is there a spool of wire? Or a stack of metal folding chairs?

Nary a spool nor a chair jumped out at her, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. But time was running short—somebody would surely come upstairs and catch her snooping—so she had a decision to make. Bail out or continue on up.

The decision was easy. Theodosia walked back to the stairs and continued up. Halfway there, the stairs took a sharp left turn and narrowed considerably. And they creaked. Old wood that had endured more than a century and a half of heat, cold, and industrial-strength humidity suddenly felt flimsy and unstable beneath her feet. Would it hold her? She shook her head to dispel any nasty thoughts and continued her climb to the third floor.

And that’s when Theodosia started to get cold feet.

No, I’m not. Well, maybe a little.

Summoning her inner reserve, she reached a hand out to touch the old-fashioned glass doorknob attached to an ugly green door with peeling paint. She was ginning up the nerve to open the door that led to…what?

She hesitated.

Would she be stepping into the old servants’ quarters with narrow rooms crowded with old metal-frame beds? Or the room where that poor woman had been held prisoner for so long?

Theodosia swallowed hard. And as her fingers closed around the doorknob, a sudden cool breeze wafted past her. It caressed her cheek, gently lifted her hair, and scared her to death. It was almost as if some unknown being had let out a long, deep sigh.

A warning?

Theodosia didn’t believe in ghosts, didn’t normally believe in haunted houses, either, but this was a little too eerie, a little too spooky even for her.

Deciding a full stop was in order, she turned and hurried back downstairs, anxious to be among the living, even if they did tend to grumble and argue among themselves.

Like Sidney Gorsk, Andrea’s agent, whom she found sitting in a chair in the hair and makeup room. He was in the middle of a semi-rant about politics when his eyes suddenly landed on Theodosia. He stopped mid-sentence, looking slightly embarrassed at being caught shooting off his mouth while having his hair fluffed and his face moisturized.

“Hey there, Theodosia,” Brittany, the head makeup artist, called out. “What brings you back to my lair? Did you score another part in our movie?”

Theodosia let loose a nervous chuckle. “The one I did with Andrea on Monday was enough for me. I think it might have been the swan song of my career.”

“To Josh Morro’s career, too,” Brittany said under her breath.

“But you did a fine job,” Gorsk put in, ignoring Brittany’s remark and looking interested. “Andrea said you did good. Enthusiastic was her word for it.”

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