Sweat Tea Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Considering you don’t even know Horton.”
    “I met him,” said Haley. “And he seemed a little hinky.”
    “You think everyone over the age of twenty-five is hinky,” said Drayton.
    “Not quite,” said Haley. “You guys are okay. But if you ask me, Tidwell ought to put Horton on his suspect list.”
    “Maybe,” said Theodosia. But on a scale of one to ten, Horton seemed more like a one. Or maybe a two.
    Drayton lifted the lid off a Brown Betty teapot and peered in. “This Darjeeling is probably steeped by now.” He lifted the teapot and poured a stream of hot, steaming liquid into Theodosia’s cup. Then he filled a cup for Haley and for himself. “A first flush from the Kumai Tea Estate.”
    “Tasty,” said Haley, taking a quick sip.
    “What’s really excellent are these scones,” said Drayton. “This is a new recipe, correct?”
    “Peach scones,” said Haley. “One of my granny’s secret receipts.”
    “So the departed specter of the Parker clan still looms large in our midst,” smiled Drayton.
    Which suddenly reminded Theodosia of Bill Glass’s final words to her. That Ravencrest Inn was haunted.
    She thought of mentioning it to Drayton and Haley, then chased that thought clean out of her head. This wasn’t the time to bring up such things as ghosts and goblins. Even here in the Carolina low country where ghostly legends prevailed and graveyards were roundly held to be inhabited by restless spirits.
    The three of them sat in quiet repose for a few more minutes, sipping tea, talking. Then, as if an unspoken signal had been given, they began to prepare for their morning guests.
    Drayton lit tiny white tea candles and laid out crisp white napkins, while Theodosia placed a tapestry of mismatched teacups and saucers on all the tables. Sugar bowls were filled, tea cozies laid out. Their reassuring morning ritual.
    This, of course, was what it was all about. This was what brought Theodosia true happiness and contentment. Never once did she regret leaving the chew-’em-up, spit-’em-out world of marketing to run her beautiful little Indigo Tea Shop. In fact, being a tea entrepreneur was her dream come true. Her floor-to-ceiling cupboards were filled with the world’s most exotic teas: delicately fruited Nilgiris, malty Assams, rich dark oolongs. Her tea shop itself, a former carriage house, sported pegged wood floors that had recently been given a red tea wash, as well as battered hickory tables, brick walls, leaded-glass windows, and a tiny fireplace. Of course, the place was crammed with items for sale, too. Vintage teapots lovingly scouted at local auctions, handmade tea cozies, tea towels, jars of Devonshire cream and DuBose Bees Honey, candles, wicker baskets, and cut-glass bowls all sat on shelves or were tucked into wooden cupboards. The walls were decorated with antique prints and grapevine wreaths she’d made and decorated.
    When they were finally, perfectly ready, Drayton went to the front door and pulled back the white lace curtain. “Brace yourselves,” he announced as he unlatched the door. “We’ve got Monday-morning customers.”
    But it wasn’t the usual assortment of shopkeepers and neighbors who tumbled in this morning, eager for their morning cuppa and fresh-baked scones. Instead, it was two young men in their late twenties, blond surfer types dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, and toting a video camera and various other pieces of electronic equipment.
    “Gentlemen,” said Drayton, looking a little nonplussed. “Table for two?”
    The young man with the camera glanced around, noticed Theodosia standing next to a highboy, and came charging through the shop, dodging tables left and right. “You’re Theodosia Browning?” he asked. “Right?”
    Theodosia gave a slight nod. “Yes. May I help you?”
    The man touched a hand to his chest and said, “I’m Jed Beckman, and this is my brother, Tim. We’re ghost hunters!”
    *   *   *
    “We can’t