Maybe we can do it again sometime—my treat?
Holding my breath,
Fayne
Time stood still for a moment as Theodosia absorbed the contents and gist of this note. It was a note from an employee to her boss that seemed to cross the line of being merely friendly. The words seemed wistful, hopeful, and a little bit bold.
Theodosia scrunched around in her chair and stared at the oil painting that hung over her fireplace. It was a brood-ing seascape of a turn-of-the-century three-masted schooner caught in tempestuous waters far from the safe harbor of Charleston. With sails ripped and giant waves pounding onto its decks, there was no doubt the sailing ship would soon be lost. As she contemplated the painting she also contemplated the possibility that Fayne Hamilton had been in love with Mark Congdon. Or, if not in love with him, at least smitten.
Is that why Fayne seemed so discombobulated about Mark’s personal belongings being packed up by someone else? Theodosia wondered. Had Fayne realized the note she sent him might have been scooped up from his desk drawer and tossed into the mix? Maybe. Definitely maybe.
Drumming her fingernails on the table, Theodosia decided there could be more notes of this nature contained within these boxes.
If so, what would that prove? she wondered. That Fayne and Mark had enjoyed some sort of secret relationship? Or that Fayne had been rebuffed by Mark? And, as a result, been very, very upset.
Upset. In a Fatal Attraction sort of way?
Theodosia stared at the old brass clock that ticked away on the top shelf of her mahogany secretary. It was ten-thirty now and it would probably take her at least another hour to sort through all this stuff.
She stared at Earl Grey, stretched out and snoozing comfortably. It was going to be a long night.
10
“Are you serious?” squawked Haley as she stared at Theodosia with saucer eyes.
Theodosia nodded, then turned her gaze on Drayton. It was nine a.m. and she had just told both of them about the two notes she’d discovered among Mark’s things last night.
“So the first note was a kind of simpering thank-you?” asked Haley.
“Pretty much,” said Theodosia as she sipped a cup of Mango Verde, Drayton’s house blend of an Assam green tea flavored with tiny bits of mango.
“And the second note?” asked Drayton, equally surprised by this revelation. “It was definitely more . . . uh . . .passionate?”
“I’d say so,” replied Theodosia. She had both notes tucked in her pocket but didn’t feel it would be proper to completely reveal their contents.
“Wow,” said Haley. “Looks like Mark might have been having an affair with this Fayne what’s-her-name!”
“Fayne Hamilton,” murmured Theodosia.
“Of course he wasn’t,” snapped Drayton. He paused, then peered carefully at Theodosia. “At least I don’t think he was.”
“I seriously doubt if Mark was involved with her,” said Theodosia. “Both of Fayne’s notes seemed more sadly hopeful than anything.”
“Then maybe Fayne Hamilton murdered Mark,” proposed Haley. “Unrequited love is a very powerful emotion. Makes people do crazy things.”
“It can,” agreed Drayton. He picked up the floral teapot that sat in the middle of the table and poured himself another cup of Assam.
“When you talk to Fayne Hamilton in person,” said Theodosia, trying to share her impression of the girl with Drayton and Haley, “she doesn’t strike you as being capable of murder. She’s a quiet girl, rather polite and unassuming.”
There, thought Theodosia. That’s a pretty fair assessment.
“But that’s exactly what people said about that BTK guy,” exclaimed Haley. “His neighbors claimed he was a nice guy, soft-spoken, helpful, always polite. And look what a monster he turned out to be!”
“Oh, Haley, please,” said Drayton. “Now you’ve gone to the absolute extreme.”
“Listen,” said Haley, still wound up, “if this Fayne person knew about the nightshade garden you guys found last night, maybe she snuck in, grabbed a handful of plants, and poisoned Mark’s sweet tea. After all, you guys were sticking fresh sprigs of herbs and flowers in all the glasses. Who would notice? She could have slipped it right in!”
“Ah,” said Drayton, looking supremely unhappy now. “The nightshade garden. I have some information that could put a considerable wrinkle in your theory.”
Haley eyed Drayton suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night Miss Maybelle Chase shared with me her list of garden docents.” Drayton paused. “I read through the names this morning and guess who cropped up?”
“Harlan Noble,” guessed Haley.
“That’s right,” said Drayton.
“And Leah Shalimar,” said Theodosia.
Drayton pointed a gnarled index finger at Theodosia. “Bingo. That lady also wins a prize.”
“So both Leah and Harlan knew about the plants and had access to them,” mused Theodosia. “That’s fairly interesting.”
“Some might say damning,” said Drayton. “You’re going to phone Sheriff Billings and see if he knows about the existence of the nightshade garden?”
Theodosia glanced at her watch. “That’s definitely on my agenda. Soon as we get the tea shop prepped for the day.”
“Are you going to mention Leah and Harlan’s names to him, too?” asked Drayton.
Theodosia thought for a minute. “I almost have to. Especially Leah, since she was a docent at Carthage Place and she worked with Mark.”
“It’s certainly a major coincidence,” said Drayton, narrowing his eyes. “I wonder if Ms. Shalimar will admit to being at the Plantation Ramble on Sunday.”
“Was she there?” asked Haley.
“Don’t know,” said Theodosia. “But you can certainly ask her. She’ll be here in a matter of hours.”
“Oooh, that’s right,” said Haley.
“Uh, excuse me, but there’s another big question on the table,” said Drayton. “Do you plan to tell Angie about the notes Fayne Hamilton wrote to her husband?”
“I’m kind of agonizing over that one,” admitted Theodosia.
“Well, I don’t think you should tell her,” said Drayton. “At least not right now. Angie’s in a very fragile state. Seeing those notes might upset her even more.”
“What do you think, Haley?” asked Theodosia.
Haley pushed her stick-straight hair behind her ears and exhaled slowly. Finally she said, “I think, as a friend, you owe it to Angie to be completely honest.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Drayton.
Theodosia slipped one hand into her pocket and fingered the two notes. “A dilemma,” she murmured.
Midmorning, just as their customers had settled in, just as Drayton was pouring steaming cups of Irish Breakfast tea and Theodosia was distributing lemon–poppy seed scones, Delaine Dish came bustling in. She slalomed her way through the tea shop, delivering air kisses and emitting delighted squeals as she ran into friends on the way. Then she plunked herself down at the small table next to the stone fireplace.
“Angie Congdon tells me you’re investigating Mark’s death,” Delaine said without preamble once Theodosia had drifted over with a small pot of Russian Caravan tea and a plate arranged with a trio of fresh-baked mini pecan muffins.
Theodosia gave a hesitant smile. She didn’t feel it was appropriate to reveal everything to Delaine. “Somewhat,” she hedged. “Angie kind of asked for my help with some things.”