Relenting, Theodosia walked across the room and flipped the lever on the thermostat. She was immediately rewarded by an electrical hum followed by a small puff of warm air.
Okay, she asked herself, what am I missing? She stood, staring at the droplets of water that streamed down the outside of the windows, reminding her of tears. Like Doe’s tears for her dead husband, Oliver Dixon?
She believed fervently that Oliver Dixon was more than just the victim; he was also the linchpin in all this. If she could figure out why someone wanted Oliver out of the way, she could establish motive.
And when you found motive, you usually found the murderer.
Theodosia went to her computer and sat down. She had looked at the financial and start-up information on Oliver Dixon’s new company, Grapevine, and nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. They’d spent a lot of money on research and development, but that was fairly typical. And because Grapevine was a start-up high-tech company, their burn rate, or rate of spending for the first few months, had been high but certainly not unexpected.
She wondered what the media had written about Grapevine. Haley had quoted from an article in the business section of the Post and Courier. But, from the rah-rah sound of it, the article had probably been reedited from a press release that the company itself had prepared. That was usually how those things worked. Lord knows, over the years she herself had written enough press releases that got turned into newspaper articles or sidebars in trade publications.
But what had the hard-nosed business analysts said about Grapevine? The techie guys from Forrester or the business mavens at Arthur Andersen? Or even the reviewers at some of the vertical trade pubs?
Easy enough to check, she thought, as she clicked on Netscape and typed in the key word “Grapevine.”
Forty-seven thousand hits came up for Grapevine, everything from rock bands to a restaurant in Napa Valley. Oops. Definitely got to narrow the search, Theodosia decided.
Now she added the term PDA to the search parameter. That yielded sixty-three hits. Far more manageable.
Theodosia scanned down her new list of hits, searching for a company profile, analyst’s report, anything that might give her an outsider’s snapshot view of Grapevine.
She clicked open an article from Technology Voyage, a well-respected publication that reported on new products and trends in E-commerce and provided top-line analyses of various new high-tech companies. She had actually placed advertising in Technology Voyage and met with its editors when she worked on the Avanti account, a company that manufactured semiconductors.
The Technology Voyage article was titled “PDAs on the Fast Track.” It began with a good overview of the PDA market. Sales were erupting, topping three billion dollars with projections of more than six billion dollars by next year. And just as Haley had said, PDAs were touted as portable, pocket-sized devices that let you magically keep track of appointments, addresses, phone numbers, to-do lists, and personal notes. More full-featured PDAs could even be used to send and receive E-mail, surf the Internet, or support digital cameras.
The article went on to list the various PDA manufacturers, manufacturers of PDA applications, chips and inner workings, and PDA wireless service and content providers.
According to the article, Grapevine was a manufacturer of flash memory cards, thirty-two and sixty-four-megabyte SD cards for storing data in those PDAs that used the Palm operating system.
Wow, thought Theodosia. What with working on computers, setting up a Web site, and trading stocks on-line, I’m fairly well versed in technology, but this is getting slightly complicated!
The article went on to list the burgeoning number of PDA manufacturers that included such companies as Casio, IBM, Hewlett-Packard, Royal, Compaq, and Handspring, and briefly detailed Microsoft’s competing operating system, Pocket PC.
Theodosia put two fingers to her forehead, kneaded gently at the beginnings of a techno headache. Better to quit while she was ahead? She scanned the rest of the article quickly, then became caught up again. As she read the “Editors Choice” thumbnail sketches of several different PDAs, she wondered how she’d ever gotten along without a Blackberry to deliver wireless E-mails. Then she changed her mind in favor of an Ericsson that boasted handwriting and voice recognition. And finally, Theodosia decided the daVinci, with its tiny folding keyboard, had to be the slickest thing yet.
Would one of these minicomputers work for her? Perhaps so. A whizbang PDA might help her keep better track of all manner of things. Tea party commitments, shopping lists and—she pulled her face into a wry grin—a list of murder suspects? She shook her head. Time to give it a rest. She was starting to obsess, and that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.
Chapter 17
“Haley, where are the tea candles?” barked Drayton.
“Top shelf,” she called from the kitchen.
“Not the colored ones, I want the beeswax candles in the little Chinese blue and white containers.” Drayton stood behind the counter, frowning, studying the floor-toceiling shelves.
“Bottom shelf,” came Haley’s voice again. “On the left.”
Mumbling to himself, Drayton bent down and began pulling rolls of blue tissue paper, small blue shopping bags, and corrugated gift boxes from the cupboard in a mad rush to find his candles.
“Stop it.” Haley, ever vigilant and slightly phobic about tidiness, appeared behind him and admonished him sharply. “You’re getting everything all catawampus.”
She knelt down. “Better let me do it,” she said in a kinder tone. Opening the cupboard door on the far left, she pulled out the candles Drayton had been searching for. “Here,” she said as she put two boxes into his outstretched hands. “Candles. Far left.”
“Thank you,” Drayton said sheepishly. “Guess I really am in a twitter today.”
“You got that right,” Haley grumped as she stuffed everything back into the cupboard. “Good thing this mystery tea thing isn’t a weekly event. I’d be a wreck. We’d all be a wreck.”
“Who’s a wreck?” asked Theodosia as she let herself in the front door.
“Drayton is,” joked Haley. “In his sublime paranoia to keep everything a secret, he’s ending up doing most of the prep work himself. Although he has deigned to allow me to bake a few of his menu items,” she added with a wicked grin.
“Like what?” asked Theodosia. “I’m in the dark as much as you are,” she explained as she slipped off her light coat and shook raindrops from it.
“Oh, let’s see,” said Haley. “Cannelles de Bordeaux, croquets aux pignons, and fougasse. Which is really just pastry, cookies, and breads. Except when you say it in French, it sounds exquisite. Of course, anything said in French sounds exquisite. A case in point: boudin noir.”
“What’s that?” asked Theodosia.
“Blood sausage,” replied Haley.
Drayton rolled his eyes. “A bit bizarre for one of my teas,” he declared as his eyes went to his watch, a classic Piaget that seemed to perpetually run a few minutes late. “Haley, it’s almost nine. Better unlock the door.”
“Theodosia already did,” Haley shot back, then threw Theodosia a questioning glance. “You did, didn’t you?” she whispered.
Theodosia gave a quick nod.
“I heard that, Haley,” said Drayton.
“I don’t know how many customers we’ll have today,” said Theodosia. “It’s still raining like crazy out there.”