Free Ming Tea Murder by Laura Childs Page A

inconsequential.”
    â€œObviously not.”
    â€œOur disagreement concerned publicity for the opening of the tea house.”
    Theodosia waggled her fingers. “Okay. Tell me more. Give me all the dirty details.”
    â€œI decided our private-donor party really didn’t warrant any publicity,” said Max. “I figured it was smarter to conserve our resources and garner as much press as possible for the public opening instead.”
    â€œSounds right to me.”
    Max rocked forward in his chair and gazed at Theodosia earnestly. “It is right. I mean, think about it: Invitations had gone out and donors and Gold Circle patrons had already RSVP’d to the opening-night party. In my book, there’s nothing worse than generating publicity for an event that the general public isn’t invited to attend. Isn’t
allowed
to attend. It’s elitist and rude and defeats the purpose of presenting ourselves as a public institution.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” said Theodosia. Before opening the Indigo Tea Shop, she’d spent several years as a marketing executive. She understood the business of PR and media relations. “But you’re telling me that Edgar Webster didn’t agree with you.”
    â€œThat’s right. He had his heart set on a feature story in the
Post and
Courier.
Apparently, he was fairly well connected with the arts editor, Phil Sirochi, and had it all ironed out.”
    â€œHe wanted to toot his own horn,” said Theodosia. “And that of the donors who paid to import the tea house.”
    â€œI’m fairly sure that was the gist of it,” said Max. “But the story would have come off as a self-serving article about a bunch of rich guys.”
    â€œSo you put the kibosh on it.”
    â€œYes, I did,” said Max. “I made a call to Sirochi, explained the situation, and that was the end of it. The other thing is, all publicity, all marketing efforts, are supposed to be run through me. We can’t have everyone at the museum scurrying around like chickens with their heads cut off, writing their own press releases and sucking up to the media.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Theodosia. “The media is supposed to suck up to you, to the PR guy.”
    That brought a faint smile to Max’s face. “Something like that, yes.”
    Theodosia gazed about her living room with its beamed ceiling, chintz and damask furniture, antique highboy, and elegant oil paintings, and said, “So that’s why Webster was chewing you out last night? Because you pulled the plug on his publicity?”
    â€œYeah . . . and I have to admit I pretty much shrugged him off. Nicely, of course. But now . . . now our confrontation has taken on new meaning and been blown completely out of proportion.”
    â€œAnd the board of directors really did vote to oust you?”
    â€œProbably because they’re running scared. They’re worried about possible lawsuits from Charlotte Webster as well as from Edgar Webster’s company. Or they’re afraid of bad publicity, as well as backlash from board members, patrons, and donors—you name it.”
    â€œCowards,” said Theodosia.
    â€œLooking for a fall guy,” said Max. “Hey, for all I know one of the board members or Gold Circle patrons
who was there last night
could have stabbed Webster. I don’t attend their board meetings and affinity groups, so I don’t know what goes on. But I’m sure there’s a fair amount of political maneuvering and backstabbing.”
    â€œOr ear stabbing,” said Theodosia.
    â€œWell, yes,” said Max. “Unfortunately.”
    Theodosia thought about the situation. Pretty much every board of directors that she’d served on, with the exception of Big Paw Service Dogs, had been rife with infighting. It was the nature of the beast.
    â€œSo that’s it,” said Max. “In a