Free Sweat Tea Revenge by Laura Childs

suddenly appears. Only it’s not just dinner, it’s a fanciful
creation
!”
    “Really,” said Theodosia. “It’s just a simple pizza tonight. Per your request.”
    “But the cool thing is, you made it from scratch.”
    “Everything I learned about food chemistry and cooking I learned from Haley,” said Theodosia. And it was true. Haley had taught her about the five basic tastes: sweet, bitter, sour, salty, and umami. And that baking generally relied on exact measurements, while cooking could be a lot more laissez-faire.
    “Why do I somehow doubt that?” asked Max. “Why do I think you were born with a love and a knack for preparing great food. That you probably had a set of play dishes and one of those toy stoves when you were, like, two.”
    “You know,” said Theodosia, as she peeked into the oven, “this is exactly what I’m in dire need of. Flattery and sweet talk. Definitely helps take my mind off Delaine.”
    “Has she been haunting you?” asked Max.
    “Endlessly,” said Theodosia, chuckling to herself at his choice of words. Lots of talk about hauntings lately. She opened the oven door and peered in. “Say, this pizza is going to be ready in about two more minutes.”
    “I take it Delaine stopped by today? At the tea shop?”
    “She and a very nice woman named Millie Grant, who turned out to be Granville’s secretary.”
    “But Delaine was bugging you.”
    “Oh, yeah. She wants me to look into things . . . you know.”
    “And you’re undecided.”
    Theodosia shrugged. “I guess.”
    “Did you ask her about the cocaine?”
    “She says she’s never tried it in her life,” said Theodosia.
    “And you believe her?”
    “I do,” said Theodosia. “Delaine on cocaine would be like a Formula One car going three hundred miles an hour.”
    “What about Granville?”
    “She said maybe, in the past. But not anymore.”
    “Clearly she was mistaken,” said Max. He took a sip of wine and added, “Cocaine is basically God’s way of telling you you have too much money.”
    “Oh, you,” said Theodosia.
    Max set his glass on the counter and opened his arms. Which was Theodosia’s cue to toss her pot holder aside and help herself to another kiss and a hug.
    “Really,” she said. “You’ve been great about this.” And he had. Max had been sympathetic and solicitous to her all weekend. In fact, he’d dropped by last night, on his way to a donor’s dinner, to offer comfort and kisses.
    “That pizza’s not going to catch fire in there, is it?” Max asked, suddenly worried about his dinner.
    No
, Theodosia thought.
But I might.
    *   *   *
    Theodosia waited until
she’d served Max a second slice of pizza and poured another half glass of wine. Then she said, “How do you feel about ghosts?”
    Max had been feeding Earl Grey a tidbit of golden crust. When he heard her question, he paused and looked slightly bemused. “Is this a theoretical question, or have you heard chains rattling in your attic?”
    “I don’t have an attic,” said Theodosia. “Just a crawl space. And I’m asking your opinion because I don’t know if ghosts are whimsical entities or if there’s the possibility they really do exist.”
    “Uh-oh,” said Max. “Sounds like the beginning of an existential ectoplasm discussion.”
    “It’s not funny,” said Theodosia. “I really want your opinion on this.”
    Max squinted across the table at her. “Why do I have the feeling this somehow relates to Mr. Granville’s recent passing?”
    “Because it does,” said Theodosia.
    “In that case, you better give me some context. Fill me in a little more so I can better answer your question.”
    So Theodosia told Max about how Bill Glass, with complete sincerity, had told her that Ravencrest Inn was reputedly haunted. And then she explained to him how two amateur ghost hunters, surprise, surprise, had suddenly come galloping into her tea shop this morning.
    “Ghost hunters,” said Max. He looked