Free Sweat Tea Revenge by Laura Childs Page B

pulled out her cell phone and called the Indigo Tea Shop. Drayton picked up on the first ring.
    “Where are you?” he asked in a brusque tone. It was unusual for her not to be there helping with their morning setup.
    “I’m basking in the sun on King Street,” said Theodosia.
    “Why are you not here slaving away with Haley and me?”
    “Because Delaine asked me to have a little chat with Simone Asher, Granville’s former girlfriend. And her shop is in this part of town.”
    “I take it Delaine believes that hard-hearted Simone is the one who murdered Dougan Granville?” said Drayton.
    “Something like that, yes.”
    “I met Simone the day of the wedding,” said Drayton. “She seemed a lot more interested in getting photographed for
Shooting Star
than she was in Granville. So trust me when I say she probably had nothing to do with it. This is just one of Delaine’s strange delusions coupled with some sort of revenge fantasy.”
    “You’re probably right. And even though your diagnosis is right out of Psych 101, I’m going to indulge Delaine’s paranoia anyway.”
    “You say this ex-girlfriend owns an antique shop?” asked Drayton.
    “Vintage shop,” said Theodosia.
    “Well, if you should happen to come across a Royale Garden Amari Chintz teapot, kindly grab it for me, will you? Mine has a nasty chip on the spout.”
    “I’ll keep an eye out,” Theodosia promised.
    *   *   *
    Archangel turned out
to be both glamorous and lovely. The shop was a small jewel box of a space with whitewashed walls, Oriental carpets on a polished wood floor, and a twinkling crystal chandelier overhead. The walls were decorated with vintage shawls and fans, and there were racks packed tightly with vintage gowns and dresses. Small glass cases with pinpoint spotlights were filled with treasures that included antique cameos, Bakelite bracelets, gold compacts from the thirties and forties, elegant rings, and screw-back earrings. Theodosia even spotted what she thought might be a genuine Verdura cuff. Amazing!
    “Can I help you?” Simone Asher looked up from a small round display table where she was arranging a pair of hot-pink Schiaparelli shoes, a black silk evening bag encrusted with rhinestones, a pair of gloves, a bottle of My Sin perfume, and a strand of pearls.
    “Those are gorgeous pearls,” said Theodosia. They were a dreamy pistachio-green color with an amazing luster.
    “Tahitians,” said Simone. “Natural, not cultured.” She picked up the choker-length strand and fingered them like worry beads. “From the twenties. Back when pearls were truly matched for perfection.” She smiled tightly and added, “You’re Theodosia, aren’t you? Delaine’s friend.” She straightened up and smoothed the white silk sheath dress she was wearing.
    “That’s right,” said Theodosia. She took her time studying Simone, since she’d never observed the woman in her natural habitat before. She’d caught glimpses of Simone here and there, dashing through shops and restaurants. And she’d seen her at Ravencrest Inn this past Saturday. But she’d never carried on an actual conversation with her. Now Theodosia saw that Simone was everything Delaine had raged about. The woman was tall, thin, leggy, and a sun-kissed blond. Simone was probably in her late thirties but could easily pass for a few years younger. She had the polished air of a fashion model who’d come to the end of her career in front of the camera but had easily segued into another line of work where her beauty and fashion know-how would serve her well. Basically, Simone had an attractiveness quotient that most women would kill for.
    “Are you a fan of vintage pieces?” Simone asked. Her languid way of speaking, a soft, melodic drawl, corresponded perfectly to the sensuous way she moved.
    “I am,” said Theodosia. She pointed at a black taffeta ankle-length dress draped on a mannequin. “Especially when we’re talking about a dress as gorgeous at