Sweat Tea Revenge by Laura Childs Page B

lifting his pinkie finger as he did so. “Delicious.”
    “She did ask me to take a look at Simone Asher,” Theodosia admitted. Why not tell Tidwell? What did she have to lose?
    “Simone of Archangel,” said Tidwell. “Mr. Granville’s most recent ex-girlfriend. The one he spurned in favor of Miss Dish.” He gathered up his cloth napkin and gently patted his lips.
    “When you put it that way, it sounds like Simone really is a suspect,” said Theodosia. She stared directly at Tidwell and, when he didn’t answer, said, “Is she?”
    Tidwell shook his enormous head. “Doubtful. Although she was questioned at length.”
    “What about Delaine? You questioned her at length, too. You don’t really believe she’s the killer, do you?”
    “It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Tidwell. “It’s where the clues lead and the evidence piles up.” He picked up a silver butter knife, cut his scone in half, then applied an enormous pat of butter.
    “And where have the clues led so far?
Are
there any clues?”
    “That information is strictly confidential,” said Tidwell, chewing as he answered.
    “You can confide in me,” said Theodosia. “After all, I was there. I’m a star witness.”
    Tidwell guffawed. “You were an unlucky passerby.” He helped himself to another bite.
    “I’m sure you’ve interviewed many of the wedding guests by now?”
    Tidwell made a noncommittal grunt.
    “What about Granville’s business partner?” Theodosia asked. When Tidwell’s left eye twitched oh-so-slightly, she knew she’d struck gold. “Ho, you
are
looking at him. At . . .” For some reason she couldn’t dredge up the man’s name.
    “Grumley,” supplied Tidwell. “Allan Grumley.”
    “Right. But what I’d like to know is
why
you’d take a hard look at him? I’ve always been under the impression that Granville and Grumley was an incredibly successful law firm. That the two partners functioned extremely well together. They certainly got enough publicity to bear that out.”
    “To all outward appearances, yes, they seemed like an unstoppable force. But when individual staffers were questioned, there appeared to be . . . let’s just call it seeds of unrest.”
    “What kind of unrest?” asked Theodosia. She wondered if this internal unrest had accounted for Delaine’s poor treatment this morning.
    “That I cannot divulge,” said Tidwell.
    “Are you taking a careful look at Granville’s stepson, Charles Horton?”
    Tidwell nodded. “I am.”
    “And?”
    “He appears to be an amiable chap,” said Tidwell. “I’ve found nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing to suspect him of foul play.”
    Theodosia was beginning to feel frustrated. “Have you figured out who was in the room next to Granville? The mysterious Mr. Chapin?”
    Tidwell hesitated for a moment. “No.”
    “What about the missing paperweight?” Theodosia asked.
    “Nothing yet,” said Tidwell.
    Theodosia furrowed her brow.
    “What?” said Tidwell.
    “Don’t you find it interesting?” said Theodosia.
    “Find what interesting?”
    “That the killer didn’t bring a murder weapon with him,” said Theodosia. “No gun, no knife, no rope. He used whatever was at hand.”
    “What you’re saying is the murder wasn’t premeditated,” said Tidwell.
    Theodosia tilted her head, considering this. “I guess I am. So that means the killer didn’t start out with an intent to kill. He acted rashly, in the heat of the moment.”
    “It’s certainly possible,” said Tidwell.
    “Then it had to have been a wedding guest,” said Theodosia. “Unless someone else sneaked into the building.”
    Tidwell looked smug. “See, you are investigating.”
    Theodosia almost lost it. “Well,
somebody
has to!” she blurted out.
    *   *   *
    “I’m taking off!”
Haley called. She popped out from between the velvet curtains, looking a little harried. She wore a T-shirt and jeans and had a colorful raffia book bag slung over one