Ming Tea Murder by Laura Childs Read Free Book Online Page A

way to say it, she just blurted out, “Max was fired.”
    â€œNo!” Drayton reared back. “I can’t imagine that’s true.”
    She swallowed hard. “Well, it is. It just happened. Like, five minutes ago.”
    Drayton peered over his half-glasses, looking concerned and slightly owlish. “Do you want me to make a phone call?” Besides being a permanent fixture on the board of directors at the Heritage Society, Drayton
knew
people. People in high places.
    â€œI don’t know. Max is on his way back to the museum right now to try to straighten things out with the director.”
    â€œSo we should wait and see how this plays out?” said Drayton.
    â€œI think so. For now anyway.”
    Drayton reached up and grabbed a tin of Fujian white tea. “I think my ladies are going to enjoy this. Picked by hand for only a few choice days each spring from young, tender leaves. Sweet with a slight apricot fragrance . . .” He offered a reassuring smile. “Please don’t worry, Theo. I’m sure this will all get straightened out. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
    But Theodosia was clearly flustered throughout the rest of their luncheon service. She delivered a pot of jasmine tea to Mrs. Biatek’s table when she’d actually ordered rose tea. And a pot of East Frisian blend was misdirected to another table that had really wanted a Russian country blend.
    â€œThis isn’t like me,” Theodosia fretted to Drayton once she’d scurried back to the counter.
    â€œNot to worry. This is all easily remedied with fresh pots of tea,” he soothed.
    â€œStill, to make such silly mistakes.” She glanced down and saw that her hands were shaking. She clenched them hard to try to calm herself.
    â€œYou’re way too hard on yourself,” said Drayton.
    â€œNo,” she said. “The board was way too hard on Max.”
    â€¢ • •
    At midafternoon, down on her hands and knees, replenishing her shelves with DuBose Bees Honey and scone mixes, Theodosia looked up to find Bill Glass hovering over her.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she asked him. Bill Glass was the smarmy, nosy publisher of
Shooting Star
, Charleston’s very own gossip rag. Glass had founded it right after the tech boom and, like a really hideous reality show, it hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had grown more and more popular every year until it had become a kitschy little weekly filled with glossy photos and bits of snide gossip that appealed to the nouveau riche.
    â€œThe-o-do-sia,” said Glass, giving her one of his trademark toothy great white shark grins. “I heard you were swanning around last night at that very fancy but oh-so-disastrous museum party.” The cameras strung around his neck clanked and clicked as if to punctuate his words.
    Theodosia stumbled to her feet. “Where did you hear that?” She hated Glass for having such a tight little network of informers.
    Glass held up a hand and made a fluttering motion. “A little bird told me. A little bird that siiiings.” With his slicked-back hair and shiny suit, he reminded Theodosia of a sleazy used-car salesman. Or maybe somebody who sold advertising.
    â€œLet me guess,” said Theodosia. “You’re here looking for inside information.”
    Bill Glass shot an index finger at her. “Right-o, sweetheart.”
    â€œI really don’t know anything.”
    â€œPerfect. Pour me a cup of tea and tell me all about what you don’t
know,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.
    Theodosia considered him for a moment. Maybe Glass had picked up something that she could use. That’s if she could muster the stamina to wheedle it out of him.
    â€œOkay,” said Theodosia. “Grab a seat at that table over there. But please, please don’t disturb anyone.”
    â€œGotcha.”
    Theodosia hurriedly poured a cup