Tidwell added a lump of sugar to his tea and then another. “Your FBI friends sniffed him up and down for about two minutes.”
“You’re telling me they don’t see him as a viable suspect?”
Tidwell looked smug. “If they do, I’d say they’re grasping at straws.”
“Because there isn’t enough hard evidence?”
“My dear, there really isn’t any evidence at all.”
“I’m sorry my information about the hammer didn’t pan out,” Theodosia said. “You seemed to think there might be something there.”
“Investigations are like living, breathing things. They’re fluid and the information changes constantly.”
“Like how?” Theodosia asked. “Has something else changed?”
“Not really,” Tidwell said.
“Then tell me about the other suspects. Is the FBI hot on the trail of anyone?”
“Not as hot as this tea is.”
“Okay, if you could point me in someone’s direction, who would it be?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can,” Theodosia said.
“I don’t want you charging in and getting into trouble.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Theodosia sat for a couple seconds with her hands in her lap, and then said, “Of course, you could drop a subtle hint. Or even a very broad one.”
“You’re body punching now. You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Never. Not until the bitter end.”
Tidwell considered her words for a few moments and then said, “They’ve tried to downplay this, but I know the FBI is still moderately interested in Professor Shepley.”
Theodosia pounced on his words. “Because Shepley crashed Brooke’s jewelry event? And possibly had an interest in the alexandrite necklace?”
“That and the fact that he’s studied all things Russian.”
“You mean not just Russian literature?”
“The man spent time in Russia,” Tidwell said. “He’s probably well versed in art, culture, and . . .”
“Politics?” Theodosia said. “Has the FBI got their underwear in a twist over his politics?”
Tidwell leaned back in his chair. “I doubt Shepley subscribes to the Communist Manifesto, but I’m sure he’s not unfamiliar with its precepts.”
“We’re back to the days of the Cold War again, are we?” Theodosia asked.
“That and the fact that many of today’s more daring and brash jewel thieves hail from Eastern European countries.”
“That is interesting,” Theodosia said. “So you’re saying Shepley might have had the wherewithal to recruit a gang?”
“No,” Tidwell smiled. “You said it.”
? ? ?
Their Full Monty Tea kicked off at two o’clock sharp with the menu being, in Drayton’s words, “Terribly, terribly British.”
Haley pulled out all the stops and arranged their offerings on silver four-tiered serving trays. Fruit scones sat on top, squares of mini quiche on the second tier, cream cheese and cucumber tea sandwiches occupied the third tier, and small slices of chocolate cake topped with fresh raspberries were on the bottom tier.
Miss Dimple bustled around, serving tea and cooing happy hellos to all the people she knew, which turned out to be pretty much all of the guests.
While their guests enjoyed their first course of fruit scones, Theodosia did a little song and dance about the origin of the term the full monty, and then it was Drayton’s turn to take the floor.
He strode to the center of the tea shop, looking spiffy in his Harris Tweed jacket, cleared his throat, and said, “I thought since you were enjoying a proper British tea today, that you might also enjoy a poem. The one I’ve chosen to recite was penned by an anonymous London poet, and I think it speaks well to the great British tea tradition.”
A hush fell across the tea shop and then Drayton began:
Ambrosial plants! that from the east and west,
Or from the shores of Araby the blest,
Those odoriferous sprigs and berries send,
On which our wives and government depend.
Kind land! that gives rich presents, none receives,
And barters for leaf gold its golden leaves.
Bane of our nerves, and nerve of our excise,
In which a nation’s strength and weakness lies.
“Bravo!” Tidwell called out. “Excellent.” He was seated at a table for four, with two women. He’d basically done his best to ignore them and, after their initial overture at friendliness, the women had decided to ignore him, too. It was a nonaggression pact of sorts.
As the applause rose and then fell, the front door suddenly popped open and Delaine rushed in. She gazed about, a look of concern clouding her lovely face. Then, once she’d spotted Theodosia standing behind the counter, raced over to talk with her.
“Theodosia!” Delaine said. “There you are.”