to go along with this front row business for Delaine’s sake. This entire afternoon—an amalgam of fashion, music, drinks, and craziness—was an elaborate package deal. And she not only had to buy into it, but was expected to bid—generously at that—on some of the clothes.
Oh well.
Theodosia made her way to the bar and grabbed a glass of champagne from a young, hunky-looking bartender. Just as she was headed for the front row, her cell phone rang. Dipping a hand into her bag, she scooped it out and checked her screen.
Indigo Tea Shop.
Uh-oh, a problem?
“Hello?”
“Theo, it’s Haley.”
“Is everything okay?”
Please tell me the tea shop didn’t blow up.
“Just peachy,” said Haley. “But I checked on that thing for you.”
“Thing,” said Theodosia.
“You know. Green alien.”
“Okay.”
“You remember that sort of Goth guy I used to go out with? Heinrich?”
“I remember.” Theodosia remembered Haley’s friend as having more metal in his lips, eyebrow, and ear than a custom hot rod.
“Well,” said Haley, “he’s kind of counterculture, so I figured he might know something.”
“About the green alien reference,” said Theodosia.
Come on, spit it out.
“It means . . .” Haley dropped her voice. “A kind of heroin.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Wow. Talk to you later . . . and thanks.”
She stood stock-still in the sea of women and thought about the ramifications of this. Was Drew using heroin? Had he been a drug addict? Did that have something to do with why he was killed?
The overhead lights blinked once, a warning for everyone to hurry up and find their seats.
Still pondering the significance of green alien, Theodosia slipped between the runway and the first row of chairs, searching for the chair with her name pinned to the back, trying not to bump the knees of the women who were already seated. And just as she spotted her chair, a hand reached up to stop her.
Theodosia glanced down and put a game smile on her face, ready to say hello. But she didn’t recognize this woman whose hand was clamped tightly about her wrist. A woman with a broad, squarish face, sparkling eyes, and an enormous reddish-orange beehive hairdo. Talk about your Southern tradition of big hair—she made Theodosia look like an amateur!
Then the woman smiled and said in a fairly assertive tone, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Theodosia was searching her brain, trying to put a name to this face. Was this a customer from her tea shop? A friend of Delaine’s? When she wasn’t able to retrieve the woman’s name from her internal database, she gave a smile and a resigned shrug and said, “I’m very sorry . . .”
The woman continued to grin up at her. “I’m Georgette Kroft from Oak Hill Winery.”
9
“Oh my goodness!”
said Theodosia. She was so startled, the words just seemed to burst from her mouth.
“I don’t think
goodness
is quite the right word, darlin’,” Georgette drawled in response. “In fact, I’ll bet you’ve been told that I’m the devil incarnate.” She released Theodosia’s hand and waited for her to settle into the chair next to her.
“I haven’t heard anything quite
that
bad,” said Theodosia. Now that she’d recovered from her initial shock, she was curious to learn something about this woman whom Pandora really had demonized.
“I’ll just bet,” said Georgette, “that Jordan and Pandora Knight asked you to take a hard look at me. Am I right? I bet they pointed their irate little fingers at me and said, ‘She’s the killer!’”
Instead of answering yes or no, Theodosia said, “How do you know I’ve been talking to the Knights? That they’ve asked me to look into things for them?”
“I have my ways,” said Georgette. “And let’s face it, now that we’re sitting here having our friendly little tête-à-tête, you
are
curious about me, aren’t you? You really do want to know
Oh well.
Theodosia made her way to the bar and grabbed a glass of champagne from a young, hunky-looking bartender. Just as she was headed for the front row, her cell phone rang. Dipping a hand into her bag, she scooped it out and checked her screen.
Indigo Tea Shop.
Uh-oh, a problem?
“Hello?”
“Theo, it’s Haley.”
“Is everything okay?”
Please tell me the tea shop didn’t blow up.
“Just peachy,” said Haley. “But I checked on that thing for you.”
“Thing,” said Theodosia.
“You know. Green alien.”
“Okay.”
“You remember that sort of Goth guy I used to go out with? Heinrich?”
“I remember.” Theodosia remembered Haley’s friend as having more metal in his lips, eyebrow, and ear than a custom hot rod.
“Well,” said Haley, “he’s kind of counterculture, so I figured he might know something.”
“About the green alien reference,” said Theodosia.
Come on, spit it out.
“It means . . .” Haley dropped her voice. “A kind of heroin.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Wow. Talk to you later . . . and thanks.”
She stood stock-still in the sea of women and thought about the ramifications of this. Was Drew using heroin? Had he been a drug addict? Did that have something to do with why he was killed?
The overhead lights blinked once, a warning for everyone to hurry up and find their seats.
Still pondering the significance of green alien, Theodosia slipped between the runway and the first row of chairs, searching for the chair with her name pinned to the back, trying not to bump the knees of the women who were already seated. And just as she spotted her chair, a hand reached up to stop her.
Theodosia glanced down and put a game smile on her face, ready to say hello. But she didn’t recognize this woman whose hand was clamped tightly about her wrist. A woman with a broad, squarish face, sparkling eyes, and an enormous reddish-orange beehive hairdo. Talk about your Southern tradition of big hair—she made Theodosia look like an amateur!
Then the woman smiled and said in a fairly assertive tone, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Theodosia was searching her brain, trying to put a name to this face. Was this a customer from her tea shop? A friend of Delaine’s? When she wasn’t able to retrieve the woman’s name from her internal database, she gave a smile and a resigned shrug and said, “I’m very sorry . . .”
The woman continued to grin up at her. “I’m Georgette Kroft from Oak Hill Winery.”
9
“Oh my goodness!”
said Theodosia. She was so startled, the words just seemed to burst from her mouth.
“I don’t think
goodness
is quite the right word, darlin’,” Georgette drawled in response. “In fact, I’ll bet you’ve been told that I’m the devil incarnate.” She released Theodosia’s hand and waited for her to settle into the chair next to her.
“I haven’t heard anything quite
that
bad,” said Theodosia. Now that she’d recovered from her initial shock, she was curious to learn something about this woman whom Pandora really had demonized.
“I’ll just bet,” said Georgette, “that Jordan and Pandora Knight asked you to take a hard look at me. Am I right? I bet they pointed their irate little fingers at me and said, ‘She’s the killer!’”
Instead of answering yes or no, Theodosia said, “How do you know I’ve been talking to the Knights? That they’ve asked me to look into things for them?”
“I have my ways,” said Georgette. “And let’s face it, now that we’re sitting here having our friendly little tête-à-tête, you
are
curious about me, aren’t you? You really do want to know
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