Author Biography

Laura Childs is the New York Times bestselling author of the Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbooking Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. In her previous life she was CEO of her own marketing firm, authored several screenplays, and produced a reality TV show.

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Tea Maven Theodosia Browning brews up trouble in the latest Tea Shop Mystery from New York Times bestselling author Laura Childs, now in paperback

Excerpt from Book

1 Summer no longer held sway in the low country of South Carolina. Golds and russets had replaced vivid greens, while a cerulean blue sky offered the promise of cooler weather. Then, suddenly . . . BANG! BANG! And another BANG! BANG! A series of gunshots exploded like a riff of Black Cat firecrackers, the retorts echoing off sweeping vistas of yarrow and pine forests. "Got one!" a woman''s voice called out, triumphant. "You seriously got one?" a male voice responded, surprise mixed with admiration. Theodosia Browning lowered her shotgun and nodded. This wasn''t her first shooting party. She''d hunted game birds before, especially quail and grouse. Spending childhood summers at nearby Cane Ridge Plantation, she''d also once shot a wild turkey, along with a few varmints that had overstepped their bounds and tried to make a tasty meal out of her aunt Libby''s exotic French Crvecoeur chickens. "Well done," Drayton said. "Obviously, you have a much keener eye and steadier aim than I do. I haven''t managed to hit a single thing." "It helps if you actually pick up the gun," Theodosia said. An amused smile danced across her face. "Well." Drayton fingered his bow tie nervously. "I''m not sure I really want to do that." It was a fine Sunday afternoon, and tea shop owner Theodosia and her tea sommelier Drayton Conneley were tromping through the vast fields of Creekmore Plantation at the kind invitation of Drayton''s good friend, Reginald Doyle. Doyle had previously served on the board of Charleston''s Heritage Society with Drayton and was CEO of Celantis Pharmaceuticals as well as part owner of Trollope''s Restaurant. Doyle and his wife, Meredith, were also rabid Anglophiles. Thus, this entire day had been styled in the precise manner of a traditional English shooting party. Which meant elevenses (in this case glasses of bourbon and gin fizzes), gun loaders, five fine-looking bird dogs, and shooting costumes of tweed, herringbone, and suede. All teams had drawn "pegs" to determine which area they''d be hunting in. "You very much look the part today," Theodosia said to Drayton. "As if you just stepped out of an episode of Downton Abbey." "I feel like I just did," he said. Drayton was sixty-something with a kind face, a slightly arched nose, and a patrician bearing. He was kitted out today in a tweed jacket, wool slacks, and English Wellington boots. Drayton had added his trademark gentleman''s bow tie to the outfit, and at the last minute, Theodosia had presented him with a shooting vest from Huntley''s Ltd. in Charleston. A traditional Balmoral cap completed his outfit. Theodosia, on the other hand, was wearing a tailored suede jacket, white shirt, tweed slacks, and low walking boots. Being outdoors today, reveling in the abundant sunshine and cool breezes, seemed to impart an extra sparkle to her crystalline blue eyes and an excited flush to her peaches and cream complexion. Theodosia once mused that her abundant halo of auburn hair might have come compliments of ginger-bearded Vikings who''d long ago arrived on English shores and found themselves smitten by her distant English relatives of the female persuasion. "So how should I be carrying this thing?" Drayton asked. He was referring to the shotgun that Reginald Doyle had loaned him and that he held gingerly, as if it were a plague-infested rat. "Always break your gun while walking and keep the barrels pointed down," Theodosia said. "That way there''s no chance of an accidental discharge." Drayton grimaced. "Heaven forbid." "Beautiful out here, isn''t it?" Theodosia said. A line of poplars stretched off to their left, silvered leaves fluttering in the wind. To their right was an undulating hillside of tall golden grasses. Beyond that, a line of purple stretched to the sky. "Lavender," Theodosia murmured. "I believe that''s a field of lavender." "Beg pardon?" Drayton said. Then, suddenly, his face lit up, and he let loose a hearty wave and a loud, "Hello!" "Hey ho!" Reginald Doyle hailed back as he emerged from the trees along with Jack Grimes, his caretaker. "You two having any luck?" "Theo got a bird," Drayton said as the two men joined them. "A grouse," Theodosia said. "Excellent. Well done," Doyle said. He was ruddy faced and breathing hard, an older gent who''d made his fortune in pharmaceuticals and enjoyed his role as lord of the manor. Grinning, Doyle pulled out a silver flask and offered it to them. "Have a celebratory nip, then?" "No, thank you," Theodosia said. She didn''t think it was particularly wise to drink and shoot, even though she was guilty of sipping a single gin fizz at elevenses. "None for me, either," Drayton said, holding up a hand. "Then I shall help myself," Doyle said. He unscrewed the top of his flask, raised it in a kind of salute, and tipped it back. Grimes, a weathered, outdoorsy-looking man dressed in a barn jacket, khakis, and mud-streaked leather boots, looked on with faint disapproval. "Sir," Grimes finally said. "We need to move on. Check on Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Thorne." "Right you are," Doyle said in a jovial tone. He capped his flask and said, "And we need to let our friends here get back to their shooting." "Yes, sir," Grimes said. When the two of them were alone again, Drayton glanced about nervously. "I hope no one sends a wayward shot in our direction." "This is a big, sprawling plantation," Theodosia said. "So I doubt that''s going to happen. Besides, we all drew pegs to determine our own particular area." They traipsed along a faint trail for a half mile or so but didn''t flush any birds. As they stopped to mull things over, a few faint shots sounded ahead of them, but still far off in the distance. Then, as if in response, two chocolate brown Boykin Spaniels suddenly flew past them, amber eyes gleaming, feathered ears streaming out behind. "Someone must be having a good day," Theodosia said. "If your aunt Libby knew we were out shooting birds she''d have a royal conniption," Drayton said. Theodosia had to agree with him. Her aunt Libby, who lived nearby, was a bird lover of the first magnitude, always putting out suet, seed, and her ubiquitous cracklins. Yes, this part of the county teemed with all manner of birds. They fluttered, flew, nested in the grasses, perched in the trees. In fact . . . "There!" Theodosia shouted as a pair of grouse flew up directly in front of them. "Drayton, take a shot!" The grouse continued on their flight path, not a feather touched. "You have to aim," Theodosia said. Drayton looked uncomfortable. "I did aim." "I meant at the birds." "Well . . ." "I get it, Drayton. You''re not a natural-born hunter." "Sweet Fanny Adams, no, I am not," Drayton declared. "That''s okay. We''ll just . . ." Pop. Theodosia''s words trailed off with a sharp intake of breath. That was a single shot off to her right that she''d just heard. Not the loud boom of a shotgun, but a faint pop, like the distinctive retort of a handgun. And how strange that it sounded so near to them in an area where not many game birds had been flushed. An area they were supposed to have all to themselves. Drayton''s head jerked toward Theodosia. "Was that a shot?" He glanced around again, looking even more skittish. "I think so," Theodosia said. "But I don''t believe anyone in our hunting party is over this way. Much less shooting with a . . ." Her voice trailed off again as she lowered her shotgun. That had been a handgun she''d heard. But who could have fired it? Could it be a distress signal? she wondered. Was someone injured? A twisted leg or something worse? After a few moments'' hesitation, Theodosia said, "Give me a minute. You stay here while I check this out." She struck off in the direction of the gunshot. "Where are you going?" Drayton called after her. Theodosia waved a hand without turning around. "I want to investigate that shot." "Please don''t." "I''ll be back in two minutes, tops." "Be careful!" Theodosia tromped through long grasses for sixty, then seventy yards. She was out of sight of Drayton now, but it was slow going. The ground had turned hilly and uneven, and she was forced to traverse around a miniature forest of shrubs and small trees. Another five minutes of bushwhacking, and she was almost at the lavender field. But that isn''t part of Reginald Doyle''s property. Still, she''d heard that gunshot.

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