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the business section,” said Haley.
    â€œSince when do you read the business section?” demanded Drayton.
    â€œSince I decided to pursue an MBA,” said Haley. “I want to run my own business someday. Like Theodosia.” She smiled companionably at Theodosia.
    â€œHaley, I think you’re already a whiz at business,” said Theodosia. “But tell us about this new company of Oliver Dixon’s. And don’t interrupt, Drayton.”
    â€œYes, dear.” Drayton hunched his shoulders forward, assuming a henpecked attitude, and they all giggled.
    â€œOliver Dixon had just swung a pile of venture capital money to launch a new company called Grapevine,” said Haley. “You know, as in ‘heard it on the grapevine.’ Anyway, Grapevine is set to manufacture expansion modules for PDAs.”
    â€œPray tell, what is a PDA?” asked Drayton.
    â€œPersonal digital assistant,” explained Haley. She reached into her apron pocket and produced a palm-sized gizmo that looked like a cross between a cell phone and a miniature computer screen. “See, I’ve got one. Mine’s a Palm Pilot. I keep notes and phone numbers and recipes and stuff on it. It even interfaces with my computer at home. According to Business Week , PDAs are the hottest thing. The world is going wireless, and PDAs are the newest techie trend.”
    â€œI don’t like to hear that,” shuddered Drayton. He was a self-proclaimed Luddite who strove to avoid all things technological. Drayton lived in a 160-year-old house that had once been owned by a Civil War surgeon, and he prided himself on maintaining his home in a historically accurate fashion. Drayton may have bowed to convention by having a telephone installed, but he drew the line at cable TV.
    â€œAnyway,” said Haley, “Oliver Dixon received his venture capital from a guy by the name of Booth Crowley. Grapevine was going to produce revolutionary new pager and remote modules that would make certain PDAs even more versatile.”
    â€œOh my,” said Miss Dimple. She was suddenly following the conversation with great interest.
    â€œWhat?” asked Theodosia.
    â€œBooth Crowley is a very astute businessman,” said Miss Dimple. “Apparently he doesn’t let a penny escape his grasp unless he’s got a carefully worded contract that his lawyers have put under a microscope. Mr. Dauphine, God rest his soul, was on the Arts Association committee with Booth Crowley and told me the man was extremely mindful of how funds were dispersed.”
    Mr. Dauphine had been Miss Dimple’s longtime employer. He had owned the Peregrine Building next door and had passed away last fall, while they were in the middle of trying to solve the mystery of the poisoning at the Lamplighter Tour.
    Theodosia nodded. She’d heard about Booth Crowley. Certainly nothing bad, but his business dealings bordered on legendary. He was a very powerful man in Charleston. Besides heading Cherry Tree Investments, one of Charleston’s premier venture capital firms, Booth Crowley sat on the board of directors of the Charleston Symphony Orchestra, the Gibbes Museum of Art, and Charleston Memorial Hospital. He was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
    The bell over the door tinkled merrily, and a dozen people suddenly poured into the shop. Haley and Drayton instantly popped up from their seats and swept toward them, intent on getting their visitors seated, settled, and served. Theodosia watched with keen approval as Haley adroitly addressed the group.
    â€œHow many? Three of you?” Haley asked. “Why don’t you ladies take this nice table by the window. There’s lots of sunshine today.”
    Drayton was just as charming. “Party of five?” he asked. “You’ll like this round table over here. I could even put several teapots on the lazy Susan and do a tea tasting, if you’d like. Now, I’ll be