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you,” Drayton snapped. “There are no ghosts here. But if you’d care to look at our take-out menu . . .” He grabbed a menu from the counter and thrust it toward them. “We can package up anything you like, especially since you fellows seem to be in a rush.”
    Eyes fixed firmly on Theodosia, Jed Beckman unfurled the front page of the
Charleston Post and Courier
and held it up for her to see. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it says here that you were the one who discovered the body of Mr. Douglas Granville in a room at the Ravencrest Inn?”
    “I’m afraid so,” said Theodosia. “But that’s old news and completely out of my hands. The police have already launched an investigation.”
    “Because there was obviously foul play,” Drayton added. “Now about your take-out order . . .” He disapproved of the two men’s casual dress, and he disapproved of their questions. Basically, Drayton just disapproved.
    “I don’t know if you’ve paid much attention to the rumors,” said Jed. “But Ravencrest Inn is supposed to be haunted.”
    “I really don’t know anything about that,” said Theodosia, stumbling over her words a little. “Perhaps you’re thinking of the Unitarian Church Graveyard or the Old City Jail? I know there are nightly ghost tours to those particular sites.”
    “Really,
historic
tours,” cut in Drayton, as four women pushed their way into the tea shop and gazed at him expectantly.
    “Maybe you two should sit down so we can talk privately,” Theodosia suggested to Jed and Tim. Lord knows, she didn’t need her customers to overhear any talk about ghosts. This was a tea shop, after all. A genteel oasis of calm. Not the fortune-telling room at Madame Viola’s Voodoo Emporium.
    “Thank you, ma’am,” said Tim, as he and Jed settled at a nearby table. “And we’d like some tea if you’ve got it.”
    “We have an entire repertoire,” said Theodosia. “What would you prefer? A nice English breakfast tea? Or perhaps an Earl Grey or Nilgiri?”
    “I’ve only ever had tea bags,” said Jed. “And Chinese restaurant tea. So anything you choose will probably be great.”
    “And perhaps a scone to go along with your tea?” asked Theodosia.
    Both boys nodded, so Theodosia scurried off.
    “What are you
doing
?” Drayton hissed to her at the counter. “You’re encouraging them in their folly.”
    Theodosia grabbed two floral teacups with matching saucers and placed them on a silver tray. “I didn’t tell you about this before because I thought it was just a silly story. But after everyone left on Saturday, after the police strung up the crime-scene tape and everything, Bill Glass told me that Ravencrest Inn was haunted.”
    “He was pulling your leg,” said Drayton.
    “Actually, he seemed rather serious. And you know Glass; he’s
never
serious.”
    “There are no ghosts,” said Drayton, as he measured out scoops of jasmine tea into a blue-and-white Chinese teapot. “They simply don’t exist.”
    “Oh, really,” said Theodosia. “What about the glowing orbs you encountered a couple of years back? The ones you saw hovering along Gateway Walk?”
    Drayton pursed his lips. “That was different. That incident took place in a very ancient cemetery. On land where our forebears fought and died.”
    “So you’re telling me those were legitimate ghosts while the ones at Ravencrest Inn are just posers?” For some reason, the notion amused her.
    Drayton waved an index finger back and forth. “Trust me, entertaining a troupe of amateur ghost hunters can come to no good. It can only turn into a circus and cause more pain for Delaine.”
    But would it really? Theodosia wondered. Because, of all the people she knew, of all the people who
believed
, Delaine was strangely amenable to ghosts and spirits from the great beyond.
    *   *   *
    They were unbelievably
busy then for the next twenty minutes. Theodosia greeted and seated guests while Drayton worked the