Page 1010 of One More Kiss

All the Tea in Texas

An Incantation Investigations, Inc. Story

Margo Bond Collins

Chapter1

“I needyou to find my tea.”

That’s how Benedict Abercrombie opened the conversation the day he walked into my office to hire me.

I should have turned him down.

But I’m a Texas girl, and God, we do love our iced tea.

Abercrombie, on the other hand, was British—obvious from his accent—a tall, thin man who looked to be in his late sixties, with high cheekbones, a shock of white hair, and piercing blue eyes that had probably caused plenty of women to swoon over him in his time.

And his statement piqued my curiosity.

So instead of referring him to one of the dozen or so other magical private investigators who had sprung up over the decade since the existence of the supernatural community had become public knowledge, I leaned back in the executive-style office chair, tilted my head, and grinned at him. “You and everyone else in the world.”

His lip quirked up on one side, acknowledging my response. “True. But this is a specific shipment of tea, bound for Dallas, and stolen in transit.”

That got my attention, and I sat up to lean on my elbows on the desk. “You actually have a tea shipment?”

“I did. As I said, it has been stolen. And I want you to find it. Assuming you’re Harlowe McKee.”

Of course he knew my name. “I am.”

When the Great Tea Apocalypse hit, the British were the first to sound the alarm. But the southern United States, with its predilection for sweet tea, was close behind.

Coffee drinkers were smug, at least for a little while—until someone pointed out that if one beverage could all but disappear from the earth, so could another.

In any case, a drink that used to be so plentiful, so easy to get, was now worth more than gold.

I gave Abercrombie a narrow-eyed look and quoted him my usual per diem rate. “Plus, I’ll charge a recovery fee,” I added.

“Of course.” Abercrombie nodded, his bright white hair flopping down in the one I. He pushed it back out of the way in an unconscious gesture. “Ten percent of the proceeds when I make my delivery.”

Excellent. That would be enough to keep my office up and running a bit longer.

“Tell me what, exactly, I’m looking for.”

“A complete shipment of tea leaves destined for local blending.”

He gestured at one of the chairs in front of the desk and I waved him into it.

“You have to understand,” he continued, “tea is not shipped in ready-to-brew form. It’s packed into airtight containers and sent to import countries to be blended. Now that the leaves are so rare, those shipments are worth a fortune.”

“And yours went missing,” I prodded him.

“Yes. We know the shipment made it into the port in Houston, then onto the trucks. Then, somewhere in between Houston and Dallas, poof.” He made a popping gesture with his fingers. “It just disappeared. Like magic.” He raised his eyebrows. “And that’s where you come.” He waved his hand at the sign painted on my doorway: Incantation investigations, Inc.

“Rumor has it you’re the best magical investigation company around.”

I gave a small nod, acknowledging the compliment. And he wasn’t wrong—between me and the rest of my family, we were the best magical investigators, at least in Texas, and perhaps in the entire Southwest.

Not that that’s saying much. At least half the other magical investigation companies are complete frauds, offering no magical skill whatsoever. The rest rely on practitioners of...I’ll just say limited talent.

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