In the latest Tea Shop Mystery from New York Times bestselling author Laura Childs, Theodosia Browning attends a “Rat Tea,” where the mice will play...at murder.   When Indigo Tea Shop owner Theodosia Browning is invited by Doreen Briggs, one of Charleston’s most prominent hostesses, to a “Rat Tea,” she is understandably intrigued.  As servers dressed in rodent costumes and wearing white gloves offer elegant finger sandwiches and fine teas, Theo learns these parties date back to early twentieth-century Charleston, where the cream of society would sponsor so-called rat teas to promote city rodent control and better public health.   But this party goes from odd to chaotic when a fire starts at one of the tables and Doreen’s entrepreneur husband suddenly goes into convulsions and drops dead. Has his favorite orange pekoe tea been poisoned? Theo smells a rat.   The distraught Doreen soon engages Theo to pursue a discreet inquiry into who might have murdered her husband. As Theo and her tea sommelier review the guest list for suspects, they soon find themselves drawn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse... INCLUDES RECIPES AND TEA TIME TIPS Praise for the New York Times bestselling Tea Shop mysteries   “Murder suits [Laura Childs] to a Tea.”— St. Paul (MN) Pioneer Press   “Tea lovers, mystery lovers, [this] is for you. Just the right blend of cozy fun and clever plotting.”—Susan Wittig Albert, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Chance Olive Ranch   “Brew yourself a nice pot of tea, and enjoy…It’s guaranteed to delight.”— Times Record News   “A love letter to Charleston, tea, and fine living.”— Kirkus Reviews   “With humor, plenty of action, and a tantalizing array of teas and recipes, Theodosia is sure to win more followers with this enjoyable whodunit.”— Publishers Weekly 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. She is married to Dr. Bob, a professor of Chinese art history, enjoys travel, and has two Shar-Peis. 1 Palmettos swayed lazily in the soft breeze, daffodils bobbed their shaggy heads as Theodosia Browning stepped quickly along the brick pathway that wound through a bountiful front yard garden and up to the polished double doors of the Calhoun Mansion. Pausing, she pulled back the enormous brass boar’s head door knocker . . . nothing wimpy about this place . . . and let it crash against the metal plate. Claaaang. The sound echoed deep within the house as the boar’s eyes glittered and glared at her. Turning to face Drayton, her friend and tea sommelier, Theodosia said, “This should be fun. I’ve never visited Doreen’s home before.” “You’ll like it,” Drayton said. “It’s a grand old place. Built back in the early eighteen hundreds by Emerson Calhoun, one of Charleston’s early indigo barons.” “I guess we’re lucky to be invited then,” she said. Their hostess, Doreen Briggs, also known to her close friends as “Dolly,” was president of the Ladies Opera Auxiliary and one of the leading social powerhouses in Charleston, South Carolina. Theodosia had always thought of Doreen as being slightly bubbleheaded, but that could be a carefully cultivated act, aimed to deflect from all the philanthropic work that she and her husband were involved in. A few seconds later, the front door creaked open and Theodosia and Drayton were greeted by a vision so strange it could have been a drug-induced hookah dream straight out of Alice in Wonderland . The man who answered the door was dressed in a powder blue velvet waistcoat, cream-colored slacks, and spit-polished black buckle boots. But it wasn’t his formal, quasi-Edwardian attire that made him so bizarre. It was the giant white velvet rat head perched atop his head and shoulders. Yes, white velvet, just like the fur of a properly groomed, semi-dandy white rat. Complete with round ears, long snout bristling with whiskers, and bright pink eyes. “Welcome,” the rat said to them as he placed one white-gloved hand (paw?) behind his back and bowed deeply. At which point Theodosia arched her carefully waxed brows and said, as a not-so-subtle aside to Drayton, “When the invitation specified a ‘Charleston rat tea,’ they weren’t just whistling Dixie.” It was a rat tea. Of sorts. Drayton had filled her in on the history of the quaint rat tea custom on their stroll over from the Indigo Tea Shop, where they brewed all manner of tea, fed and charmed customers, and made a fairly comfortable living. “Seventy-five years ago,” Drayton said, “rat teas were all the rage in Charleston. You see, at the advent of World War Two, our fair city underwent a tremendous population explosion as war workers arrived at the navy shipyard in droves.” “I get that,” Theodosia had said. “But what’s with the rats specifically?” “Ah,” Dray