Devonshire Scream (11 page)

Theodosia inched closer, straining to understand the murmurs.

Am I investigating now? Yes, I do believe I am.

She stopped at the edge of the dock where the boat bumped up against a dozen plastic fenders. Now it seemed as if there was more than just a single voice. There were four or five people on that boat.

She bent in closer. Could she peer through a porthole? No, that wasn't going to work. She was down here on the dock and that boat rode awfully high in the water.

Theodosia listened harder. Somebody with a deep voice was talking now.

Who?

She strained to pick up the words, but the incessant wind and lapping of waves made the voices sound like a bad radio signal that faded in and out.

“. . . Four more days and then you guys can take off,” the deep voice instructed.

Four more days? Theodosia straightened up and tried to think. What was going to happen in four more days?

Worrying that she'd overstepped her bounds, that someone would come out on deck and catch her eavesdropping, Theodosia backed up, gave Earl Grey's leash a tug, and hurried down the pier.

She was halfway back to shore when it hit her. The Rare Antiquities Show was in four days.

Theodosia slow-walked the
last couple of blocks to her home, settling her pulse and trying to process everything she'd learned tonight. There was a lot to think about. And a lot to worry about, too.

Now, in keeping with the theme of the night—strange encounters—she spotted a familiar burgundy-colored Crown Victoria parked at the curb in front of her house.

Tidwell. What does he want?
She sighed. She was about to find out.

When Tidwell saw her approach, the dome light snapped on and he squeezed himself out from behind the wheel. “Good evening,” he called out in his deep baritone.

“Staking out my home, are you, Detective Tidwell?” Theodosia asked. “See anything interesting? Stray cats? The neighborhood raccoons come to ransack my fishpond?”

He shut the car door and met her on the sidewalk. He was wearing slightly baggy pants and what looked like a frayed khaki fishing jacket that barely stretched across his
weather balloon of a stomach. “I'm afraid I observed nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good.” She smiled gratefully and motioned for him to follow her inside. “You might as well come in. I mean, you will anyway, right?”

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Tidwell said.

Theodosia snapped on the light in the small tiled entryway. Then ducked into her living room and turned on a lamp. Warm light flooded the room, showing off the fireplace, parquet floors, and chintz-covered furniture to advantage.

“Cozy,” Tidwell said.

Earl Grey dashed into the kitchen and began to noisily drain his water bowl while Theodosia knelt in front of the fireplace. She added a handful of kindling and a new log, trying to coax the embers back into a robust flame. It seemed to be working. Finally, she dusted her palms together and turned to face Tidwell.

“Are you on or off duty?”

“Interesting question,” he said. “On, I suppose.”

“Then this is an official visit.”

He smiled. “But perhaps we should call it an off-the-record visit.”

“Off the record, then, would you care for a glass of wine?”

Tidwell brightened. “I'd enjoy that very much.”

Theodosia went into the kitchen, grabbed a half bottle of cabernet, and filled two glasses. She carried them back into the living room, to find Tidwell peering at a small, recently purchased oil painting that she'd hung above her fireplace.

“This is lovely,” he said. “Who is the artist?”

“Josiah Singleton.”

“Ah. Early American?”

“Well. Mid-eighteenth century, anyway.” Theodosia handed him his wine and settled into a chintz armchair while Tidwell took a spot on the love seat opposite her. “What brings you by, Detective?”

“The FBI paid you a visit today,” Tidwell said. He took a sip of wine and gazed at her expectantly.

“Yes,” Theodosia said. “They wanted my firsthand witness account from Sunday night.”

“Anything else?”

“They told me they're on the lookout for one or more European jewel thieves who might have been involved in the robbery at Heart's Desire.”

“The Pink Panther gang.”

“That's right.”

“Doubtful,” Tidwell said.

“They showed me a bunch of photos. Drayton and I thought one of the men bore a striking resemblance to Lionel Rinicker.” She paused. “You know who he is?”

“I had much the same discussion with the FBI as you did. With a certain degree of reluctance on their part, they shared that same information with me and key members of my department.”

“Okay,” Theodosia said. “So you know what I know.”

Tidwell took a gulp of wine. “They're very hot to point a finger at Mr. Rinicker.”

“And you're not?”

“There's simply no concrete evidence against him.”

“Other than the fact that he's relatively new in town . . .” When Tidwell made a face, Theodosia added, “You know what Charleston is like. You're considered a newcomer even if your parents were born here. You need to be able to trace your ancestry back to your great-great-grandpappy in order to be considered a dyed-in-the-wool Charlestonian.”

“And then it helps if your ancestors were French Huguenots.”

“That's always best,” Theodosia said. “But getting back to Rinicker, there's also the fact that he managed to schmooze a number of influential people in a very short time and make his way onto the board at the Heritage Society.”

“Probably a coincidence,” Tidwell said.

“I thought you didn't believe in coincidences.”

“I don't. Unless there are too many of them.”

Theodosia drew a deep breath. “There's something I should probably tell you about. It might even be considered . . . a clue.”

Tidwell cocked his head. “What is it? And why didn't you mention this before?”

“Because I didn't think of it. This information only bubbled to the surface when my memory was jogged by those FBI guys who came and interrogated me.”

“They were forceful?”

“You mean did they drag me back to some deserted building and put me in handcuffs and leg irons? No, they did not. But they did project a certain, shall we call it, gravitas. In other words, I wouldn't want to play games with them.”

“So what is it you remembered?”

“I remembered the hammer that one of the thieves used.”

Tidwell sat forward. “Tell me.”

“It was unusual-looking. Metallic and quite shiny. But not like any ordinary hammer I'd seen before. Not for pounding nails or anything like that.”

“A specialized hammer,” Tidwell said.

“Yes, but I don't know which specialty.”

“If you saw a picture of that hammer, do you think you could identify it?”

“Maybe. I think it had a little claw on one side.”

Tidwell shifted in his seat. “We received notice from the police over in Hilton Head about a fellow, at least we think it's a fellow, who is a kind of second-story guy.”

“You mean like a cat burglar?” Theodosia asked.

“We don't call them that anymore. Anyway, a couple of homes on Hilton Head Island were robbed, but no one was ever apprehended.”

“Robbed, you say. You mean they were robbed of jewels?”

“Jewelry, watches, a strip of gold Krugerrands. The thief even took two small oil paintings off the wall in one of the homes.”

“Maybe that same guy is operating here,” Theodosia said. “Maybe he's gotten himself organized and put together a gang.” Fresh in her mind was the image of the robbers dressed in black and wearing red devil masks.

“That's a possibility.”

Earl Grey wandered out and gave Tidwell an uninterested sniff. Then he walked over to the fireplace and curled up on a little rag rug next to the hearth.

“There's something else,” Theodosia said. “Something I kind of stumbled upon tonight when I was out running.”

“You do have the most productive jogs, Miss Browning.”

“Listen.” Theodosia took a quick sip of wine. “When I was jogging tonight, I happened to run past the Charleston Yacht Club and the office for Gold Coast Yachts.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Tidwell asked.

“Yes and no. Gold Coast Yachts is owned by Sabrina and Luke Andros. They were both supposed to be at Heart's Desire that night, but only Sabrina showed up. After the robbery she seemed sort of . . . matter-of-fact about it. You know what I mean?”

Tidwell was studying her, listening to every word.

“Everyone was crying or walking around in a daze,” Theodosia said. “But Sabrina was just kind of taking stock of the situation.”

“Interesting,” Tidwell said. “And you think this relates . . . how?”

“When I was at the yacht club, I walked out onto the dock where one of the Gold Coast yachts was moored. It was all lit up and a bunch of guys were talking onboard. I heard one of them say something to the effect of ‘In four more days, you guys can take off.'”

“And what do you think that means?” Tidwell asked.

“Well, the Rare Antiquities Show happens in four more days,” Theodosia said.

Tidwell finished his wine, set down his glass, and kneaded his hands together. “You've been busy.”

Theodosia shrugged. “This all just kind of happened. It certainly wasn't planned.”

“Do you intend to inform the FBI about the conversation you overheard?”

“Do you think I should?”

Tidwell thought for a moment. “Perhaps you should let me handle this particular aspect. At least for a day or two.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Theodosia peered at him. “Now that I've shared some information with you, how about a little quid pro quo?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Brooke told me there was a party crasher at her event. That you guys were going to try and make an identification.”

“We did identify him,” Tidwell said.

Theodosia waggled her fingers at him. “And?”

“Professor Warren Shepley.”

“That's nice. What's a Professor Warren Shepley?”

“Professor of eighteenth-century Russian literature at Savannah State University,” Tidwell said.

Theodosia frowned. “Savannah. That's where the stolen SUV came from. So why did this Professor Shepley crash Brooke's event? How do you think he figures into all of this?”

“We don't know. We plan to question the man tomorrow.” Tidwell pushed himself up off the love seat, his knees making a popping sound as he stood up. He looked troubled. “The FBI is trying to block me, Theodosia. Trying to keep me out of the investigation. I don't like it one bit.”

“So make a stink,” Theodosia suggested. “You're good at that.” Then, “Is there anything I can do to help?” She wouldn't
mind getting Tidwell's blessing, especially since Brooke was counting on her to investigate.

“Just keep doing what you're doing,” Tidwell said. “But please be careful.”

“Always,” Theodosia said, even though she was well aware that she was a risk taker and that she had a history of dashing in where angels feared to tread.

“I mean it,” Tidwell said as they walked out to his car. “Listen to the rumors, keep an ear out for gossip, but do not take any unnecessary chances.”

“Sure,” Theodosia said as she followed him into the night, scuffling down her front walk. Rumors and gossip? She was going to need a lot more than that to resolve this case. To find closure for Brooke and justice for Kaitlin.

Tidwell stopped abruptly in front of his car and scowled. “Did you know that the Ford Motor Company stopped making Crown Victorias? It's a crying shame.”

“What are you going to do when this one starts to fall apart?” Theodosia asked.

“Do the sensible thing, I suppose. Get it repaired.”

Theodosia grinned. “Why do I have the feeling there's going to be a whole cadre of police detectives who are driving around in antique cars? It's going to be like all those cars from the fifties that the people in Cuba are still driving.”

“Those are collector's pieces. Just wait until trade relations are finally normalized. All the classic car collectors and auto restorers are going to swoop in and strip that poor island bare.”

“Why are we
not prepared for this?” Drayton asked. He was running around in a tizzy, an antique majolica blueberry teapot clutched in one hand, a box of white tapers in the other.

“Calm down, Drayton,” Theodosia said as she surveyed the Indigo Tea Shop. “We've got time. We'll get it all done.” She draped a long, black Parisian waiter's apron over her T-shirt and slacks and tied it in back.

“It's Wednesday morning,” Drayton said. “Our Duchess of Devonshire Tea is scheduled to go off at twelve o'clock sharp. We have a million details to finalize and my floral bouquets still haven't arrived.” This was all delivered with a certain
tone.

“Did you call Floradora?” They were Drayton's favored florist and usually quite dependable.

“I called but they didn't answer. Which is why I left a very stern message.”

“Good for you, Drayton,” Haley said as she buzzed by. “That'll light a fire under them.”

“If only we didn't have to contend with morning tea,” Drayton fussed.

“Well, we do,” Theodosia said. “We always do. So try to deal with it.”

Drayton began fumbling candles into the half-dozen pewter candlesticks that he'd set out. “Maybe we'll get lucky,” he said in a low voice. “And only a few people will drop by.”

Theodosia snapped on her lighter and followed him around each table, lighting candles. “I'm right here, you know. I can hear you muttering.”

•   •   •

Brooke was the
first person to show up that morning. She poked her head into the tea shop and called out, “Are you folks open yet?”

“We are for you,” Theodosia said, hustling over to give her a welcoming hug. Then she held her friend at arm's length and said, “Say, now, you're looking a little better today. You seem a little more upbeat.”

“I'm feeling somewhat better,” Brooke said. She was dressed in a fitted navy blazer and khaki slacks and looked a little like a real estate agent. It was a far cry from her usual silk tops and elegant slacks. “I think I'm starting to get a handle on things.”

“Good for you.”

“What I did was call up my accounting firm and have them put one of their people on this. You know, dealing with the insurance companies, getting the necessary police reports together.”

“You're smart to outsource those things,” Theodosia said.

Brooke gave a faint smile. “Like I did with you?”

“Well . . . I haven't accomplished all that much yet.”

“You know I have the utmost faith in you, Theo.”

“I'll try to live up to that.” Theodosia drew a breath. “And I was wondering . . . is there going to be a funeral service for Kaitlin?”

Brooke's expression changed and she suddenly looked drawn and tired again. “Yes, but not until next week. Bullocks Funeral Home is shipping her body back home to her folks in Greenville. But I was wondering if we should have some sort of memorial service for her here.” She blinked back tears. “What do you think?”

“That sounds like a lovely idea. I think we all want to say our good-byes.” Theodosia touched Brooke's arm gently. “Would you like to sit down and relax? Maybe have a cup of tea?”

“I really should get back,” Brooke said. “There's so dang much going on.”

Theodosia smiled. “Takeout, then?”

“That would be wonderful. Fortifying even.”

When Drayton saw Theodosia and Brooke at the front counter, he hurried over to help. “What can I brew for you?” he asked Brooke. “Perhaps a nice pot of oolong? Or some tasty rose hips?”

“I really enjoyed that stronger, slightly smoky tea you were serving here last week.”

“The gunpowder green,” Drayton said. “One pot coming right up.”

Theodosia raided the kitchen and grabbed a half-dozen lemon scones for Brooke to take back with her. And by the time she'd done that, Drayton was pouring steaming hot tea into take-out cups and snapping on lids. Then he packaged up everything in an indigo-blue bag and handed it to Brooke.

“Thank you,” Brooke said to Drayton. Then she gazed meaningfully at Theodosia. “And thank
you
for everything.”

Theodosia walked Brooke to the door. “I haven't figured
things out quite yet,” she said. “But I am working on a couple of different angles.”

“I know you are. And so is Detective Tidwell. He's looking into the man who supposedly crashed my event.”

Theodosia's brows shot up. “He told you about Professor Shepley?”

“Just this morning,” Brooke said. “Says he's going to meet with him today and ask some tough questions.”

“Good.”

“Tidwell's been wonderful so far,” Brooke said. “Very cooperative about keeping me in the loop on the investigation, but not pressuring me or making me feel overwhelmed.” She gave a sad smile. “Who would have thought a big, brusque man like that could be filled with such kindness?”

Who indeed?
Theodosia thought to herself.

•   •   •

Drayton got his
wish. The Indigo Tea Shop wasn't as crowded as usual that morning. Maybe it was the cool weather settling in, or maybe it was Drayton's prickly vibrations projecting into the earth's atmosphere. So when eleven o'clock rolled around and most of the customers who'd stopped by for morning tea and scones had finally departed, he set to work like a fiend.

Tables were cleared and wiped clean, and then elegant white linens draped over them. Drayton pulled out a set of Staffordshire blue-and-white china in the Biddulph Castle pattern and placed the dishes and teacups carefully. Cloth napkins were folded and tucked beneath sterling Birks Saxon flatware, silver salt and pepper shakers were added. Drayton had also brought along a few Toby mugs from his small collection, so those went on the tables to add to his British theme.

Theodosia came over to inspect his work. “Your tables look lovely.”

“But my flowers still aren't here.”

“Oh yes, they are,” said a voice. An enormous bouquet of tea roses, nasturtium, and heather was slowly advancing toward him.

Drayton peered at the flowers quizzically. “Haley, is that you behind all those blossoms and blooms?”

“It's me, all right,” Haley called back. “Take these, Drayton, will you? Before I lose my grip and drop this whole thing.”

He grabbed for the box of flowers. “Thank goodness they arrived.”

“I think they've been here all along,” Haley said. “There was this ginormous box of flowers just sitting out in the back alley. The florist must have delivered them, then dashed off. Like some kind of reverse trick or treat.”

Drayton pursed his lips. “Just sitting there for anyone to steal.”

“But nobody did,” Theodosia said, grabbing a vase. “Here, let's just get these flowers into vases and onto the tables. And leave it at that.”

They arranged the flowers, set the candles just so, and then stood back to admire their work.

Drayton held up a finger. “Place cards. We need to put out the place cards and favors.”

Since they had taken advance reservations for their Duchess of Devonshire Tea, they knew exactly who was coming. Which meant Drayton had painstakingly written out everyone's name in a graceful calligraphic script.

“What did you come up with for favors?” Haley asked.

Drayton carried a cardboard box to the table. “I've got tea sachets and wands of French lavender.”

“Let's talk menu,” Theodosia said. “You two have been fairly secretive about what we're going to serve.”

Haley pulled out an index card. “We didn't mean to be, but we were kind of fine-tuning things.” She handed the card to Drayton. “Here, you read it to her.” She spun away. “I've still got a ton of work to do.”

Drayton put on a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses and read: “First course, cranberry cream scones with Devonshire cream.”

“Love it,” Theodosia said.

“For our luncheon course, a prosciutto and fig butter tea sandwich and a smoked salmon and avocado on rye sandwich served with a citrus salad.”

“Okay,” Theodosia said. “Sounds good.”

Drayton continued. “The scones and tea sandwiches will all be accompanied by our Lady London Ceylon tea. And our desserts will consist of English madeleines and shortbread squares topped with fresh strawberries. This will be accompanied by a vanilla chai.”

“The menu is great,” Theodosia said. “And the tea pairings are quite inspired.”

“Thank you.” Drayton smiled contentedly. “I thought so, too.”

“Now I have a question.”

“About the tea?”

“Not exactly. Have you ever heard of a Professor Warren Shepley?”

Drayton shook his head. “I don't think so. Why? Who is he?”

“He's a professor of Russian literature at Savannah State University. He also crashed Brooke's event on Sunday night.”

Drayton looked puzzled. “Now, why would he do that?”

Theodosia narrowed her eyes. “That's precisely what we need to find out.”

•   •   •

When the big
hand and the little hand both hit twelve, the front door burst open and all their guests began to pile in. Hugs and air kisses were hastily exchanged, and then a mad scramble ensued to see who was sitting at what table.

Delaine showed up with a surprise guest, so an extra place
setting had to be squeezed in at the last minute. Then Lionel Rinicker showed up with Grace Dawson on his arm.

Theodosia hadn't even realized that Rinicker had reserved two seats, but she made up her mind to treat him like she would anyone else. That is, anyone else who could possibly be an international jewel thief on the run.

But as everyone settled in their chairs, and Theodosia and Drayton circled the tables with steaming hot teapots, Rinicker proved to be mellow and downright chatty.

“You'll never guess who showed up to talk to me yesterday,” Rinicker said to Theodosia, a twinkle in his eye.

She knew darned well who'd shown up. A couple of special agents in charge. Steely-eyed guys in narrow ties. But she played it cool. Underplayed it, in fact.

“Tell me,” Theodosia said. “Was it one of your European friends?”

Rinicker chortled heartily, then poked Grace in the ribs. “You think we should tell her?”

Grace laughed merrily. “I think you should definitely tell her.”

Rinicker plucked at Theodosia's sleeve and pulled her closer. “The FBI,” he said in a stage whisper. He chuckled again and said, “Can you believe it? Actual federal agents. Talking to
me
.”

Theodosia could believe it. “What on earth did they want?” she asked, acting surprised yet knowing this conversation was veering into awfully strange territory.

“They wanted to quiz me about that robbery the other night,” Rinicker said. He pointed at her. “The one at the jewelry store. The one you were right in the middle of, according to Drayton.”

“The one where Brooke's niece was killed,” Theodosia said, practically biting off her words.

“That's the one,” Rinicker said. “It seems those FBI agents had me confused with some crazy jewel thief who robbed a
shop in Cannes, in the south of France. Said I looked just like him.”

“Isn't that the craziest thing?” Grace giggled. “We were just pulling my boat in from a run around the harbor, and there they were, standing on the dock, looking very grim.”

“Amazing,” Theodosia said. She switched her gaze to Rinicker. “But it wasn't you?”

“Of course not,” Rinicker said. He gave his chest a hearty thump. “Can you imagine me masterminding some kind of daring heist?”

Yes, maybe I can.

“It does seem preposterous,” Theodosia said.

•   •   •

With their guests
enjoying the second course, consisting of tea sandwiches and citrus salad, Drayton clinked a knife against a water glass to gain everyone's attention. As soon as the conversation dropped to a low hum, he stepped to the center of the room.

“Welcome to our first ever Duchess of Devonshire Tea,” he said. “As some of you history buffs are probably aware, there really was a duchess and she really did hail from Devonshire.”

That brought a spate of polite laughter.

“In fact,” Drayton continued, “this illustrious duchess that we celebrate today was the first wife of William Cavendish, fifth Duke of Devonshire. Her father was John Spencer, first Earl Spencer, which made her the great-great-great-great-aunt of Diana, Princess of Wales.”

There was a spatter of applause and someone called out, “Wonderful pedigree.”

“The Duchess of Devonshire attained a large amount of fame during her lifetime,” Drayton said. “She was notorious for her catastrophic love affairs and her love of gambling.” He stopped and smiled. “But she also had a softer side. Our
dear duchess was also a socialite who gathered a large salon of literary and political figures around her, and she was one of the earliest campaigners for women's rights.”