Devonshire Scream (14 page)

Rinicker stepped away and gave a friendly wave. “You're right. Gotta go drum up some big-time interest for our Rare Antiquities Show.”

Theodosia smiled after him. She hoped that, when Sunday came, the collection would still be intact.

Theodosia knew she
was definitely running late. She had to get home and do her makeup (thank goodness her brows were already in great shape), get gussied up, and then pick up Drayton at seven o'clock on the dot.

But first—well, she had to make a detour. Because ever since Tidwell had shown her that picture of the rock hammer this afternoon, ever since she'd seen the name
Clement
scrawled on the back of the paper, that nasty little tool had been percolating on the back burner of her mind.

She touched her brakes as she coasted down Maccorkle Avenue. There were lots of unusual stores over here that you didn't see in the Historic District, her regular stomping ground. Geo's Natural Foods, Power's Running Store, the Digital Café, Jelly & Craig's New Age Gifts. But where was . . . ? Oh, there it was. Up ahead on the left. Triple Peak. What Tidwell had told her was Charleston's only climbing store.

Theodosia pulled into a parking spot, plugged a quarter
into the meter, and danced her way across the busy street. Her heart gave a little thump-bump as she pushed into the shop.

And what an unusual shop it turned out to be. The first thing that struck her was the multitude of rope. One entire wall was covered with loops and coils of colorful nylon and cotton rope that, she supposed, was one of the most important tools a climber would ever need.

There was lots of other gear, too. Wicked-looking ice axes, fingerless gloves, chalk bags (whatever those were), carabiners, all manner of unusual shiny hardware, climbing shoes, nylon clothing, and an infinite array of safety helmets.

A clerk looked up casually from where he'd been pecking away at a computer terminal and smiled at her. He was probably twenty-three or twenty-four years old, all angles and long sinewy muscles, like a snake. His long hair was pulled back into a high, short ponytail in the style of a samurai warrior, and he had a thin scruff of beard.

“Help you?” he asked.

“I'm looking for a piece of equipment,” Theodosia said.

“For rock climbing, ice climbing, big wall, or canyoneering?”

“Um . . . rock climbing, I guess,” Theodosia said. She hadn't realized there were so many specialized aspects to climbing. To her it was just about ascending a scary-looking cliff. “I'm looking for a rock hammer.”

The clerk gestured at the case in front of him. “We carry lots of different kinds. They're pretty much our bread and butter.”

“The thing is . . . I'm looking for a particular type. I believe it's manufactured by Petzl?”

“Yeah,” the clerk said, scratching his flat stomach idly. “We definitely carry that brand.” He was dressed in Lycra leggings, a T-shirt that said
ROCK
AROUND
THE
CLOCK
on the front of it, and some flat, rubber-soled shoes that Theodosia
surmised were climbing shoes. “We keep them over here.” He walked over to another glass case, bent forward, and slid open the back door. “Yup, here you go.” He pulled out a Petzl hammer and handed it to Theodosia. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Theodosia hefted the hammer in her hand. It felt sleek, well balanced, and deadly. The kind of hammer you could whack someone in the head with and really get the job done. Or crack open a bunch of glass display cases in a hurry. Better yet, it looked like the one she'd seen the black-suited vandal wielding.

“This is perfect,” she said. She was so excited, the hammer almost felt like it was vibrating in her hand. “I have a friend who had one just like this and then lost it up near Table Rock State Park.”

“Oh yeah. That's some rad rock climbing up there. Jocassee Gorges is good, too. Right in the neighborhood. Lots of dudes I know climb up there.”

Theodosia smiled at the kid. “I'd like to buy this one for my friend, to replace the one he lost.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “But I want it to be a secret. You know, a surprise gift.”

The kid nodded. “Sure. Cool.”

“Which means I'd like to have it wrapped up and shipped out to him. You can take care of that, right?” She handed the hammer back to him.

“Send it out UPS today if you'd like.” They walked back to the cash register, where the kid grabbed a pen and pulled out an order form. “What's the name?”

“Clement,” Theodosia said. She fumbled in her handbag, searched around for a few moments, and then made a lemon face. “Oh, crumbs.” She wobbled her head back and forth to reinforce her dingbat status. “I forgot the address at home.” Then, “But I bet you have the address here. My friend has shopped here before, lots of times. So he's probably in your customer database, right?”

“Mmn.” The kid stepped over to his computer terminal. “Let me take a look.”

Theodosia followed him, staying on her side of the counter, but managing to get a good look at the computer screen.

“Clement?” you said.

Theodosia gave him a bright smile. “That's right.”

The kid tapped a few keys and a name and address popped up.

“Here it is. Marcus Clement. Fifteen sixty-two Waverly Street. In North Charleston.”

“That's it exactly,” Theodosia said, committing the full name and address to memory. She pulled out her American Express card and handed it to the clerk. “Those are rock-climbing shoes that you're wearing?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah. La Sportiva.”

She leaned over the counter to get a better look at his shoes. They were black and neon orange with two Velcro strip closures and a squishy-looking rubber sole. She decided they were probably the exact sort of quiet, easy-creepy shoe that a cat burglar might favor.

•   •   •

Theodosia was humming
to herself as she hurried through her back door. She kissed Earl Grey on the top of his fuzzy head and let him scoot outside into the backyard. Then she bounded upstairs, taking two steps at a time.

Formal. Drayton had said she had to wear something formal tonight and she'd been tossing around a germ of an idea as she drove home. With the weather so nice and cool, maybe it was time to pull out that cashmere sweater she'd bought at Delaine's shop.

She found it still in a plastic Cotton Duck bag sitting on a shelf in her walk-in closet. Decided it was perfect.

Theodosia jumped into the shower, worked up a froth of bubbles, and jumped out again, feeling a lot more perky.
As she moved about her bedroom in her terry cloth robe, drying off, thinking about the evening ahead, her thoughts wandered to Max. She liked the idea of visiting him in Savannah at Christmastime. Really, there was nothing like celebrating the holidays in Savannah. Such a civilized city. She recalled going down there once for Christmas on the River with all its concerts, art festivals, and home tours.

As she retouched her makeup, she thought about the emotional aspect of their broken relationship. Did she miss Max? Yes, she did. Did she miss him a lot? She thought about that as she added a faint smudge of golden-beige shadow above her eyes. Mmn, maybe not as much as she thought she would.

And wasn't that surprising?

The blue-gray cashmere sweater felt soft and cloudlike as she slipped it over her head. But now . . . now to see if the outfit she'd envisioned would really work. She stepped into her floor-length silver crinkle skirt. She'd seen a photo spread in
Vogue
, where a supermodel wore something just like this, and loved the idea. The juxtaposition of a cozy casual sweater with a very formal, floor-length skirt appealed to her. It was a kind of . . . dichotomy.

Theodosia eyed herself in the full-length mirror. Did it work? Could she carry it off?

Her image shimmered back at her and she loved it.

In fact, the concept of high-low dressing definitely appealed to her. There was something very modern and today about it. She'd even noticed that celebrities were pulling off high-low with great aplomb. A Gucci blouse tucked into H&M khakis. A Burberry T-shirt worn with Target jeans. Fun.

Theodosia stood in front of her mirror and brushed out her hair. It snapped and crackled with a life of its own. But it was still fiercely windy out, so maybe she should wear her hair up?

Why not?

She brushed her hair into a thick ponytail and then twisted
it around a couple of times into what stylists today were calling a messy knot. She stuck in a couple of pins to anchor it.

Theodosia grabbed a silver beaded bag and tossed in her cell phone, lipstick, and a twenty-dollar bill. Then, for the pièce de résistance, she slipped into a pair of silver Manolo Blahnik heels.

Teetering slightly, she turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror again. And liked what she saw.

All that was left now was for Theodosia to let Earl Grey back inside, feed him, and grab a quick snack for herself. Maybe a piece of cheese and some fruit. Just something to keep her blood sugar up.

So, okay.
She smiled to herself.
I'm all ready.

She was poised to descend the first step when she had a quick afterthought. She shuffled back into her bedroom, pawed through the top drawer in her dresser, and found a comb. It was a tortoiseshell-patterned comb that was embedded with pearls. A comb that had once belonged to her mother.

She tucked the jeweled comb into her hair. It was a kind of talisman, she decided. A talisman that she hoped would guard against anything bad happening tonight.

The street outside
the Montagu Opera House teemed with shiny black limousines and town cars, all dropping off their passengers in front of the arched and beveled glass doors. Huge searchlights scoured the night sky, beaming their special welcome for opening night.

Theodosia paused just inside the front door, her feet sinking into the plush red carpet. She turned slightly to enjoy the scene, watching tuxedo-clad men and women in designer gowns greet each other amid a flurry of genteel hugs and spirited air kisses. Then she and Drayton swept up the grand circular staircase, passing under a glittering chandelier, in true Hollywood fashion.

“
La Bohème
is one of my favorites,” Theodosia said as they sailed up, up, and up. “In fact, it's the first opera I ever saw.”

“Ah,” Drayton said. “Your first opera so often becomes your most favorite.”

“From the moment the curtain went up, I was captivated. I knew I'd discovered my new passion.” Theodosia inhaled
deeply as they breezed along the mezzanine balcony. Ripples of excitement coursed through her and she was feeling what surely had to be a contact high from the crowd that swarmed through the theater. She tossed her head. “But I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the grandeur of this building.”

“I hope you never do,” Drayton said. “I hope there's always a little thrill to be had.”

Theodosia was feeling very elegant and haute couture in her cashmere and silk. And Drayton certainly looked magnificent in a tuxedo that he'd had custom tailored in England a few years ago. His antique amber-and-gold cuff links flashed each time his wrists moved.

“I've always had a place in my heart for the character Rodolfo,” Drayton said as he led Theodosia along, nodding to the occasional acquaintance. “There's something true and lasting in him. He pursues his dream with such fervor.”

She smiled. “You mean he pursues Mimi.”

Drayton turned toward Theodosia with a twinkle in his eye. “I meant that he was looking for true love.” He hesitated, seemed to realize just where he was, and said, “My goodness, here we are at our seats already. Welcome to the rarefied world of the opera buff.” He pulled open an ornately carved wooden door with a polished brass handle and stood aside for Theodosia to ease her way past him.

Which brought her into a dimly lit private box complete with four plush seats.

“These are our seats?” Theodosia asked. She was stunned. The box seats were basically a private and amazingly elegant perch situated high above the entire theater, with an unobstructed view of the stage.

“Two of the seats are ours, anyway,” Drayton said. “I share this box with Edith and Howard Pinckney.”

Theodosia took in the purple velvet seats, gold velvet draperies, and gilded walls. “I feel like we just time-traveled
back a hundred years or so. To Belle Époque Paris or Emperor Franz Joseph's Vienna.”

Drayton nodded. “Yes, well, do sit down and enjoy it.” He sat down as well, only to spring up a few moments later when the Pinckneys arrived.

A flurry of introductions ensued, and then Theodosia had the distinct pleasure of leaning out over the brass railing to survey the crowd below. Everyone looked fabulous, of course, from the dazzling couples still streaming in, to the tie-and-tailed orchestra up front. And the buzz of conversation, mingled with occasional laughter and the low sound of musical instruments being tuned, ratcheted up her anticipation even more.

“This place is just remarkable,” Theodosia whispered. She crossed her ankles and tried to settle in for the show, but her nerves were getting the best of her. Opening-night jitters? Yes! She couldn't wait for the opera to start.

“These seats are well worth the investment,” Drayton whispered back. “What's life without a little splurge here and there?”

As the orchestra finished their warm-up, a zip of anticipation filled the air and a hush fell over the audience. Everyone could feel the pulse of energy in the theater.

Drayton set his Playbill aside and leaned forward expectantly.

The house lights dimmed until there was almost complete darkness.

Wonderful
, Theodosia thought.
Magical.

Then the stage lights flashed on, the curtain rose, and the orchestra's first vibrant notes shimmered high and sweet in the air. With that, Theodosia's heart took wing and she was swept back almost two hundred years to the Latin Quarter of Paris.

The arias, the music, the sets, all proved to be dazzling.
The opera singers who played Mimi and Rodolfo fairly mesmerized the audience. They danced across the stage, laughing, cajoling, singing their hearts out, and positively owning it.

This is it
, Theodosia thought.
This is what makes people's hearts leap and quickens their spirit. This is what makes the arts so very special!

•   •   •

Amazingly, the first
act flew by. When the curtain was dropped and the applause thundered out, Theodosia let herself relax against her seat back for the first time that night.

“That was just magnificent,” she said to Drayton. She was grinning from ear to ear.

Drayton was nodding and clapping with delight. “Absolutely transporting,” he said. “Possibly the best I've seen.”

Theodosia reached over and patted his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much for inviting me tonight.”

“It's not over yet,” Drayton said. He rose to his feet and smiled. “Since we've reached intermission, would you care to indulge in a glass of sherry? Or, I suppose in this case they'll be serving wine or champagne.”

They were indeed serving wine and champagne. Theodosia and Drayton braved their way to a temporary bar that had been set up on the second floor and ordered glasses of white wine. Then, as the glittering crowd surged around them, they stepped out of the way and sipped their wine gingerly.

“This wine is actually good,” Theodosia said. “I was expecting something awful and puckery.”

“Right,” Drayton laughed. “Wine from a box. But this isn't half-bad, is it?” He took another sip. “See anybody you know? It's opening night, after all. The crème de la crème should be swanning about.”

Theodosia peered over the crowd. “I don't know about the crème, but here comes Delaine.”

“Who's she with?”

Theodosia shook her head. She didn't recognize the man who was escorting her friend. “Her boyfriend du jour?”

“Theodosia?” Delaine's sharp voice sawed through the low-key burble of the crowd.

Theodosia and Drayton both braced themselves. Delaine could be a little overpowering.

“Isn't this just
amazing
?” Delaine exclaimed. She hustled up to them, all wiggling pink shoulders and swishing skirts. “Aren't you thoroughly enchanted with this
production
!” When Delaine was excited, she loved to talk in exclamation points.

Delaine was not only over the top in her manner of speech, tonight she was dressed like a Greek goddess. Her cream-colored, one-shouldered long gown was strewn with gold accents, and matching gold and turquoise snake bracelets coiled about each wrist.

Versace?
Theodosia wondered.
Has to be. Wow.

Not surprisingly, Delaine was hanging on the arm of a very good-looking forty-something man. His dark, curly hair and architectural nose reminded Theodosia of a cross between a gigolo and an Italian count. Although, she giggled to herself, maybe they were one and the same. But Delaine was making introductions now, so she had to pay attention.

“Nice to meet you,” Theodosia said politely to Delaine's date. He'd been introduced as Renaldo Gilles, an import-export agent.

But Delaine had gossip on her mind. She dropped her voice low and said, “You remember, Theo, you were asking me the other day about Sabrina and Luke Andros?”

“Yes?” Theodosia said. She'd been having such a wonderful time, she'd almost forgotten about them. Now, with just those few words, Delaine had spread a dark cloud over Theodosia's evening. Still, she leaned forward to listen. Maybe this was something important she should know about.

“I found out a few things about Sabrina and Luke from Tookie Carmichael,” Delaine said. “You know her, she comes
into Cotton Duck all the time and is on the Spoleto committee this year?”

“Okay.”

“Anyway,” Delaine said, “Tookie told me that the Androses used to live in Miami. Or at least that's where their yacht business was originally based.”

“I wonder why they moved to Charleston?” Theodosia said. “Or is their move permanent? Maybe they still have an office in Miami, too?”

But Delaine was shaking her head. “No, no. Apparently they felt there was just too much competition in Miami. Just too many yacht brokers and wannabe's trying to elbow them out of the way.”

“But there's so much money in Miami,” Theodosia said. “International money, too. You'd think they could make a go of it.”
If they're good,
anyway. If they can figure out how to market themselves.

Delaine rolled her eyes. “Goodness' sake, there's lots of money here, too.” She looked around, seemed to notice Gilles, and snuggled close to him. “Hello, sweetie,” she purred.

“Are you enjoying the opera?” Theodosia asked Gilles. She felt like she should say something to him.

“I'm a huge fan,” Gilles said, waving an arm enthusiastically, almost clobbering a woman with an overdone Throwback Thursday beehive hairdo. “I've actually had the pleasure of seeing this particular opera performed in Paris.”

“And how does it compare?” Drayton asked politely.

Gilles gave them all a slightly haughty look and shook his head. “There is no comparison.”

Theodosia smiled broadly and turned toward Drayton. “Well then, we should probably be heading back to our seats.”

“So soon?” Delaine looked disappointed.

“It was lovely to see you both,” Drayton said, hastily
backing away. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the opera. Or at least try to,” he muttered under his breath.

Theodosia gave a little wave. “Nice meeting you . . .”

•   •   •

A few minutes
later, the froth of the second act once again swept Theodosia up in its embrace. Her eyes fluttered shut as the music carried her from scene to scene. How could these singers simply open their mouths and fill this hall with such glorious mind-boggling sound? she wondered. She smiled as the music gained in intensity. She was devouring each note with her ears, anticipating the next.

And then, just as the mezzo-soprano was hitting her highest note, just as the chorus was really pumping out the backup chords, a scream suddenly rose up from somewhere in the audience. It mingled with the soprano's voice for a long moment, and then climbed to an even higher screech. Like steel wheels braking on rusted rails, it rose and fell and rose and fell until . . .

The soprano suddenly fell silent, a look of absolute shock on her face.

The orchestra faltered.

And still the scream continued, rising so high it ended in a horrible, guttural shriek.

Somewhere, a door slammed loudly, the noise reverberating throughout the entire hall, rattling everyone's sensibilities.

Now everyone on stage had stopped singing . . . the principal players, the chorus. Everyone glanced about nervously, unsure of what to do.

A few murmurs rose up from the audience. And then a hundred more people joined in.

The orchestra's frizzy-haired conductor turned around and stared at the audience with disapproval.

“What happened?” a woman cried.

“What's going on?” a man demanded.

Several members of the audience jumped to their feet.

Then, from the box seat next to them, Theodosia heard a plaintive voice call out.

“Help!” the woman cried. “Something terrible has happened to Abigail and Harold. Won't somebody please help them?”

As the screams continued, the house lights flashed on in a sudden blaze. Due, no doubt, to the quick thinking and fast action of a nervous usher.

It suddenly became very obvious that the screaming was coming from the private box that was closest to the stage. In fact, as Theodosia leaned forward, she could see a woman standing there, a look of utter terror on her face as she screamed bloody blue murder.

“Help!” the woman continued to scream, her voice drawing out the word in an awful, wrenching shriek. “Somebody please help me!”

Theodosia stood up. “Something's horribly wrong,” she cried out to Drayton. Then, without thinking, without hesitating, she dashed into the hallway and sprinted down the row of box seats. If nobody else would help this poor woman, then she would do it!

She passed one, two, three doors that led to box seats. Ran past a curving stairway that led downstairs. For one brief instant it felt like she'd just missed seeing someone. That she'd caught a faint, ghostly image out of the corner of her eye. Then she was sliding to a stop in front of the last set of box seats where the screams were pouring out.