Devonshire Scream (22 page)

Delaine touched a hand delicately to her cheek and moved
closer to the counter. “I just had a caviar facial at the Silver Moon Spa. So I'm feeling positively
incandescent
.”

“I hope it's not catching.” Theodosia chuckled.

“Silver Moon is such a gorgeous spa,” Delaine babbled on. “Fresh flowers everywhere, a mineral springs hot tub, architecture like a Grecian temple, and absolutely
everyone
caters to your slightest whim. It's absolutely decadent, my kind of place. While I was checking out, I even ran into Grace Dawson. You remember her, don't you? The two of us sat together at lunch yesterday.”

“Sure, the nice lady with the Dobermans.” But Theodosia really remembered Grace Dawson as the wealthy woman who was dating Lionel Rinicker.

“Do you know that Grace employs a personal assistant?” Delaine asked, seemingly enraptured. “Isn't that amazing? He was there with her today, this wonderful little person who actually takes notes and runs errands and does her complete bidding. Just like the movie stars have.”

“Sounds great.” Theodosia knew having someone at her beck and call would just make her anxious. She'd have to hustle up busywork for them to do.

“Grace is an extremely classy person,” Delaine said. “She knows that
blue chip
isn't just something you dunk in a bowl of guacamole.” She idly fluffed her hair. “Anyway, I wanted to hit the spa so I'd be in tip-top shape for my evening with Renaldo.”

“Wait a minute,” Theodosia said. “What exactly does Renaldo do for a living?”

“Renaldo is in the import-export business,” Delaine said. “A little of this, a little of that.” She gave a vague wave of the hand. “French perfumes, Italian shoes, silks, what have you. You know, high-end luxury goods.”

“And where did you meet him?”

“A fashion trade show in Miami.”

“Interesting. I look forward to getting to know him a little better.”

Renaldo Gilles might be Delaine's soul mate and an import-export agent, but Theodosia sincerely hoped the man didn't plan to export any luxury goods from the Heritage Society over the next couple of days.

It was the
perfect evening. An inky black sky lit with a random scatter of twinkling stars. The breeze off the Atlantic carrying a hint of salt and sea brine. Temperature still hovering in the low sixties. And twenty-five dancers, all clad in black leotards with tiny lights running up and down their arms and legs, dancing and leaping to a blast of rock music. The Lumiere Festival was well under way, and Theodosia and Drayton were standing on the front steps of the Charleston Library Society, watching the dazzling presentation that was taking place on King Street.

“Those young ladies certainly know how to twirl,” Drayton remarked.

“They're little sprites,” Theodosia said. She figured she'd get fall-down dizzy if she ever tried that sort of manic gyration. Still, it was great fun to watch. “And did you see what's happening down the street at the Gibbes Museum?”

Drayton nodded. “The images they're projecting on the
outside of the building remind me of an underground movie from the sixties. Still, I think it's rather clever that they chose slides from their own collection. It's almost like . . .”

“Art for the people?”

“Something like that, yes. Though I suppose putting it that way sounds a bit condescending.”

“Just a bit,” Theodosia said. “But the supersized paintings and sculptures might help bring a few more folks through their doors, which is always a good thing.”

“You see,” Drayton said, “that's where the Heritage Society differs.”

“How's that?”

“We really don't want any more people flocking through our doors.”

Theodosia stared at Drayton, who managed to keep a straight face for all of five seconds. Then she punched him in the arm and said, “Let's see what else is going on.”

Turns out, there was a lot to be dazzled by. Searchlights arced in the sky, more light shows splashed against fine old buildings, and LED installations buzzed and hummed all around them. There was even an interactive light tube on the front lawn of the historic Reese-Parker home.

“I had no idea that light had become such a highly regarded artistic medium,” Drayton said. “I guess I have to catch up with the times.”

“You're out tonight,” Theodosia said. “That's a good start.”

They'd wandered down King Street and turned onto Archdale. Here, magnificent Georgian, Italianate, and Victorian-style homes, all deemed “architecturally significant,” by those who made such decisions, sat cheek to elegant jowl. All privately owned and rarely seen by the public, these homes were a vision in grandeur and sumptuous luxury and served as time capsules for Charleston's history, taste, and décor.

“You see that sign up ahead?” Theodosia pointed.

Drayton peered ahead through darkness that was punctuated by glowing streetlamps. “Yes, it says ‘Fire Garden.' What on earth is a Fire Garden?”

“I'd say we're about to find out.”

They picked their way through throngs of strolling people and stopped in front of a large redbrick mansion that featured tall white columns, a wide veranda, and was surrounded by a genuine Philip Simmons wrought-iron fence.

“This is the Rosewalk Inn,” Drayton said. He cocked an eye at Theodosia. “Did you bring me here to spy?”

“You said you wanted to attend the Lumiere Festival. I'm just obliging you.”

“I have to admit, I'm a little curious about their Fire Garden installation.”

“So am I. Let's go in.”

Tyrone Chandler, the manager, greeted them on the enormous front veranda. He was an African American man in his late fifties, quite distinguished-looking with his salt-and-pepper hair and infectious smile. Tonight he wore an elegant camel hair jacket with a white shirt and charcoal-gray slacks.

“Drayton, is that really you?” Chandler asked. He stuck out a hand as Drayton greeted him. “And Theodosia, too.” He chuckled merrily. “Have you come to see our Fire Garden?”

“We're trying to figure out what a Fire Garden is,” Drayton said.

“It's an idea that Marcella came up with,” Chandler told them. Marcella Soliere was the owner of the Rosewalk Inn. “She saw something like it in Perugia when she was traveling through Italy last summer. Couldn't wait to re-create one here.”

“We're intrigued,” Theodosia told him as they were ushered into the inn.

“Just head straight through the breakfast room,” Chandler said. “And then step out the sliding doors and onto the patio. The Fire Garden is just beyond our rose garden.”

“Thank you,” Theodosia said.

•   •   •

The Rosewalk Inn
was named for the multitude of rosebushes that graced its back garden. Though most of the floribundas, polyanthas, and English roses were no longer in bloom, there were a few pink Chinese roses standing tall.

“Mr. Chandler must have grown these in a hothouse,” Drayton said. “Then transplanted them here especially for tonight.” His eyes traveled down the rosebush to study the area around the roots. “Yes, that's exactly what that sly fox did.”

“Can't put anything past you, Drayton,” Theodosia said. Then her eyes caught sight of what had to be the Fire Garden and she said, “Oh my, take a look at this.”

Theodosia and Drayton stepped past the expanse of rosebushes and onto the back patio. A huge circle of enormous rocks, à la Stonehenge, had been arranged in the middle. Inside were concentric circles of rocks that stepped up to form a large rock pyramid in the middle. Every one of the rocks had an enormous flaming candle on top of it.

“This looks like an image straight out of Dante's
Inferno
,” Drayton said, though he was clearly intrigued.

“It's a gorgeous display,” Theodosia said. “It really is a Fire Garden.” Flames danced and licked atop red, yellow, and orange candles that dripped rivulets of wax down the stones. But the arrangement didn't look one bit hokey. It looked almost . . . sacrificial.

“There's a bar over there,” Drayton said, gazing across the dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs where guests were camped out. “Should we grab a table and have ourselves a cocktail?” He gestured toward the bar. “Or maybe a glass of wine?”

“Chardonnay, if they've got it. Or anything dry.”

Drayton sped away. “Coming right up.”

Spotting a table that was unoccupied, Theodosia hurried to grab it. Just as she pulled out a chair, someone clamped
a hand on the chair adjacent to her. She glanced up quickly, surprised to see the two FBI agents who'd been practically haunting her shop.

“Hello,” she said. “I was wondering when I'd see you two again.”

Agent Zimmer nodded politely to her while Hurley actually smiled.

“Still working the case?” Theodosia asked, even though she pretty much knew the answer. Of course they were. They were jackhammering away like crazy.

“Absolutely we are,” Zimmer said.

“That's good to know,” Theodosia said. She glanced around. Drayton was still standing at the bar ordering glasses of wine, and nobody else had taken notice of the two agents, even though they were dressed like a couple of G-men in a made-for-TV movie. “I assume you're here because you've been talking to Professor Shepley? Interviewing him because he crashed the Heart's Desire event?”

“You knew he was staying here?” Zimmer asked. “At this particular inn?”

Theodosia smiled demurely.

“If you had knowledge that he was staying here, that means you've been meddling,” Hurley said.

“She sees him as a suspect,” Zimmer said.

“I don't really know if he is or isn't,” Theodosia said. “I'd have to defer to your judgment on that.”

Zimmer exchanged a knowing glance with Hurley and then said, “We've done a careful assessment of Shepley and don't believe he poses any immediate threat.”

“That's good to know,” Theodosia said just as Drayton arrived with two glasses of wine.

“Gentlemen, if I had known . . .” Drayton indicated the wineglasses he held in his hands.

Zimmer put up a hand as the two of them backed away. “No, no. Thanks for the offer, but we have to get going.”

“Nice to see you again,” Theodosia called after them as she and Drayton sat down.

“What were
they
doing here?” Drayton asked as he slid a glass of wine in front of her. “Oh, and it's Chablis rather than Chardonnay, if that's all right with you.”

“Just fine. And it seems our FBI friends have cleared Professor Shepley of any wrongdoing. If their story can be believed.”

Drayton frowned. “Shepley? I just ran into him at the bar. He was ordering a Dubonnet.”

“He's here?” Theodosia spun around in her chair. “Where?” Her eyes searched what had turned into a sizable crowd on the patio. “Oh, I see him.”

“We should probably leave the man in peace,” Drayton said.

At which point Theodosia jumped up and waved at him wildly. “Professor Shepley,” she cried. “Over here. Come on over here.”

Shepley noticed her waving and visibly flinched. Then, head down, he all but reluctantly strolled toward their table. The three of them exchanged somewhat formal greetings, and then Shepley didn't waste any time mincing words.

“I'm leaving Charleston,” he told them. “Driving back to Savannah first thing tomorrow.”

“We're sorry to hear that,” Theodosia said. “I take it your research here is finished?”

“Not at all,” Shepley said. “But I no longer feel welcome.”

Theodosia felt a flicker of guilt. Had she contributed to driving Shepley out? Probably. She'd sicced both Tidwell and the FBI on him and it had probably unnerved the man to no end. Yes, she felt guilty, but a little relieved, too. Her list of suspects was gradually being whittled down.

“I hope your research was at least successful,” Drayton said diplomatically.

“Yes . . . well . . .” Shepley edged away from their table. “That remains to be seen.” He held up a hand. “Good night.”

“You drove him out,” Drayton said in a low voice. He sounded mildly accusatory.

“I didn't mean to,” Theodosia said as they watched him retreat. “I was only trying to help Brooke.”

“You were well-intentioned. But”—Drayton stared after Shepley—“I think you scared the pants off the old boy.”

•   •   •

They sat at
their table for a while, enjoying the evening and the buzz of activity going on around them.

“Are we going to view any other light installations?” Drayton asked.

“I hadn't planned on it,” Theodosia said. “But if you want to . . .”

Drayton raised a hand. “No, I think it's been a fine evening. Let's just leave it at that.” He looked around. “Though I would like to ask Mr. Chandler a question about his Chinese roses.”

“Go,” Theodosia urged, picking up her glass. “Go ask him.” She'd already spotted Grace Dawson across the patio and had decided to go over and say hi. Grace was looking very sporty tonight, in black leggings and a supple black leather jacket. Theodosia decided that if she had to attach a name to Grace's distinct style, it would be
sport couture
.

“If you don't mind,” Drayton said, starting to get up. “I mean, I don't want to leave you sitting here.”

“You're not,” Theodosia said, getting up from her chair, too. “In fact, I've got people to see and questions to ask.” She strolled past the bar, sipping her glass of Chablis (it really was quite nice, very buttery and light), and strolled over to where Grace was standing. Coming up behind her, Theodosia said, “Where are your beautiful dogs tonight?”

Grace spun around, caught sight of Theodosia, and smiled broadly. “I would have loved to bring them, but I was afraid
they'd jump out of their skin with all the lights popping and strobing.”

“Probably would.”

“Lovely to see you again,” Grace said. “But I have a bone to pick with you.”

Theodosia took a step back. “Uh-oh, what's that?”

“You've got me positively hooked on tea and scones.”

“That was my plan,” Theodosia laughed. “To turn you into one of my regulars so we can see you again and again.”

“And make me gain five pounds!” Grace exclaimed. “I swear, I'll probably have to do an extra hour of Pilates to compensate for all the sugar I imbibed this week. Or go on a low-carb diet.”

“Like Delaine,” Theodosia said.

Grace's eyes lit up. “Say, I ran into Delaine this morning.”

“She told me.”

Grace looked surprised. “How did you . . . ? Ah, you were at the spa, too?”

“Don't I wish,” Theodosia said. “No, Delaine popped in for a late lunch and mentioned that she'd run into you there.”

“That Delaine is such a little jitterbug. Running all over town, her fingers stuck in all sorts of different pies. You know, she's been putting pressure on me to join the board of directors of one of her animal rescue groups. Apparently she's a big wheel in two or three different ones?”