Gunpowder Green (31 page)

“What does it matter?” Giovanni said petulantly. “The shop, gambling debts . . . Anyway, my problems are almost behind me now.”

“And you think you'll get control of Oliver's money by wooing Doe,” said Theodosia.
Keep him talking,
she told herself.
Drayton has to come looking for me.

“Doe has the mind of a child,” said Giovanni scornfully. But she
listens
to me, she
trusts
me. It won't be long before
I'm
calling the shots.”

“You think you can make her fall in love with you? Marry you?”

Giovanni shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“She's not that much of a child,” said Theodosia.

“Shut up!” he said with a harsh bark. All pretense of Giovanni's carefully cultured voice had long since been abandoned.

“What have you got in mind?” Theodosia goaded Giovanni. “Another accident? Another exploding pistol?” Fury shone brightly in her eyes; her cheeks blazed high with color.

“Not necessarily,” said Giovanni, and suddenly his voice was smooth and hard as ice. “I'm sure this pistol will fire quite nicely all on its own. We have our host, Timothy Neville, to thank for that. Quite the expert when it comes to weapons.” Giovanni's eyes darted about the dark garden, but only golden koi peeped at them from the pond. The woman had been stalling for time, Giovanni decided, and he knew he'd better bring this to a rapid conclusion.

“Unlatch that gate.” He gestured with the pistol. “You and I are going to take a little stroll down to Charleston Harbor. The water's awfully chilly this time of year but . . .” He chuckled nastily. “. . . You won't be in any condition to notice.”

Theodosia faced him square on. “I don't think so,” she told him.

Her obstinance infuriated him. “You foolish, snooping woman,” he hissed. “Very well, have it your way. You hear them in there?” He gestured toward Timothy's house. “No one's going to come to your rescue. Everyone is having a merry old time, sipping champagne and whispering about your silly soil samples. I'm sure they all think you're quite mad. Especially when they find out you were sneaking about at night, snooping in people's gardens. No wonder you met with such an unfortunate accident.”

Theodosia stared at him. Giovanni had become so enraged he was spitting like a cat, and his eyes were pulled into narrow slits like an evil Kabuki mask.

Oh dear,
Theodosia suddenly thought to herself as her heart began to pound a timpani solo inside her chest.
Did I push him too hard? I hope he—

Giovanni's finger tightened about the trigger.

“Giovanni . . .” said Theodosia, extending a hand.

Giovanni Loard squeezed the trigger, flinching slightly as a loud
whomp
echoed in the courtyard. At the same instant, Theodosia's hands flew up in surprise, and she uttered a tiny cry of dismay.

“You fool!” Timothy Neville's voice rang sharply across the garden, bouncing like shards of glass on cobblestones.

Startled, Giovanni whirled to find the grim face of Timothy Neville staring at him from above the barrel of a pistol, a sleek contemporary pistol that looked far more menacing than the one Giovanni held in his hand.

“Miss Browning?” Timothy called. “Still in one piece?” He looked past Giovanni, but his gun never wavered. It remained pointed squarely at Giovanni's heart.

Giovanni snapped his head around toward Theodosia. “What?” he gasped, amazed to find her still standing.

“You're a pitiful excuse for a man,” said Timothy, his upper lip curled in disgust.

Giovanni was thoroughly stunned that his shot had been without effect. “It was supposed to be loaded,” he stammered. “You said—”

“Assuming you are still in one piece, Miss Browning, would you care to enlighten the recalcitrant Mr. Loard?”

Theodosia lifted her chin in triumph. Her eyes bore into Giovanni, and her hair flowed out around her like a vengeful wraith.

“We created a special type of ammunition,” she told him. “Gunpowder green.”

“That's right,” added Timothy. “We figured once our killer knew that soil samples were being tested, it was only a matter of time before he, or she, erupted into a full-blown panic and attempted something foolish.” Timothy smiled with smug satisfaction. “Witness your own folly just now.”

Giovanni Loard's face was black with fury. “You put
what
in the pistol?” he bellowed.

“Gunpowder green,” said Theodosia. “Actually a rather pungent and flavorful Chinese tea. But then, what would you know?” Her eyes blazed like a huntress who'd just claimed her prize. “You yourself admitted you were unable to distinguish between Chinese and Japanese blends. We simply assumed your inadequacies ran to gunpowder, as well.”

“And we were correct,” smiled Timothy.

“You pompous old blowhard,” menaced Giovanni. His hands clenched and unclenched, and his eyes sought out the pale skin of Theodosia's neck.

In a split second, Timothy read the cold, calculating menace on Giovanni's face.

“You're not nearly as smart or as quick as you think you are,” Timothy warned him. “Consider the fact that this Ruger is loaded with .22 caliber hollowpoints.” Timothy's eyes gleamed, almost daring Giovanni to make a move.

When Giovanni continued to stare at Theodosia, Timothy Neville pulled his face into a tight smile and cocked the hammer back. The loud click reverberated off the stone garden walls.

“Timothy . . .” cautioned Theodosia. Fear suddenly gripped her. She was afraid that Timothy Neville, fiery old rebel that we was, might well escalate this standoff into something extremely foolish.

Timothy's dark eyes glittered with cold, hard rage. “Go ahead, Giovanni, why not make a grab for her? With my arthritis and advanced age, my reflexes probably aren't what they used to be, so we could make a game of it, you and I. Never mind that I've cocked the hammer back, which puts you about a nanosecond away from meeting your maker.”

Giovanni almost seemed to consider the possibility for a moment. Then there were sudden, fast footfalls across cobblestones as men rushed toward them, and shapes emerged from the darkness. Much to Theodosia's delight, Tidwell's big belly bobbed across the garden courtyard. She'd never been so happy to see that protruding form in all her life.

Along with Tidwell were two uniformed police officers, one with his gun drawn, the other brandishing a set of handcuffs. At the sight of the three lawmen, Giovanni Loard seemed to collapse within himself.

“Detective Tidwell,” said Theodosia, surprised and a little breathless, “what are you doing here?”

“I took the liberty of calling him, ma'am,” said Henry, Timothy Neville's highly competent old butler, as he stepped out from behind Tidwell. For all his part in tonight's drama, Henry still seemed relatively unfazed.

“Good work, Henry,” crowed Timothy, seemingly happy now to relinquish the task of dealing with Giovanni to the police. “Fine work.”

Henry turned baleful eyes on Timothy. “Sir, your guests are departing. Perhaps you should come up to the house and bid them a proper good night?”

“
YOU'RE MAKING A
terrible mistake!” screamed Booth Crowley as a pair of handcuffs was clamped tightly about his chubby wrists. “One call to Senator Wilbur and your career is finished!”

“Yeah, sure,” said the police officer calmly. He turned as Tidwell entered the house. “These two go to central booking?” he asked.

Tidwell nodded. “ATF's been alerted, they're aware they're being brought in.”

“Tidwell, you idiot!” screamed Booth Crowley, “I'll have your head on a platter. When I'm finished, you won't be able to get a job as a crossing guard!”

Theodosia couldn't believe the bizarre scene being played out inside Timothy's home. She had just witnessed Giovanni Loard's arrest out in the garden. Now two more uniformed officers had just apprehended and handcuffed Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo and were about to lead them away. And while Billy seemed subdued and cooperative, Booth Crowley was in a vile rage.

“B. C.?” Beatrix Crowley made pitiful little bleating sounds as she ran helplessly alongside her husband. “What's going on?” she pleaded. “Tell me why this is happening!”

“Shut up with your fool questions and get on the phone to Tom Breedlaw,” Booth shouted at her. “Tell that good-for-nothing lawyer he'd better move heaven and earth on this one! Go on, what are you waiting for?” he sputtered.

“What
is
going on?” Theodosia asked Tidwell as a bemused crowd of onlookers, the remains of Timothy's party guests, gawked and whispered as the two men were led away.

Tidwell favored Theodosia with a benevolent smile. “Yet one more piece of business taken care of, Miss Browning. Not to steal credit from Henry, but we were en route, anyway.” He paused for a moment to scrawl his name on a piece of paper a uniformed officer had presented to him. “We were coming to pick up those two chaps.” Tidwell waved after the departing Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo. “And we ended up with your Mr. Loard, too. A lucky strike extra, I'd have to say.”

Theodosia's brows knit together as she stared earnestly at Burt Tidwell. “Explain please,” she said as Drayton, Haley, and Timothy crowded around them.

Drayton and Haley had rushed out into the garden just in time to see Giovanni Loard taken into custody. Now they were equally amazed by the arrest of Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo. But, of course, everyone was.

Tidwell gazed into their eager faces. Drayton looked like he was about to collapse, Haley was boundlessly enthusiastic, and Theodosia and Timothy seemed to await his words with a peculiar calm.

“A sheriff and his deputy apprehended a group of smugglers over near Huntville,” Tidwell told them. “Not more than an hour ago. The sheriff had been alerted by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms working in conjunction with the Coast Guard. Everyone was pretty sure there'd be some activity tonight; they just weren't sure where. Then, when the smugglers ran their boat aground, the sheriff and his deputies nabbed them. Being caught red-handed with the goods, the four smugglers rolled on their ringleader in about five minutes flat.”

“Let me guess,” said Theodosia, “the ringleaders being Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo.” In her mind, Theodosia could see Sheriff Billings questioning the confused smugglers in his laconic, low-key manner. She was glad he'd been the one to bring them down.

“Booth Crowley was the kingpin,” said Tidwell. “Billy Manolo was really just hired help. Apparently, Billy was born over in that area, near Shem Creek. He knew the coastal waters and could thread his way through the inlets and channels like a swamp rat. Billy was supposed to serve as guide tonight, but for some strange reason, he ended up here.” Tidwell swiveled his bullet head and turned sharp eyes on Theodosia. “Funny turn of events, wouldn't you agree?”

“It is strange, isn't it,” she said.

Haley was grinning from ear to ear. “I love it when people get their comeuppance. Leading Booth Crowley out in handcuffs sure had to bring him down a peg or two.”

“It couldn't happen to a more deserving chap,” commented Drayton. He'd loosened his bow tie and was fanning himself madly, using a palmetto leaf as a makeshift fan.

“But why smuggling?” asked Theodosia. “Booth Crowley had money, a successful company—”

“For a person with a true criminal mind, that's not enough,” said Tidwell. “It's never enough. A person like Booth Crowley is constantly looking for a new angle, a new money-making scheme. And this isn't the first time he's run afoul of the law. He and several of his investors are under close scrutiny by the Securities and Exchange Commission because of possible insider trading.”

“That's amazing,” said Drayton. “And after the big show he made about supporting the arts—”

“I must commend you, Miss Browning,” continued Tidwell. “Wresting a confession from Giovanni Loard was an admirable piece of work.”

“I couldn't have done it without Timothy's help,” said Theodosia. “He helped set the snare with his donated pistol and impassioned speech.”

Timothy beamed. “Thank you, Miss Browning,” he said, “the pleasure was all mine. I enjoyed being complicit in your little scheme because I sincerely meant what I said earlier in the music room. Oliver Dixon was a fine neighbor and a good friend. If I helped put temptation in front of Giovanni Loard in the form of that pistol, then so be it. I'm a firm believer in poetic justice.”

“And Ford Cantrell's name is cleared after all,” said Drayton as he grasped Theodosia's hand tightly, almost as though he were fearful some terrible fate might still befall her. “His sister will be eternally grateful to you, I'm sure. Although you gave us all a nasty fright!”