Authors: Laura Childs
Theodosia wasn’t sure how to answer this. Or even how to react.
Horton touched a hand to his chest and pulled his face into a look of supreme anguish. “Me. I’m just as appalled by this terrible murder as anyone.”
“Delaine is under a good deal of stress,” said Theodosia. “I’m sure, in time . . .”
“Which is why I’m here to ask a favor of you,” Horton blurted out. “Even though I really don’t know you and am probably imposing like crazy.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” asked Theodosia.
“I’d be grateful if you’d run interference for me,” said Horton.
Theodosia focused a level gaze on him. “Run interference.”
“Delaine isn’t thinking straight,” said Horton, twisting his face. “She’s angry and bitter and scared right now. I know for a fact that her sister is giving her little if any support and . . .”
“And let me guess,” Theodosia cut in. “You want to be there for Delaine. You want to offer a shoulder to cry on, so to speak.”
“Exactly!” said Horton.
“Only the two of you are estranged.”
“The thing is,” said Horton, “we’re practically family. At least we
would
have been had this marriage taken place.” He held up a hand. “Look, all I’m asking is that you talk to Delaine. I know she listens to you, thinks the world of you if you really want to know the truth. Just try to convey the fact that I’m a good guy. That I’m willing to help her any way I can.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” said Theodosia.
But I don’t know if I can convince her. Because I’m not totally convinced myself.
Horton beamed. “You know what? You’re a peach!” He opened his arms wide and enveloped Theodosia in a clumsy hug. He tried to deliver a peck on her cheek, but Theodosia turned her head so he got an ear instead.
“I’ll run this by her,” Theodosia promised, as she wriggled out of Horton’s grasp. “Next time I see her.”
7
With the surging
Atlantic as a backdrop, Theodosia and Earl Grey jogged along a narrow beach littered with broken oyster shells, then sprinted up a short path into White Point Gardens.
This was the tip of Charleston’s Battery. The place where rogue pirates had been hanged, where British cannons had bombarded the city during the Revolutionary War, and where old Civil War cannons still stood like sentinels. Edging the park was a row of elegant mansions. Here, fanciful Victorian homes stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Federal, Italianate, Gothic Revival, and Georgian-style homes. And like so many buildings in the romantic city once known as Charles Town, these homes were painted in a soft French palette: alabaster white, pale pink, pastel blue, and soft gray.
As Theodosia and her dog pounded across the grass, winds from the Atlantic caressed them, stirring up ions and intoxicating sips of sea air.
“Have you had enough?” Theodosia asked Earl Grey, as they bounced across East Bay Street and headed down a narrow cobblestone alley. “Did you blow out the carbon?”
Earl Grey tossed his head and strode easily alongside Theodosia. He was a Dalbrador, half Dalmatian, half Labrador. She had found him as a pup, huddled and miserable, a poor lost stray, hiding from the rain in the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop. She had taken him in, warmed him, fed him, and been instantly captivated. Earl Grey, so named because of his slightly dappled coat, had been her constant companion ever since. On a lark, they’d started therapy dog training together. But almost immediately they began to take their mission very seriously. Now, Theodosia and Earl Grey visited hospitals and retirement homes where Earl Grey brought smiles and laughter to folks who were sometimes facing grim circumstances.
Theodosia swung open her back gate and cut across her small backyard. She’d done some more planting last month, and her once-scraggly garden was beginning to look a little more lush and verdant. Peeking into the tiny fish pond, she saw a half-dozen goldfish hovering in the crystal-clear water. Happily, they were still there. Last year she’d had trouble with a neighborhood raccoon who’d used her fish pond as his own personal sushi bar. This year the fish seemed to be holding their own. And thank goodness for that. Theodosia hated the thought of the poor little creatures being helplessly gobbled!
They ducked in the back door and went straight through the kitchen. Even though Theodosia had lived in her home for almost six months, she still hadn’t done anything about the ugly kitchen cupboards. Still, the rest of the house more than made up for it.
In the living room, she knelt down and built a small fire. Even though the afternoon had been pleasant and warm, the evening was starting to feel cool. As she touched a match to the pile of kindling, Theodosia hoped there wasn’t another storm cell lurking out there over the Atlantic. The storm on Saturday, the day of Delaine’s wedding, had been quite enough. Some of the palmetto trees on her street still looked like they’d been blown inside out.
As red and blue flames snapped and danced off the walls of beveled cypress, the living room turned instantly cozy.
I love this place
, Theodosia told herself.
I did the right thing in buying it.
True, the money had been a stretch, but all the scrimping and saving had been worth it. For now, this perfect little cottage with the charming name of Hazelhurst was her pride and joy.
And what a cottage it was! The exterior was adorable and semi-quirky—a classic Tudor-style cottage that was asymmetrical in design with rough cedar tiles that replicated a thatched roof. The front of the cottage featured arched doors, cross gables, and a small turret. Lush tendrils of ivy curled their way up the walls.
Her small entrance foyer featured a brick floor, hunter green walls, and antique brass sconces. The living room had a beamed ceiling and polished wood floor. Chintz and damask furniture, a blue-and-gold Aubusson carpet, an antique highboy, and tasteful oil paintings added a finishing touch.
A log popped loudly and Earl Grey glanced at her.
“You’re right,” said Theodosia. “I have to get moving. I need to take a quick shower and start supper.”
Earl Grey continued to stare at her with limpid brown eyes.
Theodosia reached out and stroked his sleek head. “Yes, he’s coming over tonight. But please don’t monopolize him too much, okay? Give me a chance once in a while.”
Earl Grey thumped his tail with enthusiasm. But he wasn’t making any promises.
* * *
Twenty minutes later,
tendrils of hair still slightly damp on the back of her neck, Theodosia was in her kitchen peeling and deveining shrimp. Strains of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” played on the CD player and Earl Grey was cozied on his dog bed in the corner of the kitchen, his bright eyes watching her every move.
Theodosia whipped up her pizza dough first, using King Arthur flour that Haley had ordered for her. Then she sliced an enormous heirloom tomato and arranged the juicy red slices on two plates, along with bunches of fresh basil. Just before she served the tomatoes, she’d drizzle on a nice mixture of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
The pizza toppings made for easy prep work. She sizzled a dozen fresh shrimp, sliced black olives and red onion, and grated a mound of fresh Parmesan. Once the pizza dough was rolled out, she spooned on pesto sauce, then added the toppings.
Then she grabbed a bottle of Rubicon Cabernet Sauvignon and pulled the cork.
So what else? Ah, gotta set the table.
Theodosia placed two woven placemats on her kitchen table; set out knives, forks, and plates; then added a pair of wrought-iron candlesticks with twisted white candles.
And just when her kitchen was steamy and aromatic with top notes of basil, shrimp, and onion, Max knocked on the back door. As always, his timing was perfect.
Theodosia wasn’t sure who was happier to see him, herself or Earl Grey. The dog danced and pranced his way around the kitchen, toenails clicking and ticking like castanets. But, of course, she was the one who got a wonderful bear hug along with a long, lingering kiss.
When the heavy breathing had concluded, for now, anyway, Theodosia turned back to her dinner. Wine was poured, the tomatoes dressed, the pizza checked on.
“I love it when you make with the magic,” said Max, lounging against the counter, sipping his glass of wine. His hair looked more tousled than usual tonight, and his face wore a satisfied grin.
“You’re referring to my cooking?” Theodosia waved a hand. “This isn’t much. In fact, it’s downright easy.”
“No, no, everything you do is pure alchemy,” said Max. “You throw together bits of shrimp or pork, add fresh vegetables and a wonderful sauce and, presto-chango, dinner suddenly appears. Only it’s not just dinner, it’s a fanciful
creation
!”
“Really,” said Theodosia. “It’s just a simple pizza tonight. Per your request.”
“But the cool thing is, you made it from scratch.”
“Everything I learned about food chemistry and cooking I learned from Haley,” said Theodosia. And it was true. Haley had taught her about the five basic tastes: sweet, bitter, sour, salty, and umami. And that baking generally relied on exact measurements, while cooking could be a lot more laissez-faire.
“Why do I somehow doubt that?” asked Max. “Why do I think you were born with a love and a knack for preparing great food. That you probably had a set of play dishes and one of those toy stoves when you were, like, two.”
“You know,” said Theodosia, as she peeked into the oven, “this is exactly what I’m in dire need of. Flattery and sweet talk. Definitely helps take my mind off Delaine.”
“Has she been haunting you?” asked Max.
“Endlessly,” said Theodosia, chuckling to herself at his choice of words. Lots of talk about hauntings lately. She opened the oven door and peered in. “Say, this pizza is going to be ready in about two more minutes.”
“I take it Delaine stopped by today? At the tea shop?”
“She and a very nice woman named Millie Grant, who turned out to be Granville’s secretary.”
“But Delaine was bugging you.”
“Oh, yeah. She wants me to look into things . . . you know.”
“And you’re undecided.”
Theodosia shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did you ask her about the cocaine?”
“She says she’s never tried it in her life,” said Theodosia.
“And you believe her?”
“I do,” said Theodosia. “Delaine on cocaine would be like a Formula One car going three hundred miles an hour.”
“What about Granville?”
“She said maybe, in the past. But not anymore.”
“Clearly she was mistaken,” said Max. He took a sip of wine and added, “Cocaine is basically God’s way of telling you you have too much money.”
“Oh, you,” said Theodosia.
Max set his glass on the counter and opened his arms. Which was Theodosia’s cue to toss her pot holder aside and help herself to another kiss and a hug.
“Really,” she said. “You’ve been great about this.” And he had. Max had been sympathetic and solicitous to her all weekend. In fact, he’d dropped by last night, on his way to a donor’s dinner, to offer comfort and kisses.
“That pizza’s not going to catch fire in there, is it?” Max asked, suddenly worried about his dinner.
No
, Theodosia thought.
But I might.
* * *
Theodosia waited until
she’d served Max a second slice of pizza and poured another half glass of wine. Then she said, “How do you feel about ghosts?”
Max had been feeding Earl Grey a tidbit of golden crust. When he heard her question, he paused and looked slightly bemused. “Is this a theoretical question, or have you heard chains rattling in your attic?”
“I don’t have an attic,” said Theodosia. “Just a crawl space. And I’m asking your opinion because I don’t know if ghosts are whimsical entities or if there’s the possibility they really do exist.”
“Uh-oh,” said Max. “Sounds like the beginning of an existential ectoplasm discussion.”
“It’s not funny,” said Theodosia. “I really want your opinion on this.”
Max squinted across the table at her. “Why do I have the feeling this somehow relates to Mr. Granville’s recent passing?”
“Because it does,” said Theodosia.
“In that case, you better give me some context. Fill me in a little more so I can better answer your question.”
So Theodosia told Max about how Bill Glass, with complete sincerity, had told her that Ravencrest Inn was reputedly haunted. And then she explained to him how two amateur ghost hunters, surprise, surprise, had suddenly come galloping into her tea shop this morning.
“Ghost hunters,” said Max. He looked skeptical.
“Yes, but fairly legitimate ones,” said Theodosia. “The Beckman brothers are producing a reality show. Something called
Southern Hauntings
.”
“Of course, they are,” said Max. “Which makes them perfectly legitimate. And they want to rope you in . . . how? To conduct some sort of interview?”
“Actually, it goes a little beyond that,” said Theodosia. “The brothers are determined to get permission from the Rattlings to actually go inside Ravencrest Inn and—”
“Do what?” Max cut in. Suddenly, he didn’t look happy. Suddenly, he wasn’t all that interested in another bite of pizza.
“I suppose they want to use an infrared video camera,” said Theodosia. “To record any possible images or sounds.”
“Eh,” said Max. “You mean like a séance? Or fooling around with a Ouija board?”
“Nothing that spooky,” said Theodosia. “The way they explained everything, it was more scientific.”
“Right,” said Max. “And what else are the Bothersome Beckman Boys up to?” He sensed there was something else she wasn’t telling him.
“They asked me to go with them,” said Theodosia. There, she’d spelled it all out. Now he could sit back and enjoy an insanely good laugh.
But he didn’t. He remained quite serious.
“Run that by me again,” said Max. “
Why
exactly were you invited to join the party?”
Theodosia drew a deep breath. This was the tricky part: making her explanation sound plausible. “Because I was the person closest to Granville when he died. As the ghost hunters explained it to me, I was nearest to him when his spirit left his body.”
“Of course,” Max said smoothly. “Now it’s all crystal clear to me.” He cocked his head to one side and assumed a serious expression. “Actually, the person closest to Granville when he died was the man who murdered him.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Theodosia. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Well, maybe you should. Because this isn’t something you should fool around with. You’d be treading on a murder investigation.”
“But I’m not hunting for a murderer,” said Theodosia. “It’s more like, um, a parlor trick.”
“But what if the murderer is still around? What if there’s something in that guest room that he’s still after?” Max stared at her with utter seriousness. “What if you stumble on something that impacts the investigation?”
“Okay,” Theodosia said slowly. “You could have a point.”
Then, like a storm that had suddenly blown itself out, Max’s face broke into a grin. “Theo, are you kidding me? You want to go on a ghost-hunting expedition? That’s what kids do at summer camp. They send their bunkmates out on a snipe hunt and toss in a ghost hunt for good measure.” He was rolling now. “You drape a bedsheet over your head and scare the poop out of the little kids.”
“When you put it that way . . . it does sound a little foolish.”
“Because it
is
foolish,” said Max.
“Still,” said Theodosia, “Charleston is supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in America. Right up there with New Orleans.”
“Come on,” said Max. “You don’t really believe in ghosts and witches and haunts, do you?”
Theodosia had to think about that. She’d been born and bred in the low country where tales of headless horsemen, pirate ghosts, and dead Confederate soldiers were everyday legends. Where kids were admonished to watch out for boo hags when they ventured out at night.