Devonshire Scream (6 page)

“Everything that wasn't locked in the safe in Brooke's back room.”

“Goodness.” Delaine sat back in her chair. “What a chilling story.”

“It was a pretty bad scene,” Theodosia agreed.

“I'm glad I didn't attend.” Delaine sighed and picked an invisible piece of lint from her expensive suit. As proprietor of one of the ritziest boutiques in Charleston, Delaine owned a wardrobe that wouldn't quit. And to Theodosia's sometime consternation (because she herself veered perilously between a size eight and a size ten), Delaine was also able to squeeze her skinny, carb-obsessed body into all the tiny sample sizes.

“The event started out beautifully,” Theodosia said. She was going to ease her way into questioning Delaine. “Many of Charleston's most prominent families were guests.”

Delaine took a tiny nibble of her sandwich, managing to avoid the bread. “I should imagine.”

“There were even a few new people there.” Theodosia squinted as if trying to remember. “I ran into a lovely woman. Sabrina Andros? Have you met her yet?”

“Yes, I have,” Delaine said. “I met Sabrina at an opera fund-raiser last month. She and her husband Luke own Gold Coast Yachts.”

“Mmn, sounds fancy.”

“They sell some of the finest yachts available,” Delaine smiled. “Marquis, Princess, Vantage. You know, Vantage is the kind of yacht that Calvin Klein owns.”

“Wow,” Theodosia said. “Then it sounds as if the Androses are rolling in dough.”

Delaine waved a hand. “I'd probably classify them more as nouveau riche. Anyway, they've been throwing a lot of money around, supporting various charities, even though they seem to have come out of nowhere. I mean, they don't exactly have a proper Charleston pedigree.”

“That's okay,” Theodosia said. “Neither do the dogs at the Four Paws Animal Rescue.”

Delaine practically spasmed in her chair. “You're so
right
. And look what adorable creatures they are. Did I tell you about the puppy I saw when I was dropping off a check from our recent fund-raiser? An adorable, sweet little pug. If I
thought my darling Siamese kitties would tolerate him, I would have snatched the creature up and carried him home!”

Theodosia half listened to Delaine, then subtly threw in a few questions about some of the other people she'd marked on her list. When Delaine had rambled on about the third person, she suddenly turned suspicious.

“You're certainly quizzing me a lot,” Delaine said, practically pulling her mouth into a pout.

“I'm sorry,” Theodosia said. “I thought we were just having a conversation.”

“You've been probing. Carefully and gently, but you're up to something, aren't you?” Delaine narrowed her eyes, catlike. “Theodosia, I know you. You're definitely
up
to something.”

So much for
wringing information out of Delaine, Theodosia decided. Some of it had been proffered freely, most of it had been like pulling teeth.

It was late afternoon and she was back at her desk, jotting a few notes to herself.

“Did you find out what you needed from Delaine?” Drayton asked. He was lounging in the doorway, looking elegant and half-posed, like a retired ballet master.

“Yes and no.”

Drayton gave a thin smile. “Why am I not surprised? Delaine's like a Chinese puzzle. Layers and riddles and infinite dead ends.”

“She thought I was pumping her for information.”

“That's because you were,” Drayton said. “She's not stupid, she's just snooty.”

“Hey,” Haley said, pushing her way past Drayton. “Am I the only one around here who's working her little fingers to the bone?”

“You're the only one, Haley,” Drayton said. “Theodosia and I have been lazing about, stuffing our faces with chocolate bonbons and watching soap operas.”

Haley eyed him warily. “What do you know about soap operas? You only watch the Smithsonian Channel and the History channel. And public television.”

Drayton gave a cryptic smile. “Which broadcasts
Downton Abbey
?”

“That's not a soap opera,” Haley said.

“Come on,” Drayton said. “You've watched it. The show's a bit of a potboiler. Or it was, anyway. Admit it.”

“Theo?” Haley asked. “What do you think?”

Theodosia twiddled a pen. “Mmn . . . I'd probably have to say . . . potboiler. But a very entertaining and cultured one.”

“Sheesh,” Haley said. Then, “You know, we've got a super busy week ahead of us.”

“So we've noticed,” Drayton said. “Our Duchess of Devonshire Tea is scheduled for the day after tomorrow and then our Romanov Tea happens on Thursday.”

Haley grinned. “The Romanov Tea that . . . hooray . . . Theodosia is going to promote to high heaven when she appears on Channel Eight.”

“When is your interview scheduled?” Drayton asked.

Theodosia cast a quick glance at her calendar. “Um . . . day after tomorrow. Wednesday afternoon. So right after the Devonshire Tea, but just in the nick of time to publicize our other teas. And it's not really an interview per se. The station asked me to do a quick tea demo.”

“That sounds like fun,” Haley said.

“Anyway,” Theodosia continued, “after the tea segment they've promised me about twenty seconds to promote the two event teas we have on this week's schedule.”

“Please don't forget to mention our Full Monty Tea,” Drayton said. This particular themed tea was his own idea and he was constantly fretting over it.

“Twenty seconds doesn't seem like very much time,” Haley sniffed.

“If we were paying for that media off a rate card,” Theodosia said, “it would cost us a thousand dollars.”

Drayton dusted his hands together. “There you go. Case closed.”

Theodosia thought about Brooke, who was so eager and trusting, placing all her hope in Theodosia to figure out who'd killed her beloved Kaitlin. Was that case closed? No, not by a long shot. In fact, she'd only just gotten started.

•   •   •

“Okay, I'm taking
off now,” Haley yelled as she hustled out of the kitchen and raced through Theodosia's office. She'd pulled on a beaten-up brown leather jacket and had her belongings stashed in a small backpack. Her long blond hair was clipped into a youthful ponytail.

She was almost at the back door when Drayton said, “What on earth is that horrific racket?” He was sitting across from Theodosia's desk on the overstuffed chair they'd dubbed the tuffet, drinking a cup of tea. Theodosia was basically ignoring him, working on orders and shuffling through invoices that needed to be paid.

Haley grinned at Drayton over her shoulder. “Oh, don't mind that. It's just a friend picking me up.”

“He drives a Sherman tank?”

Haley rolled her eyes. “No, Drayton, he has a motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson, if you really must know. And it seems as if you must.”

“Is this another one of your bad-boy boyfriends?” he asked.

“Bad boy . . . ?” Haley stuck a hand on her hip. “Look, he's a friend, okay?”

“Does this friend have a name?” he asked.

“What are you, my parole officer?”

Drayton had to smile at that one.

“Okay, his name's Billy Grainger,” Haley said. “And he really is a nice guy. Not a maniac or a crazy person, so I'm perfectly safe. Now. Are you satisfied?”

“Yes,” Drayton said. “Just please take care when you're clinging to the back of that thing, getting bugs stuck in your teeth.”

“You got it,” Haley said as she dashed out and pulled the door closed behind her.

Drayton stood up and peered out over a white lace curtain. “My, that certainly is a large motorcycle. Must be quite powerful.”

Theodosia glanced up from her desk. She'd been paging through a half-dozen different tea magazine and catalogs, studying the contents. It was time once again to place orders for tins of tea, jams, jellies, and tea knickknacks. “Hmm?” she said. She'd heard Drayton's good-natured exchange with Haley and something had stirred within her brain. But what was it? She tried to pull it up, but it didn't want to come. Stayed stuck. Oh well.

Drayton turned and smiled. “I said I hope Haley is wearing a helmet.”

•   •   •

Theodosia lived in
an English-style cottage that went by the name of Hazelhurst. It had once been part of the larger estate next door to her. Now it was its own little principality ruled over by Theodosia and her dog, Earl Grey.

Thump, thump, thump.

Earl Grey's tail beat out a syncopated rhythm on the parquet floor as Theodosia opened the front door. She crouched down as he leapt up and squirted toward her, a bundle of fur driving forward to bury his sleek head in her hands.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, giving his ears a gentle tug. “How was school today?” Theodosia employed a dog walker, a
retired schoolteacher by the name of Mrs. Berry, who came by most afternoons. They all called it school (K through 9? K9?) even though it was mostly Earl Grey, a Scottie dog named Mr. Misty, two schnauzers, and a toy poodle named Tootsie that the dog walker led through the tony neighborhoods on most afternoons. The dogs had the time of their lives, sniffing and romping to their heart's content, dragging their human handler down narrow, seldom-traveled cobblestone pathways such as Stoll's Alley and Longitude Lane.

Theodosia hung up her jacket and bag and walked through her dining room into the kitchen. Ignoring the ugly cupboards that she still wanted to change out, she pulled open the refrigerator door and scanned the contents inside. Some lobster bisque that she could heat up, a slice of leftover quiche, lots of fruit and cheese.

Was she hungry? She decided no. Not at this very moment, anyway. So maybe a jog was in order to blow out the carbon and help her relax? She thought that might just do the trick.

Ten minutes later, dressed in workout pants, a hooded anorak, and Nike trainers, Theodosia and Earl Grey were out the door and bouncing down the back alley. It was full-on dark now, and as she raced through the historic district, some of the lighted windows offered glimpses of life in Charleston's grandest homes.

A dining room table was being set with gleaming silver and china. Drinks were being imbibed in a wood-paneled library. A man in a wine-colored jacket (was that really a smoking jacket?) poked at logs in a crackling fireplace. Lights were snapped on and, finally, heavy curtains drawn across elegant, arched windows.

Theodosia chugged along at a fairly brisk pace, idly wondering if the robbers from last night had ever cased homes such as these. Down here, along East Bay Street and Murray Boulevard, the enormous Georgian, Federal, and Victorian-
style homes were the cream of the crop. They sold for multimillions in today's hot real estate market and housed many of Charleston's bankers, lawyers, and doctors. Their contents—antiques, artwork, silver, Oriental rugs, Chippendale furniture, what have you—were probably worth a small fortune. She hoped it all remained safe.

Earl Grey matched Theodosia stride for stride, his legs chugging along, his ears laid flat against his fine-boned head. Her heart filled with love for this wonderful dog that had become her dear companion. She'd found him, several years ago, as a shivering, frightened, homeless pup cowering in the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop. She'd picked him up, wrapped him in a warm blanket, whispered to him, and never let him go. Now he'd grown into a magnificent dog—smart, friendly, good with people.

In fact, Earl Grey was now a registered therapy dog with the Big Paw organization. Several times a month, he'd don his bright-blue nylon service-dog cape and they'd visit hospitals and nursing homes. Sometimes just laying his head in the lap of a patient made their face light up. And sometimes the patients' sad smiles, as they no doubt remembered their own dogs from long ago, made Theodosia brush away tears of her own.

They ran down Tradd Street, hit Church Street, and hung a left, running past the darkened Indigo Tea Shop. Two more blocks and then they swung right again, running toward Heart's Desire.

Theodosia pulled back on Earl Grey's leash as they approached. When she heard voices and saw black-and-yellow tape flapping in the wind, she crossed to the other side of the street. It looked as though there were still some police officers present, along with two men in white overalls who were unloading large sheets of plywood from the back of a pickup truck that had the name
JUNI
'
S
HARDWARE
painted on the doors.

Going to board up the store. Too bad that's the only thing that's being done right now.

Theodosia headed over to Concord and ran along the high embankment of the Cooper River. Lights from several small boats shimmered in the fog that was slowly beginning to drift in. Farther down, she could just make out the large docks where commercial vessels pulled in to unload cargo.

She slowed her pace and they veered off the path. Jogged along dry grass and over to a rocky patch. They stopped, both of them breathing hard from a good, long workout.

Off in the distance, a boat horn tooted mournfully, then a small tugboat came puttering into sight. Theodosia looked down at the river as the boat churned by. The water looked gray and cold and turgid. She shivered and thought of poor Kaitlin, lying in some mortuary on a cold slab.

Who would answer for her?

Who had put her there?

Who could have masterminded that robbery?

Theodosia clenched her jaw as she shivered in the November cold. She intended to pull out all the stops and find out who was responsible.

Make sure they were punished for their crime.