Shades of Earl Grey (12 page)

“Yes, this portrait is absolutely authentic,” Timothy told her. “It's a recent donation and a welcome one at that.” Timothy rocked back on his heels. “I don't know how popular we're going to be in the future, however. Our recent debacle last Saturday night may have sealed our fate as far as donations go.”

He sat down heavily in his chair, as though he'd suddenly run out of energy and enthusiasm. “Sit, please,” he told her.

Theodosia moved around his desk and seated herself in one of the oversized leather chairs that faced Timothy's desk.

“I talked with Tidwell,” she told him.

“Good. And I spoke with our insurance company.” He drew in a breath, held it, then blew out heavily. “But I'm getting ahead of myself. You obviously came here to share some news.”

Theodosia nodded. She wasn't sure how pleased Timothy Neville would be with her news, however.

Timothy leaned forward in his chair. “You kept your meeting confidential?”

“It was just Drayton and myself, yes. Tidwell already knew about the two robberies, of course. But we spoke with him about the possibility of a cat burglar at work in Charleston.”

“And what was his learned opinion?”

Theodosia gave Timothy a quick rundown of their conversation with Tidwell, including his territorial great white shark analogy.

When she was finished, Timothy grimaced. “Territorial. I don't like the sound of that at all. Especially with the Treasures Show about to open this weekend.”

“Is it opening?” she asked.

“For now, yes,” replied Timothy. “The decision's just been made.” He hesitated. “Actually, truth be known, we arrived at a sort of compromise. The European Jewel Collection won't be part of it. Those pieces are being packed up even as we speak. They'll be shipped back to the organizing museum in New York. So the Treasures Show that the public will see this Saturday evening will consist only of selected pieces from the Heritage Society's collection. A pair of Louis the Fifteenth chairs, some excellent Meissen ware, this portrait by Sully . . . you get the general idea.”

Theodosia nodded. “But no headliner pieces.”

“Nothing outside the realm of what we already have. Unless you have something utterly spectacular stashed in your attic. No . . .” Timothy shook his head slowly. “We'll have to come up with something else to put in the small gallery. I don't exactly know what yet.” Timothy cast his eyes about his office to the shelves that lined the walls. They contained rare books, old maps, some pewter ware. “Maybe our collection of antique sterling silver letter openers?” he offered, but he didn't sound totally convinced.

Theodosia smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

“Still . . .” said Timothy. “There's no guarantee that the disaster of last Saturday night won't be repeated.”

Timothy looked so bereft that Theodosia's heart went out to him. “I'm sure everything will be fine,” she assured him. “On a more personal note, how are
you
feeling? You gave us all quite a scare the other night.”

Tapping his chest, Timothy gave her a rueful look. “I didn't even have a regular physician and now it seems I've inherited a team of specialists. A cardiologist and some fellow who studies respiration. Don't need anyone, of course. I'm as healthy as you are.”

Theodosia knew that Timothy adhered to a strict daily regimen of vitamins and minerals. Drayton had even told her once about some sort of life extension formula that he imported from Rumania. Considering that he was just past eighty and acted fifty, that formula just might be the real deal.

“Have you heard any more about the security guard who was injured Saturday night?” Timothy asked her.

“He's still in intensive care at Saint Anne's Hospital,” said Theodosia. “I thought I'd stop by and visit him tonight. I was scheduled to go to Saint Anne's anyway. Earl Grey is paying a visit to the children's ward.” She smiled warmly at Timothy. “I'll let you know.”

“Do that,” Timothy said. “We've sent flowers and such, but I'm sure he'd be pleased to see an attractive face such as yours.”

 

“Can you help him?” asked Claire as Theodosia darted past the front desk.

Theodosia stopped in her tracks. “Can I . . .”

“Ever since that necklace disappeared Saturday night, Timothy hasn't been the same,” said Claire. “He's been quiet and brooding all morning, hasn't looked good. I'm worried about him. Everyone here is.” Claire leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “We're worried about his heart.”

“So am I,” confided Theodosia as she slipped out the door.

Goodness,
she thought to herself as she hurried across the patio.
This really is a mess. Because no matter how valuable that missing necklace is, and the number has to edge up to almost half a million, it's nowhere near as important as Timothy's health. If he worries himself to death over this . . .
Theodosia suddenly stopped in her tracks, freeze-framing that thought.
No, she wasn't going to think like that. Nobody was going to die. She simply wasn't going to let that happen!

EARL GREY POKED
his furry muzzle through the slats of the tiny patient's bed. Wearing his blue vest with his THERAPY DOG INTERNATIONAL insignia, he looked very official, acted very well behaved.

“Do you want to pet the doggy, Katie?” asked Angela Krause. Angela was a nurse and a friend of Theodosia's. She had worked at Saint Anne's Hospital for almost five years and was a fixture on the children's ward.

Katie, a tiny five-year-old who'd just undergone a round of chemotherapy for acute myeloid leukemia, nodded. Blue veins showed through her almost transparent skin and her head was covered by a small red kerchief. But she was still game to meet Earl Grey.

“Okay, then,” said Angela, “put your hand out. He won't hurt you.”

Katie stuck her hand tentatively through the slats of the crib. Gently, Earl Grey sniffed at the tiny hand.

There was a delighted giggle and then Katie's entire face was pressed up against the slats.

“Do you want to toss the ball?” asked Theodosia.

Katie reached out her small hand and Theodosia placed a red rubber ball in it. Winding up like an all-star pitcher, Katie flung the ball out the door of her room and Earl Grey bounded after it. Within seconds, he returned and gently placed the ball in Katie's hand.

“Good doggy,” said Katie.

“His name is Earl Grey,” said Theodosia.

“Earl Grey,” said Katie, patting his head gently. “Bye bye, Earl Grey.”

Out in the hallway, Theodosia and Earl Grey stopped in front of another patient room.

“What about this one?” Theodosia asked Angela.

Angela looked grim. “Billy Foster,” she said. “He hasn't spoken since he underwent surgery three days ago to repair a collapsed lung.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor little guy. First he gets banged up rather badly in a car accident, then he's traumatized by the ordeal of surgery. Plus both his parents are in the hospital, too.” Angela made a rueful face. “Nobody wearing seat belts. Billy wasn't in a children's car seat.” Gazing in the door of the little boy's hospital room, she said, “Sometimes these kids are as resilient as a rubber band, other times they're just incredibly fragile.” Angela glanced again in Billy's room, where his small body lay immobile under the covers. “This one”—she looked about ready to cry—“just tears my heart out. The doctors say he should be able to take deeper breaths by now, but for some reason he can't. Or won't. His blood oxygen saturation is low and the poor guy is still on a nasal cannula.”

Theodosia bit her lip. This was the hard part of volunteering with a therapy dog. Seeing little children who were so very, very ill.

“Maybe a dog would cheer him up?” Theodosia suggested.

Angela nodded. “We've tried just about everything else we could think of to get him to breathe on his own. She pushed open the doors to Billy's room. “Just hang on a minute, though. Let me go in and talk to him first.”

Theodosia watched from the doorway as Angela walked quietly over to Billy's bed, knelt down beside him. She could hear her murmuring to him, gently, very quietly.

The little boy must have understood everything Angela had said, because he suddenly turned his head and stared directly at Earl Grey, his soft brown eyes suddenly big with interest. Angela motioned for Theodosia and Earl Grey to enter the boy's room.

Earl Grey entered slightly ahead of Theodosia, restrained by his leash, but still on his best behavior. When they got to Billy's bedside, Theodosia gave Earl Grey the
sit
command. Earl Grey responded immediately, sitting like a perfect gentleman, staring inquisitively at Billy even as the little boy stared back.

Suddenly, just as Billy leaned forward, Earl Grey thrust his head forward, too. Billy's face connected squarely with the tip of Earl Grey's soft muzzle and the dog planted a gentle kiss on the boy's cheek.

Surprised, the boy drew a sudden, swift intake of breath. Which immediately triggered a beep on the machine he was connected to.

“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Angela.

“Should I run to get help?” asked Theodosia quickly. Her heart suddenly in her throat, she was convinced something had just gone terribly wrong.

“No, no. It's just that . . .” Angela said in a stunned tone of voice. “He took a breath. She knelt down beside the little boy. “Billy, you took a deep breath, didn't you? The doggy surprised you and you took a deep breath!”

Eyes bright, Billy nodded back at her.

“Can you take another one?” she asked.

Billy nodded and the machine at the bedside blipped happily again.

How could this visit have turned out any better?
Theodosia thought to herself as she and Earl Grey strode back through the corridors of Saint Anne's.

Now they were one floor down and about to stop by to visit Harlan Wilson, the security guard who'd been injured at the Heritage Society. He'd been moved from the ICU to a regular patient room this morning. Theodosia figured that was a good thing. Must mean Mr. Wilson was showing real signs of improvement.

“Pardon me,” said Theodosia as she approached the nurses' station. “I'm—”

“We know who you are,” said a pretty African-American nurse whose name tag read CECILE RANDOLPH. “Angela just called to say you were coming by with your very gifted dog.”

“He's just along for the ride now,” laughed Theodosia. “Earl Grey's finished with
his
visiting.”

Cecile nodded. “Angie said you wanted to look in on Mr. Wilson?”

“Yes, is he awake?”

“He wasn't when I checked ten minutes ago, but that doesn't mean he isn't now. He's been in and out all day.”

“But he's getting better?” asked Theodosia.

“Absolutely,” Cecile assured her. The phone on the desk in front of Cecile started to ring and she reached for it. “Go ahead on down. He's in room two-oh-seven.”

Theodosia and Earl Grey walked down the hallway looking for room two-oh-seven. It was almost eight-thirty and the hospital was quiet, visiting hours almost over for the evening. Lights had been dimmed and the exit sign glowed red above the door to the emergency stairway at the end of the hallway.

Room two-oh-seven turned out to be the second to the last room. But the door was closed.

Theodosia paused for a moment, wondering if it was too late for a visit. Glancing down at Earl Grey, trying to decide what to do, she saw that the dog had his head cocked, listening.

Suddenly curious, Theodosia listened herself. It
did
sound as though someone was moving around in there. Good. Probably Harlan Wilson was awake after all. Perhaps trying to manage a glass of water or reach the call button.

Knocking softly, Theodosia didn't wait for an answer. Instead she pushed the door open slowly. But as the door swung inward on its hinges, she could see that Harlan Wilson was still asleep in his bed. A shaft of light from somewhere—the bathroom?—played across his face.

Theodosia was ready to turn around and leave when Earl Grey suddenly gave a low growl.

She stopped in her tracks, still half inside the room. But now her eyes had had a few moments to get accustomed to the dark. And she was able to see that she wasn't alone. Just to her left, someone was pressed up against the wall of Harlan Wilson's room!

Who could it be?
she wondered, her brain trying to process this strange information.
Hospital personnel?
No, no, no, her brain flashed a warning to her.
Not a nurse, someone who meant to do him harm!