Shades of Earl Grey (20 page)

Theodosia had known he was coming after her. He'd seen something, her movement or shadow when she grabbed the bag, and was rushing out to check!

But she was down the alley and around the corner before Graham Carmody ever hit the flower beds. Then she crouched behind a huge clump of magnolias, trying to control her breathing, knowing Graham Carmody hadn't been wearing shoes, but praying he wouldn't run down the alley after her anyway.

He hadn't.

Theodosia waited a full five minutes, during which time she felt like a surreptitious Santa with a bag of who-knows-what thrown across his back.

She took a roundabout route back to her Jeep, unlocked the door, slid into the driver's seat.

Keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, she drove a circuitous route back to her apartment above the Indigo Tea Shop. Finally, when her breathing had returned to normal and she'd parallel parked in the spot behind her shop, she turned her attention to the black garbage bag that rested beside her on the passenger seat.

Digging a fingernail into the soft plastic, she ripped the bag open. But instead of the orange juice cartons, candy bar wrappers, and empty cereal boxes she'd expected to see, there were printouts. Computer printouts. Mounds of them.

Frowning, Theodosia snapped the Jeep's dome light on and stared at the sheets of paper.

They were activity printouts from an Internet auction site. Dates and times of bids. Amounts of bids.

She sat stock-still and stared out the front window of the Jeep.
If Graham Carmody is a cat burglar, what better way to fence his stolen goods than on an Internet auction site! It would be a way to draw millions of buyers from all over the world and still remain anonymous!

Yes, she decided, this definitely bore looking into. And the sooner the better.

TIMOTHY NEVILLE HAD
weathered many crises in his eighty years and many problems during his tenure as president of the Heritage Society. But neither he nor any of his people had ever come under such merciless scrutiny before.

He fairly shook with indignation as he strode down Church Street. Dressed in a double-breasted camel hair blazer and cocoa brown slacks, Timothy was the picture of style. His jacket with its nipped-in waist, his paisley yellow ascot, his highly polished shoes, had been chosen with great care this morning. But after the events of this morning, and his infuriating phone conversation with Vance Bernard, the chairman of the Heritage Society's executive advisory committee, Timothy Neville was beyond caring. In fact, he was positively livid. And when Nell Chappel of the Chowder Hound Restaurant waved hello to him as she collected her morning mail and headed into the kitchen to set a nice pot of she-crab soup to simmering, Timothy didn't even take notice.

“Drayton. A moment of your time, please,” said Timothy as he strode into the Indigo Tea Shop like a martinet, ramrod stiff and utterly devoid of any extraneous pleasantries.

“Timothy . . . oh, of course,” said Drayton. Clutching a teapot in each hand, his tortoiseshell half-glasses sliding down his aquiline nose, Drayton was completely taken by surprise. “Give me a minute,” he told Timothy. “Take that table over there,” he said, pointing with his chin, “and I'll be right with you.”

Timothy strode over to the table, sat down. Even though he sat perfectly erect, with one leg crossed over the other, his pleated slacks falling elegantly, his face was a thundercloud.

“Timothy,” said Theodosia as she rounded the corner from the kitchen. “Good morning, this
is
a surprise.” Stopping in her tracks, she suddenly took a good look at him. “What's wrong?”

“Everything,” he snapped. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“Simply start at the beginning,” said Drayton as he arrived at Timothy's table, somewhat breathless. “Haley,” he called, “can you get a plate of scones for table three and another pot of Darjeeling for table two?”

She nodded.

“Now tell us,” said Drayton. “What's happened to put you in such a state?”

“The Charleston Police came to the Heritage Society some forty minutes ago, that's what happened,” said Timothy. “Apparently they received an anonymous tip that Claire Kitridge was somehow involved in the recent thefts that have plagued our neighborhood.”

“That's absurd,” said Drayton while Theodosia inwardly cringed.

Timothy held up a gnarled finger. “Wait,” he cautioned, “it gets much worse. Because of the recent death and apparent theft at the Lady Goodwood and the theft of the Blue Kashmir necklace, the police took this tip rather seriously. Claire, on the other hand, did not take the police seriously.” Timothy grimaced. “That was her mistake.”

“What happened?” asked Theodosia, a sick feeling suddenly gripping her.

“Oh, they asked Claire a few routine questions. Where do you live? How long have you worked at the Heritage Society? That type of thing. Then they wanted to know if they could have a look inside her desk. Claire said yes, knowing she had nothing to hide.”

“I still don't see the problem,” said Drayton. “Didn't you tell them the notion of Claire as sneak thief was utterly ridiculous?”

“Of course I did,” sputtered Timothy. “Until they rifled through the bottom drawer of Claire's desk and found Delaine Dish's missing watch.”

“What!” said Drayton. Now it was his turn to sputter.

“You know, that fancy Chopard with all the diamonds,” said Timothy.

“But Claire didn't steal it . . . wouldn't steal it,” fumbled Drayton.

“Of course she wouldn't, she's above reproach.
You
know that and
I
know that, but the police . . .” Timothy shrugged. “Well, it isn't good. Obviously, the discovery of Delaine's expensive watch is very incriminating.”

“They came looking for a watch without benefit of a search warrant,” said Theodosia slowly, “and the whole thing's based on an anonymous tip? I'd say that's awfully fishy.”

“So fishy it stinks!” declared Drayton.

“Doesn't it,” said Timothy, his voice brimming with bitterness. “And now our illustrious executive advisory committee wants Claire Kitridge fired. Of course, they're calling it a temporary leave of absence, but it's just a matter of time before it becomes a formal disciplinary firing.

Unless, of course, we
somehow
find the person responsible . . .” Timothy's voice faltered and he gazed at Theodosia in despair.

“This is awful!” howled Drayton, gazing at Theodosia with an equal degree of unhappiness.

Timothy reached for his handkerchief, blew his nose, cleared his throat. “Claire . . .” he began, “is a very
good
person. She's been with the Heritage Society for almost four years. In that time I've seen her diligence and kindness shine through.” Timothy's voice faltered again. “I've seen Claire go out of her way to make people feel welcome and appreciated. People who've donated things to the Heritage Society, little things like an old letter or a small antique . . . they receive the same heartfelt thank-you letter from her as a million-dollar donor would. Claire is just that kind of person.”

Theodosia stared at the two men unhappily. She couldn't help but remember Brooke and Aerin's conversation about Claire bringing in a citrine and diamond broach for sale. Was it possible Claire Kitridge
wasn't
what she appeared to be? That she was, instead, a sly fox in the weeds who took careful advantage of her position at the Heritage Society? Could she have heard about Camille's wedding ring through the grapevine or via Delaine's bragging and gone after it? Because Claire had inside access at the Heritage Society, could she also have snatched the Blue Kashmir necklace? Was she responsible for the other art thefts? The Tiffany vases, the half-dozen other thefts Tidwell had mentioned?

The thought of Claire Kitridge as a cat burglar was sickening to contemplate.

On the other hand, someone very wily and clever could have maneuvered to set Claire up. Someone who needed to deflect blame from themselves. Someone who had access to the Lady Goodwood Inn and the Heritage Society. Someone with a working knowledge of the historic district and all its wealthy residents.

Someone like Cooper Hobcaw or Graham Carmody.

 

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind at the Indigo Tea Shop. Customers had to be served, finishing touches put on the T-Bath display, sweet-grass baskets had to be stuffed to the brim with T-Bath products and stacked on the counter. And all the while, they worried about Timothy and Claire.

Drayton had decided they should close the Indigo Tea Shop at one o'clock in order to prepare for the afternoon's open house. And just as soon as Haley returned from Gallagher's Food Service, their favorite restaurant supply house, with ingredients for the California rolls, they'd push three of the tables together to form the head table for the buffet. Then, of course, they'd have to set everything up and decorate the rest of the tables with Drayton's bonsai.

“Drayton,” said Theodosia, “I know this isn't a good time to ask, but when is Hattie bringing the centerpiece by?”

“Any minute,” he said. “And you're right, it isn't a good time. Why does everything have to happen at once? Good things and bad things all mulled together.”

She sighed. “Life does seem to unfold that way, doesn't it?”

“We worked so hard on these T-Bath products and looked forward to this day and now it . . .” He searched for the right word. “It feels
tainted.
”

“I know,” said Theodosia. “The good shoulder to shoulder with the bad. Maybe it's a test of fortitude.”

“Makes us stronger?” he asked.

“That's what my mother believed,” said Theodosia. Her mother had passed away when she was eight, but she could always remember her saying something to the effect that problems can't be solved, but only outgrown.

“Hey, you guys!” The door flew open as Haley rushed in, her long hair streaming behind her, her arms filled with bundles.

“Good heavens, Haley,” said Drayton. “You're a regular beast of burden with all those bags. Here, let me give you a hand.”

“Thank you, Drayton,” said Haley as she handed over her packages. “Hey, Theo, guess what? When I was on my way back from Gallagher's, I came back past Heart's Desire. Guess who I saw in there? Standing at the counter?”

“Claire Kitridge?” said Theodosia. For some reason the name just popped into her head and she blurted it out.

“Nope. Cooper Hobcaw.”

“Really?” said Drayton with a frown.

“Oh, yeah,” said Haley. “He was leaning across the counter, kind of flirting with that woman, Aerin, who works for Brooke. At least I think he was flirting. They had their heads together, talking awfully close.” Haley paused. “I thought Cooper Hobcaw was sweet on Delaine.”

“So did I,” said Theodosia. She turned toward Drayton, raised her eyebrows as if to say
what's up?
But he appeared equally surprised.

“As far as I know, Cooper Hobcaw has been squiring Delaine around to various social functions,” said Drayton. “They were at an art opening last week for that new painter who's showing at the Wren Gallery. And of course, Coop was her guest at the engagement party and the ill-fated Heritage Society members' party.”

“So you don't think he'd two-time her?” said Haley.

“Honestly, Haley,” said Drayton, “I don't know what to think anymore.”

It wasn't until Theodosia was in her office later, unpacking the last of the T-Bath products, that she realized how heartsick she suddenly felt for Delaine. If her hunch or odd feeling or whatever it was about Cooper Hobcaw proved true and he
did
turn out to be a thief, it would be a devastating blow to Delaine. And if Cooper Hobcaw was merely getting cozy with Aerin Linley in anticipation of possibly dumping Delaine, she'd be equally traumatized.

Theodosia propped her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands, thinking. Cooper Hobcaw, the lanky, soft-spoken fellow who jogged through the historic district late at night, was a strange duck. Had he charmed Delaine in order to get closer to people and places of wealth in the historic district?

Was he flirting with Aerin at Heart's Desire because she might be a way to unload expensive merchandise? As one of Charleston's top attorneys, he wouldn't be viewed with suspicion if he waltzed into Heart's desire with expensive jewelry. It would just be assumed they were old family pieces.

Theodosia rubbed her eyes tiredly. Okay, what about all those printouts she'd grabbed from Graham Carmody's back alley last night? She hadn't even mentioned them to Drayton and Haley yet. But she'd have to. In fact, she wanted to. She'd lay out what she knew, what she suspected, what appeared to be evidence, and get their opinions. After all, three heads were better than one!

“
DON'T GET THE
seaweed wet!” warned Drayton. “If you o, the entire California roll will be soggy and completely inedible. And be sure to wrap cellophane around them so you can roll them snugly. Otherwise the darn things just crumble apart on you.”

“I'm not going to blow the California rolls,” scoffed Haley. “And stop being so futsy.” She slapped the back of Drayton's hand as he reached over to poke an avocado and check its ripeness. “The rice has been cooked perfectly, the crab is delightfully pink and fresh, and the avocados are ripe. And by the way, Mr. Conneley, who appointed
you
chief cook and bottle washer in
my
kitchen? Theodosia!” Haley called at the top of her lungs. “Will you
pleeease
put Drayton to work somewhere else? He's making me crazy!”