Shades of Earl Grey (28 page)

“Towkok Estate,” Drayton told her. “I thought we deserved to treat ourselves, today of all days.”

Drayton knelt down, constructed a little pile of kindling in the fireplace, struck a match to it, and fanned the flames briskly. Once the kindling was crackling nicely, he added a couple of medium-sized logs to the fire.

“Drayton,” said Theodosia, “I think that tea caddy was meant as another taunt.”

He stood up, looking remarkably poised, and pocketed the matches. “I'm sure it was.”

Theodosia peered at him anxiously. “Is it someone close to us?”

Drayton frowned. “Hard to say,” he said, staring into the fireplace. “Maybe we miscalculated with the stamp,” he said finally.

“What do you mean?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton rocked back on his heels, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, jingled his change. “Not enough of a lure?” He pulled his hands from his pockets, fidgeted some more. “To be perfectly honest, this whole charade made me extremely nervous. And people
did
ask a lot more questions than I thought they would last night. I felt like I had to keep
explaining
things.”

Theodosia's brows knit together upon hearing this. “What do you mean, Drayton? What did you
tell
them?”

“Exactly what we rehearsed. The Z grill stamp, issued in eighteen sixty-nine, Benjamin Franklin, blah, blah, blah.” He grimaced slightly. “But I still felt like a fraud, seeing as how it's not really part of my collection.”

“Did you tell people the stamp was staying on display?” Theodosia asked.

“Heavens no,” exclaimed Drayton. “I made it quite clear that this was a one-time event. That I was returning the stamp to my personal collection the very next day.” He shook his head. “I really
hated
saying that.”

Theodosia stared at him. “That's what you told people? Really?”

“Awful, isn't it? I feel like such a liar when it's not even my stamp. What happens if a bunch of reputable collectors ever ask to see it? I'm cooked.” He sat down at the table across from Theodosia, stared at his tea.

A smile suddenly formed on Theodosia's face. Her blue eyes began to twinkle. “Drayton, you're a genius.”

He looked up from his tea sharply. “What?”

“You heard me. A genius.”

“I am?” He looked pleased yet befuddled, quite unsure as to what his great brain power status was being attributed.

“Don't you see?” began Theodosia excitedly. “Knowing it was on display for one night only, the thief might decide to come looking at
your
house.”

Drayton's face suddenly dissolved into worry. “Oh no. That's not good at all. Especially when it won't even be there.”

“Are you kidding?” said Theodosia. “This is a terrific break!” She grinned. Yes, she thought to herself, it suddenly made perfect sense. The bait had been there for the taking last night. But then Drayton, in all his nervousness about the stamp, had related his little story about the stamp being on loan just for the opening night. That it would soon be returned to his own private collection. So, if the thief had truly been intrigued by the Z grill stamp, he had to figure it would be much easier to break into Drayton's house than risk a second attempt at the Heritage Society!

Theodosia looked at her watch. “I'd say we've got some serious planning to do.”

Drayton gave her a skeptical look. “For what, pray tell?”

“We've got to be ready in case that cat burglar decides to break into your house tonight.”

“My house? Tonight?” His voice rose in protest. “Oh, no. I don't think so.” He crossed his arms resolutely and shook his head.

“Oh yes,” urged Theodosia. “This could be our big chance.”

“I'd feel far more confident if we called the police,” Drayton argued.

“I did that last night. They didn't seem to have any brilliant suggestions.”

Drayton considered this. “True,” he allowed.

“In fact, they seemed to have no clue as to how the cat burglar even got in my house,” said Theodosia.

Drayton frowned. “I thought you said the locks had been picked.”

“Actually, I think our cat burglar came across a series of rooftops, jumped a five-foot span, and snuck in through the dormer in my bedroom.”

Drayton stared at her. “Have you suddenly gone psychic? Whatever made you compose
that
elaborate scenario?”

“There's a tiny scuff on my window ledge,” said Theodosia. And indeed, there had been. Just the tiniest, minutest scuff. Nothing you'd really notice, unless you'd just dusted a couple days before and were quite sure it hadn't been there then.

Drayton continued to stare in surprise. “A scuff. You base your theory on a scuff?”

“And a hunch,” said Theodosia. “A very weird hunch. Trust me on this, Drayton. There's someone out there who adores playing games. Leaving notes, planting clues, playing both sides. And I think there's a very distinct possibility they're going to show up tonight.”

“Halloween night,” he said. “Why on earth would they choose Halloween night to appear?”

Theodosia considered Drayton's question. “I think,” she said, “it would appeal to their sense of play. Now . . . are you in or not?”

Drayton rolled his eyes, plucked nervously at his bow tie. “Of course I'm in,” he replied finally. “After everything that's happened, how could I not be?”

THE MOON, STILL
a fat round globe with barely a scant wedge missing from it, slid into the night sky above Charleston and shone down through skeletal tree branches. On most every step, stoop, and piazza of the elegant homes in the historic district, fat, orange pumpkins squatted, their innards replaced with flickering candles. Trick-or-treaters in fluttering capes and costumes ran wildly down cobblestone lanes, drinking in the excitement and magic that was All Hallows' Eve.

At exactly seven o'clock, Drayton exited his house, a one-hundred-sixty-year-old brick and wood home that had once been owned by John Underwood, a Civil War surgeon. He made a big production of locking his front door, then stepped jauntily down Montagu Street toward the Heritage Society. Two of his friends, Tom Wigley and Clark Dickerson, would be waiting for him there. He'd phoned them earlier and arranged to hold an elaborately staged meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with Heritage Society business.

The only thing the three men were going to do was talk, shuffle papers, and sit in one of the meeting rooms with the lights blazing like mad, maintaining the illusion of an important, productive meeting. Anyone peering in from the street would see Drayton participating in this meeting. And know that he was, therefore, not at home.

Theodosia, on the other hand, had been sequestered in the small closet in Drayton's study for the last half-hour or so.

She had assured Drayton that she was going to phone Detective Tidwell on her cell phone, explain exactly what they were up to, and request that he send over a couple of uniformed police officers to keep watch over Drayton's house.

But she hadn't.

Instead, Theodosia was crouched in the confines of the small closet with Earl Grey snuggled beside her, his elegant head resting gently in her lap.

Outside the closet, barely six feet from where she sat, was Drayton's desk where one of his stamp albums lay enticingly open. Rows of plastic-encased stamps that hearkened back to Revolutionary War days filled its pages. This album was propped up against a second leather-bound stamp album. Next to these albums was a smattering of first-day covers, rare stamps that had been postmarked on their first day of issue, and of course, Aunt Libby's Z grill stamp. At the last minute, Drayton had added a few extra props to make it look, as he put it, “not so much like a stage set.” A pack of gum, silver letter opener, a leather box filled with paper clips, Haley's bottle of superglue, and a small notepad with some random scribbles on it.

This desk top still life was lit by a single Tiffany lamp that sat on Drayton's desk, which was not really a desk at all but a sturdy old oak library table. The rest of the small twelve-by-fourteen-foot room was lined with bookcases that sagged with all manner of books—fiction, history, poetry, gardening, and cooking. In one corner was an overstuffed leather chair. On the wall opposite the closet where Theodosia sat waiting was a small window that looked out over the back garden.

Theodosia knew that if their cat burglar was going to show tonight, there was a very good chance he'd come in through that window. On the other hand, because Drayton had a prize collection of Japanese bonsai trees, a tall wooden security fence had been constructed around the backyard to make it virtually impenetrable.

So . . . Theodosia told herself, the cat burglar would have to scale the wooden fence,
then
come in through the window. Not exactly a difficult feat for someone who had leapt to her window ledge or climbed the live oak tree outside the Hall-Barnett House or clambered across the glass roof at the Lady Goodwood Inn.

Minutes ticked by slowly as Theodosia sat in the darkness, wondering who, if anyone, might show up.

A few moments ago, there had been knocking at the front door. Small, tentative knocks at first that had escalated into a couple of real whaps. Unhappy trick-or-treaters, no doubt, who'd been hoping for a handout of candy bars or popcorn balls.

Now there was only silence.

Theodosia put her hand to the old brass doorknob on the inside of the closet door, turned it slowly, heard the catch release. Slowly, she pushed the closet door open. An inch at first, then two inches. Now she could see the desk and the little puddle of light that lit the stamp and the stamp albums. Next to it was the office clutter that Drayton had arranged.

Theodosia pushed the door open another two inches. Now she could see part of the window.

Better, she thought as she rested her head against the back wall of the closet and slid a piece of remnant carpet underneath her so the sagging old hickory floor wouldn't be
quite
so hard. Earl Grey, trying to get comfortable himself, had pushed away from her and snuggled himself into the far corner of the closet. Now the dog was curled up in a ball, nose to tail, behind an old leather foot stool that had been shoved in the closet.

Theodosia had sat with her eyes closed for the better part of forty minutes when she heard a faint sound. She watched as the tips of Earl Grey's ears lifted slightly, then relaxed again.

Must be nothing,
she told herself.

There it was again. A faint scratching.

What is it?
She strained to hear. Dry leaves sliding across patio bricks? Kids running down the back alley, their witches capes and superhero costumes rustling in the wind?

And yet . . . there it was again. Not really footsteps. But . . .
something.

Theodosia glanced over at Earl Grey. Now the top of his nose was visible above the foot stool. She held her hand out toward him, palm forward. The hand signal that told him to stay. She could see one of his shiny brown eyes watching her intently.

Then she heard it. A small
creak.
The outside shutter on the window being moved just so? Moved by the wind? She thought not.

Fear suddenly gripped her heart and she had to remind herself that the window was locked. If someone intended to break in, they'd have to break the glass. And if
that
happened, she'd hit 911 on her cell phone.

Now a different sound. Faint, almost imperceptible.

The window in Drayton's office slid up with a low groan.

She hadn't counted on this. Now, any movement in the closet, any dialing of 911, would be immediately detected.

Theodosia held her breath. This was not good, she decided. Not good at all.

She leaned forward slowly, peering through the darkness at the window.

A leg eased itself slowly over the sill and down toward the floor. A leg encased in black lycra. Wearing a shoe of soft brown leather. The kind of shoe that looked very sporty, but could also be worn for rock climbing.

In that instant, Theodosia suddenly understood the identity of the mysterious cat burglar.

It wasn't Cooper Hobcaw, who'd roused her suspicions with his late-night runs through the historic district. And it sure as heck wasn't the waiter, Graham Carmody.

The realization of who had caused Captain Buchanan's death, who had stolen the Blue Kashmir necklace at the Heritage Society, who had been an intruder in her house last night, caused her to inhale sharply. And in that instant, she felt a subtle change in the room.

With a sickening realization, Theodosia knew her cover was blown. Frantically, she grappled for her cell phone, punched the numbers for the Heritage Society, frantically flailed to hit the
send
button. But even as her fingers finally found the button, the closet door was jerked open.

Aerin Linley, eyes hard as ice, peered into the darkness.

Theodosia raised a hand, palm out. Her signal to Earl Grey to stay put, to remain exactly where he was.

Aerin Linley took it as a gesture of surrender and smiled.

Reaching in, she snatched Theodosia's cell phone from her and threw it to the floor. The little black Star Tac smashed into a dozen pieces.

Theodosia stared up into a grim, determined face.
Aerin Linley,
she thought.
The trusted associate of Brooke Carter Crockett at Heart's Desire. The same woman who'd carefully planted nasty innuendoes against Claire Kitridge. Aerin Linley, who had once made mention of secret drawers and panels in the old homes of Savannah. Aerin Linley, who would have known all the details about the Buchanan family's heirloom ring!