Shades of Earl Grey (3 page)

“Not in white?” said Drayton. “Then what . . . ?”

“
Ivory,
” said Delaine, as though she'd single-handedly invented the color. “Ivory is so much more elegant than white. White has become awfully” she paused, searching for the word “passé.”

“I'm particularly fond of ecru myself,” said Haley. “On the other hand, I wouldn't entirely rule out alabaster . . .” Haley suddenly stopped short as a deafening crash echoed through the room. At the exact same moment, a flash of lightning strobed in the tall, cathedral-style windows that lined one end of the ballroom, illuminating the night sky.

Startled, Theodosia took a step backward and turned toward the nearest waiter, fully expecting to see an entire tray of champagne glasses dumped on the floor. But no, the waiter was still clutching his tray, looking around in alarm.

The string quartet had stopped mid-note and the musicians were also glancing about with nervous looks. A strange hush had fallen over the room as the guests milled about, mumbling quietly and looking profoundly unsettled.

As if on cue, a second crash suddenly rocked the room. This time, the noise was louder still. And there was no mistaking the direction from which it came.

Camille Cantroux broke from the crowd and ran to the double doors that led to the Garden Room, where the sit-down dinner was supposed to take place. Grabbing the ornate door handles, Camille tugged at the doors, struggling to pull them open. The heavy doors seemed to resist for a moment, then they suddenly flew open, revealing the interior of the Garden Room.

But instead of elegant linen-draped tables alight with blazing candles, the Garden Room was a disaster! Half of the roof had seemingly collapsed. Rain poured in from above, drenching tablecloths, place settings, floral arrangements, and gifts. Sheets of glass mingled with smaller, dangerously pointed shards. Twisted metal struts, once part of the roof, poked up from the rubble.

And underneath it all lay Captain Corey Buchanan.

Camille's voice rose in a shrill scream. “Corey! Corey!” she cried as she ran to him and threw herself down on the floor, ignoring the shattered glass and jagged metal.

Facedown, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll, poor Corey Buchanan lay motionless. Camille plucked frantically at the back of his damp uniform as blood gushed from Captain Buchanan's head and rain poured down from above. Desperate, needing to do
something,
Camille struggled to work her arms under and around Captain Buchanan, ignoring the debris that tore at her, wanting only to cradle her fiancé's bloody head in her arms.

Following directly on Camille's heels, Theodosia had raced across the room, covering the short distance in a heartbeat. She'd hesitated in the doorway for a split second, taking in the roof with its gaping hole, the wreckage of glass strewn everywhere, and the one enormous shard of glass that had imbedded itself deep in the back of Captain Buchanan's neck, right near the top of his spine.

And Theodosia knew in her heart there was no hope.

Kneeling gingerly to avoid the needle-like slivers of glass and pointed metal, Theodosia gently placed her index and middle fingers against Corey Buchanan's neck. Hoping against hope, she held her breath and prayed. But there was no pulse, no sign of life in this poor boy.

Captain Corey Buchanan, eldest son and proud warrior of the Savannah, Georgia Buchanans, would never again serve his country as a United States Marine, would never walk with pride down the church aisle in his dress white uniform. Now the only service poor Captain Buchanan would take part in would be his own funeral.

Wailing in helpless despair, Camille rocked her dead fiancé back and forth in her arms. “Now who'll place the wedding ring on my finger?” she sobbed.

Theodosia turned her gaze to the black velvet ring box that was perched atop the silver card receiver she'd brought over earlier. Captain Buchanan had obviously slipped in the back door with the intention of putting the ring on display. But the velvet box sat empty. There was no ring to be seen.

FROM A SCENE
that seemed to unfold in slow motion, activity suddenly accelerated with warp speed. Police and paramedics arrived to load Captain Corey Buchanan onto a gurney and hustle him out to a waiting ambulance. A sobbing Camille Cantroux was aided to her feet by Theodosia and Drayton. Then Delaine, shell-shocked and shaking, led her away, presumably to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

The rest of the party goers pressed through the double doors into the Garden Room. They crunched across glass, gaping at the enormous hole in the ceiling and talking in hushed tones about the horrible turn of events.

At one point Theodosia was aware of Cooper Hobcaw arguing with Frederick Welborne, the manager of the Lady Goodwood Inn. Hobcaw's once-elegant suit was now dripping wet. He had apparently run out into the street to flag down the ambulance and guide the paramedics to the nearest entry.

As he loudly harangued poor Frederick Welborne, the man looked as though he might suffer a heart attack on the spot.

Cooper Hobcaw's slipped into his role as lawyer,
Theodosia thought to herself. Probably talking about liability and personal injury suits. She decided she wouldn't want to be in Frederick Welborne's shoes tonight. No way, no how.

“I can't believe this,” wailed Haley. She was pale and shivering. “Do you think Captain Buchanan will be okay?”

Theodosia pulled Haley aside and out of the way of the gawkers. “It doesn't look good,” she told her in a quiet voice.

Haley bobbed her head rapidly, obviously experiencing more than a little stress. “That's what I was afraid of. Oh, that poor, poor man, did you see the glass sticking out of . . . ?”

Drayton put a hand on Haley's shoulder. “
Shhh
. . . it's okay. Try to calm down.”

Haley stared at him with sadness in her eyes. “But it isn't okay,” she whispered. “Theo thinks he might be
dead!
”

“We'll phone the hospital later and see what news there is,” said Drayton. He kept his voice calm and soothing, and his reassuring tone seemed to work on Haley, seemed to calm her down considerably. “Delaine and Camille went on to the hospital,” he added, “so we'll be able to speak with them later and see what's going on.”

“We need everyone to exit this room, please!” rang out a loud, authoritarian voice. Cooper Hobcaw stood in the doorway, gazing imperiously at the crowd. When he seemed to command everyone's attention, he clapped his hands together loudly. “Please, we need you-all to leave . . . immediately!”

The crowd seemed to hesitate for a moment, torn between their fascination with the terrible accident that had just occurred and doing what they knew was the proper thing. Then, slowly, people began to depart the room.

Cooper Hobcaw watched as the crowd trickled past him, then strode over to the head table where Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley were still gathered.

What once had been festive and romantic now seemed macabre. The head table had been set with enormous bouquets of white roses and elegant sterling silver candlesticks. Now, one bouquet was knocked over, another completely flattened by a pane of falling glass. Candles had been knocked out of their holders, dishes lay spoiled and broken. Only the large silver teapot and matching cream and saucer pieces seemed to remain unscathed. Set on a matching oval tray, the tea set lent the only hint of normalcy to the entire table.

“Miss Browning, may I have a moment?” Cooper Hobcaw asked. “I . . . I need your help.”

Theodosia turned to Cooper Hobcaw, concern on her face. “Of course,” she said.

“This may seem a strange thing . . .” Cooper Hobcaw hesitated. “. . . but Delaine is terribly concerned about the wedding ring. Strangely enough, it appears to be . . . missing.”

“Yes,” said Theodosia. “I noticed that, too.” She had immediately seen that the wedding ring was no longer nestled in the black velvet ring box that had been prominently displayed at the head table.
The ring must be . . . where?
she wondered.
Had it been knocked out of the ring box and now it was under one of these tables?
She looked around at the terrible chaos.
Probably.

“Since you are such a dear friend to Delaine,” Hobcaw said, “could I impose upon you to . . .”

“You'd like us to stay here and search for it?” Theodosia finished the sentence for him.

Cooper Hobcaw's face seemed to sag with relief. “Yes,” he said. “Would you?”

Drayton suddenly jumped feet-first into the conversation. “Of course we will,” he said graciously. “You go on to the hospital and lend what support you can to Delaine and Camille. We'll stay behind and find that ring. Don't worry about a thing.”

Cooper Hobcaw clutched Drayton's hand and pumped his arm mightily. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he said. Then he grabbed Theodosia's hand and did the same. “You are a dear lady,” he told her, then strode quickly out of the room.

Theodosia turned toward Haley. “Haley, why don't you go home now.”

“You don't want me to help?” she asked, her eyes still wide with concern. She still seemed rather jumpy.

“No need,” said Theodosia. “I'm sure the ring simply rolled under one of these tables.” She looked around the Garden Room, noting what an absolute mess it was.

“Okay,” said Haley, relief palpable in her face, “but call me the minute you find something out about poor Captain Buchanan, okay?”

“We'll do that,” Drayton assured her.

 

With the Garden Room empty of guests, Theodosia and Drayton stared at each other, unsure of where to begin.

The rain had thankfully let up, but the room was a soggy mess with glass and debris scattered everywhere. In the paramedics' haste to extract Captain Buchanan, they had rolled towels about their hands then shoved the larger hunks of glass aside. Smaller pieces had been ground under the wheels of the gurney and now glistened dangerously.

“The ring must have just rolled out of the box, don't you think?” said Drayton. He sounded positive, but looked a trifle dubious.

“I assume it did,” replied Theodosia. “I think if we pull up the edges of these tablecloths, we'll probably find it soon enough.”

But ten minutes of searching high and low, looking under tables, sliding back chairs, revealed nothing. Frustrated, Drayton found a broom and poked through the rubble. Still nothing.

“On top of one of the tables then?” said Drayton. He had removed his jacket and now his shirt was partially un-tucked and his bow tie hung askew. Theodosia had never seen him looking so frazzled.

“Maybe,” Theodosia told him.

This time they sorted through all the table settings, pawed through the damp table linens and wrecked floral centerpieces, and rearranged all the wrapped gifts that lay in a soggy, bedraggled pile on the gift table. Still no ring.

“This is very strange,” said Drayton. “I would have sworn the darn thing would turn up. A little thing like that couldn't have rolled all
that
far.” He furrowed his brow and scratched his head, the picture of complete bewilderment.

“Do you think one of the guests might have picked it up?” he asked aloud, then gave a mumbled answer to his own question. “No, they were all good friends. Friends of Delaine's, friends of Camille and Captain Buchanan's. If someone found the ring, they surely would have
said
something.”

Theodosia, meanwhile, had turned her attention to the gaping hole in the glass ceiling. The rain had completely abated and now there was just darkness and roiling clouds overhead.

Drayton saw her staring up at the ceiling and followed her gaze. “Do you think the roof just gave way?” he asked.

“I suppose it did,” she said slowly, still staring upward. “It was an old greenhouse, after all. From before, when the Lady Goodwood used to raise their own orchids and camellias to pretty up the rooms and create centerpieces for the dining room.” Theodosia paused, thinking. “Maybe it was hit by lightning. There was that enormous flash.”

“It was positively cataclysmic,” agreed Drayton.

Theodosia put her hand on the back of a wooden chair, dragged it across the sodden carpet until it was positioned directly beneath the jagged hole in the glass roof. She put one foot on the upholstered seat cushion. “Drayton, give me a boost up, will you?”

Drayton stared at her as though she'd lost her mind. “Good heavens, Theodosia, just what do you think you're going to accomplish?”

“I want to take a look at this greenhouse ceiling.”

“Yes, I assumed as much. What I don't understand is
why.
”

“Stop acting like a parliamentarian and just help me, would you?”

Drayton steadied the chair with one hand, extended his other hand to help Theodosia as she climbed up. “Don't I always?” he muttered, affecting a slightly pompous attitude.

“Darn,” said Theodosia from above.

“What?”

“I can't really see anything. I'm not up high enough.”

“Good. Then kindly hop down before you break your neck.” Drayton moved to assist her and glass crunched underfoot. “This is dreadful,” he declared. “Like walking on the proverbial bed of nails.”

“You folks okay?” called a voice from across the room.

Drayton and Theodosia spun on their heels to find an older man in a gray jumpsuit staring at them. By the looks of the man's outfit, he was one of the inn's janitors.

“We're fine,” said Theodosia. “You're from maintenance?”

“Yup,” he nodded. “Harry Kreider, at your service.”