Shades of Earl Grey (5 page)

“Don't think ill of Delaine,” added Theodosia. “It's just her way. Whenever there's a crisis, she dresses up for the part.”

Delaine was sitting at the table by the fireplace, wearing a camel-colored cashmere sweater and matching wool slacks, sniffling into her cup of Assam tea. She looked up with red-rimmed eyes as Theodosia approached.

“Delaine,” said Theodosia, “how are you?” She sat down across from her and clasped her hands, feeling a bit like a brown wren in her sensible workday gray slacks and turtleneck.

“Holding up,” said Delaine. “Of course, last night was an absolute
horror.
First we couldn't find out
anything
from the doctors, then they informed us that Captain Buchanan had actually
died
en route to the hospital.” She bit her lip in an attempt to stave back tears. “Apparently, his respiration and spinal cord had been affected.”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Drayton. After taking a quick check of customers, who all seemed to be sipping tea and happily munching Haley's fresh-baked muffins and scones, he had joined them at the table. “How awful,” he said.

“If Captain Buchanan had lived,” said Delaine in a hoarse whisper, “he would have been a quadriplegic.”

“Oh, my,” said Drayton, shaking his head sadly.

“How's Camille doing?” asked Theodosia.

“Terrible,” said Delaine. “She just sat next to Captain Buchanan's poor body and cried and cried all night. She wouldn't leave him, wouldn't even take a sedative when one of the doctors offered it. Poor lamb, she's absolutely heartbroken.”

“And Captain Buchanan's family has been notified?” asked Drayton.

“Yes,” said Delaine. “Cooper Hobcaw called and spoke with them first. He's not as . . . close . . . to this tragedy as we are, so he was able to maintain a certain calm and decorum. Then Camille got on the line, too.” Delaine fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief, unfurled it, blew her nose loudly. “We're all just so sad. Camille is planning to accompany Captain Buchanan's body back to Savannah later today. That's where the funeral will be.” Delaine blew her nose again and glanced about helplessly. “I'm sorry,” she apologized. “I'm just so very upset.”

Drayton reached over and patted her shoulder gently. “We know you are, dear.”

“Thank you for staying last night,” said Delaine. “I knew I could count on the two of you.”

Theodosia and Drayton exchanged quick glances. “Camille is planning to take the wedding ring back with her today and return it to the family,” said Delaine. “Of course it's the only acceptable thing to do. After all, there won't be any . . .” Delaine's voice trailed off and she dissolved into tears once again.

Theodosia threw Drayton a quick
what do we do now?
glance.

He gave a helpless shrug.

Delaine, sensing the subtle exchange between them, suddenly looked up.

“You
did
recover the ring, didn't you?” she asked.

Drayton, usually eloquent, fumbled for a moment. “Actually, Delaine, we . . . uh . . .”

“There was a
problem?
” she asked. Now there was a distinct edge to her voice.

“The problem was,” said Theodosia, deciding honesty was the best policy, “we never actually found the ring.”

Delaine was incredulous. “But Cooper said you were going to
look
for it. Surely you . . .”

“We
did
look,” Drayton assured her. “We searched high and low, practically tore the premises apart. But . . .” He hesitated, steepled his gnarled fingers together, then pulled them apart slowly, as if to indicate a lack of resolution. “Alas, no ring,” he said.

One of Delaine's French-manicured hands fluttered to her chest. “My goodness, this
is
quite a shock.”

“It was to us, too,” said Theodosia. “We really did search everywhere.”

“What do you suppose happened to it?” asked Delaine. She frowned, twisted her handkerchief in her hands, stared at the two of them, obviously expecting an answer.

“We think, that is,
Theodosia
thinks . . .” began Drayton.

“Spit it out, Drayton!” said Delaine suddenly. “If something's gone wrong, I have a perfect right to know!”

Theodosia glanced about the tea shop to make sure her guests hadn't overheard Delaine's somewhat indelicate outburst. “Of course you do, Delaine,” Theodosia assured her. “It's just that all we're going on right now is a sort of theory.”

“Then kindly explain this
theory,
” demanded Delaine. She arched her eyebrows, sat back in her chair with an air that was dangerously close to imperious, and waited for an explanation.

“It involves theft,” said Drayton delicately.

“Of the
ring?
” said Delaine in a high squeak.

“Well . . . yes,” said Theodosia.
Why is it so difficult to just come right out and say it?

“Oh my goodness,” cried Delaine, sinking back in her chair. “You think the ring has been
stolen?
” she said in a whisper.

“We're not positive,” said Drayton, “but it looks that way.”

Delaine's face crumpled and she was seconds from another outpouring of tears.

“Remember, this is just a wild supposition on our part,” said Theodosia, “but from the looks of things, it's possible a thief might have had his eye on Camille's ring. After all, it was rather beautifully displayed on that baroque silver calling card receiver.”
Now why did I have to say that?
Theodosia thought to herself.
Darn, this isn't going well at all.

“And all that beautiful old silver was sitting right next to it,” said Drayton. Old silver that'd been in the Goodwood family for generations.

“Crafted by Jacob Hurd,” Theodosia added helpfully.

Delaine nodded tightly. “Of course, I remember the silver. It's all very old, very elegant. I specifically requested it for just that reason.”

“Anyway,” continued Theodosia, “we think someone might have been prowling across the roof top.”

“And taken a misstep,” said Drayton.

“Which caused him to come crashing down through the roof,” added Theodosia.

“On top of poor Captain Buchanan,” said Drayton, grimacing. He knew the two of them sounded like they were doing some kind of tag-team routine.

Delaine peered at Theodosia and Drayton in disbelief. “You're not serious,” she said in a choked voice.

“And that's when the ring was stolen,” said Drayton. “Or
might
have been stolen,” he added. “We're still not sure.”

Delaine sat stock-still as their words washed across her. She frowned, leaned forward, put a hand to her mouth. “Then Captain Buchanan was
murdered,
” she whispered hoarsely.

“Oh, no, I wouldn't go that far,” said Drayton hastily. “After all, the roof could just as easily have collapsed on its own.”

“But the ring is gone,” said Delaine slowly. “Nowhere to be found, as you say. Doesn't that
prove
your theory?” She leaned back in her chair again. “Oh my,” she murmured to herself, “this is simply
awful.
We'll need to contact the
police.
”

“That's probably a good idea,” admitted Theodosia. She would have done it herself last night, but the idea of the thief on the roof hadn't completely gelled in her mind. It had been a theory, a decent one at that. But of course, there was no concrete proof.

Delaine suddenly clutched Theodosia's hand. “Theodosia, you've got to help me!”

“Oh, no, . . .” protested Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Delaine, clutching Theodosia's hand even more forcefully and digging in with her nails. “We need to get to the bottom of this, figure out what really happened. Like you, I simply don't want to believe this was all just a horrible accident.” Delaine's pleading eyes bore into Theodosia. “Oh please, you're so terribly good at this kind of thing. You helped figure out who killed poor Oliver Dixon last summer when that horrible pistol exploded at the picnic.”

“She did do a fine job with that, didn't she,” said Drayton, admiration apparent in his voice.

Theodosia frowned at Drayton. “That was a very different set of circumstances,” she protested. “I was standing right there and had just witnessed a rather strange argument between . . .” She hesitated, decided she'd better shift her line of conversation back to the here and now. “Delaine, I really wouldn't have a clue as to where to begin. If my theory does hold water, it really was a motiveless murder.”

Delaine lifted her head and gazed at Theodosia mournfully. “But that's just it. It was murder!”

“No,” said Theodosia, trying to back-pedal as best she could. “I stand corrected then. It was an
accident.
The kind of accident the police need to investigate. Let them determine if there were any suspicious people lurking about in the lobby last night. Any cars seen speeding away from the Lady Goodwood Inn. Any clues left on the rooftop. That sort of thing.”

“But we've got to get that ring back!” shrilled Delaine. “Camille is my niece.
I'm
responsible.”

“I'm sure Captain Buchanan's family won't hold you personally responsible,” said Drayton.

“Of course they won't,” added Theodosia. “Because there really is nothing to go on,” said Theodosia. “No way to get a bead on this mysterious intruder.”

“If there even was one in the first place,” Drayton added.

Delaine sat there toying with her own ring, a giant moonstone that glimmered enticingly. “But there is a way,” she said slowly. “At least, there might be.”

Theodosia and Drayton exchanged startled glances.

“What do you mean, honey?” asked Drayton.

“You said the burglar was probably after the ring.

Maybe even had his eye on the antique silver,” began Delaine.

“
Probably
being the operative word,” said Drayton.

“Well, what if this person really is a practiced thief,” said Delaine. “Then this wouldn't be the end of it, would it? This person, this thief who prowls about in the night, wouldn't just stop cold turkey, would he? This, whatever-he-is, cat burglar, would keep stealing, wouldn't he?”

“I suppose so,” said Theodosia slowly.

Drayton set his teacup down with a loud
clink.
There was a distinctly funny look on his face. “Where are you going with this, Delaine?”

“I was thinking about tomorrow night,” she said. Now a sly look lit her face. “You know, the preview party at the Heritage Society. For the Treasures Show. There's going to be that whole cache of European jewelry on display.”

“I was hoping you wouldn't go there, Delaine,” said Drayton. He pursed his lips and his lined face assumed a pained expression. “
Really
hoping you wouldn't go there.”

Delaine continued to toy with her ring. “Well, Drayton, honey, I just did. So there. And you two know exactly what I'm talking about.” She looked up in triumph, then glanced back and forth, from Theodosia's face to Drayton's. “Don't tell me the same thought hasn't crossed your minds. You know darn well that any thief who was attempting to steal an heirloom ring might also have his eye on that European Jewel Collection!”

With that, Delaine put her handkerchief to her face and began emitting little sobs.

Theodosia sat back in her chair and studied Delaine.
Are these crocodile tears or genuine tears of sorrow and frustration? Probably a little of both,
she decided. Delaine was genuinely upset over the death of her niece's fiancé as well as the apparent loss of the antique wedding ring.

On the other hand, if Delaine thought she could goad her and Drayton into helping, then she would. She'd use every trick in the book.

Theodosia sighed. Problem was, Delaine's remark about the Treasures Show at the Heritage Society was a point well taken.
Would a cat burglar stop with just one item? No, probably not. Would the European Jewel Collection at the Treasures Show be enough of a lure to bring him out again? Hmm . . . that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, wasn't it?

 

“Drayton, what are you
doing?
” shrieked Haley in alarm.

Standing behind the counter, Drayton was dumping teaspoon after heaping teaspoon of Lapsang Souchong into a Victorian-style teapot.

“Hmm?” he asked. It was early afternoon and the luncheon crowd had just departed. Haley had whipped together chicken salad with pecans and served it mounded on lettuce cups with a wedge of banana bread spread with softened cream cheese. Every plate had sold out.