by Laura Childs
“It was faulty,” Tidwell said. “We’re going through the alarm company’s log right now.”
“And the painting that was stolen,” Theodosia said. “Was it an authentic Renoir?”
“Apparently it was.” Tidwell started working his way through his second scone.
Theodosia knew that the theft of a genuine Renoir constituted a serious art heist. Though high-end-art thievery wasn’t exactly commonplace, when it did happen, there were often deadly consequences. Case in point: last night.
“Wait,” she said. “How do you know it was a genuine Renoir? I mean, Donald Trump claims to have one hanging in his airplane.”
“Pauline Stauber pulled the paperwork and I already spoke to the art consultant who arranged the sale.”
“Who was that?”
“An art dealer over on Broad Street named Wolf-Knapp.”
“That’s his name? Wolf Knapp?”
“Last name. It’s hyphenated. First name is Julian.”
“And this Wolf-Knapp guy sold the Renoir to Miss Drucilla?”
“I don’t understand the ins and outs of the art market, but Wolf-Knapp claims he facilitated the sale. In his words, he ‘located an appropriate painting’ for her,” Tidwell said.
“Do you have any reason to doubt him or believe he was involved?”
“Not at this point,” Tidwell said. He took a sip of tea, set his teacup down with a tiny clink, and said, “You weren’t aware of anyone who shouldn’t have been there last night?”
“Not really. I knew very few of the guests. They weren’t exactly”—Theodosia was about to say in my circle; instead she settled for—“close friends. But if you care to share the guest list with me, I could probably make a few inquiries, ask around.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tidwell said. He stuffed the last bit of scone in his mouth, washed it down with a sip of tea, and stood. “Best not to get too involved.”
“Right,” Theodosia said, even though the image of Miss Drucilla’s limp, dead body was forever seared into her memory.
4
Lunch was shaping up to be just as busy as morning tea had been. Drayton was answering the phone every five minutes, jotting down reservation requests as well as orders for takeout. Theodosia knew there’d be a few drop-ins as well. There always were. So it was time to make with the magic again, whisking away dirty dishes, resetting the tables, and dashing in to check the menu with Haley.
“Haley, it smells wonderful in here!” Theodosia exclaimed as she squeezed her way into the kitchen. Between the butcher-block table, the industrial-sized range and oven, the cooler, and the dishwasher, there was barely room for the elfinlike Haley.
“That’s because I’m making she-crab soup,” Haley said with a grin. “That nice pungent seafood aroma kind of perfumes the air, doesn’t it?”
Haley Parker was a kitchen martinet in the body of a twentysomething young woman. Besides being smart and innovative, she was tough as nails. Greengrocers feared Haley lest she reject any wilted lettuce they attempted to foist upon her. Fishmongers gave her grudging respect. And the sellers at the farmers market loved her because she respected their commitment to farm-to-table produce.
Theodosia didn’t know what she’d do without Haley, because the girl was a true gem. Haley’s skill sets included baking, cooking, putting together imaginative menus, and creating adorable fondant cakes in the shape of teapots, glass slippers, castles, and even colorful fish.
“What else have you got for us,” Theodosia asked, “besides your delicious she-crab soup?”
Haley ticked off the rest of the menu on her fingers. “Two kinds of tea sandwiches today. Chicken salad on pumpkin bread and smoked turkey with Gouda cheese on rye bread. Then we’ve got red pepper quiche and citrus salad. Of course we still have a few cream scones and strawberry muffins left over from this morning and I’ve got two pans of sultana raisin scones baking in the oven.”
“You’re on top of things as usual, Haley,” Theodosia said.
Haley grabbed an oven mitt, peeked into her industrial-sized oven, and cried, “Yes!” After pulling out a pan of golden brown quiche, she set it on the top of the stove.
“I need to stay a step or two ahead of things,” Haley said. “This is a super-busy week no matter what Drayton seems to think.”
“He knows we’re crazy busy, and he’s well aware of how hard you work. He loves you, you know. So do I. You’re family.”
Theodosia’s basic philosophy was you always took care of family. And because she didn’t have a large extended family (she had only an aunt and uncle), Drayton and Haley had become her surrogate family.
“Thanks. That means a lot to me. But I think Drayton’s still emotionally overwrought because of last night,” Haley said.
“I know he is.”
“The thing about Drayton is, he takes things hard, but then he tries to stuff his true feelings down his throat and put on a stoic face.”
“Crusty on the outside, sweet on the inside,” Theodosia said.
Haley nodded. “Kind of like my French meringues.”
* * *
* * *
Lunch was busy, exciting, and exceedingly crowded. Extra chairs needed to be brought in, and for five minutes, a gang of six had to cluster in the entryway before Theodosia could clear a table for them. But it worked out (somehow it always did), and now Theodosia and Drayton found themselves (as Drayton so aptly phrased it) on the far side of lunch.
Drayton poured them each a well-deserved cup of Lady London Ceylon tea. Then he held up his teacup to toast with Theodosia, and said, “Once again, my dear, we nailed it.”
“Always do,” Theodosia said.
He gave a semicontented smile. “Even when we have a frantic, gnash-my-teeth week, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“You’d never want to go back to teaching again?” Drayton had once taught culinary classes at Charleston’s prestigious Johnson & Wales University.
“And give up my post here as tea sommelier? Never!”
But it wasn’t all unicorns and roses. Because five minute later, Pauline Stauber came stumbling through the front door, barely able to hold back tears.
“Pauline!” Theodosia exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t really know Pauline all that well. Enough to say hello to her on the street and, of course, from last night. But Theodosia knew enough to recognize when a person was in extreme distress.
Drayton grabbed a tissue from a box and thrust it in Pauline’s direction.
Pauline grabbed the tissue, wiped her eyes, and said, “That detective . . . the chubby one who swaggered in last night and tried to browbeat everybody?”
“You mean Detective Tidwell?” Theodosia asked.
Pauline bobbed her head. “Exactly. He’s being needlessly aggressive and terribly mean.”
Drayton made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat as Theodosia put an arm around Pauline’s shoulder and led her to a nearby table. Got her to sit down.
“Mean to you?” Theodosia sat down next to Pauline and took her hand.
Pauline’s chin quivered. “To everyone.”
“Tidwell’s manner is often blunt and brusque,” Theodosia explained. “Believe me, I should know. His temper’s been directed at me more than once. But please don’t be put off by his demeanor. On the plus side, Tidwell is a stickler for getting the job done. He heads the Robbery-Homicide Division and once worked for the FBI. His close rate is nothing short of amazing.”
“That’s some consolation, I guess, but it’s not why I’m here.”
“Then what can I do for you?” Theodosia asked as she released Pauline’s hand and signaled for Drayton to hurry over with a pot of tea.
Pauline folded her tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m here because Delaine said you might be able to help me.”
&nbs
p; “Help you . . . how?” Theodosia asked.
“Figure out who killed Miss Drucilla?” Pauline said, her voice rising, then cracking. More tears leaked out and then she fought to get her emotions in check. “Here’s the thing. Delaine Dish gave me a super pep talk about you. Told me you were Charleston’s own Miss Marple. That you were smart and totally unafraid to dig around and ask tough questions.”
“That’s generally what the police do.”
Pauline gave a sad smile. “That’s exactly what Delaine predicted you’d say. But she warned me not to give up so easily, told me I shouldn’t take no for an answer. She said you’ve solved a couple of actual cases. Murder cases.”
“Helped solve,” Theodosia said. “There’s a difference.” Drayton set a pot of tea along with cups and saucers on the table, then quietly retreated.
“The thing is, you were there last night. You were the one who found Miss Drucilla,” Pauline said.
Theodosia nodded as she poured a cup of tea for Pauline. “I did.”
Pauline’s brows pinched together. “Then maybe you saw someone or something going on? By that, I mean something out of the ordinary?”
“The only strange thing was when the security alarm went off a second time.”
“That was strange,” Pauline said.
“Miss Drucilla said it had been happening a lot lately.”
“I guess maybe it had, but I didn’t think much about it.” Pauline reached out and put a hand on Theodosia’s arm. Tears streamed down her face. “Please, I really need your help.”
“Oh dear.”
“Miss Drucilla doesn’t really have anyone, you know,” Pauline said.
Her words stabbed at Theodosia’s heart. “What do you mean, no family at all?”
“There’s supposedly a nephew somewhere, but I’ve never met him. I wouldn’t even know how to get hold of him,” Pauline stammered out. She sighed, then finally managed to take a sip of tea. “So it’s just me and a handful of friends to . . . to honor her final requests.”
The knowledge that Miss Drucilla had no immediate family saddened Theodosia immensely. Made the woman’s untimely murder feel all the more tragic and poignant.
“Tell me what’s going on right now,” Theodosia said finally. It wouldn’t hurt to stay informed, would it?
“Obviously a police investigation is underway,” Pauline said. “Lord knows where that will lead or how long it’ll take. And then, once the lawyers deal with the estate, I suppose Miss Drucilla’s properties will eventually be put up for sale.”
“There are multiple properties?”
“Besides the big house on Legare, Miss Drucilla also owns a condo in Hilton Head. But she hardly ever used it.”
“Okay.”
Theodosia could feel herself being gradually pulled in, because it was, after all, a situation that was hard to resist. An elderly woman murdered. A lifetime spent as a kind and generous donor to countless charities. Missing diamond rings. A stolen Renoir. She smiled to herself. It was kind of Miss Marpley after all.
“Tell me about the painting. The Renoir.”
Pauline shook her head. “I don’t know much about it. Just that it was stolen.”
“Do you think the killer took it?”
“I’m guessing he grabbed it right after he killed poor Miss Drucilla and ripped the diamond rings off her fingers.” Pauline’s voice was bitter, angry.
Theodosia remembered Tidwell’s words from earlier this morning. “And Miss Drucilla worked with an art consultant?”
Pauline gave a desultory shrug.
“Someone named Julian Wolf-Knapp?”
“The police made me go through all her papers and that’s the name we found, yes.” Pauline pulled a clean hankie out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes some more.
“Is there anyone, anyone at all, who’s a friend or even an acquaintance of Miss Drucilla’s that’s, um . . . even remotely suspicious?” Theodosia asked. After all, she had to start somewhere.
“You’re asking me to name names?” Pauline asked. She seemed startled.
“No, nothing like that. Maybe just someone who was overly friendly or eager to be around her. Or just slightly quirky?”
“Well . . .” Pauline licked her lips nervously. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was afraid to.
“Okay, let’s make this simple. Why don’t you start by telling me about Smokey?” Theodosia said.
“Smokey’s just a guy who does odd jobs around the neighborhood. I wouldn’t exactly call him mentally impaired or anything like that, but he does seem a little slow.”
“But as a handyman, Smokey’s fairly adept at fixing things?”
“Oh absolutely. He unplugged Miss Drucilla’s kitchen sink and installed a new garbage disposal.”
“So not that slow,” Theodosia said.
“I guess not.”
“What else can you tell me about Smokey?”
“I don’t know. One time Smokey rented one of those big heavy machines and polished all the wood floors. And once he helped Miss Drucilla hang a couple of paintings.”
“He hung her paintings,” Theodosia said in a neutral tone.
Pauline blinked rapidly, then did a kind of double take. “Oh wow. Wow, do you think that means something? That maybe Smokey saw a painting he liked and decided to grab it?”
“No idea.” But it might be a place to start.
The expression on Pauline’s face brightened considerably. “Delaine told me that you were the sharpest tack in the box. That’s how she described you. And now I can see why. She also said that if anyone could figure out who killed Miss Drucilla, it would be you.”
Theodosia leaned back in her chair and thought for a few moments.
Or maybe you killed Miss Drucilla and you’re trying to throw Smokey under the bus. Maybe you were angry at her. Or jealous. Or hated your job. Or . . . maybe not.
Theodosia didn’t really believe that Pauline was a killer and an art thief. But if she was going to look into Miss Drucilla’s murder, she’d have to poke around and explore every single angle.
“I must say I’m interested in this murder case. There are some unusual twists and turns.”
Pauline was nodding now. “Because of the stolen rings and painting.”
“And the money.”
Pauline shook her head, looked a little puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Miss Drucilla had a will, I believe.”
“I’m positive she did. She was very precise that way, very businesslike.”
“So someone stands to benefit,” Theodosia said.
“Benefit?”
Theodosia didn’t think Pauline was quite that obtuse. In fact, she wondered if Pauline was deliberately misunderstanding her. So she decided to be absolutely clear.
“I mean to say that someone will benefit greatly from Miss Drucilla’s death.”
Pauline pulled her lips into a perfect circle. “Oh. Now I see what you mean.”
“If Miss Drucilla was in the process of awarding several endowments to various charities, she must have had any number of people flocking around her, correct?”
“Lately there were quite a few. Friends and acquaintances,” Pauline said.
“Such as?”
“Well, she was friendly with Donny Bragg.”
“The neighbor. The one who lets Smokey live in his carriage house,” Theodosia said. “What about Bragg?”
“He’s always struck me as a little . . . too slick.”
“Okay. Who else?”
“There’s another man who helped out as a kind of independent financial review board. He owns a company called Doing the Good.”
“And who is this person?”
“Um . . . his name is Sawyer Daniels.”
“And h
e reviews charities?” Theodosia asked. She’d never heard of him or his company.
“Mr. Daniels’s company runs analytics on area charities. They look at how much money a charity is able to raise, then weigh that amount against what the charity actually spends to help people. You know, is the good that they do significantly more than what they spend on fund-raising and administration, that sort of thing.”
“That actually sounds quite smart,” Theodosia said.
“I think so, too.”
“Who else?”
“Well, Miss Drucilla had a housekeeper, Evelyn Fruth. But she’s in her sixties and was hardly ever there.”
“Okay, and how many guests were there last night?”
“Maybe . . . thirty-six?” Pauline said.
“Could I get a look at your guest list?” Because Detective Tidwell didn’t care to share it with me.
“I’ll make a copy so you can have it right away. Maybe you could even pick it up tonight?”
Theodosia’s brain was spinning with ideas. “Tonight . . . sure. I can do that.”
“I’ll be working late at Miss Drucilla’s place, so you could drop by anytime.” Pauline fidgeted with the handle of her teacup. “There are so many things I have to deal with.”
“I’m sure there are,” Theodosia said.
“The police want to see all sorts of personal papers and bank records. I’m struggling to connect all the dots. After last night it feels like my entire world fell apart,” Pauline said.
“Probably because it did.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do now.” Pauline leaned back in her chair and went a little limp. “I mean, for a living. Wade—that’s my boyfriend—says I should hang tough, help the police as much as possible, and try to tie up any loose ends for Miss Drucilla. He’s got a good job at a gift shop, so at least we can pay the rent. Anyway, Wade says I need to let some time go by before I figure out my next move.”
“That sounds like smart advice.”
5
“What was that all about?” Drayton asked once Pauline had left. “Besides tears and tea?”