by Laura Childs
“No time!” Tidwell barked. He was already on his feet and racing out the door before she was able to finish her sentence.
“But I—”
The door slammed behind him, cutting off her words.
“Doggone it!” Theodosia cried in frustration.
“What?” Drayton asked. “You wanted to tell him something?”
She shrugged. “Obviously.”
Drayton walked over to the table, cupped a hand, and made a come on gesture. “What was it?”
“I’m fairly sure I know something that Tidwell doesn’t.”
Drayton beetled his brows. “That sounds awfully mysterious. I’m afraid to ask, but just what is this secret information?”
“I think I know where Julian Wolf-Knapp might be hiding out.”
“Is he hiding out?”
“Let me explain,” Theodosia said. “I stopped by Wolf-Knapp’s studio yesterday on my way back from the Christmas Market. And he wasn’t there—at least he wasn’t answering his door. But Annie from the Dusty Hen Antique Shop downstairs told me he often spends time at his plantation house.”
“And?” Drayton continued to peer at her.
“And Annie gave me his address.”
“You think Wolf-Knapp might be hunkered down at his plantation house, trying to hustle up interest in a stolen painting?”
Theodosia looked grim. “If he is, that would be the absolute proof we need that he murdered Miss Drucilla.”
Drayton touched a hand to his cheek. “Mercy me, you could be right. Unfortunately, we can’t just waltz in and make a citizen’s arrest.”
“No, but if Wolf-Knapp is there, we can call for backup,” Theodosia said.
“Theo, you realize you’re not an actual homicide detective. You can’t just snap your fingers and expect to summon an entire police contingent.”
“No, but this murder business has been battering away at us all week long. Wouldn’t it be nice to actually solve the case?”
“Tie it up with a big red bow just in time for Christmas?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Theodosia said. “I’d settle for an arrest and assurance from the police that a stone-cold killer will be brought to justice.”
“Still, we need to think twice about making any sort of move. Simply showing up at Wolf-Knapp’s house unannounced would be dangerous.”
“Which is exactly my point. We won’t announce it. We’ll sneak in and see what we can see.”
“Sounds tricky,” Drayton said.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, your outrage over Miss Drucilla’s murder?”
Drayton glanced at his watch as he mulled over Theodosia’s words. “Tell you what. Come to my house tonight for dinner and we’ll talk about this. We’ll strategize.”
“You’re on.”
20
What a lot of people didn’t realize about Drayton was that he wasn’t just fussy; he was precise. He measured, leveled, and double-checked everything. To him, cooking and baking, tea brewing and blending were all about food chemistry. Combine the right ingredients in the proper amounts, do it with grace and care, and—voilà!—grand success.
Theodosia was standing in Drayton’s kitchen, watching him work his magic with apples and pork chops. Earl Grey was also a guest tonight and he, along with Drayton’s dog, Honey Bee, were romping outside in the backyard. Or as much as two dogs could romp in a Japanese garden complete with its own koi pond, bamboo forest, and display of bonsai.
Please, Earl Grey, Theodosia thought. Don’t get too rambunctious and knock something over. Like a priceless windswept bonsai. And don’t dip a big clunky paw into the pond and try to snag one of Drayton’s prized golden koi.
“That looks delish,” Theodosia said as Drayton sizzled pork chops in a copper fry pan and added maple syrup. Then she gazed around Drayton’s elegant kitchen and smiled. The stove was a six-burner range, the sink was custom hammered copper, and the cupboards were faced with glass, the better to show off his collection of teapots and Chinese blue-and-white vases. A small indoor herb garden occupied a windowsill.
“It’s a simple enough recipe,” Drayton said as he stood at the stove.
“Anything I can do to help?” Theodosia asked.
“Actually, yes.” Drayton pulled a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of eggnog from his refrigerator. “You can try this.” He poured a tall glass of eggnog and handed it to her. “My holiday eggnog.”
Theodosia took a sip. “Good.”
“Just good?”
“Great. Really tasty.”
“Okay, then.”
Drayton added sliced apples to his pan, turned up the heat, and stirred the bubbling mixture. When it reduced to a creamy goodness, he plopped in a generous tablespoon of butter and stirred that in as well. Theodosia had learned that exact trick from watching Haley. A pat of butter added right at the end always pulled a sauce together.
“Our dinner, dear girl, is almost ready,” Drayton announced. “If you grab the baked potatoes and loaf of French bread from the oven, I’ll get busy and plate our entrées.”
He grabbed two Limoges china plates, scooped his pork chops onto them, poured the apple–maple syrup sauce over the top, and added the potatoes. With the bread nestled in a sweetgrass basket, they carried everything into the dining room, where candles flickered on a table that was already set with linens and silverware.
As they both sat down, Drayton said, “Whoops, can’t forget the wine,” and reached behind himself. He grabbed an opened bottle of Château Latour from a side table and poured a glass for Theodosia.
“Are you trying to get me tipsy?”
“Just hoping to get you relaxed.” He gave her a sly look as he poured his own wine. “Is it working?”
“Is it ever.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll drop this nonsense about sneaking out to Wolf-Knapp’s plantation house.”
“He could be Miss Drucilla’s killer,” Theodosia said as she settled a napkin onto her lap, picked up her knife and fork.
“So could any number of people.”
“This has been a tough case. It feels like every time we take one step forward, we meet a pocket of resistance and get shoved back two steps.”
“I totally agree. This entire investigation has been like slogging through a vat of molasses. However, if we keep talking about it, I fear we’re going to give ourselves a case of indigestion,” Drayton said.
“No, we won’t. We never have before. And by the way, this pork is to die for.”
“Of course it is. Thank you.”
“And what kind of apples are these, please?” Theodosia asked.
“They’re Stayman Winesap. Sourced from Windy Hill Orchard up near York.”
“Haley got them at the farmers market?”
Drayton nodded as he speared another piece of pork. “Yes. And you’re right. This is good.”
Theodosia stopped eating for a moment. “No, Drayton, this is divine,” she said as she literally savored the atmosphere in the dining room. They were sitting at a Chippendale table where two silver candelabras and a bouquet of white roses served as centerpieces. A French chandelier dangled overhead and an oil painting of Charles Grey, the second Earl Grey and former British prime minister, hung on the wall. It made Theodosia sigh with happiness because, really, it was the first time she’d felt completely relaxed in almost a week.
“Hmm?” Drayton spread a pat of butter on his slice of French bread and peered at her with curiosity. “What were you saying?”
“Your lovely table, this home-cooked dinner, the wine, the camaraderie—it’s almost too perfect.”
“I’m sure we can think of something to spoil it,” he joked.
“I can’t imagine what.”
“Okay,” Drayton said. “How about this? Why do you thi
nk people commit murder in the first place? What’s the driving force?”
“Oh . . . well.” That really did bring Theodosia back down to reality. “I read somewhere that the main drivers were greed, revenge, anger, and political ideology.” She took a sip of wine. “I suppose you could throw in stupidity and immaturity as well.”
“Who do we know that’s stupid and immature?” Drayton asked.
“My vote would be Donny Briggs, hands down,” Theodosia said.
Drayton chuckled. “I can’t fault you there. What about greedy?”
“That I’m not so sure about.”
“Okay, moving on to political ideology,” Drayton said.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but the wealthy people who were at Miss Drucilla’s party were probably mostly Republicans. And the nonprofit people were probably liberals or Southern Democrats. But to tell the truth, I didn’t get a sense that anyone there was politically motivated.”
“Nor did I,” Drayton said. “Here.” He picked up the bottle. “Have some more wine.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“I insist.”
They let the conversation wander for the rest of the dinner. Didn’t mention Miss Drucilla or her murder, just talked about the tea shop, mutual friends, and about . . . everyday things.
WHAM! BAM! came from the back of his house.
Their eyes met.
“It’s the dogs,” Drayton said. “Banging on the back door, alerting us they’re ready to come in. Probably played their little hearts out and are wondering what we’re up to.”
“Good thing we’re almost finished with dinner,” Theodosia said as Drayton got up to tend to the dogs.
Theodosia heard the thunder of paws first. Then Earl Grey and Honey Bee came streaking into the dining room. Earl Grey flopped down at her feet. Honey Bee stared at her with expressive brown eyes.
“I don’t think a tiny bite would hurt,” Theodosia said as she grabbed a couple shnivels from her plate and slipped them to the dogs.
“Are they being little beggars?” Drayton asked as he walked into the room.
“They’re actually fairly well-behaved,” she said as her cell phone chimed from her jacket pocket. “Doggone, I forgot to . . .”
“It’s okay,” Drayton said. “Go ahead and take it. Could be Riley calling.”
But it wasn’t Riley at all.
“I’m calling for Theodosia Browning,” said a pleasant woman’s voice.
“That’s me,” Theodosia said. She glanced at Drayton, whispered, “Sorry.”
“Theodosia Browning? Do I have that right?” said the caller.
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“This is Ellen Hague from the Barnes Foundation. I apologize for calling so late, but I have a message here that you made an inquiry about our Renoir paintings?”
“You’re the curator?”
“One of them anyway. There are three of us who deal with the Renoirs. We write articles and press releases, arrange seminars, host visiting scholars, that type of thing.”
“I understand the Barnes Foundation has an enormous collection of Renoirs,” Theodosia said. She was starting to get excited.
“It’s one we’re exceedingly proud of,” Hague said.
“I called earlier because I have a question. Now, I know this is coming out of left field, but do you know of any Renoirs, not necessarily yours, that have been stolen lately?”
There was a long silence and Theodosia was afraid the curator might be laughing at her. Or had hung up. Then she was back with an answer.
“As a matter of fact, there was a Renoir stolen from an Austrian auction house. Some two or three years ago,” Ellen Hague said.
“Are you serious?”
“It was a fairly sensational theft at the time. A number of thieves—well, three actually; we know that because they were caught on tape—infiltrated the Dorotheum auction house in Vienna and cut a Renoir right out of its frame. The painting was titled ‘Bay, Sea, Green Cliffs.’ You could probably find the exact details on the Internet. Like I said, it was a huge story.”
“Do you know if that Renoir was ever recovered?”
“One of the thieves was apprehended in Amsterdam,” Ellen Hague said. “But no, the painting still hasn’t been found. It’s gone. In the wind somewhere.”
* * *
* * *
Theodosia sat at the table for a few moments, digesting her dinner and Ellen Hague’s words.
Finally, Drayton said, “What?”
“Have you ever heard of a Renoir painting titled ‘Bay, Sea, Green Cliffs’?”
Drayton shook his head. “No, should I have?”
“Probably not. But let me . . .”
Theodosia fiddled with her phone, quickly googling “Stolen Renoir.” Seconds later, the painting came up on her screen. It was a sweet painting, almost pastoral in nature. And just as the title implied, the gentle landscape painting depicted pinkish blue clouds, green cliffs, and a sparkling blue bay.
“Holy smokes, Drayton. Take a look at this.”
Drayton fumbled for his reading glasses as Theodosia held up her phone for him to see.
He squinted, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Okay, I see it. Almost a painterly sketch.”
“Do you think— Do you remember— Was this the painting that hung in Miss Drucilla’s hallway?”
“You mean the stolen painting?”
“Right.”
Drayton continued to study the image, then turned his attention to Theodosia.
“I can’t say for sure. We were frantically busy the night of the party, so I don’t know if I gave it a second glance, let alone a first one.”
“I’m going to call Pauline and ask her if she remembers this piece.”
“Do you trust her?”
“I think at this point I pretty much have to on this.”
Drayton sat expectantly as Theodosia called Pauline. When Pauline answered, Theodosia said a quick hello, then added, “I need to send you an e-mail.”
“Okay. Sure,” Pauline said. Then, “What’s up?”
“You’ll see in a minute. Take a look at the photo I’m sending. Then call me right back, okay?”
“Okay,” Pauline promised.
Theodosia sent the photo. Two minutes later Pauline called back.
“Is it the stolen painting?” Pauline was excited to the point of being positively breathless.
“Maybe. What do you think? You’re the one who’s most familiar with it.”
“I think that might be it!” Pauline was practically shouting with joy. “You found it, didn’t you? You found Miss Drucilla’s painting!”
“Not exactly,” Theodosia said. “Let’s just say I’m hot on its trail.”
* * *
* * *
Drayton gazed at Theodosia with a look of disbelief. Everything seemed to be moving a little too fast for him.
“Are we hot on its trail?” he asked.
“I think we are,” Theodosia said. She was starting to vibrate with excitement because this could be it. This could be the break they needed. And since she was privy to Wolf-Knapp’s whereabouts, knew about his plantation house, maybe they could swoop in and hopefully solve the case.
“You’re convinced the thief is Julian Wolf-Knapp?” Drayton asked.
“It’s sure starting to feel right. All the pieces fit. Wolf-Knapp claims to have bought the painting from a dealer in Amsterdam and that’s where one of the thieves was apprehended.”
“I don’t care about the painting,” Drayton said. “What I do care about is Miss Drucilla. Do you think Wolf-Knapp was the one who killed her?”
“He . . .” Theodosia stopped. “I think it’s possible. I mean, we know Wolf-Knapp is the connection. He told me himself that he facilitated the sale
of the Renoir.”
“That could mean almost anything,” Drayton said.
“It could also mean dealing in stolen art. Maybe ‘facilitating’ is one of those genteel words that kind of obscures the real meaning. Like saying ‘lateral transfer’ when you really mean ‘stealing.’ ”
“You think that Wolf-Knapp somehow obtained this stolen Renoir and sold it to Miss Drucilla? Then for whatever reason, he murdered her and stole the painting back?”
“That does sound complicated,” Theodosia said.
“No, it sounds positively twisted,” Drayton said.
“Which is all the more reason for us to go out to Wolf-Knapp’s place tonight.”
Drayton made a face. “And do what? Break in? Make a citizen’s arrest?”
“More like do a reconnaissance,” Theodosia said.
“Just you and me.” Drayton didn’t sound convinced.
Theodosia glanced down at Earl Grey and Honey Bee. “How about we take the dogs along for protection?”
21
They took the dogs with them, but not for protection. They took them along because . . . well, because they were there.
“Honey Bee isn’t exactly your trained attack dog,” Drayton said as they drove down East Bay Street. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s more of a lapdog.”
“That’s okay. She can bark, can’t she?”
“Don’t you know it. Like a champ.”
“Once a dog gets to barking, it makes most people nervous. The old primal fear kicks in.”
Drayton glanced back at Honey Bee, who was perched like a little lady next to Earl Grey in the back of Theodosia’s Jeep. “Fearful of that sweet face? I don’t think so.”
They drove across the Ravenel Bridge, went through Mount Pleasant, and, after a few turns, ended up in a decidedly rural area.
“You know where we’re going?” Drayton asked.
“Got a good idea anyway.”
They swept around a tight S curve, headlights splashing on brackish water where tupelo gum trees stood like lone sentinels. Overhead, clouds boiled, obscuring the moon and stars.