by Laura Childs
“No, you put in a hard day’s work, both of you. So you deserve to get paid.”
“Wow,” Wade said. “That’s so generous of you.” He glanced around. “If we’re part of the crew, the paid crew, then we’d better pack all this stuff up. I see lots of candelabras and decorations that need to be transported back to your tea shop.”
“Haley’s got things, too,” Theodosia said. “If you could help her with all the leftovers and cooking stuff, it’d be . . . amazing.”
* * *
* * *
One hour later it was full-on dark as Theodosia backed her Jeep up to the Dove Cote Inn’s kitchen door. They formed a bucket brigade, passing boxes from hand to hand and cramming everything into the back.
“That’s it,” Drayton said finally. “It’s a snug fit and you’re bursting at the seams, but we managed to stuff it all in. Good thing our guests loved the food. That’s one thing that doesn’t have to go back.”
“Theo, why don’t I drive your Jeep back to the tea shop?” Haley said. “I can drop Drayton on the way.”
“Oh no, that’s okay,” Theodosia said. “I can drive back.”
“You look absolutely beat,” Drayton said. “Why not take Haley up on her offer? You go home and we’ll unload everything tomorrow.”
“That’s a great idea,” Wade said. “In fact, I’d be happy to give Theodosia a lift home. My car’s parked out back.”
“Are you sure?” Theodosia said to Wade. “I don’t want you to go out of your way.”
“You two go ahead,” Pauline said. “I have to run over to Miss Drucilla’s place and pick up a couple things, so I’ll be like ten minutes behind Wade.”
“Go,” Drayton urged Theodosia. “The unpacking can wait until tomorrow.”
“Well, okay,” Theodosia said, warming up to the idea. Then to Wade, “But I do have a couple of things that should go with me.”
“Let’s load ’em up,” said Wade.
“Your market basket?” Drayton said. “I’ll stick it in his trunk.”
Still Theodosia lingered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back to the tea shop and help set things straight?”
“You run along home,” Drayton said. “Haley and I will take care of things.”
31
“Are you warm enough?” Wade asked as they drove along in his Subaru. “I can kick the heat up a notch if you’d like.”
“I’m fine,” Theodosia said. “Just awfully tired.”
“Long day, huh?”
“They’re all long but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
“That’s cool that you found your passion,” Wade said. “Not everyone does.” Then, “That guy who was seated at the table by the window. You sure kept an eagle eye on him.”
“That was Coy Cooper, Miss Drucilla’s nephew.” Theodosia was so tired, she sank back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes for a moment. The warmth of the car, the hypnotic motion made her even sleepier.
“Oh right, I guess I do remember him from the funeral. I knew Miss Drucilla had a nephew because Pauline mentioned him a couple of times. So you suspect him? In Miss Drucilla’s murder?”
“I’ve been suspicious of several people,” Theodosia said. “But nothing’s panned out yet.”
“Pauline told me you’re kind of an ace at this. At being an amateur detective, I mean. Solving crimes.”
“Maybe not this time.” Theodosia opened her eyes. “Here’s my block. Hang a left and I’m the third house in.”
Wade glided to the curb and peered through the dusk at Theodosia’s cottage. It was hidden in shadows with just a warm glow from a small brass lamp that hung to the side of her front door. “Cute little house,” he said.
“Thank you.” Theodosia pushed open the car door and climbed out. She realized she was moving slow and that her neck and feet felt sore and achy. A hot bubble bath was definitely in order.
“I’ll get your stuff out of the trunk,” Wade said. “What did we stick in there, just those two bags?”
Theodosia walked around to the back of his tan car. “Two bags and a basket.” The cool air was helping to wake her up.
Wade popped the trunk to reveal a jumble of bags and boxes. “Let’s see . . .”
Leaning in, Theodosia said, “I think . . . um, that’s mine right there.” Her eyes darted from her basket to a bag that had fallen over to reveal a curl of blue fabric. A pale blue she’d seen somewhere before with a familiar design that seemed to touch a nerve.
Theodosia’s mind was suddenly searching for a connection. Where had she seen that color? And that particular pattern of faces and gowns and skimmer hats?
Her mind lurched in one direction, then another, as an unsettled feeling descended on her like a dark, dank cloud. Then it came to her in a blinding flash. It was a Renoir scarf that she’d seen for sale in the museum shop at the Gibbes Museum. A silk scarf that depicted one of Renoir’s best-known works, Dance at le Moulin de la Galette. It celebrated a Sunday afternoon in the district of Montmartre in Paris.
No, it can’t be. This has to be a totally bizarre coincidence.
She wondered—did Wade’s gift shop sell those particular scarves as well? Or was he just an avid fan of . . . Renoir?
“You okay there?” Wade asked.
He was suddenly standing right at her elbow, so close she could hear him breathing. Completely invading her personal space. And Wade was smiling, yes, but it was a performance smile only. There wasn’t a single ounce of warmth.
Had he noticed her noticing the scarf? Theodosia prayed that he hadn’t. And dear Lord, this had to be the tan car that had followed her earlier in the week!
“I’d better pull out those bags for you,” Wade said, cold blue eyes focused tightly on her.
“Just let me grab my basket,” Theodosia said, trying to keep her voice light. If she could just keep the fear out of her voice, if she could make it inside unscathed, then she could lock the door and call 911. They could probably have a car here within minutes.
“You’re looking at the scarf,” Wade said. “Yeah, we sell those in my gift shop. I was going to give it to Pauline for Christmas. But now, after everything that’s happened . . . well, it’s probably not a smart thing to do. Maybe a little too incriminating, huh?”
Theodosia stood there, rooted like a statue, as a car crept down the block toward them.
“Easy now,” Wade cautioned.
It was Mr. Bentley, who lived two houses down, but it was too dark for him to see the look of terror on Theodosia’s face. In fact, he didn’t even glance her way.
What to do?
Theodosia racked her brain, trying to think. She needed a weapon of some sort so she could put up a fight. So she could defend herself.
Hold everything. There’s a knife in my French market basket!
It was a serrated knife that Haley had used to trim crusts off the tea sandwiches. If Theodosia could get her hands on that knife, wrap her fingers around the wooden handle, and hang on tight, she could threaten Wade and get him to back off.
As Theodosia reached a hand into the basket, something hard pressed against her ribs.
A gun?
Her eyes went round as saucers as she turned to stare at Wade.
His mouth was pulled into an ugly rictus; his eyes had turned dark and shiny like a pit viper’s. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “So don’t do anything stupid, Miss Amateur Detective. You just had to put two and two together, didn’t you?”
The gun jabbed harder into Theodosia’s ribs. On her left side, mere inches from her heart. She wondered if Wade would dare kill her right here on the street. Would he risk it? She didn’t think so. If she could only . . .
“Forget the basket,” Wade said, his voice cold as glare ice. “Leave it. Leave everything and let’s just go inside. We need
to talk.”
“Inside?” Theodosia repeated. This was not going well. She should have had a plan B but didn’t.
“Where’s your house key?” Wade asked.
“Um . . .”
“In your purse?” Another jab. “Keep stalling and I’ll make it worse for you,” he said in a low, threatening voice.
“Okay. Right.” Theodosia dug in her purse and pulled out her ring of keys. Four keys in all. Two to her house, one to the tea shop, one to her car, all on a silver keychain with a teapot charm. She held them up. In the chill night air, they jingled like tiny wind chimes.
“Good girl. Now march. All the way to the front door. And make it snappy.”
Wade perp-walked Theodosia up the sidewalk right to her front door, the gun poking her the entire time. She’d gotten a quick glance at it and knew it was a .38 revolver. No safety, just point and shoot. About as dangerous as you could get.
She looked longingly at her house. Was this the last time she’d be seeing it? The crooked walk, the Carolina pine door, the ivy climbing up the side, the slanted roof that looked as though it had been woven by nimble-fingered elves.
Theodosia fumbled with her keys as her mind raced. She thought about the stippling Tidwell had noted around Wolf-Knapp’s gunshot wound two nights ago. Would they find the same dirty gray marking, the same stippling, on her? Was that what the medical examiner would write on her autopsy report?
“Come on, come on,” Wade rasped.
Wade moved closer to Theodosia as, jerky and stiff armed, she fumbled to select the right key.
“There’s nobody inside, right?” Wade asked.
“Just my dog.”
Wade stiffened. “Dog. What kind?”
“Um . . . dachshund,” Theodosia lied. “Little one.”
His lip curled in disgust. “Ah jeez, probably one of those little mutts that’ll bark its fool head off.”
“Something like that,” Theodosia said.
She fumbled her keys again, then purposely dropped them on the top step. Gazing furtively at Wade, she threw him what she hoped was a helpless female look. One that said, Poor me, I’m such a scared little airhead that I can’t even manage a simple task like this. But behind the facade was determination that said, I’m gonna get you, sucker, and rip your heart out if it’s the last thing I do.
Wade swore at her, then dipped down and snatched up the ring of keys.
“Jeez,” he snarled. “What a ditz. Is this the one? Is this the house key?”
Theodosia maintained her act by offering a fearful nod.
Wade stuck the key in the lock and gave it a turn. They both heard a loud CLICK; then the door eased open an inch or so.
“Entrez-vous,” Wade said with mock formality. Then, with the key ring still dangling in his hand, he reached out and shoved the front door all the way open.
Like a great white shark looking for its next entrée, Gruenwald’s muzzle appeared as he lunged for Wade’s hand. The dog’s huge jaws caught him—with ease—and held tight. Then, eyes rolling back in his head, lips pulled back in a snarl, Gruenwald sank his fangs deep into Wade’s flesh.
There was a terrible crunch as he bit down hard. The sound of teeth tearing into gristle. And hitting bone.
“Owwwwww!” Wade’s mouth gaped wide open in a hideous jack-o’-lantern snarl, his head jerked back, and he screamed like a banshee whose wings had caught fire. “Get him off meeeeee!”
Gruenwald, trooper that he was, guard dog par excellence, held tight and shook Wade like a vicious crocodile toying with its prey.
Tendons torn and muscles shredded, Wade let out another piercing scream. A split second later, the entire pack of dogs circled the two of them in a barking, jostling, yappy tangle. Angered and upset by Wade’s cries, the dogs crushed harder and closer against them, causing Theodosia and Wade to stagger and trip over their own feet. Seconds later, they tumbled to the floor in a mad tangle.
Wade landed badly, his full weight coming down on his right elbow as it connected hard with the red tile floor in the entry. He screamed as a bone shattered and the gun flew out of his hand. It seemed to hang suspended in the air for one long second, then clattered to the floor.
That was the break Theodosia needed.
She reached for the gun, arms outstretched, hoping against hope. Then her fingers brushed against cool metal and she managed to grab it. Success! Tables turned!
Gruenwald continued his brave attack. Using his giant head and powerful shoulders as a battering ram, he propelled Wade backward and shoved him into a corner.
Wade squealed like a stuck pig. “He’s killing me, the miserable . . . Pleeeeease, get him off me!” His voice rose in an ugly warble, tears oozed from his eyes and spattered his cheeks.
Theodosia scrambled to her feet. “Everybody, down!” she commanded in a brook-no-nonsense tone. Earl Grey and three of the dogs backed off immediately while Gruenwald and the two other large dogs continued their reign of terror.
“Help me!” Wade begged as he cradled his wounded hand. Tears mingled with snot streamed down his face. “They’re ripping me to shreds! My arm is broken and my hand’s torn all the way to the bone. I’m bleeding to death!”
“Gruenwald, everybody, get down!” Theodosia shouted again. The three large dogs backed off reluctantly but continued their menacing growls.
“You gotta . . . ,” Wade stuttered out.
Cool as a cucumber, Theodosia balanced the pistol in her hand and pointed it directly at Wade’s heart. “You shot at me. Wednesday night. You shot at me and my dog.”
“Help meeee!” Wade pleaded.
“Be quiet,” she said. “I need to make a call.”
Hunched over like a cockroach that had been swatted and squashed, Wade wept and moaned. His face had blanched white and he looked ready to pass out.
“Ambulance?” he begged.
Theodosia shook her head. “Police.”
32
Detective Tidwell was the first to arrive in his once burgundy, now paint-oxidized classic Crown Victoria. Theodosia’s call also warranted two police cruisers, an ambulance, and your basic partridge in a pear tree. It was Christmas after all.
“Who’s injured? What happened?” Tidwell shouted. He jumped from his car and sprinted for the door (as fast as a fat man can sprint). When he caught sight of Wade cowering in the entry and Theodosia pointing a gun at him, he yelled, “Stop!”
Theodosia heard Tidwell coming toward her but her gaze never wavered.
Tidwell read the intensity on her face and threw up a hand. A signal for everyone rushing in behind him to hit the brakes.
“Is that loaded?” Tidwell asked.
Theodosia moved her aim from Wade’s heart to a point right between his eyes.
“Ask him,” she said.
“Yes, it’s loaded!” Wade shouted. His eyes were bugged out and he was shivering with fear. “Help me, Detective. I beg you. This crazy woman intends to shoot me.”
“I doubt she’d fire on you unless it was truly warranted,” Tidwell said in a low voice.
“No, no, she’s out of her mind!” Wade screamed. “Kapow crazy. There’s no telling what she might do!”
“I suppose you have a point,” Tidwell said. “Miss Browning, are you going to shoot this man?”
“It depends,” Theodosia said.
“Help!” Wade screamed again. “You’re the police. You’re supposed to protect me!”
Tidwell moved closer and stopped when he was within five feet of them.
“I’m well acquainted with Miss Browning’s temperament,” Tidwell said to Wade. “So I’m guessing there’s a good reason for your current predicament.”
“There’s not!” Wade cried. “I’ve been set up!”
“You stole the Renoir and killed Miss Drucilla,” Theodosia said. “Then you
killed Julian Wolf-Knapp.”
“There you go,” Tidwell said.
“No, I didn’t kill anybody!” Wade cried. “I’ve been set up. Framed! You have to believe me!”
Theodosia moved a step closer. “Tell us what really happened,” she said in a voice slightly below freezing. “About how you killed Miss Drucilla.”
“That was never my intention,” Wade whimpered. “She came along and . . . well, ended up as collateral damage.” He drew a quick breath. “That’s it, yes. Now please put the gun down. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
“Oh but I do,” Theodosia said.
“Theodosia,” Tidwell cautioned.
“You even took time to steal Miss Drucilla’s diamond rings. Ripped them right off her fingers,” Theodosia continued.
“Shut up!” Wade screamed. “You don’t know anything!” His face had puffed up like a balloon and turned an ugly shade of purple.
“I realize you’re in pain,” Theodosia said, “which is making you highly emotional. But why kill Julian Wolf-Knapp?”
Wade hiccupped loudly, then fought to gather his wits. Finally, in a voice dripping with scorn, he said, “Because he was a cagey old fart. Wolf-Knapp came sniffing around the gift shop, asking questions. I figured it was only a matter of time before he figured things out. He was crooked as the day is long, you know, dealt in all kinds of stolen paintings.”
“That doesn’t mean he deserved to die,” Theodosia said.
“Give me the gun,” Tidwell said to Theodosia. “And please call off those dogs.” His voice had softened to a respectful tone.
Theodosia handed over the gun, stepped past a still cowering Wade, and pushed the dogs back. She blocked the entry by tipping over two dining room chairs. Maybe that would hold them.
“He’s bleeding badly,” Tidwell said. “The EMTs need to look at him.”
Wade fixed Theodosia with a murderous stare. “I want . . .”
“What?” Theodosia said.
Wade practically spit out his words. “I want a lawyer.”