Gunpowder Green atsm-2

by Laura Childs

  “Nuts,” she said. She sat for a moment, staring out the front window, then jumped out and walked around the back of the Jeep to see how bad the damage was.

  Not terrible. She’d overshot the turn, and her right front wheel was off the gravel road and sunk midway in oozing mud. Remembering horror stories of quicksand in the area, Theodosia quickly decided her wisest move would be to simply shift into four-wheel drive and muscle her way out.

  That would work, of course it would.

  She stood by the side of the road, batting at gnats, feeling the heat begin to build around her.

  She studied the road and the turn she’d just attempted. This had to be the turn to the Cantrell place, she decided.

  Woof.

  Earl Grey peered out the window, wagging his tail expectantly.

  “No, you stay there, fella. I’ll have us out in—”

  Circling around the back of the Jeep, Theodosia stopped dead in her tracks. Off in the nearby underbrush, she’d heard a rustle. A slight whisper. It was probably nothing. Then again...

  She began moving quietly, softly, but with purpose, creeping toward the driver’s side.

  There it was again. Not a rustle, more a soft gush of air. Couldn’t be an alligator, they were few and far between out here. Plus those critters barked and moaned and made a terrible racket. No, this was more like...a snort?

  By the time her brain registered the sound, a new movement was under way.

  Hoofs clicking on gravel. Quick, precise, and moving toward her. Fast.

  Theodosia scrambled for the car door, pulled at the handle, fumbled, pulled at it again. As the Jeep’s door swung open and she struggled to climb in, the boar appeared on the road, not more than twenty feet away. It ran easily, almost mechanically, dainty feet carrying the wild pig with awesome swiftness. Theodosia saw that the creature’s sharp, beady eyes were focused directly on her.

  Theodosia slammed the door shut and grabbed for the ignition key. As the engine turned over, a loud report sounded.

  Wham.

  Confusion for a split second, not comprehending what had just happened. Jeep backfiring? Wild pig crashing headlong into her front fender?

  Theodosia peered out the window and saw the pig lying motionless on the gravel not six feet from her. Then a pair of dusty boots came into view.

  Ford Cantrell. Casually hefting a rifle in one hand.

  Theodosia remained in her seat and, with shaking hands, pushed the button to lower the driver’s-side window.

  “Sorry about that,” Ford Cantrell called to her. He waved at her casually, as though he were out for a stroll in the park.

  Sinking back against the soft leather of the Jeep’s upholstery, Theodosia breathed out slowly. Aunt Libby had once told her the Cantrells weren’t happy with a thing unless they could ride it, shoot it, or stuff it. She might have been right.

  “This bugger got away from us,” called Ford. “I had a mind it might be headed this way. Hope it didn’t cause you any problem.”

  Theodosia climbed down from the Jeep. “Quiet,” she told Earl Grey, who was barking at the dead pig and at Ford Cantrell. “Settle down.”

  “Those things bite?” she asked, pointing toward the dead boar.

  “They can take a chunk out of a fellow,” Ford Cantrell replied mildly. “Although if you’d let that dog of yours out, he probably would of shagged it away. Most pigs are pretty scared of dogs.”

  As if to underscore Ford’s remark, Earl Grey let loose with a throaty growl.

  “Most pigs,” repeated Theodosia. Fresh in her mind was the look of intent on the boar’s curiously intelligent face.

  “What are you doing this far from town?” Ford Cantrell asked her. “I was visiting my aunt Libby.” Theodosia waved an arm in the direction she’d just come. “At Cane Ridge.” Ford Cantrell seemed to accept her explanation. “Guess you heard I turned Pamlico Hill into a game ranch, huh?”

  Theodosia nodded. She was surprised that Ford seemed to know exactly who she was. Introductions at this point would seem superfluous.

  He nudged the dead pig with his boot. “This here’s one of my main draws. A classic American razorback. Breeder I got ’em from said they’s descended from the swine that Ponce de León brought from Spain. Supposed to be real smart.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Theodosia.

  “Hear you’re pretty smart, too. You’ve been asking questions about me.”

  Theodosia didn’t back off. “A lot of folks have,” she said.

  Ford Cantrell squinted in the direction of the sun and swiped his hand roughly at the stubble on his chin. “And I guess they always will. Appears I’ve always been a lot more welcome out here in the low-country than in town.”

  When Theodosia didn’t say anything, Ford Cantrell continued. “Yeah, I’m gonna be moving my boat over to McClellanville. Those guys at the yacht club are just too snooty for my taste.”

  Theodosia nodded. A sleepy little fishing village on Jeremy Creek would be quite hospitable to a low-country denizen like Ford Cantrell. And he certainly had to be persona non grata at the yacht club these days. Maybe the board of directors had even forced Ford to resign. She’d have to call Jory Davis’s friend Eldon Cook, and ask him if he’d heard anything to that effect.

  Ford Cantrell swept his broad-brimmed straw hat off his head and ran his broad fingers through a tangle of red hair. “Funny thing about that to-do,” he said, finally looking Theodosia directly in the eye. “Everybody thinks Oliver Dixon and me were on the outs. But I was working for him.”

  Theodosia stared at Ford Cantrell, stunned by his words. “You were working for him!” she exclaimed. “What are you talking about?” she fumbled. “You mean Oliver Dixon was a partner in the hunting preserve?” That didn’t sound quite right, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment.

  “No, no,” Ford said. “I was doing some work for his new company, Grapevine.” He laughed harshly. “Well, not his company, the whole thing’s very tightly controlled by the investors. Anyway, I had worked on some of the fault-tolerant disk arrays for Vantage Computers. You know, the company over in Columbia that has a lot of contracts with the military? Anyway, Oliver asked me to serve as an outside consultant. As it turned out, Oliver and I didn’t see eye to eye on many things. That’s why we were arguing that day in White Point Gardens. I’m sure everybody thought it was the old family feud but, in truth, I’d just told him he was a damn fool if he didn’t think streaming video would be critical.”

  “You were working together?” Theodosia knew she must look totally unhinged, caught so off guard as she was by this new revelation. And here she’d gone and sicced Burt Tidwell onto Ford Cantrell. Tidwell had followed up, so he had to know about the two men’s business relationship.

  Had Tidwell been able to find some hard evidence that implicated Ford in Oliver Dixon’s death? Or was Tidwell laughing merrily behind her back because she was a rank amateur who had jumped to a wild conclusion?

  Theodosia watched as Ford Cantrell carefully leaned his rifle up against a tree stump, then grabbed the boar by its hind feet and dragged it to the side of the road.

  “Be back to pick up this big boy later,” he told her.

  “You worked together,” Theodosia murmured again.

  “Yes,” responded Ford, “but it’s a moot point now. The investors have decided to shut Grapevine down.”

  “I hadn’t heard anything about that.” Goodness, she thought, stunned, things are happening fast.

  “I just got word late Friday. Come tomorrow, the employees are on the street, and any existing inventory of raw materials is scheduled to be sold off.” His eyes, pale blue like his sister’s, like a sea captain who’d stared at too many horizons, met hers sadly. “I suppose any technology developed so far will also be sold or licensed.”

  “But why?” asked Theodosia. “I thought Grapevine was beginning to get noticed as a player in the market.”

  Ford shrugged. “Who the hell knows
why these things happen? Could be a jittery board of directors with zero confidence, now that Oliver Dixon’s gone. Or maybe the investors found a better place to make a fast return on their buck.” Ford Cantrell traced the toe of his boot in the sand. “Hell, maybe somebody has inside information on what’s really happening with PDAs and is executing a cut-bait maneuver.”

  Theodosia nodded. She understood there could be any number of reasons. Business start-ups and spin-offs were constantly being shut down or sold off at a moment’s notice. Sometimes there was a solid reason; often it was done on a whim. She’d once developed a marketing plan for computer voice recognition software that showed great promise, only to find the entire project shut down because the product manager resigned to take a job with another company.

  “Did your sister know you were working with Oliver Dixon?” asked Theodosia.

  Ford Cantrell shook his head slowly. “Nope. Less Lizbeth knows, the better.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked him.

  Ford Cantrell grinned crookedly, then shifted his gaze toward the dead boar. “Have a barbecue.”

  On her way with little more than a muddy fender to show for her mishap, Theodosia drove back toward the city, lost in thought. She wasn’t sure if Ford Cantrell’s business relationship with Oliver Dixon clearly meant the man was innocent, or if it gave Ford all the more reason to want Oliver Dixon out of the way. Maybe Ford Cantrell had somehow ingratiated himself with Oliver Dixon, gotten the consulting project, then conspired to move himself into the senior slot. If Oliver Dixon were out of the picture, the door would have been wide open. In the high-stakes world of business and technology, a power play like that wasn’t unheard of.

  But now Ford Cantrell was out of a job, too. Correction, out of a consulting job. For all she knew, his part could have been done. He could have already been paid.

  Or fired by Oliver Dixon?

  She thought back to what Delaine had said a week ago. She had told everyone at the tea shop that the two men were arguing about fishing, which had sounded exceedingly strange at the time, unless you knew Delaine. But Ford Cantrell had just told her the argument was over video streaming. Had Delaine somehow gotten fishing and streaming mixed up?

  Theodosia knew that the answer was yes. Probably yes.

  Theodosia eased off on the accelerator as the Jeep approached Huntville, a small, sleepy village on the Edisto River. Creeping across a one-lane wooden bridge, she found the way partially blocked by a sheriff’s car.

  Coming to a complete stop, Theodosia waited as a barrel-chested man dressed in a lawman’s khakis crossed the road and ambled over to her.

  “Looks like you had yourself a spot of trouble.” The man with the sheriff’s badge pointed to her mud-caked front fender.

  “Overshot a turn back there.”

  “Yeah, that’s easy to do.” The sheriff grinned widely, revealing front teeth rimmed in gold. “Good thing this jobby’s got four-wheel drive.” He put his big paw on her door. “Lots of muck and quicksand around.”

  And then, because her curiosity usually got the better of her, Theodosia asked him, “Is there some kind of problem here, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff shifted his bulk to face the river. “Nah, not really.” He pointed to where the river narrowed to a sort of canal that flowed under the bridge. A skinny, young deputy in thigh-high waders was poking around down there. “Somebody come through here last night in a hell of a hurry,” he said. “Must of been a big power launch ’cause he clipped the wood where the sides is shored up, then completely knocked out one of the bridge pilings.”

  Theodosia looked in the direction the sheriff was pointing and saw two timbers peeled back from the bank, rough edges exposed.

  “Probably some good old boys got liquored up, then couldn’t steer their way clear,” continued the sheriff. “Only reason we’re checkin’ it out is ’cause we got a heads-up from the Coast Guard. They got tipped some two-bit smugglers might be workin’ around this area and decided old Sheriff Billings didn’t have enough to do. Send him on a wild-goose chase the first nice Sunday when he could be havin’ a nice time at the car races over in Summerville.”

  Theodosia nodded, amused by the sheriff’s peevishness. She knew there was a maze of rivers and inlets and swamps to navigate out here. Lots of back country that only the locals were familiar with. “They’d have to know this territory pretty well,” she said.

  “Sure would,” agreed the sheriff.

  “Sheriff Billings, if it is smugglers, what would they be bringing in?” asked Theodosia.

  “If it is smugglers, most likely goods from somewhere in the Caribbean. Booze, cigars, cigarettes. Folks just love to avoid that federal excise tax.” The sheriff peered down over the embankment. “You find anything down there, Buford?” he hollered to his deputy.

  “Nothin’,” the deputy yelled back. “Seen a darn cottonmouth, though.”

  “Well, leave it be,” advised the sheriff.

  Chapter 22

  “All you serve is tea?” asked the young woman with a frown.

  “Come on,” said her companion, a young man in blue jeans and a Save the Redwoods T-shirt, “there’s gotta be a coffee shop down the street.”

  “If you don’t care for tea, you might find something you like on our Tea Totalers Menu,” offered Haley.

  The young woman accepted the slip of parchment paper tentatively. “Chamomile, Ginseng, Orange Spice,” she read as she scanned down the list. “But these are teas, aren’t they?”

  “Actually,” explained Haley, “they’re infusions. Therapeutic fruits and herbs that don’t contain leaves from the tea plant.”

  “Are they good for you?” asked the girl.

  “Rose hips and hibiscus are extremely high in vitamin C, while ginseng and peppermint are energy boosters,” said Haley. “Tell you what, I just brewed a pot of rose hips. You can have a taste and judge for yourself.”

  Haley went behind the counter and poured two small cups of rose hips. It was early Monday morning, and no other customers had come in yet. She could hear Theodosia and Drayton talking quietly in Theo’s back office. Her scones and honey madeleines were baking in the oven, and she could afford to spend a little time with this young couple.

  Their eyes lit up at the first taste.

  “This is good,” declared the boy. “But I think I’d like to try the plum. It sounds refreshing. Interesting, too.”

  “I’ll stick with the rose hips,” said the girl. “And you serve pastries here, as well?” Her nose had picked up the aromatic smells emanating from the back room.

  “Have a seat, and I’ll bring a pastry tray out,” said Haley. “That way you can see everything.”

  Drayton stared at Theodosia from across her desk. “They were working together?”

  “It would appear so,” said Theodosia.

  “I can hardly believe it,” said Drayton. “Everyone and his brother has been so sure those two were still engaged in some dreadful eye-for-an-eye feud.”

  “Including me,” said Theodosia. “I feel terrible about jumping to such a hasty conclusion.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” advised Drayton. “Tidwell certainly believed you and, in fact, seemed to confirm your thoughts. And, as you pointed out earlier, Ford Cantrell could have been secretly scheming to oust Oliver Dixon. He could have been seeking a permanent solution, if you get my drift.”

  “I suppose,” fretted Theodosia.

  “Frankly, I think you should speak with Tidwell again,” urged Drayton. “About Ford Cantrell and Billy Manolo. Just the fact that Billy Manolo showed up at Oliver Dixon’s funeral—and Tidwell was a witness to that—is somewhat suspicious. And I’m very uneasy about the fact that he threatened you.”

  “Who threatened who?” asked Haley as she stuck her head in the door.

  “It’s nothing, really,” said Theodosia. She didn’t want Haley to get upset over Billy Manolo’s cruel remark about her floating facedown in Char
leston Harbor.

  “When our Theodosia went to Billy Manolo’s house last Saturday, he picked up a piece of pipe and threatened her,” said Drayton.

  “Did you call the cops?” asked Haley. “Any guy looks cross-eyed at me these days, I call the cops.”

  “What about that Hell’s Angel with the overpowered motorbike who hung around here all last summer?” Dray-ton asked. “He frightened off half our customers.”

  “Teddy wasn’t threatening,” said Haley. “He was simply in the throes of an identity crisis. Anyway, he’s back in school now.”

  “Studying what,” asked Drayton, “anarchy?”

  “If you must know, he’s studying to be a paramedic,” said Haley. “But tell me more about this Billy Manolo character. Maybe he was the one who was peeking in our window Saturday night.”

  “You’re still convinced someone was up to no good,” said Drayton.

  “I don’t know what they were up to, but somebody was out there,” replied Haley as the timer on her stove gave a loud ding. “Oops, got to pull this batch out,” she said as she sailed around the corner.

  By ten o’clock, every table in the tea shop was occupied. Drayton had predicted they’d have a busy morning, even though it had started out slowly, and had readied at least two dozen teapots. Now they were being filled with keeman, puerh, and Darjeeling, and being dispatched to the various tables occupied by tourists as well as tea shop regulars.

  Theodosia was behind the counter, manning the old brass cash register and, in between cashiering and handing out change, was scribbling notes she could add later to the “Tea Tips” section of her Web site. When it didn’t appear that the Indigo Tea Shop could hold one more customer, she looked up to see the door swing open and Doe Belvedere Dixon walk in followed closely by Giovanni Loard.

  “Hellooo . . .” Drayton flew over to greet them, had an obvious moment of panic when he realized there wasn’t an available table, then demonstrated signs of palpable relief when he saw that two women were just getting up to leave. “I’ll have your table ready in a moment,” he assured Doe and Giovanni.