Dragonwell Dead atsm-8

by Laura Childs

  “Well, it’s pretty banged up.”

  “I know,” said Theodosia. “And I feel just awful about all the wear and tear. Drayton and I hit a few patches of white-water and, of course, there were rocks, too. I guess my navi-gating skills weren’t as sharp as I thought they were. So, again, I apologize. I’ll be happy to replace the canoe or pay to have the dents pounded out. Whatever you’d prefer.”

  “No no,” said Parker, still looking supremely puzzled. “I’m not upset about the canoe. Heck, I haven’t used the darn thing in years. I’m just kind of stunned that one little woman and a somewhat older gentleman could put it through such a tough workout.”

  “Have you ever canoed the rivers up near Hickory Knob?” asked Theodosia.

  Parker Scully shook his head. “No,” he said, almost cautiously.

  “They’re tricky. One could almost say treacherous.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Parker. He wanted to believe her, but wasn’t quite buying it.

  “I understand kayakers train there,” said Theodosia. “For serious competitions.”

  “Serious competitions,” repeated Parker. His eyes narrowed as he studied her carefully. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  “Nothing,” said Theodosia, hoping she looked a lot more innocent than she felt.

  “Something happened,” said Parker Scully. “Something you don’t want me to know about.”

  Theodosia flapped a hand helplessly. They were standing in Parker Scully’s back alley, just outside his garage. She was anxious to help unload his canoe and be on her way. If Parker kept up this line of questioning, she’d for sure break down and tell him exactly what happened. That someone had taken a shot at her and Drayton. That they’d headed down the wrong fork and gone headlong over a waterfall. Then Parker would want to call in the police about the shooter and her own investigation might be . . . well, not ruined, but possibly derailed. Just when everything was at its most twisted and tangled, and she was struggling to unravel it.

  Besides, Theodosia decided, if Parker knew she was hip deep in this murder and arson investigation, he might worry about her safety and ask her to quietly extricate herself. And that was the last thing Theodosia wanted to do right now.

  Pop. Theodosia loosened a bungee cord and let it snap against the back window of her Jeep.

  “Careful,” said Parker. “Those things ricochet like crazy.” He moved in to help. “Here, let me . . . I’ll lift it down.”

  Theodosia retreated to a safe distance, watching him unload the canoe, hoping he was distracted enough to drop his line of questioning.

  She followed Parker into his garage as he carried the canoe, stooping to go through the doorway. “Watch out!” she told him as he hefted it up onto two metal struts that stuck out from the wall. “Be careful of your fishing stuff.”

  Parker slid the canoe onto the rack and peered at Theodosia in the dim light of the garage. “You want to come in?

  I have to be at Solstice in an hour or so, but there’s time for a quick drink.”

  Of course Theodosia wanted to join him. But she also didn’t want Parker to start asking his probing questions again. Better wait, she decided. There were a few things she had to check out first. Then there’d be time, plenty of time, for the two of them.

  The next order of business was Earl Grey. Theodosia had contemplated taking the old boy along this morning. Now she was thankful she’d left him at home. It would have been tricky enough to have a squirming, curious dog in the canoe, and a terrible disaster if he’d been swept over the falls with them. Unthinkable, really.

  Once Theodosia got home, she changed into a T-shirt, leggings, and running shoes. Then she snapped a lead onto Earl Grey’s collar and the two of them took off. Loping gently down Church Street, cutting over at Tradd, then hitting Meeting Street.

  At this time of night Charleston’s historic district was a sight to behold. Enormous three- and four-story mansions were bathed pink and purple from the sun’s final rays. Lights twinkled from tall windows, wide verandas beckoned. One could imagine baked oysters and soft-shelled crab being served on gleaming silver trays, sparking crystal, and the gentle pop of wine corks.

  When they hit the broad vista of White Point Gardens, Theodosia and Earl Grey pounded past the lineup of antique Civil War cannons. Hugging the shoreline, they reveled in the salty air that rode the insistent Atlantic breeze. Underfoot, bits of flotsam mingled with rough sand and broken shells.

  They passed the Bogard Inn where Angie and her relatives were holed up. Then slowed their pace as they came upon the burned-out hull of the Featherbed House. Poking jaggedly into the night sky, the remnants of the old B and B

  looked eerie. Spooky almost.

  As Theodosia reached front and center of the Featherbed House, she came to a stop. Stared up at it, wondered if it would ever be brought back to its former grandeur. Her thoughts were interrupted by . . .

  Swish, swish.

  Theodosia stared at her dog as he stared back at her.

  What’s that weird sound? she wondered.

  Tiptoeing up the front sidewalk, Earl Grey at her side, Theodosia peered toward the Featherbed House. Large pieces of plywood were nailed where doors and windows had once been. So there was no way anyone could be inside.

  Theodosia and Earl Grey ducked under a tangled flutter of black-and-yellow police tape, then stepped gingerly around the side of the Featherbed House, staying on the sidewalk as best they could, but mindful of the charred timbers and debris that were scattered about. Theodosia supposed it wouldn’t be long before workers in huge dump trucks showed up to cart everything away. Then Angie would be faced with a really tough decision—rebuild or tear the whole thing down.

  Swish, swish.

  That sound. There it was again. Theodosia and Earl Grey rounded the house, heading toward the backyard. Finally as they drew closer, Theodosia could make out a single figure laboring away in the dim light.

  Teddy Vickers was using a kitchen broom to clear away debris from the back patio.

  Theodosia’s first inclination was to laugh. Teddy looked so strange and the scene was so incongruous. Trying to clean up a major disaster using just a simple broom!

  Once she got over her initial surprise, Theodosia began to wonder exactly what Teddy was doing here. Sure, Teddy had been an assistant manager. But that was over now, wasn’t it?

  “Teddy,” Theodosia called out. Her voice sounded hollow and low, dampened by the fog that was starting to roll in.

  Teddy jumped as though someone had touched him with an electric wire. He straightened up spasmodically, his head jerking left, then right, until he finally spotted Theodosia standing in the shadows, Earl Grey at her side.

  “What are you doing here?” Teddy called out, sounding a trifle unnerved.

  “A better question might be, what are you doing here?” replied Theodosia.

  “I work here,” answered Teddy as he continued sweeping.

  “Are you planning to open for business in the near future?” Theodosia asked him. “Because things do seem a trifle iffy right now.” She stepped closer and gazed around. The patio that had once been so gorgeous, had served as a model “Charleston garden,” lay in utter ruin. Flowers and shrubbery were a sodden mess. Part of the roof had collapsed on top of the gazebo. A sooty scum of ashes floated atop the small fish pond. Theodosia wondered briefly if the charming little goldfish that had darted about so joyfully in the pond had perished. Decided they probably had. The thought of those tiny lives lost saddened her heart.

  Teddy pointedly ignored Theodosia’s words.

  “Does Angie know you’re here?” asked Theodosia. She glanced toward the carriage house, where lights shone from inside. “Are you living here?” she asked.

  Teddy stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom, staring at her now. “Somebody has to keep watch,” he said in a flat tone. “You never know what could happen. Anyone could just walk in.”

  But Theodosia wasn’t particularly im
pressed by Teddy’s sudden show of loyalty. “Why,” she asked him, “did you make Angie an offer to buy this place?”

  Teddy continued to stare at her. “Because I love the Featherbed House. Because I don’t for one minute believe it’s finished.”

  “You think it can be rebuilt,” said Theodosia.

  “Read your history,” snapped Teddy. “Anything can be rebuilt. Look at London after World War II. Or Dresden.”

  “Your history lesson notwithstanding,” said Theodosia, knowing a flimsy smoke screen when she saw one, “please tell me why you want to take this on?”

  Teddy stood there for a while, contemplating his answer. Finally, he spoke slowly. “I know some investors,” Teddy told her. “Real estate people who’d put up money to rebuild this place.”

  Sparks ignited inside Theodosia’s brain. Finally, finally they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Rebuild this place as the Featherbed House?” she asked him. “Or something else?”

  Now Teddy looked more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Some real estate people approached you, didn’t they?” said Theodosia, filling in the blanks herself. “Probably condo or hotel people. And asked you to be their go-between.”

  “What if they did?” said Teddy. “There’s no law against it.”

  “What about Angie?” asked Theodosia, trying to appeal to his better side. “Think of her. She’s upset over Mark’s death and shell-shocked from this fire. That puts her in an extremely vulnerable position.”

  Earl Grey strained forward on his leash, muzzle tipped up, and Teddy retreated a step.

  “I didn’t mean any harm,” he told Theodosia. “They said they’d pay me a commission.”

  “And the forty-eight-hour deadline?” asked Theodosia. “What’s that all about?”

  Teddy Vickers shrugged, looking sheepish now. “I only said it to add impetus to the offer. To hopefully move Angie along in her thought process.”

  Theodosia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Teddy!” she admonished. “Angie has no thought process right now. She’s completely shut down emotionally and intellectually. This has all been way too much for her.”

  “I suppose,” he said grudgingly.

  “You were her assistant,” sputtered Theodosia. “She trusted you.”

  Teddy shifted sullenly from one foot to the other. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You didn’t do much right, either,” said Theodosia. She shot him a thunderous look. “Teddy Vickers, swear to me you had nothing to do with this fire!”

  Her words served to shake him up. “I swear,” Teddy muttered. “I’d never pull anything like that. Arson’s a serious crime.”

  “It certainly is,” said Theodosia, as anger suddenly flooded her. She’d tried to remain calm, but now her emotions were taking over. “Do you know that the fire marshal has been questioning Angie? That there’s a serious criminal investigation going on?”

  “What?” squawked Teddy. “I thought the fire started because of faulty wiring.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” said Theodosia. “And rest assured that the fire department will dig deep and look at all the angles. I also imagine that sooner or later—probably sooner—they’ll get around to questioning you.”

  “I already talked to them,” Teddy told her. “Right after the fire.”

  “I’m quite positive they’ll be talking with you again,” said Theodosia.

  “Because you’ll make sure of it, won’t you?” said Teddy. He sounded bitter, defeated.

  Theodosia tugged on Earl Grey’s leash and the dog turned toward her, eager to get moving again. “Count on it,” she told Teddy.

  Theodosia was still furious with Teddy Vickers when she arrived home. She decided that he’d basically betrayed Angie.

  Not by doing anything illegal, but because he’d betrayed her trust. Angie had hired Teddy and given him a lot of responsibility. Now Teddy was repaying her by attempting to profit on her terrible misfortune.

  Feeling unsettled by her conversation with Teddy and apprehensive about appearing on television tomorrow, Theodosia stomped into her kitchen and put her tea kettle on. She’d brew a cup of jasmine tea. That sweet, flavorful elixir always served to soothe her nerves.

  Carrying her tea into the bedroom, Theodosia hoped that somewhere in her overstuffed walk-in closet she’d discover the perfect outfit to wear for tomorrow’s TV appearance.

  She also prayed she could dash in to Channel 8, do a fast forty-five-second pitch on Orchid Lights, and remind view-ers that tickets were still available. Then she’d get the heck out of there with a minimum of fanfare. Head off to Delaine’s.

  Delaine’s. Thud.

  Somehow, the notion of trying on a romantic, flouncy dress did little to cheer her. It was the idea of ruffles, she decided. Ruffles were great on christening gowns, prom dresses, and some wedding gowns. And relatively cute when tastefully adorning silk blouses or a full skirt you might wear to a garden party.

  Ruffles were definitely not good on men’s tuxedo shirts, dog and cat collars, and, probably . . . that dress. The mysterious dress that awaited her at Cotton Duck.

  Plopping down on her bed, Theodosia tilted her head left, then right, detecting a few sore spots on her back. She’d definitely banged a shoulder in her headlong plunge this morning. And put a strain on her lower back with all the frantic swimming and diving. She wondered how Drayton was faring this evening. Decided he’d probably retired early with a steaming cup of rosehip tea, his calming tonic of choice.

  Theodosia clasped her fingers together at the base of her neck, massaging with her thumbs. She tried to hit the pressure points that might relieve those nagging aches. Sliding her hands upward, she massaged the back of her head with her fingertips and instantly felt better. She closed her eyes, working her fingers up over her occipital ridge to the top of her skull.

  Better now. Much better with the old magic fingers massage.

  As feelings of relaxation seeped through her, Theodosia’s eyes gradually fluttered open and she found herself gazing at the top of her dresser. It was a little messy, just like the top of her desk, with its collection of perfume bottles, a Baccarat crystal Labrador, and a little ceramic Buddha that had multiple strands of colored beads wound around it.

  Then Theodosia’s eyes landed on the box she’d brought back from the Bogard Inn last night. The box she’d been going to deliver to Angie.

  Little ceramic elephant, iPod, and that ticket.

  As she eased herself down onto her bed, she thought to herself, Ticket. I’ve just got to ask someone about that ticket.

  21

  Constance Brucato, the producer for Windows on Charleston, was waiting impatiently for Theodosia when she arrived in the Channel 8 lobby.

  Dark haired, broad shouldered, always slightly out of breath, Constance’s only greeting was “Hurry up!” as she motioned impatiently for Theodosia to follow her. When Theodosia complied, Constance turned and hurried down a long white corridor hung with trendy pieces of art. Stopping at a door marked Edit Room, Constance knocked softly, then pushed her way into a dimly lit control room.

  “What, no hair and makeup?” quipped Theodosia. “No green room?”

  But Constance was in no mood for humor today. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to watch Windows on Charleston lately,” she said as she paused near a console where a dozen monitors flickered and two men slouched over a huge panel of buttons. “But we’ve got a brand-new show host.”

  Theodosia, who was usually at the Indigo Tea Shop by eight-thirty, rarely had time to catch Windows on Charleston, which aired at ten. She shook her head, offered a rueful smile. “Sorry,” she told Constance. “Haven’t seen it lately.”

  “Well, our new host, hostess really, is a wonderful woman,” trilled Constance. “Tons of personality. Hand-picked by our general manger.”

  Theodosia peered at Constance. She’d spent time in marketing, she knew a sell job when she heard one.


  “Here’s the other thing,” began Constance. “We had to change the format a touch.” She tapped her pen nervously against her clipboard. “We have another guest that’s going to appear with you.”

  “Really,” said Theodosia. “Because I was under the impression I’d be going on alone. Just to give a quick reminder about tonight’s Orchid Lights.”

  “That may have been the case a few days ago,” said Constance. “But we’ve reshuffled things.” She shrugged. “That’s the nature of television. Always in flux.”

  “So who . . . ?” began Theodosia.

  But Constance was on the move again. “This way,” she said sharply, pushing her way through another set of double doors and leading Theodosia directly into a dimly lit studio.

  “Excellent,” muttered Constance. “He’s setting up now.”

  Theodosia peered across the studio, but cameras and set components blocked her view. “Who is?” she asked, picking her way carefully through thick black cables that snaked underfoot. She could see a small table packed with orchids, lit overhead by a row of extremely bright lights. Curious now, Theodosia moved a few steps forward, easing herself around a large TV monitor. Then her tentative smile turned to sudden dismay as she recognized the second guest.

  “Harlan Noble?” Theodosia reached a hand out and squeezed Constance’s plump arm. “I’m appearing with Harlan Noble?”

  “Yes,” said Constance, shaking herself free of Theodosia. “He very graciously agreed to bring in some of his most prized orchids.”

  “And you want us to go on . . . together?” Theodosia’s normally well-modulated voice had turned into a protesting squawk.

  “My executive producer had strong feelings about this,” said Constance. “Showing actual orchids versus just talking about them in the abstract.”

  “I can understand that,” said Theodosia. “And I think putting Harlan Noble’s orchids on camera is a wonderful idea. So why not let Mr. Noble go on alone and present his collection?”

  “No, no, no,” protested Constance Brucato. “That’s not the way we visualized the segment.” She held up a fistful of six-by-eight-inch cards and riffled them in Theodosia’s face. “I’ve already written out cards for Abby Davis, the host of Windows on Charleston. Abby’s very meticulous about preproduction, so I’m not about to burden her with any deviation in the plan. Besides, if I changed anything now, she’d kill me!”