by Laura Childs
“When you put it that way, it sounds like Simone really is a suspect,” said Theodosia. She stared directly at Tidwell and, when he didn’t answer, said, “Is she?”
Tidwell shook his enormous head. “Doubtful. Although she was questioned at length.”
“What about Delaine? You questioned her at length, too. You don’t really believe she’s the killer, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Tidwell. “It’s where the clues lead and the evidence piles up.” He picked up a silver butter knife, cut his scone in half, then applied an enormous pat of butter.
“And where have the clues led so far? Are there any clues?”
“That information is strictly confidential,” said Tidwell, chewing as he answered.
“You can confide in me,” said Theodosia. “After all, I was there. I’m a star witness.”
Tidwell guffawed. “You were an unlucky passerby.” He helped himself to another bite.
“I’m sure you’ve interviewed many of the wedding guests by now?”
Tidwell made a noncommittal grunt.
“What about Granville’s business partner?” Theodosia asked. When Tidwell’s left eye twitched oh-so-slightly, she knew she’d struck gold. “Ho, you are looking at him. At . . .” For some reason she couldn’t dredge up the man’s name.
“Grumley,” supplied Tidwell. “Allan Grumley.”
“Right. But what I’d like to know is why you’d take a hard look at him? I’ve always been under the impression that Granville and Grumley was an incredibly successful law firm. That the two partners functioned extremely well together. They certainly got enough publicity to bear that out.”
“To all outward appearances, yes, they seemed like an unstoppable force. But when individual staffers were questioned, there appeared to be . . . let’s just call it seeds of unrest.”
“What kind of unrest?” asked Theodosia. She wondered if this internal unrest had accounted for Delaine’s poor treatment this morning.
“That I cannot divulge,” said Tidwell.
“Are you taking a careful look at Granville’s stepson, Charles Horton?”
Tidwell nodded. “I am.”
“And?”
“He appears to be an amiable chap,” said Tidwell. “I’ve found nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing to suspect him of foul play.”
Theodosia was beginning to feel frustrated. “Have you figured out who was in the room next to Granville? The mysterious Mr. Chapin?”
Tidwell hesitated for a moment. “No.”
“What about the missing paperweight?” Theodosia asked.
“Nothing yet,” said Tidwell.
Theodosia furrowed her brow.
“What?” said Tidwell.
“Don’t you find it interesting?” said Theodosia.
“Find what interesting?”
“That the killer didn’t bring a murder weapon with him,” said Theodosia. “No gun, no knife, no rope. He used whatever was at hand.”
“What you’re saying is the murder wasn’t premeditated,” said Tidwell.
Theodosia tilted her head, considering this. “I guess I am. So that means the killer didn’t start out with an intent to kill. He acted rashly, in the heat of the moment.”
“It’s certainly possible,” said Tidwell.
“Then it had to have been a wedding guest,” said Theodosia. “Unless someone else sneaked into the building.”
Tidwell looked smug. “See, you are investigating.”
Theodosia almost lost it. “Well, somebody has to!” she blurted out.
* * *
“I’m taking off!” Haley called. She popped out from between the velvet curtains, looking a little harried. She wore a T-shirt and jeans and had a colorful raffia book bag slung over one shoulder.
“Drayton’s gone already?” asked Theodosia. She was just rinsing out a teapot. It was four thirty and their customers had long since departed.
“He’s off to prep for his Heritage Society lecture tonight,” said Haley. “Something about Carolina coast shipwrecks. Or maybe it’s on lighthouse architecture.”
“Trust Drayton to pick a slightly academic subject,” said Theodosia.
“Our boy’s a real smarty,” said Haley.
“But you’re off to class, too,” she observed.
“Just a night school class,” said Haley.
“What is it this time?” Theodosia asked. Haley vacillated between business, English, marketing, and art history. Probably, once she finished taking classes, she’d have enough credits for two master’s degrees and a PhD.
“Mass communications,” said Haley. “But I’m taking it mostly for fun.”
“Then have fun,” said Theodosia. After seeing Haley off, she did a quick check of the front counter, snatching up a tin of Dimbulla tea that had somehow lost its lid. Can’t have that happen, Theodosia thought to herself. Heat, moisture, and light were the enemies of tea, and Charleston gladly offered all three of those in abundance.
“There it is,” said Theodosia, spotting the lid behind a stack of shiny indigo blue take-out bags. She grabbed the silver lid and popped it on, just as someone pounded on the front door.
“Can’t they read our sign?” she wondered aloud. “Don’t they know we’re closed for the day?”
But the pounding continued, a cacophony that built to an annoying din.
Stepping to the front door, Theodosia swept the curtain aside, ready to act out her slightly apologetic We’re closed pantomime. But when she saw Charles Horton standing there, she undid the latch and pulled open the door.
“Charles,” she said, wondering what he was doing here.
“I was afraid I’d missed you!” cried Horton. He had a loud braying voice that came across a little too high volume, a little too hearty, and echoed through the deserted tea shop.
“I was just leaving,” Theodosia told him.
Horton took a presumptuous step inside. “Then I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. She wasn’t thrilled, but she knew she had to be cordial. If only for Delaine’s sake.
“I know you’re one of Delaine’s dearest friends,” Horton began.
Theodosia gave an imperceptible nod. “We’re friends, yes.”
“The thing is, Delaine and I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“Really?” said Theodosia, trying to show a modicum of surprise. Of course, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. Horton had popped up a few weeks prior to the wedding and suddenly insinuated himself into his stepfather’s life. And into his law firm. Which had left Delaine feeling a tad worried and suspicious. And could you really blame her?
“I think Delaine initially saw me as a rival for my stepfather’s affection,” said Horton.
“I don’t know about that.”
“And now I have the strangest feeling that Delaine thinks I had something to do with his death!” Horton said in a rush.
Theodosia wasn’t sure how to answer this. Or even how to react.
Horton touched a hand to his chest and pulled his face into a look of supreme anguish. “Me. I’m just as appalled by this terrible murder as anyone.”
“Delaine is under a good deal of stress,” said Theodosia. “I’m sure, in time . . .”
“Which is why I’m here to ask a favor of you,” Horton blurted out. “Even though I really don’t know you and am probably imposing like crazy.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” asked Theodosia.
“I’d be grateful if you’d run interference for me,” said Horton.
Theodosia focused a level gaze on him. “Run interference.”
“Delaine isn’t thinking straight,” said Horton, twisting his face. “She’s angry and bitter and scared right n
ow. I know for a fact that her sister is giving her little if any support and . . .”
“And let me guess,” Theodosia cut in. “You want to be there for Delaine. You want to offer a shoulder to cry on, so to speak.”
“Exactly!” said Horton.
“Only the two of you are estranged.”
“The thing is,” said Horton, “we’re practically family. At least we would have been had this marriage taken place.” He held up a hand. “Look, all I’m asking is that you talk to Delaine. I know she listens to you, thinks the world of you if you really want to know the truth. Just try to convey the fact that I’m a good guy. That I’m willing to help her any way I can.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” said Theodosia. But I don’t know if I can convince her. Because I’m not totally convinced myself.
Horton beamed. “You know what? You’re a peach!” He opened his arms wide and enveloped Theodosia in a clumsy hug. He tried to deliver a peck on her cheek, but Theodosia turned her head so he got an ear instead.
“I’ll run this by her,” Theodosia promised, as she wriggled out of Horton’s grasp. “Next time I see her.”
7
With the surging Atlantic as a backdrop, Theodosia and Earl Grey jogged along a narrow beach littered with broken oyster shells, then sprinted up a short path into White Point Gardens.
This was the tip of Charleston’s Battery. The place where rogue pirates had been hanged, where British cannons had bombarded the city during the Revolutionary War, and where old Civil War cannons still stood like sentinels. Edging the park was a row of elegant mansions. Here, fanciful Victorian homes stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Federal, Italianate, Gothic Revival, and Georgian-style homes. And like so many buildings in the romantic city once known as Charles Town, these homes were painted in a soft French palette: alabaster white, pale pink, pastel blue, and soft gray.
As Theodosia and her dog pounded across the grass, winds from the Atlantic caressed them, stirring up ions and intoxicating sips of sea air.
“Have you had enough?” Theodosia asked Earl Grey, as they bounced across East Bay Street and headed down a narrow cobblestone alley. “Did you blow out the carbon?”
Earl Grey tossed his head and strode easily alongside Theodosia. He was a Dalbrador, half Dalmatian, half Labrador. She had found him as a pup, huddled and miserable, a poor lost stray, hiding from the rain in the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop. She had taken him in, warmed him, fed him, and been instantly captivated. Earl Grey, so named because of his slightly dappled coat, had been her constant companion ever since. On a lark, they’d started therapy dog training together. But almost immediately they began to take their mission very seriously. Now, Theodosia and Earl Grey visited hospitals and retirement homes where Earl Grey brought smiles and laughter to folks who were sometimes facing grim circumstances.
Theodosia swung open her back gate and cut across her small backyard. She’d done some more planting last month, and her once-scraggly garden was beginning to look a little more lush and verdant. Peeking into the tiny fish pond, she saw a half-dozen goldfish hovering in the crystal-clear water. Happily, they were still there. Last year she’d had trouble with a neighborhood raccoon who’d used her fish pond as his own personal sushi bar. This year the fish seemed to be holding their own. And thank goodness for that. Theodosia hated the thought of the poor little creatures being helplessly gobbled!
They ducked in the back door and went straight through the kitchen. Even though Theodosia had lived in her home for almost six months, she still hadn’t done anything about the ugly kitchen cupboards. Still, the rest of the house more than made up for it.
In the living room, she knelt down and built a small fire. Even though the afternoon had been pleasant and warm, the evening was starting to feel cool. As she touched a match to the pile of kindling, Theodosia hoped there wasn’t another storm cell lurking out there over the Atlantic. The storm on Saturday, the day of Delaine’s wedding, had been quite enough. Some of the palmetto trees on her street still looked like they’d been blown inside out.
As red and blue flames snapped and danced off the walls of beveled cypress, the living room turned instantly cozy.
I love this place, Theodosia told herself. I did the right thing in buying it.
True, the money had been a stretch, but all the scrimping and saving had been worth it. For now, this perfect little cottage with the charming name of Hazelhurst was her pride and joy.
And what a cottage it was! The exterior was adorable and semi-quirky—a classic Tudor-style cottage that was asymmetrical in design with rough cedar tiles that replicated a thatched roof. The front of the cottage featured arched doors, cross gables, and a small turret. Lush tendrils of ivy curled their way up the walls.
Her small entrance foyer featured a brick floor, hunter green walls, and antique brass sconces. The living room had a beamed ceiling and polished wood floor. Chintz and damask furniture, a blue-and-gold Aubusson carpet, an antique highboy, and tasteful oil paintings added a finishing touch.
A log popped loudly and Earl Grey glanced at her.
“You’re right,” said Theodosia. “I have to get moving. I need to take a quick shower and start supper.”
Earl Grey continued to stare at her with limpid brown eyes.
Theodosia reached out and stroked his sleek head. “Yes, he’s coming over tonight. But please don’t monopolize him too much, okay? Give me a chance once in a while.”
Earl Grey thumped his tail with enthusiasm. But he wasn’t making any promises.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, tendrils of hair still slightly damp on the back of her neck, Theodosia was in her kitchen peeling and deveining shrimp. Strains of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” played on the CD player and Earl Grey was cozied on his dog bed in the corner of the kitchen, his bright eyes watching her every move.
Theodosia whipped up her pizza dough first, using King Arthur flour that Haley had ordered for her. Then she sliced an enormous heirloom tomato and arranged the juicy red slices on two plates, along with bunches of fresh basil. Just before she served the tomatoes, she’d drizzle on a nice mixture of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
The pizza toppings made for easy prep work. She sizzled a dozen fresh shrimp, sliced black olives and red onion, and grated a mound of fresh Parmesan. Once the pizza dough was rolled out, she spooned on pesto sauce, then added the toppings.
Then she grabbed a bottle of Rubicon Cabernet Sauvignon and pulled the cork.
So what else? Ah, gotta set the table.
Theodosia placed two woven placemats on her kitchen table; set out knives, forks, and plates; then added a pair of wrought-iron candlesticks with twisted white candles.
And just when her kitchen was steamy and aromatic with top notes of basil, shrimp, and onion, Max knocked on the back door. As always, his timing was perfect.
Theodosia wasn’t sure who was happier to see him, herself or Earl Grey. The dog danced and pranced his way around the kitchen, toenails clicking and ticking like castanets. But, of course, she was the one who got a wonderful bear hug along with a long, lingering kiss.
When the heavy breathing had concluded, for now, anyway, Theodosia turned back to her dinner. Wine was poured, the tomatoes dressed, the pizza checked on.
“I love it when you make with the magic,” said Max, lounging against the counter, sipping his glass of wine. His hair looked more tousled than usual tonight, and his face wore a satisfied grin.
“You’re referring to my cooking?” Theodosia waved a hand. “This isn’t much. In fact, it’s downright easy.”
“No, no, everything you do is pure alchemy,” said Max. “You throw together bits of shrimp or pork, add fresh vegetables and a wonderful sauce and, presto-chango, dinner suddenly appears. Only it’s not just dinner, it’s a fanciful creation!”
“Really,” said Theodosia. “
It’s just a simple pizza tonight. Per your request.”
“But the cool thing is, you made it from scratch.”
“Everything I learned about food chemistry and cooking I learned from Haley,” said Theodosia. And it was true. Haley had taught her about the five basic tastes: sweet, bitter, sour, salty, and umami. And that baking generally relied on exact measurements, while cooking could be a lot more laissez-faire.
“Why do I somehow doubt that?” asked Max. “Why do I think you were born with a love and a knack for preparing great food. That you probably had a set of play dishes and one of those toy stoves when you were, like, two.”
“You know,” said Theodosia, as she peeked into the oven, “this is exactly what I’m in dire need of. Flattery and sweet talk. Definitely helps take my mind off Delaine.”
“Has she been haunting you?” asked Max.
“Endlessly,” said Theodosia, chuckling to herself at his choice of words. Lots of talk about hauntings lately. She opened the oven door and peered in. “Say, this pizza is going to be ready in about two more minutes.”
“I take it Delaine stopped by today? At the tea shop?”
“She and a very nice woman named Millie Grant, who turned out to be Granville’s secretary.”
“But Delaine was bugging you.”
“Oh, yeah. She wants me to look into things . . . you know.”
“And you’re undecided.”
Theodosia shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did you ask her about the cocaine?”
“She says she’s never tried it in her life,” said Theodosia.
“And you believe her?”
“I do,” said Theodosia. “Delaine on cocaine would be like a Formula One car going three hundred miles an hour.”
“What about Granville?”
“She said maybe, in the past. But not anymore.”
“Clearly she was mistaken,” said Max. He took a sip of wine and added, “Cocaine is basically God’s way of telling you you have too much money.”
“Oh, you,” said Theodosia.