by Laura Childs
Theodosia crept up the narrow stairs, mindful of the dust on the handrail, the creaking of each step. Arriving at a cramped landing, she found a small window and a narrow door. She tried the door immediately and found it locked tight.
It probably leads into the attic. Which is filled with more junk.
Losing interest now, she turned to the window and saw that it was dirty and smeared with dust. No wonder the Rattlings hadn’t made a go of this place, she decided. Everything about Ravencrest Inn smacked of lackadaisical care. She touched an index finger to the window and rubbed. Her finger came away grimy. Shaking her head, Theodosia hunched forward to look out. Interestingly enough, she was now positioned directly over the small fish pond.
Her heart gave a little blip, like a trout flipping over lazily in a sun-dappled stream.
Could someone have dropped the paperweight from up here? More importantly, could someone have even opened this window? Or was it glued shut from years of grime and lack of use?
There was only one way to find out.
This was an old-fashioned kind of window, Theodosia noted. A two-parter. The top part remained fixed, while the lower part slid up. Flipping open the latch, Theodosia put her hands against the window sash and pushed.
It didn’t budge an inch.
She drew a deep breath and tried again. This time there was slight movement, a shudder.
Third time’s the charm.
She canted her body sideways and gave a mighty shove. As the window groaned upward, she pressed her hands tightly against the frame. And, just as the window yawned open, something sharp pricked her finger.
Ouch!
She pulled her hand back fast and saw that a small gray splinter had lodged in the tip of her index finger.
Nasty.
As she flicked out the sliver, her eyes sought out the offending window frame. Rain, humidity, heat, age, termites, whatever, had caused it to swell and buckle, then dry out and splinter.
And that was when she saw a tiny strand of thread caught on one of the splinters. As if someone had caught the sleeve of their sweater or jacket.
What on earth. Could this mean something? Could this be something?
Theodosia dug into her hobo bag and pulled out her iPhone. She held it close to the thread and snapped a photo. Then she stepped back and took another shot from a different angle.
She stood there staring at the thread. It wasn’t coated with dust like everything else, so it must be fairly recent. She frowned, wondering who might have been up here and what they’d been doing that their jacket or sweater had gotten snagged.
Getting rid of damning evidence?
Like the proverbial lightbulb going off above her head, Theodosia suddenly remembered the light-colored linen jacket Charles Horton had worn to the funeral this morning.
Was it you, Chuckles?
Like a biologist who’d suddenly discovered a rare new species, Theodosia reached out and carefully pulled the thread from the splinter.
And wondered to herself, Is this the clue that could finally crack the case?
16
“What do you think?” Theodosia asked Earl Grey. “Should I call him?”
Theodosia was sitting in her kitchen, enjoying a quiet dinner with Earl Grey. While he’d gone facedown in a bowl of kibbles, she hadn’t been any less enthusiastic with her crab chowder. Or in her conversation with her dog. As she shared her last triangle of toast with him, she related her adventure about finding the thread.
“The thing is, it could be an important clue.”
Earl Grey’s limpid brown eyes stared back at her. He was listening intently, lending his nonverbal agreement.
“You think so, too?” she said. “Then I really do have to call him.”
Earl Grey lay down and rested his muzzle on his front paws. Now his eyes rolled up at her and his soft velvet brow wrinkled ever so slightly.
“Yes, I know he’ll be upset. At first, anyway. But when I tell him what I found . . .”
Theodosia grabbed her phone and punched in numbers decisively. After getting the runaround and bullying her way through two different gatekeepers, she finally got Detective Tidwell on the phone.
“What now?” was his opening salvo.
“You’ll never guess what I found when I went back to Ravencrest Inn,” Theodosia burbled.
“A ghost?”
“No. Be serious, please. I found a piece of thread.” When her news was greeted with dead silence, she continued. “I went up the back stairs to the fourth floor, the attic. And, believe it or not, there’s a little window that sits directly above the fish pond. You know, where I found the glass paperweight?”
Tidwell’s breathing was heavy in the phone.
“Anyway, I wondered if maybe someone had tossed the paperweight from up there, so I tried to open the window, got a sliver in my finger, and found the thread.”
“Describe, please,” said Tidwell.
“The sliver or the thread?”
“Don’t play games.”
“It’s just a small thread, kind of light beige in color. Like maybe the sleeve of someone’s blouse or jacket got snagged on the rough part of the windowsill.”
“And where is it now?” asked Tidwell.
“I put it in an envelope that was in my purse,” said Theodosia. “A bank deposit envelope.”
“And you’ve told no one about this?”
“Of course not.”
“Stay put. I’m going to send a squad car by to pick it up.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Do you want me to relay my story to them, too?”
“No, I do not,” said Tidwell. “Simply hand over the envelope and go about your business.”
“I don’t think I can do that anymore,” said Theodosia. “I mean, this is my business. This murder investigation.”
“No, it is not,” said Tidwell. “Never, ever, think that it is.” There was a loud click and then he was gone.
“You’re wrong about that,” Theodosia said to dead air, a crooked smile on her face.
* * *
Ten minutes later, the police cruiser showed up and Theodosia handed over the envelope to two eager-looking young officers. Five minutes after that, there was a loud knock at her back door.
“Delaine,” she said, scurrying through her kitchen.
She pulled the door open. “Hey, come on in.”
“You’re awfully chipper tonight,” observed Delaine. She was all business in a military-tailored black pantsuit as she stepped inside. Then she glanced around and finally cracked a smile when she saw Earl Grey.
“Oh, I’m just . . .” Theodosia hesitated. Should she tell Delaine about the clue? No, better to wait until they had a real live suspect in custody. Why cause her any more pain or aggravation than necessary? “I’m just eager to get going,” Theodosia said.
“Glad to hear it,” said Delaine. Earl Grey had come over and nudged his muzzle into Delaine’s hand. Now he was getting gentle pets and a chuck under his chin. “Because this is going to be a big job.”
Theodosia grabbed her handbag and handed Earl Grey a dog cookie. “Okay, let’s go over there and get to it.”
They exited the back door into fast-approaching twilight. Birds cheeped their evening songs from hiding places in the vines that curled on Theodosia’s back wall. A breeze stirred tendrils of hosta and fiddle ferns that had been dug up at Aunt Libby’s plantation and recently transplanted.
“I have a few ideas about the menu,” said Delaine. Her high heels clacked on ragged patio stones.
“I figured you would,” said Theodosia.
“Macaroons are so . . .” Delaine suddenly threw up an arm and let loose a bloodcurdling scream! “Aieee!” She spun frantically and bumped foreheads with Theodosia.
Seeing stars for a few seconds, T
heodosia finally had the presence of mind to focus on the dark shape that was now sitting atop her back fence. As her eyes became more accustomed to the dark, she could make out a fuzzy outline, shiny eyes, and a black mask.
“Oh, no,” Theodosia said in a disgusted tone. “It’s a raccoon. Doggone it, he’s back. Or at least one of his cousins.”
Recovering quickly, Delaine turned and stared at the offending animal. “Oh.” Then her voice softened. “Gosh, he’s kind of cute.” She smiled, extended a hand, and said, “You didn’t mean to scare us, did you? You’re really a good boy, aren’t you? A nice boy.”
“Please don’t make friends with him,” said Theodosia. “Unless you intend to take him home with you.”
“Theo,” said Delaine, and now there was a hectoring tone in her voice. “That little raccoon is a sentient being who has just as much right to live on this planet as we do.”
“He can live anywhere on the planet that he chooses,” said Theodosia. “Just not in my backyard, dining à la carte off my goldfish.” She grabbed the grill off her barbecue and laid it across the top of her fish pond. Then, for security’s sake, she weighted down the grill with a couple of rocks.
“Poor raccoon,” Delaine cooed, as the raccoon slid off the wall and lumbered down the alley without so much as a good-bye or backward glance.
“Hang in there, guys,” Theodosia told her fish. “That grill is going to have to do until I can get a trap and catch that darned raccoon.”
The little fish seemed to gaze up at her with pleading looks.
“You’re going to trap him?” said an outraged Delaine.
“With a live trap, yes,” said Theodosia. “And then I’m going to relocate the little pest.” She held up a hand. “And I don’t want to hear one more word about it.”
* * *
Unlike Theodosia’s postage stamp–sized backyard, Granville’s yard was enormous. It was a decorator-done showcase garden that was the perfect complement to his enormous mansion. A dazzling rectangular pool was surrounded by flower beds, shrubbery, and exotic statuary. In the two back corners, live oak trees stood like sentinels.
Closer to the house was a flagstone patio with a built-in barbecue and wood-fired pizza oven.
Theodosia surveyed the grounds, which were practically immaculate. “So you called the gardening service?”
“Yes, I did,” said Delaine. “They promised to send a crew over first thing tomorrow morning and get everything shipshape.”
“It doesn’t look half bad now,” said Theodosia. “A little judicious trimming and pruning and we’ll be in business. Except we’re going to need a lot more patio furniture. At least two dozen tables with plenty of chairs to go around.”
“I already called my favorite party rental place,” said Delaine. “They’ll deliver Friday morning, and then all we have to do is arrange the tables and chairs.”
“Excellent,” said Theodosia. So far this had all been relatively painless. Maybe everything else would be, too. Fingers crossed and knock on wood.
Delaine pulled out a ring of keys as she led the way to Granville’s back door.
“Are you okay?” Theodosia asked. Delaine seemed to be fumbling with the keys.
“I’m fine,” said Delaine. The door swung open and they stepped into the back hallway. All in all, it was quite cozy and elegant. Wine-red walls, a black-and-white tiled floor, nice painting on the wall above a wooden bachelor’s chest that held a bowl of coins and a brass lamp with a green shade. Delaine turned the light on, then stepped lightly to the left. Lights blazed on and she said, “And here’s the kitchen. This is what you need to check out.”
Theodosia stepped into what she decided was a dream kitchen. Eight-burner Wolff stove, double oven, lots of counter space, and plenty of storage. The décor was country French, and it was all strategically anchored by a granite island that featured two sinks.
“It must be incredible to cook in here,” said Theodosia.
“Dougan never cooked,” said Delaine. “Neither did I.”
“Ever?” Theodosia was amazed. If she lived here, they’d have to use a crowbar to extricate her.
“You know me,” said Delaine, giving a little shrug. “I never eat carbs, only protein. Plus I’m very big on doing takeout.” She glanced around. “Dougan really only had this kitchen updated to add to the resale value. I don’t know why, but some home buyers seem to like a large, well-furnished kitchen.”
“That is strange, isn’t it?” said Theodosia.
Delaine paused, her hands flat on the granite counter, staring across at Theodosia. “The thing is, will this work for you? For the catering part, I mean?”
“I can make it work.” Can I ever.
Delaine pointed at the stove. “You can brew tea there?”
“Or at best heat the water,” said Theodosia. “Yes, this will work just fine.” Better than fine.
“Okay, then,” said Delaine, dusting her hands in a gesture of finality. “Shall we continue?”
“Lead the way,” said Theodosia.
Granville had lived the life of a plutocrat. His expansive living room was hung with enormous oil paintings in Baroque frames. Two matching pale-green silk sofas sandwiched a square cocktail table lacquered in Chinese red. One wall was dominated by a Hepplewhite sideboard. Granville’s home had been built on a grand scale, and he had furnished it with precious antiques, fine furniture, and silk Oriental carpets.
No wonder his home had been selected for the Summer Garden Tour, Theodosia decided. Guests would stream through the main floor, ogle the goods, then head into the backyard where they would visit the garden and be impressed all over again.
Except Granville wouldn’t be here to enjoy it. Or collect the compliments.
“I had no idea it would feel so awful and empty in here,” Delaine said in a quavering voice. “Everything seems so . . . lifeless.”
That’s because it is.
But Theodosia didn’t say that. Instead she said, “Try to think of this upcoming event as something we can tinker with in the best possible way. To make this stop on the Summer Garden Tour a kind of memorial to Dougan.”
Delaine fought back tears. “Why, Theo, I think that’s a lovely idea. I like that. I like it very much.”
Theodosia appraised the room. “What we’re going to need in here are flowers,” she said. “After all, it is a garden tour.”
“Okay,” said Delaine, sniffling.
“Maybe on the cocktail table, an enormous bouquet of pink peonies.”
“What about green plants?” asked Delaine. “I think this place could use some.”
“Excellent idea,” said Theodosia. “You get on the horn tomorrow and have some delivered. But think large scale. Maybe a couple ficus trees or palm trees.”
“Got it,” said Delaine.
“You have the house cleaners coming, too?”
“Yes. Of course.” Delaine seemed to be feeling some better now.
“Better call that party rental place back and have them bring plastic runners and some velvet ropes and stanchions,” said Theodosia. “That way you can funnel everybody through here with a minimum of fuss.”
“And get the gawkers outside,” agreed Delaine.
“There are a lot of fine things in here, so maybe some security, too.”
“Sure,” said Delaine.
“As for refreshments,” said Theodosia, “I think we should keep things fairly simple. Tea, lemonade, scones, and a couple different types of dessert bars. After all, we want people to have a nibble and then move on to the next home on the tour.”
“Lingering is verboten,” said Delaine.
Theodosia strolled across the room and into the dining room. This, too, was done in baronial splendor with an enormous Sheraton dining room table, chairs covered in peach silk, and a tall pecan credenza. Elegant sil
ver teapots and serving dishes lined the top of the credenza.
“We’re going to want to put this silver away,” Theodosia called to Delaine. “Just to be safe.” She picked up an ornate wine cooler, turned it over, and glanced at the maker’s mark. It was sterling silver by Tiffany. “Gorgeous,” she said under her breath.
Then, just out of curiosity and partly because she wondered if she might discover a stash of Cuban cigars, Theodosia pulled open the double doors on the lower part of the credenza. No cigars, but there was more silver. A treasure trove of it.
“Delaine, maybe you should think about moving this silver upstairs,” said Theodosia, as she walked back into the living room. “Just to be safe.” But her words echoed hollowly. Delaine seemed to have disappeared.
Theodosia walked to the foot of the curved stairway. Had she gone upstairs? “Delaine?” she called out. “Are you up there?”
No answer.
Theodosia hesitated for a few seconds, then climbed the stairs. The carpeting underfoot was whisper soft, unlike the practically threadbare Oriental runner on her own stairway. Oh, well. She was still on this earth and able to enjoy her cozy home, while Granville was not.
When she got to the top of the stairs, Theodosia called out again. “Delaine! Where are you?”
“I’m in here,” came a faint voice.
Theodosia padded down the hallway. “Where?”
“Master bedroom,” came Delaine’s voice again.
Continuing down the hallway, pausing to admire a pair of antique ceramic Staffordshire dogs, Theodosia finally pushed open one of a set of double doors.
And found Delaine.
“What are you doing?” Theodosia asked.
Delaine spun around. The expression on her face conveyed deep sadness.
“Look at this place,” said Delaine. “So empty.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
It didn’t look empty at all to Theodosia. The bedroom held a large barley-twist plantation bed covered in blue brocade, antique side tables, and a gleaming mahogany dresser. The windows were swagged with silk brocade draperies, and a white marble fireplace had a plump white velvet love seat facing it.
“We should go,” Theodosia urged. “The longer we stay here the more upset you’re going to be.”