by Laura Childs
“I need to ask you about Sissy Lanier, too,” Theodosia said. She paused, knowing she might or might not get an answer. “Is Sissy a suspect in her husband’s murder?”
“Now, why would you ask that?”
“Like I told you, I met Sissy today,” Theodosia said, as Earl Grey banged again, getting more impatient. “And she seemed . . . well, awfully blasé, more than a little unconcerned, about her husband’s rather grisly demise.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then Sissy mentioned the fact that Lanier had never bothered to sign the divorce papers, so now she stands to inherit everything.” Theodosia paused. “You’ve probably investigated her already, huh? Don’t the police always look at the spouse first?”
“That’s only in TV crime dramas.”
“Really?” Theodosia could hear a combination of cheering and static rising in the background that blended in with Earl Grey’s insistent banging. It was starting to drive her crazy.
“Kidding. I’m kidding,” Riley said. “Of course we look at the spouse first. Because twenty-five percent of the time they’re the ones who did it.”
“Okay, thank you,” Theodosia said. “The other thing I wanted to know about is . . . the autopsy? On Carson Lanier?”
“Good Lord, Theo, why do you want to know about that?”
“Because it’s important.”
“That information is confidential.”
“Come on, there’s just you and me here. And I’ve already seen Lanier at his worst.”
“Well, it wasn’t the arrow that killed him,” Riley said.
“I didn’t think so,” Theodosia said. “There was so much blood at the scene. So his heart was still pumping when he landed on that spike.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Grisly. What else was in the autopsy report?”
“Lanier sustained several fractures and multiple lacerations,” Riley said.
“Anything else?”
“That’s about— Oh, wow!”
“What?” Theodosia asked.
“Jeez, I think Kaczmarski just hit a home run!”
* * *
• • •
“What. Is. Wrong?” Theodosia asked as she opened the back door and let Earl Grey in. “Don’t you know I was on the phone?”
“Rowr.” Earl Grey fixed her with a baleful gaze.
“Now? You want to go for a run now?”
He continued to look at her.
“It’s pretty late, but . . . oh, I suppose we could. Why not?”
Run was the magic word that rang the bells and spun the lemons and cherries. Theodosia changed into a hoodie and leggings, snapped a leash on Earl Grey’s collar, and they headed out.
Ten o’clock at night and the neighborhood was quiet as a graveyard. A few lights burned in the second stories of the Georgian, Victorian, and Italianate homes that surrounded her. But there was no one on the street. No cars, no walkers, not even a stray cat.
“You sure this was a good idea?” Theodosia asked. But Earl Grey surged ahead, pulling her down the alley like a sled dog muscling through a snowdrift. They ran for a couple of blocks down Chalmers Street, warming up, feeling good, blowing out the carbon. Then they cut over to Church Street, where they drifted past the Indigo Tea Shop, the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop, Antiquarian Bookshop, and a few other small neighborhood shops that were battened down tight for the night. Just past St. Phillip’s, they turned in to Philadelphia Alley.
Originally called “Cow Alley” because it had mostly been used to corral livestock more than a hundred years ago, this narrow passageway was also referred to as Dueler’s Alley by locals who knew its history. Paved with cobblestones that had come from the ballast of Colonial ships, this narrow alley ran between several large, fancy homes and boasted high walls and limited points of access. In days of yore, when dueling (swords, pistols, or choose your weapon) was popular in Charleston, this was the designated spot to defend your honor or settle an argument for good.
Theodosia had slowed to a walk and was halfway down Dueler’s Alley when she decided this probably wasn’t the smartest route to take. Fog had crept in from the harbor, turning the minute bits of lamplight that filtered in from the street into yellow smudges. And the darker and foggier it became, the more Theodosia was reminded of the alley’s strange legends and lore.
As in numerous ghost stories that concerned a jaunty whistling doctor who haunted this particular alley.
“But we don’t believe in ghosts, do we?” Theodosia said to Earl Grey, even though most of the stories were regarded as gospel truth.
As if in answer, the dog dropped his tail and hunched his shoulders.
“As soon as we pop out of here, we’ll make a dash for home,” Theodosia said. “Get warmed up.” A damp chill had seeped in and she knew her speaking out loud was a form of bravado to help ward off any unwanted phenomena.
Didn’t work.
Halfway down the dark alley, Theodosia heard the scrape of shoe leather against cobblestone.
What? There’s somebody behind me?
Theodosia’s heart suddenly blipped faster, her breath rasped in the back of her throat.
And I don’t think it’s ectoplasm or ghostly phenomena. This is real!
Theodosia didn’t turn around. Instead, she tightened Earl Grey’s leash and picked up the pace. Seriously picked up the pace.
So did whoever was right behind her.
Theodosia sprinted for the end of the alley, in a sudden, all-out, gut-busting effort that would have made Usain Bolt proud. All the while, the names of Jud Harker, Sissy Lanier, and Betty Bates kept running through her brain like chase lights on a movie marquee. Was one of them coming after her because she’d stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong? Had this investigation just become a lot more dangerous than she’d ever suspected?
Emerging from the alley on State Street, Theodosia and Earl Grey kicked their sprint into a gallop. And kept up their blistering pace until they were safely at home.
12
“This is going to be a busy morning,” Drayton sang out as he reached up and grabbed a tin of Assam from his floor-to-ceiling collection of teas.
“They’re all busy,” Theodosia said. She had enlisted Jamie’s aid this Wednesday morning and, together, they’d set plates, silverware, and teacups on the tables, added tea lights, and arranged everything just so. Now Jamie was placing daffodil stems into antique milk glass vases, while Theodosia was on her hands and knees, restocking one of her highboys with jars of honey, marmalade, lemon curd, and her various T-Bath products.
“How many flowers go in each vase again?” Jamie asked.
“Have you ever studied mathematics?” Drayton called to him. “Long division? Short division?”
Jamie nodded. “I guess so.”
“Then take the number of vases you have sitting in front of you and divide it into your total number of flowers.”
“Yeah, I suppose that could work,” Jamie said.
“Private schools,” Drayton muttered. “When did their standards begin to slip?”
Theodosia stood up and dusted her hands together. “Don’t mind him,” she told Jamie. “Drayton’s always a little grumpy before he downs his first cup of English breakfast tea.”
“Drayton doesn’t bother me,” Jamie said. “In fact, I find him fascinating.”
Drayton looked startled. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because you’re so multifaceted,” Jamie said. “You grew up in South China, worked in London, create all sorts of great bonsai trees, and know everything there is to know about tea, art, and classical music.”
“Please don’t flatter him,” Theodosia told Jamie.
Drayton held up a finger. “No, the boy makes a good point.”
* * *
• • •
/> Five minutes before the tea shop was set to open, Detective Riley called.
“Theodosia,” Drayton called to her. He held up the phone and waggled it. “For you.”
She snatched it out of his hands. “Hello?”
“Okay,” Riley said. “I did some checking on your guy Bob Garver.”
“What did you find out?”
“Not a whole lot. Just that he’s a commercial developer whose most recent project, Gateway Gables, was a mixed-use building.”
“What is that, exactly?” Theodosia asked. She was pretty sure she knew what that meant, but it wouldn’t hurt to get an exact definition.
Papers rattled and then Riley said, “Apparently, Gateway Gables entails retail space on the ground floor and apartment rentals on the top two floors.”
“But what did you find out about Garver himself?”
“Nothing,” Riley said. “Besides the fact that he collects monthly rent from his tenants.”
Theodosia glanced at the front door, where Drayton was letting in the first customers of the day. “Okay, let me know when you get more.”
Riley drew a sharp breath. “Theodosia, you know I can’t do that.”
“Whyever not?”
“I appreciate your giving me tips, but there’s no way I can share proprietary police information with you.”
“That’s just plain silly,” Theodosia said. “Especially after we’ve hashed out a number of things already. The autopsy . . . Sissy Lanier and Betty Bates.”
“I really can’t give you any more,” Riley said. “My boss would kill me . . . in fact, he’d hang me by my thumbs and flog me with a push broom if he knew I’d talked to you about any of this.”
“Tidwell,” Theodosia said. His name came out as a long sigh.
“Yes, Tidwell. You know what a bear he can be.”
Theodosia had always thought of Burt Tidwell as more of a teddy bear, but she didn’t tell Riley that. “Okay then, what’s the latest scoop on the arrow that Lanier was shot with? The quarrel?” She’d focused solely on suspects so far, but wondered if the actual murder weapon might be a worthwhile angle to pursue as well.
“Obviously, once the arrow was delivered from the medical examiner’s office, we had our top ballistics people go over it.”
“And what did they say?” Theodosia asked.
“Um . . . I don’t have their full report yet.”
“But they must have shared some information with you.”
“Nothing I should share with you,” Riley said. He sounded anguished. He wanted to be forthcoming with her, but clearly feared he might compromise his investigation.
“You realize,” Theodosia said, “that I was the first to spot it. That I made the call on it being a quarrel.”
“I know that,” Riley said.
“And my initial impression was that the arrow was quite old. Possibly an antique.” She paused. “Is that what your people think as well?”
“Theodosia . . .” Now Riley sounded even more anxious. “Yes, the people in the ballistics lab suspected it might be antique as well. And that’s all I’m going to say for now.”
* * *
• • •
Theodosia was humming as she stepped up to the counter to grab two pots of tea.
“You’re in a good mood,” Drayton said. “Looking forward to Delaine’s Silk Road Fashion Show today?”
“That and a few other things,” Theodosia said. “Drayton, you know that short arrow we found stuck in Carson Lanier?”
Drayton gave a mock shudder. “The image remains seared in my brain.”
“Your impression was that it was antique, am I correct?”
“I believe it was,” Drayton said slowly. Then, “Yes, now that I recall, there was a hand-hewn, old-world craftsman feel to it.”
“If one wanted to purchase an old-fashioned crossbow and quarrel, where would one go?”
Drayton aimed a level gaze at her. “You could be heading down a very dangerous pathway.”
“It’s just an innocent question,” Theodosia said.
“No, it’s not. But . . . let me think for a minute.” Drayton poured hot water into a blue-and-white teapot, swished it around to warm the pot’s interior, and then poured it out. “I suppose if I were looking for that sort of antique weapon, I might pay a visit to Chasen’s Military Relics over on Bee Street.”
Theodosia smiled sweetly. “What a lovely suggestion. Thank you.”
“What are you two conspiring about now?” Haley asked. She was suddenly at the front counter, balancing a large tray of maple scones. Then she forgot her question and said, “I’m going to stick these in the pie saver. I have a feeling we’re going to be extra busy today.”
“It only stands to reason,” Drayton said. “Since Theodosia will be gone over lunch.”
“Do you think Jamie could give me an assist?” Theodosia asked Haley. “I mean, go along with me to Delaine’s shop and help set up?”
“I think we could manage without him for a short while,” Haley said.
“We’ve managed without him so far,” Drayton mumbled.
Haley gave Drayton a sharp look. “Be nice. Jamie really does admire you.” She took the top off the glass pie saver and started arranging her scones. “So, how was the board meeting last night?”
Drayton frowned. “It was your basic disaster.”
“Yeah?” Haley’s ears perked up. “What happened?”
Drayton nodded at Theodosia. “Care to give Haley a recap?”
“Oh,” Theodosia said, “Timothy was presenting a potential board member to the existing board and it turned out to be a woman who works at Capital Bank who may or may not have been having an affair with Carson Lanier.”
Haley reacted with a shocked expression. “She was canoodling with the dead guy?”
“Back when he was still alive,” Drayton said. “Allegedly.”
Intrigued, Haley said, “And they were carrying on at the bank?”
“Apparently so,” Theodosia said. “Allegedly.”
“Holy sweet potatoes,” Haley said. “Who is this bank chick, anyway?”
“Please don’t repeat this,” Theodosia said, “but her name is Betty Bates.”
Haley held up a finger and sketched the air. “You want to know what I think?”
“Not really,” Drayton said.
But Haley was undeterred. “I think Lanier and Bates had a lovers’ quarrel.”
Drayton snorted.
Haley was stung by his reaction. “Don’t be so blasé,” she told him. “A lot of affairs are all hearts and flowers to begin with and then end in tragedy.”
“Only if their story was written by Shakespeare or Lord Byron,” Drayton said.
“But you know where that kind of conflict leads?” Haley asked, completely undeterred.
Drayton looked seriously pained. “Please enlighten us, Haley.”
“To a duel. Like in days gone by, when two men would vie for the same woman’s hand. Or two people would take the law into their own hands.”
“You’ve been listening to too many legends about Dueler’s Alley,” Drayton said.
But Theodosia was suddenly alert. And it wasn’t just because Drayton had mentioned Dueler’s Alley. “Haley brings up a good point,” she said. “Lanier and Betty Bates could have had a lovers’ quarrel. You know the old saying—Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Haley looked thoughtful. “So Lanier and Betty Bates—they both worked at Capital Bank?”
“They were VPs there,” Theodosia said. “Well, I guess Betty still is.”
“Huh. You know who works at that same bank?” Haley said.
“Who’s that?”
“Linda Pickerel.”
“I don’t know her,” Theodosia said.
&nb
sp; “Sure, you do,” Haley said. “Linda, the pretty red-haired girl who used to wait tables at that bistro over on East Bay Street. Um . . . Temptations, I think it’s called.”
“Oh, that Linda,” Drayton said. “I do remember her. Nice girl.”
“She works at Capital Bank now?” Theodosia asked. She was spinning the beginnings of an idea in her head.
Haley nodded. “Yeah. I ran into her at the farmers market a couple of weeks ago, and she mentioned that she’d started a new job there. I guess she’s in some sort of trainee program for home mortgages.”
“Do you think Linda would talk to me?” Theodosia asked. “Maybe give me an inside scoop?”
“You mean about Lanier and his chicky-poo?”
“Her correct name is Betty Bates,” Drayton said.
“Whatever.” Haley shrugged. She turned back to Theodosia. “But Linda may not know anything.”
“That’s not what Theodosia asked you,” Drayton said. “She asked if your friend Linda would talk to her. On the QT. You know how employees like to talk.” His lips twitched. “Dish the gossip.”
Haley colored slightly. “Yeah, I guess.” She gazed at Theodosia. “I suppose I could give Linda a call and ask her if she’d talk to you.”
Theodosia smiled. “Do that, would you please?”
* * *
• • •
Theodosia seated a few more customers, delivered tea and scones, and chatted with Jamie about having him help set up the luncheon table over at Cotton Duck. He said he’d be delighted to go along and assist.
“Go grab Haley, will you?” Theodosia asked Jamie. “We need to know when she’ll have everything packed up for us.”
But Haley was more than ready.
She ducked out of the kitchen and said, “The food’s all ready to go. You can grab it anytime. Now if you want.”
“Did you talk to your friend Linda?” Theodosia asked.
Haley bobbed her head. “I did. And Linda said she’d talk to you.”
“When?”
“Whenever. Today, even. You just have to call her and set up a time and place.”