by Laura Childs
“What was the amount of this loan?” Theodosia asked.
“As far as I can tell, five million dollars are missing.”
“What!” Theodosia shook her head. “That’s crazy. You’re a bank, for crying out loud. You’re supposed to be a reputable financial institution. Backed by the FDIC. There’s supposed to be a paper trail a mile long.”
“And we are highly reputable,” Betty said, assuming a slightly defensive posture. “It’s just that this particular transaction seems to be an anomaly.”
Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because as far as I can see, you’re the only one who’s been pursuing the Lanier case with any aggressiveness. And if someone received a loan of five million dollars and then decided they didn’t want to pay it back . . . well . . .” Betty paused, her gaze holding Theodosia’s.
“Then it would be worth murdering for. To keep the secret.”
“That’s what I’m thinking at this point,” Betty said. “That’s my fear.”
“Have you told the police about . . . what would you even call this? A secret loan?”
“I haven’t told a soul. Not even told Mr. Grimley or the bank auditors.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not sure what the missing five million dollars means,” Betty said. “Perhaps it was an honest mistake on Mr. Lanier’s part.”
“And you don’t want to get him in trouble.” Or besmirch his reputation.
Betty’s head bobbed. “That’s right.”
“On the other hand, Lanier could have had a terrible lapse of judgment,” Theodosia said. “One that might have gotten him fired. Or earned him ten years in Club Fed.”
Betty pursed her lips. “Mr. Lanier’s poor judgment, well, that is a possibility. But . . .” She fell silent, seemed to ruminate over her words, and said, “But the police are questioning a man named Jud Harker for Lanier’s murder.”
“Not anymore, they’re not,” Theodosia said. “They turned Harker loose this morning.”
Betty sat forward in her chair. “So they’re looking at another suspect?”
“Yes,” Theodosia said slowly.
“Is it a man?”
“It’s Bob Garver, the fellow you pointed a finger at.”
“Garver,” Betty breathed.
“We think Garver may have attacked one of my employees two nights ago. And then gone after a friend of mine, the woman who owns Haiku Gallery.” Or did you do it, Betty? You were on my suspect list once before. Maybe you should still be on that list. Maybe you were the one having an affair with Lanier. Maybe you’ve got Sissy’s money as well as the bank’s money!
Betty gazed at Theodosia, as if reading her mind. Then she said in a cool, confidential tone, “You thought I was involved with Lanier, but I wasn’t.”
“You denied your involvement, but never elaborated on who he was having an affair with,” Theodosia said.
“Because I never knew who it was. But I know what I saw. And I saw Lanier with someone. At the Peninsula Grill and then again at the Coosaw Creek Country Club.”
“Wait a minute, are you implying that Lanier might have given this mystery woman the missing five million dollars?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“This is all very confusing,” Theodosia said.
Betty stood up from the table. “I know it is. And I’m sorry for bringing this mess to you. But I needed to talk to someone.”
Theodosia got up and walked Betty to the door. “Whatever,” she said. “Things are already a tangled mess.”
Theodosia shut the door, hung the CLOSED sign, and turned the dead bolt. There, now we’re as secure as Fort Knox and the Batcave put together. She walked back through the tea room and into her office.
Theodosia still wasn’t sure what to make of Betty’s visit. Maybe Betty was throwing up a smoke screen in her own defense? Or maybe Carson Lanier had stolen the money from the bank and given it to Sissy? But why would he do that?
To shut her up? To pay her off?
Maybe Sissy had threatened Lanier with something. Or maybe Lanier borrowed the money with every good intention of paying it back. But then he’d been murdered and the money had gone . . . where?
On the other hand, maybe Lanier had absconded with the money and had plans to flee to South America. Disappear into the jungle and live on a banana plantation for the rest of his life. Sip piña coladas and work on his tan.
Then another worry spun through Theodosia’s mind. Betty would be at the Rare Weapons Show tonight. Yes, of course she would. The board hadn’t voted on accepting her as a member yet, so Betty would no doubt be there, politicking her brains out. And maybe causing trouble?
The honk of a horn in the back alley brought Theodosia out of ruminating mode. She stood up, peered out the newly installed window, and smiled.
“Drayton,” Theodosia hollered into the tea room, “Come quick! Haley and Jamie just pulled up out back!”
Drayton came pounding into her office, red-faced and slightly breathless. “They’re here now?”
“Stopped by to say hi, I guess.”
Drayton ripped open the back door and they both stepped out into bright sunlight that was made even brighter by Haley’s smile. She was sitting in the driver’s seat of her VW Bug with the window rolled down. Jamie was folded, origami style, into the passenger seat.
“Jamie didn’t want to leave town without saying good-bye,” Haley said.
A split second later, Jamie’s door flew open and a pair of wooden crutches poked out. Then Jamie emerged, pulling himself up carefully. When he saw Drayton coming around the front of the car to greet him, he grinned from ear to ear and cried, “Dude!”
Drayton threw his arms around Jamie and pulled him close. “My dear boy,” he said. His voice was thick as he surreptitiously wiped away a tear. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
29
Champagne corks popped, a string quartet played a sprightly tune by Vivaldi, and men in tuxedos and women in cocktail dresses wandered among the glass cases at the Rare Weapons Show.
Theodosia was on the arm of Detective Pete Riley, who had told her in no uncertain terms that they weren’t about to discuss the Carson Lanier case tonight. Or even breathe a word. Or pass a note in class. Tonight he’d issued a strict moratorium.
And Theodosia had readily agreed. She was ready to let it all go and have a gangbusters good time. After all, how often did a girl get to attend a fancy black-tie party, then rush home, throw on a formal gown, and, just like Cinderella, attend a drop-dead fabulous ball at the ultrafancy Commodore Hotel? Yes, tonight was the night this was all going to happen. And Theodosia was prepared to savor every delirious moment.
“This show is fascinating,” Riley said as he leaned over one of the weapons cases. “Look at this Colt Dragoon. It’s practically a piece of art.”
“You’re like a kid in a candy store, detective,” Theodosia murmured. “With all these fancy weapons on display.” Under her gentle urging, Riley had worn a navy blazer and dark slacks. She thought he looked great, even though he was still wearing thick-soled cop shoes.
“The cool thing is they’re nothing like the regulation .45-caliber Glocks that we carry,” Riley said. “I mean, these pieces are drop-dead gorgeous. And historic.” He moved swiftly to another case. “Take a look at this French 20-shot pinfire.”
“Having fun?” A woman’s voice with a hint of merriment. Standing directly behind Theodosia.
Theodosia turned around to find Alexis James grinning at her. She was wearing a short silver dress with a white wool jacket (possibly Chanel?) and silver stilettos, and she held a small clutch purse along with a wide-angle lens.
“I’m having a great time,” Theodosia smiled back at her. She touched Alexis’s arm. “How about you? Everything good? Same escort
as last night?” Theodosia wondered how that was working out. If that was working out.
“Bill and I are having a fabulous time together,” Alexis said. “Do you know he used to work at the Herald in Rock Hill? He actually has a lot of serious journalistic experience.”
“Good to know,” Theodosia said. She wasn’t about to touch Glass’s press credentials with a ten-foot pole. Or do anything to dissuade Alexis of his charms. (Which still weren’t obvious to her.)
“Honey. Hey, doll.” Bill Glass was calling to Alexis, snapping his fingers to get her attention.
“Oops, gotta go,” Alexis said. “Bill asked me to help him sweet-talk some of the society types into posing for him. Says it helps sell magazines.” Alexis toddled off on her high heels, waving. “See you later, have fun.”
“I think I might be having more fun than you are,” Theodosia said under her breath. Then she turned to look for Riley and ended up running smack-dab into Drayton and Aunt Libby.
“There you are,” Aunt Libby said, leaning forward to kiss Theodosia on both cheeks. She wore a short pink tunic dress and had a rose-colored pashmina draped around her shoulders. “We were wondering if you were here yet.”
“Mmn, we got here maybe ten minutes ago,” Theodosia said. Then she glanced at Drayton. He was wearing his Brioni tux with a bright red cummerbund and matching bow tie, and smiling ear to ear. No, not just smiling—he was looking positively beatific. “Pray tell, Drayton, why do you suddenly look like the cat who swallowed the canary?” Theodosia asked.
“Theo, I am absolutely dancing on cloud nine,” Drayton said. “Capering on tiptoes.”
“Tell her,” Aunt Libby urged.
“Tell me what?” Theodosia asked. Had something big happened? Did it pertain to the Carson Lanier case, which she was sworn not to mention? But no, it seemed Drayton had other news.
“I just received the most fortuitous call,” Drayton said. “From Southern Interiors Magazine. They want to photograph some of the rooms in my home for their September issue.”
“Drayton!” Theodosia squealed. “That’s fabulous news.”
“Isn’t it?” Aunt Libby said.
“You’ll be famous,” Theodosia said. Drayton lived in a 175-year-old home that had once been occupied by a well-known Civil War doctor.
Drayton shook his head. “Oh no. My home might enjoy the notoriety, but not I.”
“But the editors are surely going to want a shot of you,” Theodosia said. “After all, the interior restoration you masterminded is exquisite. The heart pine flooring you refinished, all the searching you did in antique shops to find just the right brass fittings. And remember when you discovered that cache of old cobblestones at a stone yard out by Goose Creek? You picked through that enormous pile, one by one, looking for the perfect salt-and-pepper pavers for your patio.”
“Well, perhaps I could pose for a single photo,” Drayton said. “Maybe in front of the French marble fireplace?”
“With your pipe and your velvet slippers,” Aunt Libby joked.
“And Honey Bee,” Drayton said. Honey Bee was his dog, a Cavalier King Charles who was the love of his life.
“Are you glad you came tonight?” Theodosia asked Aunt Libby.
Aunt Libby nodded. “I am. I’ve already run into several old friends. It’s fun to catch up on people’s lives.”
Drayton surveyed the crowd. “Mmn, lots of antique dealers here as well as donors.”
“There’s Murrell Chasen from Chasen’s,” Theodosia said.
“And Tod Graham from Cornerstone Antiques,” Drayton added. “But that’s to be expected. A lot of the antique weapons here are on loan, so the dealers might want to make offers to the owners.”
Two seconds later, Timothy Neville was coming toward them, cutting through the crowd like a well-heeled, bespoke-dressed shark.
“Well, well,” Timothy said, greeting Aunt Libby, “I haven’t seen you in ages. Welcome to the Heritage Society.” He bent forward to kiss her on the cheek and Aunt Libby let him.
“I’m quite enjoying your show,” Aunt Libby said.
“It’s turned out to be a splendid show,” Drayton said, extending a hand to Timothy. “You really pulled it off.”
“You’ve also drawn quite a crowd,” Theodosia said. Now that the Great Hall was filled with women in cocktail dresses and men in black tie, the display of weapons seemed a lot less disconcerting.
“And did you take a look at the special cases we built?” Timothy asked. “Like museum-quality shadow boxes. Or glass cases that a fine jewelry store might employ. Cases that slide out to reveal prized wares.”
“They’re lovely,” Theodosia said. She hadn’t really given the cases a second glance.
Then Timothy was off to glad-hand more guests as the three of them wandered among the exhibits.
“Where is your date?” Aunt Libby asked Theodosia.
“He’s around here somewhere,” Theodosia said. Riley had wandered off, mesmerized by all the weapons. Then again, he was a police officer.
“I will get a chance to meet him, won’t I?”
“Count on it.”
After ten minutes of scoping out the show and exchanging pleasantries with other guests, Drayton suggested they help themselves to some refreshments.
“How refreshing are these refreshments?” Aunt Libby asked.
“I know they’ve got a champagne bar set up,” Drayton said.
“Mmn,” Aunt Libby said.
Theodosia grinned. “You’re a girl after my own heart.”
* * *
• • •
Turned out the champagne bar also served wine and fruit juices. Along with small cheese plates and crostini. So after grabbing drinks and a plate for sharing, they sat down, the three of them, at a table for four.
“I know he’ll be along sometime,” Theodosia said. She was scanning the crowd, looking for Riley, fretting a bit. But she still didn’t see him.
Aunt Libby took a sip of champagne and said, “So, tell me about this crazy investigation you’re involved in.”
“Wait a minute,” Theodosia said. “Who told you I was involved in an investigation?”
Aunt Libby smiled. “Drayton did.”
Theodosia nodded at Drayton. “Thank you very much for that.”
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Aunt Libby said. “Drayton only has your best interests at heart. And besides.” She looked properly contrite. “I pried.”
“Your aunt is a very skilled interrogator,” Drayton said.
“Don’t I know it,” Theodosia said. She glanced around again and saw Betty Bates ghosting by. Betty was talking earnestly to a tall man with silver-gray hair. Politicking, she supposed.
EEEEEYOWWW!
The scream rang out, so loud and plaintive that it made the hairs on the back of Theodosia’s neck stand up. Then she rose out of her chair. “What was that?” It had sounded like the death knell of some horrible beast.
YOWWWWWW!
There it was again! Echoing off the walls, seeming to circle around and around as it lifted and then died. But this time it sounded more like a woman’s scream, high and piercing, as if she feared for her life.
All around them people stirred, looking this way and that, buzzing excitedly, trying to figure out where the horrible screams were coming from.
Theodosia and Drayton peered over the heads of guests, but saw only a huge scuffle going on. Oh no! Three security guards were attempting to tackle someone!
But who could it be?
30
Anxious to see what was going on, Theodosia and Drayton pushed their way through the curious, muttering crowd.
“Do you see anything?” Theodosia asked. After a few steps in, it felt like she was being carried along on a tide of bodies. Then the man next to her lurched into her so hard she was thr
own against Drayton’s shoulder.
Drayton helped steady her. “Easy, easy. No, I still can’t see a thing.”
They pushed their way deeper into the crowd of well-heeled, cosmopolitan Charlestonites who, at this very moment, looked like a mass of wild, shoving fans at a WrestleMania event.
“Oh no,” Drayton cried out. He’d been carried almost to the front of the pack. “It’s Jud Harker.”
Theodosia ducked low and wormed her way through the mash of people, only to see three security guards quickly wrestle Jud Harker to the floor.
“I didn’t do anything!” Harker screamed as he went down hard. “I was only looking.”
Under three sets of experienced hands, Harker was hastily subdued. One of the security guards snapped a harsh warning at him, and then Harker was hauled to his feet like a stuffed turkey, and quickly dragged out of the gallery.
“Make way, make way,” one of the security guards shouted. He was tall and burly with brush-cut hair like an ex-linebacker.
“What happened?” Theodosia asked the dark-haired woman standing next to her.
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. Somebody screamed and then security rushed in and grabbed some guy wearing a ratty hoodie.” She shrugged, disinterested now. “They hauled him away.”
But Theodosia had heard that scream loud and clear. And she was fairly sure it hadn’t been Jud Harker warbling his lungs out. But who had it been?
When Theodosia connected with Drayton a few seconds later, she said, “Somebody screamed, but it wasn’t Harker. I think it was a woman. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Drayton shook his head. “Maybe Harker frightened someone. Maybe he said or did something strange.”
“And then she screamed?” Theodosia said.
“Whoever it was, the poor woman probably doesn’t want to admit to it. She probably feels embarrassed at having overreacted.”
“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. Something felt fishy. Like maybe Harker had been set up? Or maybe not. At any rate, he’d been wrestled to the ground and then unceremoniously hauled away. She plucked at Drayton’s sleeve. “I feel like we should follow up on this.”