Devonshire Scream

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia hung up her jacket and bag and walked through her dining room into the kitchen. Ignoring the ugly cupboards that she still wanted to change out, she pulled open the refrigerator door and scanned the contents inside. Some lobster bisque that she could heat up, a slice of leftover quiche, lots of fruit and cheese.

  Was she hungry? She decided no. Not at this very moment, anyway. So maybe a jog was in order to blow out the carbon and help her relax? She thought that might just do the trick.

  Ten minutes later, dressed in workout pants, a hooded anorak, and Nike trainers, Theodosia and Earl Grey were out the door and bouncing down the back alley. It was full-on dark now, and as she raced through the historic district, some of the lighted windows offered glimpses of life in Charleston’s grandest homes.

  A dining room table was being set with gleaming silver and china. Drinks were being imbibed in a wood-paneled library. A man in a wine-colored jacket (was that really a smoking jacket?) poked at logs in a crackling fireplace. Lights were snapped on and, finally, heavy curtains drawn across elegant, arched windows.

  Theodosia chugged along at a fairly brisk pace, idly wondering if the robbers from last night had ever cased homes such as these. Down here, along East Bay Street and Murray Boulevard, the enormous Georgian, Federal, and Victorian-style homes were the cream of the crop. They sold for multimillions in today’s hot real estate market and housed many of Charleston’s bankers, lawyers, and doctors. Their contents—antiques, artwork, silver, Oriental rugs, Chippendale furniture, what have you—were probably worth a small fortune. She hoped it all remained safe.

  Earl Grey matched Theodosia stride for stride, his legs chugging along, his ears laid flat against his fine-boned head. Her heart filled with love for this wonderful dog that had become her dear companion. She’d found him, several years ago, as a shivering, frightened, homeless pup cowering in the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop. She’d picked him up, wrapped him in a warm blanket, whispered to him, and never let him go. Now he’d grown into a magnificent dog—smart, friendly, good with people.

  In fact, Earl Grey was now a registered therapy dog with the Big Paw organization. Several times a month, he’d don his bright-blue nylon service-dog cape and they’d visit hospitals and nursing homes. Sometimes just laying his head in the lap of a patient made their face light up. And sometimes the patients’ sad smiles, as they no doubt remembered their own dogs from long ago, made Theodosia brush away tears of her own.

  They ran down Tradd Street, hit Church Street, and hung a left, running past the darkened Indigo Tea Shop. Two more blocks and then they swung right again, running toward Heart’s Desire.

  Theodosia pulled back on Earl Grey’s leash as they approached. When she heard voices and saw black-and-yellow tape flapping in the wind, she crossed to the other side of the street. It looked as though there were still some police officers present, along with two men in white overalls who were unloading large sheets of plywood from the back of a pickup truck that had the name JUNI’S HARDWARE painted on the doors.

  Going to board up the store. Too bad that’s the only thing that’s being done right now.

  Theodosia headed over to Concord and ran along the high embankment of the Cooper River. Lights from several small boats shimmered in the fog that was slowly beginning to drift in. Farther down, she could just make out the large docks where commercial vessels pulled in to unload cargo.

  She slowed her pace and they veered off the path. Jogged along dry grass and over to a rocky patch. They stopped, both of them breathing hard from a good, long workout.

  Off in the distance, a boat horn tooted mournfully, then a small tugboat came puttering into sight. Theodosia looked down at the river as the boat churned by. The water looked gray and cold and turgid. She shivered and thought of poor Kaitlin, lying in some mortuary on a cold slab.

  Who would answer for her?

  Who had put her there?

  Who could have masterminded that robbery?

  Theodosia clenched her jaw as she shivered in the November cold. She intended to pull out all the stops and find out who was responsible.

  Make sure they were punished for their crime.

  7

  Just as Theodosia and Drayton were primping and priming the Indigo Tea Shop for Tuesday morning tea service, wouldn’t you know it? The FBI showed up.

  Theodosia took one look at their conservative dark-blue suits, white shirts, and narrow ties and thought FBI. They looked like they’d come directly from central casting. Or had stepped right out of an episode of Criminal Minds.

  Drayton wasn’t quite as observant. Or maybe he thought they looked more like front men for a retro doo-wop group.

  “I’m afraid we’re not open yet,” Drayton told them. “If you’d care to wait outside?”

  The lead agent’s jaw tightened as he flipped open his leather ID case. He was tall with chiseled features, probing dark eyes, and just a hint of salt and pepper in his dark, curly hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Drayton said, not bothering to glance at the man’s credentials. “There’s no soliciting in here. The Indigo Tea Shop maintains a very strict policy.”

  Theodosia started to giggle. Sometimes, Drayton could be a complete stitch. She put a hand on his shoulder and brushed past him.

  “Please come in,” Theodosia said. “Of course, we really weren’t expecting you.”

  “We really weren’t expecting who?” Drayton asked, puzzled.

  “I’m Boyd Zimmer,” the taller of the two men said. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m the AIC, agent in charge, and this is my assistant, Agent David Hurley.”

  “You’re FBI?” Drayton stammered out. “Oh my.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Theodosia said. Smiling and shaking hands, she introduced herself and Drayton to both agents. She was pleased that her courtesy had caught them off guard. “We’ve got a few minutes before we open the tea shop, so why don’t we all sit down at a table?” She pointed to the one nearest the window and said, “Right this way, gentlemen.”

  The agents shuffled toward the table, looking stodgy and staid. They realized they were somehow being handled by this small Southern woman, but weren’t sure what to do about it.

  Once the agents were seated, Theodosia said, “If you’d like, we could all enjoy some tea and scones.”

  “Scones, ma’am?” Agent Zimmer said. He said it with a certain degree of mistrust. As if she’d just mentioned insider trading or the smuggling of illegal weapons.

  “That’s right,” Theodosia chirped. “We have coconut cherry scones and maple nut scones today. Our baker has really outdone herself.”

  “They both sound good,” Hurley grunted. He had thinning blond hair; an open, pleasant face; and intensely blue eyes. He seemed more relaxed than his partner, as if he was actually looking forward to some tea and scones.

  “Then I’ll bring you one of each.” Theodosia figured if she could impart a bit of grace and civility to these men, there might be faint hope for the FBI yet.

  Theodosia bustled back to the kitchen and stacked scones on a silver tray while Drayton fixed a pot of Panyang Congou tea.

  When they were all seated, Theodosia passing around the scones and Drayton pouring tea, Hurley said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever had brewed tea before. Except maybe in a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Those were probably tea bags,” Drayton said, switching into tea master mode. “Bits of stalk and stems and tea dust. No, you really must drink freshly brewed leaves in order to enjoy the full, rich taste of a great tea.”

  “And this is a great tea?” Hurley asked, taking a sip.

  “You tell me,” Drayton said.

  “Mmn, it’s very good,” Hurley said.

  “I thought you’d like it.” Drayton smiled with pride. “A nice Chinese black tea, easygoing and round.”

  Zimmer and Hurley watched as
Theodosia sliced her scone lengthwise, and then followed her lead.

  “And this whipped cream goes on top?” Zimmer asked.

  “It’s Devonshire cream,” Theodosia said. She nodded at Drayton. “Made from Drayton’s own proprietary recipe.”

  The agents slathered on Devonshire cream, bit into their scones, and nodded appreciatively. They actually seemed to be relishing their tea and treats.

  Good, Theodosia thought.

  “I was wondering,” Theodosia said, addressing both agents, “why the FBI is involved with this jewel theft? When Detective Burt Tidwell and his team are really quite brilliant at what they do. I mean, we do have every confidence in our own Charleston Police Department.”

  “Mmn,” Zimmer said, chewing. “I’m sure you do, ma’am. And we do, too. It’s just that, from our experience, a jewel theft of this magnitude usually involves a gang of criminals that has moved in from another part of the country.”

  “So it’s interstate.” Theodosia could see the logic in this, even though Tidwell still resented their butting in.

  “That’s exactly right,” Hurley said. He was busying himself with his scone. Slicing off small pieces then smearing them with a judicious amount of Devonshire cream.

  “The other reason we’re giving this our full attention,” Zimmer said, “is because diamonds and gems are what the bureau calls an influential means by which to acquire drugs and weapons.”

  Theodosia sat back in her chair. “Oh. That doesn’t sound good at all.”

  “It’s not, ma’am,” Zimmer said. “But we’re seeing more and more of these robberies that indirectly threaten homeland security.”

  “What we’d really like,” Hurley said, glancing at Theodosia, “is to ask you a few questions.”

  “That’s fine,” Theodosia said.

  “We read the police report,” Hurley said, “in which you were referenced several times.”

  “Because I was a witness.”

  “Actually, a pretty good witness,” Hurley said. “Fact is, you were the one who got a good look at one of the thieves’ hands. And conjectured that it might have even been a woman.”

  “A woman with a tattoo,” Zimmer said.

  “Not really their hand,” Theodosia said, trying to recall exactly what she’d seen. “More like their wrist. I caught sight of a little slice of skin where the glove ended and the sleeve had ridden up.”

  Zimmer looked interested. “And you saw a tattoo.”

  Theodosia shook her head. “No, that’s not what I told the officer who interviewed me. I said I saw faint blue lines like a tattoo. Seems to me a tattoo is generally a recognizable object or character or letters. These were more like, well . . . crosshatches. Do you know what those are?”

  Zimmer pulled out a notebook and a pen and quickly scribbled a loose grid of crosshatches. “Like this?”

  “Close,” Theodosia told him. “Does that symbolism mean anything to you?”

  “Not right now,” Zimmer said. “But it’s certainly an identifying mark.”

  “Does the FBI keep a database of tattoos and marks?” Drayton asked.

  Zimmer nodded. “We do.” He smiled. “But we prefer you not mention it to anyone.”

  “I won’t.” Drayton was all for giving his full cooperation.

  Theodosia drummed her fingers against the table. She’d once again been replaying the robbery scenario in her head. The car crash, the smashing of glass cases, the almost precision-like work of the robbers.

  “What, ma’am?” Zimmer asked. “Is there something else you can tell us?”

  “Talking with the two of you about the robbery has sort of jogged my memory,” Theodosia said.

  “How so?” Hurley asked her.

  “I think I just remembered something else.”

  Both agents leaned forward expectantly.

  Theodosia raised her right hand in a pantomime. “One of the thieves was using a small hammer. To, you know, smash open the cases. But it was a different kind of hammer. An unusual-looking hammer.”

  Hurley was interested. “You mean like a tack hammer or an upholstery hammer?”

  “Not exactly,” Theodosia said. “I know what those hammers look like and this one was different. More like a silver hammer with a jagged clawlike thing on one end.” She wrinkled her nose. “I wish I could describe it better, but I just caught a quick flash.”

  “Interesting,” Hurley said as Zimmer made more notes.

  “Do you think it could be an important clue?” Drayton asked.

  Zimmer snapped his notebook shut. “We prefer to call it a lead.”

  “But only if it leads somewhere, right?” Theodosia asked.

  Both men remained silent.

  “I’m curious,” Theodosia said. “Have you found out any more about the SUV that was used in the robbery? The one that was stolen and then dumped?”

  “We’ve since located the owner,” Zimmer said.

  “Someone local?” Theodosia asked.

  Zimmer shook his head. “No, the owner lives in Savannah. He believes it was probably stolen out of his garage on Saturday night.”

  “So the thieves are from Savannah?”

  “Not necessarily,” Zimmer said. “And we still don’t have a bead on the motorcycle. Though we have located a couple of witnesses who saw it tear down Market Street. Leading the way for the SUV.”

  When Zimmer said motorcycle, Theodosia twitched. That’s what had been tickling at the back of her brain. Tidwell had mentioned something about a motorcycle yesterday morning, and then Haley had rushed out last night and jumped on the back of one. An interesting coincidence.

  “Has the motorcycle been recovered?” Theodosia asked.

  “No,” Zimmer said. “It’s still out there somewhere.”

  • • •

  And the surprises just kept on coming.

  “Miss Browning,” Zimmer said, “we’d like you to take a look at some photographs.”

  Theodosia smiled politely. “But they all wore masks; I never did see anyone’s face. I don’t think anybody did.”

  “Just work with us on this, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Hurley fingered a large brown envelope.

  Drayton jumped to his feet. “Here, let me clear off this table.”

  “Are the photos you’re going to show me of suspected jewel thieves?” Theodosia asked.

  “Known jewel thieves,” Hurley said. “Men and women who have stolen millions, perhaps even a billion dollars’ worth of diamonds, Rolex watches, necklaces, rings, and bracelets. Some were full sets by Bulgari, Cartier, and Tiffany, others were loose, precious jewels.”

  “I’ll look at your photos, but I don’t think it’s going to help,” Theodosia said. She made a slightly helpless gesture. “The masks, you know.”

  They waited until the table had been cleared and Drayton had left. Then Hurley opened the envelope. Carefully, one at a time, he laid out a dozen different photographs. “These are all photos we acquired from Interpol, the International Criminal Police Organization,” he explained.

  Theodosia gave a cursory glance at the photos. There were ten men and two women, a dozen photos in all. Some were in color, some in black-and-white. She studied the one closest to her. The man was midthirties with dark hair, a hawk nose, and high cheekbones. Dangerous-looking, but a little intriguing, too.

  As she made a concentrated effort to study each of the photos, Theodosia noted that all the faces had a somewhat cultured European vibe to them. They may have been thieves—or even dangerous killers—but they all looked like they’d lived a pampered lifestyle.

  She worked her way through the photos, shaking her head as she went. When she got to the last row, she figured this whole thing had been an exercise in futility. The FBI wasn’t getting anything out of this and she ce
rtainly didn’t recognize . . .

  When Theodosia glanced at the last photo, her eyes widened and she let out a small gasp. The FBI agents were quick to notice.

  “Do you recognize this person?” Zimmer asked.

  Theodosia tapped the photo with a manicured finger. “Who is this man?”

  “His name is Klaus Hermann,” Zimmer said. “He’s a German national, a jewel thief who has been working in Paris and Rome for the past couple of years. He also goes by a number of aliases that include Count Henri von Strasser, Lord Conroy, and Rupert Gainsborough.”

  “Where is he now?” Theodosia asked.

  “We don’t know,” Hurley said. “He disappeared last year right after a particularly daring raid on a jewelry store in Cannes. We figured he might be cooling his heels in South America. Drinking rum and guava juice and relaxing on the beach at the Four Seasons in Buenos Aires.” He paused. “Why? Do you recognize him?”

  Theodosia stared at the picture of Klaus Hermann, aka Count von Strasser, Lord Conroy, and Rupert Gainsborough. And thought that, at the right angle, with the right lighting, he bore a slight resemblance to Drayton’s friend Lionel Rinicker.

  “I don’t think I know him,” Theodosia said finally. “But he mildly resembles someone I recently met.”

  “What?” The agents were ready to pounce on her information. Maybe even draw their weapons and make an arrest.

  “I don’t know if I should . . .”

  “It’s your duty,” Hurley said.

  “This isn’t just federal, this is international,” Zimmer put in. He was using his hard-edged FBI voice now. “We’re working with our legal attaché offices overseas.”

  Theodosia twisted the moonstone ring she wore on her left hand. Should she or shouldn’t she? And did she really have a choice? She’d promised Brooke that she’d help as much as she could. And these two guys standing over her were genuine FBI.