by Laura Childs
“This is it?” Drayton asked.
“Yup. And thanks for coming, by the way. I appreciate having your company.”
“Not that I had much say in the matter.”
“Oh, come on, Drayton. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Back home in my sock drawer, if you really must know.”
“But what if this guy turns out to be the ringleader of the gang that stormed Heart’s Desire and ended up killing Kaitlin?”
Drayton pursed his lips.
Theodosia gripped her steering wheel. “Well?” She was fired up and ready to explore.
“Then I’d prefer he be hunted down by a federal agency and appropriately charged with robbery and murder. Not tracked by Nancy Drew and an aging Hardy Boy.”
Theodosia opened the driver’s-side door. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”
Drayton got out carefully. “I think we should just stroll casually past his house. But no prowling the premises like we did last night. Agreed?”
Theodosia’s whisper floated back to him in the darkness. “Come on.”
They strolled past a drab-looking little bungalow that had probably once been painted a Caribbean blue. But wind, heat, humidity, and rain—all the elements present in typical Charleston weather—had ground it down to silvered wood. No lights shone, it looked like no one was home.
“Charming,” Drayton remarked in a droll tone. “Homey. All it needs is an old-fashioned washing machine on the front lawn. Broken, of course.”
“Don’t be snobby,” Theodosia said.
They walked past the house, turned the corner, and then walked back via a gravel alley.
“I want to take a closer look,” Theodosia said once they were standing directly behind the house.
“Not a good idea.”
“Just a peek.” Theodosia tiptoed up to the back porch, a screened-in affair, and looked in.
“You see,” Drayton whispered loudly. “Nobody’s home. I think we should go.”
“Clement isn’t here, but look,” Theodosia said excitedly. “There’s a package tucked inside. Looks like it was left by UPS.”
Drayton walked up and pressed his face to the screen door. “What do you suppose it is?”
“I’m guessing it’s the rock hammer I ordered for him.”
Drayton pulled back. “Wait a minute, you really did do that? I thought you cooked up some shaggy-dog story to lure me over here.”
“I’m gonna go in and look. See if it is the rock hammer.”
Drayton grabbed her arm. “Please don’t.”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
“Think of it as part of our investigation.”
“You’re acting just like the FBI, you know that?” Drayton said.
“Not on your life,” Theodosia said. “I don’t believe in wiretapping or trampling all over people’s rights.”
“You just don’t mind trampling your way onto their back porch.”
Theodosia pulled open the screen door. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.” And ducked inside.
“Theo!” Drayton whispered.
“Shhh, I’m checking the package.” She bent forward and scanned the label. “Yup, it’s the one I sent.”
“Get back out here.”
“I just want to . . . look around.” She wondered if maybe her rock climber had left a key somewhere. Rock climbers were casual, trusting sorts, weren’t they? Maybe hanging near the door . . . ? She ran a hand up the doorjamb to check. No luck. Or under the mat? She flipped back a rubber mat and saw the glint of something shiny. A key. “I found a key, Drayton.” Do I dare?
Drayton turned his back to her and fiddled nervously with his bow tie. “I don’t want to know what you’re going to do.”
“Then at least give me your hankie.”
“Fine,” Drayton said. He pulled a hankie from his jacket pocket and passed it to her. “Blow your nose and let’s get out of here. Because I really don’t care to participate.”
“The hankie’s so I don’t leave any fingerprints,” Theodosia said. She slipped the key into the lock. “And I don’t need you to participate, Drayton. I need you to be my lookout.”
“This really is insanity.”
Theodosia turned the key in the lock and heard a soft click. Just like that. Open sesame, quick and easy, no big deal. “I’m going in,” she whispered, a faint, eager smile on her face.
“Please don’t,” Drayton whispered back. But she was already gone.
• • •
Inside, Theodosia paused in what was a small kitchen. A mélange of cooking odors hung in the air. Fried hamburger, some fried onions and potatoes. The place was warm, dark, and claustrophobic, but there was a small light on above an old Hotpoint stove that made it a little easier for her to get her bearings. In fact, as she looked around, it felt as though she’d stepped inside a vintage kitchen.
No, not vintage, Theodosia told herself. A kitchen that’s never been updated. Old appliances, old curtains. Everything just . . . sad and tired.
She pulled herself back to the task at hand. Look around, she reminded herself. See if there might be something that points to Clement being a jewel thief.
Okay. If there are jewels, where would he hide them?
Her eyes went to the freezer compartment above the refrigerator. She stepped briskly across the kitchen and pulled open the freezer door. There wasn’t much in there. A tray of crusty ice cubes, two frozen spaghetti dinners, a half loaf of garlic bread, and a carton of strawberry gelato.
She grabbed the gelato and pulled off the top. It was nothing but a swirl of pink dessert. With a touch of freezer burn at that.
Theodosia put the gelato back, closed the freezer door, and spun around. What else? Where else? She stepped hesitantly across the linoleum, hearing it crackle softly beneath her feet. Felt her way along and ended up in a small living room. There was an ugly overstuffed sofa, the kind that sold for two hundred bucks at some awful furniture-barn-type place, a coordinating chair, a flat-screen TV mounted on one wall, and a small desk.
She moved to the desk and started riffling through the drawers.
There wasn’t much there. Paper, pencils, a few stamps, a map of South Carolina, an envelope filled with canceled checks. She leafed through the checks, saw nothing that seemed strange or out of place. No big payoff from a fence in Miami.
“Theodosia,” came a strangled voice. Drayton was calling to her.
She went back to the kitchen and found him peering nervously through the screen door.
“Let’s go,” he hissed. He tapped at his wristwatch. “Time’s running out. It isn’t safe.”
“Hang on a minute.” Theodosia was reluctant to give up so easily. Then her eyes fell upon a door. She stepped over and pulled it open. A dark stairway led down to a cellar. “One minute,” she called again, then flipped on the cellar light, started down.
The cellar was surprisingly clean and well lit, with climbing and camping gear strewn everywhere. But it was organized chaos. A pegboard for rope, shelves for tents and backpacks and cooking gear.
But where’s his rock hammer?
Theodosia poked around, opened boxes, and dug through a backpack, but couldn’t find it.
If Marcus Clement had used his rock hammer to smash the glass cases at Heart’s Desire, would he have disposed of it? Would he get rid of evidence that might contain microscopic particles of telltale glass? She knew it was a possibility. And as far as jewelry went, it could have already been fenced, buried for safekeeping, or stuck in any number of lock boxes across the state.
Or Marcus Clement might be completely innocent. Which meant her trip here had been in vain. A projection of her overactive imagination.
Okay, Drayton was right. She should get out of h
ere. Quick, before somebody came home. Before they were both tagged as intruders and the police called in to investigate.
• • •
“I can’t believe you stayed inside for so long,” Drayton said. “You realize that was an actual home invasion.” They were back in Theodosia’s Jeep, sitting in the darkness, nerves positively frayed. “Probably a felony offense.”
“I thought maybe . . .” Theodosia stopped. What had she thought, really? That an amateur rock climber was also a professional jewel thief? Was she grasping at straws or diligently chasing down leads? She turned on the ignition, put her Jeep in gear, and coasted slowly down the street. Just because a lead didn’t pan out didn’t mean . . .
“Watch out!” Drayton screamed.
Theodosia jammed her foot down on the brake and rocked to a stop. “Now what?”
Drayton was craning his neck, peering through the windshield, and then twisting and turning to look out the side window. “I think we almost hit a dog.”
Theodosia’s heart leapt into her throat. “Oh no. I didn’t see him.” It was her worst nightmare come true. She had been distracted and not concentrating on what was in the road ahead of her. And now she’d run down a poor, innocent creature. “Where is . . . ?” She followed Drayton’s gaze.
“There it is,” Drayton said.
Theodosia blinked. There, cowering at the edge of her headlights, was a small brown-and-white fuzzy dog. The creature looked scared, half-starved, and had apparently been wandering right down the middle of the street. “Dear Lord, do you think it’s okay?” she asked.
“Poor thing,” Drayton said. He immediately jumped out of the car and ran over to the dog.
“Drayton.” Now Theodosia had leapt from her car, too. “Is he okay? Or she?”
“I think so.” Drayton was on his hands and knees in the street, seemingly not caring that his trousers were getting filthy. He gently gathered the dog into his arms. “Poor little thing. No collar. And, look, her coat is completely matted and filthy. I do believe the little thing is a stray, that she’s been trying to get by living on the street.”
Theodosia knelt down and gently put a hand on the little dog’s head. It was small, maybe fifteen pounds soaking wet, with floppy ears and enormous brown eyes. “It kind of looks like a King Charles Cavalier,” she said.
The little dog looked at Theodosia with baleful brown eyes and shivered. Then it looked at Drayton and snuggled deeper into his arms.
“Looks like you’ve got a friend,” Theodosia said.
“I want to take her home and give her a bath,” Drayton said. “Try to figure out what to do.”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Of course.”
• • •
Drayton’s kitchen was warm, cozy, and well-appointed. He’d made considerable upgrades over the years, adding a countertop of reclaimed pecan, a hammered copper sink, and vintage hardware. A pair of Chippendale highboys held tins of tea and displayed part of his extensive teapot collection.
Drayton ran warm water into the sink, tested the temperature, and then gently eased the little dog into the water. “There you go. Not too hot, I hope. Just right?” He reached over and grabbed a small squeeze bottle of dish soap. “Do you think this soap is okay? I don’t have any dog shampoo.”
“What kind is it?” Theodosia asked.
“Dawn. The kind they use to clean seabirds with when they’ve been caught in an oil spill.”
“Should be okay, then.”
Drayton squirted soap into the water and fluttered a hand, producing a mound of suds. “When we’re done here,” he told the dog, “we’ll find you something tasty to eat.”
“She is awfully skinny,” Theodosia said.
“Probably just been scrabbling through trash cans for scraps.” Drayton picked up one of her front paws and scrubbed it gently, like he was doing a doggy pedicure. “We’ve got to plump this little lady up.”
“When we’re done here, I suppose we should take the poor thing to one of the local shelters.”
Drayton drew back, looking horrified at the thought. “And let them incarcerate her in some dreadful cement cell? Not on your life. Honey Bee isn’t going to end up in a place like that.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a rescue shelter, not San Quentin. Wait a minute . . . Honey Bee? You’ve already named her?” Theodosia had always felt that once you named an animal you assigned a certain de facto personality to it. And along with that came serious responsibility. In other words, that animal was yours. For life.
Drayton was smoothing soapsuds on the dog’s back, talking quietly to ease her nervousness.
“You named her,” Theodosia said again.
“That’s right.” Scrub, scrub. “Because I’m going to keep her.”
“You’re going to keep this dog?”
Drayton gave Theodosia a sideways glance. “I’m offended that you would find that so out of character for me.”
A slow smile spread across Theodosia’s face. “Imagine that. Drayton with a dog. Our Drayton has a soft spot in his heart after all.”
Drayton touched a sudsy finger to his mouth. “Shh. Don’t you dare tell a soul.”
22
“Ask Theodosia what she did last night,” Drayton said. It was Friday morning and he was standing behind the front counter brewing a pot of Madoorie Estate tea. It was a special Assam that Haley had put in a request for.
Haley looked interested. “What did you do?”
“Oh no,” Theodosia said. “We’re not opening that can of worms. Better you should ask Drayton what he did last night.”
“What have you two got going on?” Haley asked. “Is there some big hairy problem I should know about?”
“Theodosia broke into someone’s house,” Drayton said.
“Drayton rescued a lost dog,” Theodosia said.
Haley shook her head. “You guys. Always trying to get my goat and top each other with your crazy stories. Well, it’s not gonna work today. We open in, like, twenty minutes and I’m way too busy to play games.” She waited as Drayton filled her teacup, then she cupped a hand over it and scurried back into her kitchen.
“That didn’t work out quite the way you planned, did it?” Theodosia asked.
“Do you think Haley’s been a trifle overly sensitive lately?” Drayton asked.
“Haley’s still upset about Sunday night. She bonded with Kaitlin and then basically saw the poor girl get killed right before her eyes. She’s still processing the robbery and the death.” Theodosia thought for a moment. “I think young people have a harder time handling death.”
Drayton poured out cups of tea for the two of them. “And what about you? Not that you’re not still young.”
“I passed being upset last Tuesday,” Theodosia said. “Then I dove into angry and am now veering into revenge territory.”
Drayton handed her a cup of tea. “Isn’t revenge one of the seven deadly sins?”
Theodosia took a sip of tea. “I don’t think so. But it probably should be.”
• • •
They worked together then, readying the tea shop. Lace place mats were laid down, their Royal Albert Country Roses china set out along with the Alexandra pattern silverware. Drayton had salvaged a few red carnations from the previous night and was arranging them in smaller bundles to go into crystal vases.
“You know what your professor Shepley said to me last night?” Drayton asked.
“Now he’s my professor Shepley?” Theodosia said.
Drayton snipped at a flower stem. “That’s right.”
“What did he say?”
“Shepley told me that red carnations are a symbol of war and military might in Russia.”
“No kidding,” Theodosia said. “Did you know that when you placed your order?”
Drayton snipped
another stem shorter. “Of course not.” He had the faint trace of a smile on his face.
• • •
Most mornings the Indigo Tea Shop served a cream tea and today was no exception. Haley had baked lemon poppy seed scones and Drayton was preparing small dishes of Devonshire cream and strawberry jam. In the UK, a cream tea always consisted of scones, Devonshire cream, jam, and tea, and was most often served in the afternoon. But, hey, it was a morning favorite at the tea shop, so nobody was standing on ceremony.
“You think we’ll be busy today?” Drayton asked. They’d already seated and served a half-dozen people.
“I do,” Theodosia said. “Fridays are often our busiest days. Plus there’ll be lots of tourists pouring into Charleston for the Lumiere Festival tonight.”
“I’ve never gone to that. Is it fun?”
“The Lumiere Festival is your basic overstimulation for the eyeballs and the mind,” Theodosia said. “There are light shows splashed against buildings, dancers cavorting with light sticks, colored light projections, light sculptures, LED installations by artists . . . you name it.”
“So, definitely worth seeing?”
“I’d say so, though it’s not to everyone’s taste.”
“Meaning mine,” Drayton said.
Theodosia hesitated. “Well . . . your tastes can be a bit rarefied.”
“Nonsense. I’m as down-to-earth as the next person.”
“Hah,” Theodosia said. But it was said with kindness.
Grabbing a cloth, Drayton polished a spoon until it shone. Then he laid it down carefully. “Will there be light installations around here?”
“Oh sure. And I know there are supposed to be a whole bunch of them over in White Point Garden. Near the yacht club, too. I know that some of the boats will be lit with strings of lights.”
Drayton looked interested. “Yachts, too?”
Theodosia immediately caught the gist of his question. “Interesting you should ask about that. Maybe we should walk over there tonight and take a look.”
“At Gold Coast Yachts.”