by Laura Childs
Tidwell added a lump of sugar to his tea and then another. “Your FBI friends sniffed him up and down for about two minutes.”
“You’re telling me they don’t see him as a viable suspect?”
Tidwell looked smug. “If they do, I’d say they’re grasping at straws.”
“Because there isn’t enough hard evidence?”
“My dear, there really isn’t any evidence at all.”
“I’m sorry my information about the hammer didn’t pan out,” Theodosia said. “You seemed to think there might be something there.”
“Investigations are like living, breathing things. They’re fluid and the information changes constantly.”
“Like how?” Theodosia asked. “Has something else changed?”
“Not really,” Tidwell said.
“Then tell me about the other suspects. Is the FBI hot on the trail of anyone?”
“Not as hot as this tea is.”
“Okay, if you could point me in someone’s direction, who would it be?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can,” Theodosia said.
“I don’t want you charging in and getting into trouble.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Theodosia sat for a couple seconds with her hands in her lap, and then said, “Of course, you could drop a subtle hint. Or even a very broad one.”
“You’re body punching now. You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Never. Not until the bitter end.”
Tidwell considered her words for a few moments and then said, “They’ve tried to downplay this, but I know the FBI is still moderately interested in Professor Shepley.”
Theodosia pounced on his words. “Because Shepley crashed Brooke’s jewelry event? And possibly had an interest in the alexandrite necklace?”
“That and the fact that he’s studied all things Russian.”
“You mean not just Russian literature?”
“The man spent time in Russia,” Tidwell said. “He’s probably well versed in art, culture, and . . .”
“Politics?” Theodosia said. “Has the FBI got their underwear in a twist over his politics?”
Tidwell leaned back in his chair. “I doubt Shepley subscribes to the Communist Manifesto, but I’m sure he’s not unfamiliar with its precepts.”
“We’re back to the days of the Cold War again, are we?” Theodosia asked.
“That and the fact that many of today’s more daring and brash jewel thieves hail from Eastern European countries.”
“That is interesting,” Theodosia said. “So you’re saying Shepley might have had the wherewithal to recruit a gang?”
“No,” Tidwell smiled. “You said it.”
• • •
Their Full Monty Tea kicked off at two o’clock sharp with the menu being, in Drayton’s words, “Terribly, terribly British.”
Haley pulled out all the stops and arranged their offerings on silver four-tiered serving trays. Fruit scones sat on top, squares of mini quiche on the second tier, cream cheese and cucumber tea sandwiches occupied the third tier, and small slices of chocolate cake topped with fresh raspberries were on the bottom tier.
Miss Dimple bustled around, serving tea and cooing happy hellos to all the people she knew, which turned out to be pretty much all of the guests.
While their guests enjoyed their first course of fruit scones, Theodosia did a little song and dance about the origin of the term the full monty, and then it was Drayton’s turn to take the floor.
He strode to the center of the tea shop, looking spiffy in his Harris Tweed jacket, cleared his throat, and said, “I thought since you were enjoying a proper British tea today, that you might also enjoy a poem. The one I’ve chosen to recite was penned by an anonymous London poet, and I think it speaks well to the great British tea tradition.”
A hush fell across the tea shop and then Drayton began:
Ambrosial plants! that from the east and west,
Or from the shores of Araby the blest,
Those odoriferous sprigs and berries send,
On which our wives and government depend.
Kind land! that gives rich presents, none receives,
And barters for leaf gold its golden leaves.
Bane of our nerves, and nerve of our excise,
In which a nation’s strength and weakness lies.
“Bravo!” Tidwell called out. “Excellent.” He was seated at a table for four, with two women. He’d basically done his best to ignore them and, after their initial overture at friendliness, the women had decided to ignore him, too. It was a nonaggression pact of sorts.
As the applause rose and then fell, the front door suddenly popped open and Delaine rushed in. She gazed about, a look of concern clouding her lovely face. Then, once she’d spotted Theodosia standing behind the counter, raced over to talk with her.
“Theodosia!” Delaine said. “There you are.”
“Did you think I’d be someplace else?” Theodosia asked. She lifted an eyebrow as she popped a blue-and-white chintz cozy over a teapot. “Wait a minute, am I supposed to be someplace else?”
Delaine shook her head. “No, no. It’s just that I’d planned to attend your tea and somehow—I have no idea how—the time completely slipped away from me.” She waggled her head back and forth, her eyes going purposely wide. “Things have been cray cray you know?” For some reason, Delaine had begun using texting phrases, like cray cray (for “crazy, crazy”) and sup (for “What’s up?”) in her everyday conversation.
“So you really are here for tea?”
“Oh yes,” Delaine said. “In fact, I’d say it’s a celebratory tea.”
“The occasion being . . . ?”
Delaine grinned like a Cheshire cat and batted her eyelashes. “Renaldo has decided to stay in Charleston for a few more days!”
“Lucky you.”
“Aren’t I? He said he wants to take me out tonight for a fancy dinner and then escort me to the Rare Antiquities Show tomorrow night.”
Theodosia looked at her sharply. “Where did you say your boyfriend was from?”
“I didn’t actually specify,” Delaine said. “But since you’re interested, I’ll tell you. Renaldo hails from near Nice, in the south of France. He has a chateau in a small town by the name of Beaulieu-sur-Mer.”
“Is that anywhere near Monte Carlo?” Theodosia asked. It had just occurred to her that Renaldo Gilles was new in town, too. That is, new in town since just before the robbery.
“I suppose it probably isn’t all that far from Monte Carlo. It’s in that ooh-la-la French Riviera vicinity, anyway.”
As Delaine drummed her fingers on the counter, her rings caught the light and flashed. Theodosia was momentarily reminded of the butterfly brooch at Heart’s Desire. Before all the broken glass, before all the heartbreak. Then she pulled her thoughts back to the here and now.
“And you’ve known Renaldo for how long?”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” Delaine said. “But when you’ve finally discovered your true soul mate in a world filled with treacherous, barbarous creeps, it feels as if you’ve been together forever.” Delaine clutched her hands together, then touched them to her heart and beamed.
“Your soul mate,” Theodosia said. “My, that is major news.” Delaine had been discovering her soul mate for as long as Theodosia could remember. First there’d been Cooper, then Charles, then Roger, and wasn’t there someone named Bentley? But no need to dredge all that up. “Now that you mention it, you do have a certain glow about you.”
Delaine touched a hand delicately to her cheek and moved closer to the counter. “I just had a caviar facial at the Silver Moon Spa. So I’m feeling positively incandescent.”
“I hope it’s not catching.” Theodosia chuckled.
�
��Silver Moon is such a gorgeous spa,” Delaine babbled on. “Fresh flowers everywhere, a mineral springs hot tub, architecture like a Grecian temple, and absolutely everyone caters to your slightest whim. It’s absolutely decadent, my kind of place. While I was checking out, I even ran into Grace Dawson. You remember her, don’t you? The two of us sat together at lunch yesterday.”
“Sure, the nice lady with the Dobermans.” But Theodosia really remembered Grace Dawson as the wealthy woman who was dating Lionel Rinicker.
“Do you know that Grace employs a personal assistant?” Delaine asked, seemingly enraptured. “Isn’t that amazing? He was there with her today, this wonderful little person who actually takes notes and runs errands and does her complete bidding. Just like the movie stars have.”
“Sounds great.” Theodosia knew having someone at her beck and call would just make her anxious. She’d have to hustle up busywork for them to do.
“Grace is an extremely classy person,” Delaine said. “She knows that blue chip isn’t just something you dunk in a bowl of guacamole.” She idly fluffed her hair. “Anyway, I wanted to hit the spa so I’d be in tip-top shape for my evening with Renaldo.”
“Wait a minute,” Theodosia said. “What exactly does Renaldo do for a living?”
“Renaldo is in the import-export business,” Delaine said. “A little of this, a little of that.” She gave a vague wave of the hand. “French perfumes, Italian shoes, silks, what have you. You know, high-end luxury goods.”
“And where did you meet him?”
“A fashion trade show in Miami.”
“Interesting. I look forward to getting to know him a little better.”
Renaldo Gilles might be Delaine’s soul mate and an import-export agent, but Theodosia sincerely hoped the man didn’t plan to export any luxury goods from the Heritage Society over the next couple of days.
24
It was the perfect evening. An inky black sky lit with a random scatter of twinkling stars. The breeze off the Atlantic carrying a hint of salt and sea brine. Temperature still hovering in the low sixties. And twenty-five dancers, all clad in black leotards with tiny lights running up and down their arms and legs, dancing and leaping to a blast of rock music. The Lumiere Festival was well under way, and Theodosia and Drayton were standing on the front steps of the Charleston Library Society, watching the dazzling presentation that was taking place on King Street.
“Those young ladies certainly know how to twirl,” Drayton remarked.
“They’re little sprites,” Theodosia said. She figured she’d get fall-down dizzy if she ever tried that sort of manic gyration. Still, it was great fun to watch. “And did you see what’s happening down the street at the Gibbes Museum?”
Drayton nodded. “The images they’re projecting on the outside of the building remind me of an underground movie from the sixties. Still, I think it’s rather clever that they chose slides from their own collection. It’s almost like . . .”
“Art for the people?”
“Something like that, yes. Though I suppose putting it that way sounds a bit condescending.”
“Just a bit,” Theodosia said. “But the supersized paintings and sculptures might help bring a few more folks through their doors, which is always a good thing.”
“You see,” Drayton said, “that’s where the Heritage Society differs.”
“How’s that?”
“We really don’t want any more people flocking through our doors.”
Theodosia stared at Drayton, who managed to keep a straight face for all of five seconds. Then she punched him in the arm and said, “Let’s see what else is going on.”
Turns out, there was a lot to be dazzled by. Searchlights arced in the sky, more light shows splashed against fine old buildings, and LED installations buzzed and hummed all around them. There was even an interactive light tube on the front lawn of the historic Reese-Parker home.
“I had no idea that light had become such a highly regarded artistic medium,” Drayton said. “I guess I have to catch up with the times.”
“You’re out tonight,” Theodosia said. “That’s a good start.”
They’d wandered down King Street and turned onto Archdale. Here, magnificent Georgian, Italianate, and Victorian-style homes, all deemed “architecturally significant,” by those who made such decisions, sat cheek to elegant jowl. All privately owned and rarely seen by the public, these homes were a vision in grandeur and sumptuous luxury and served as time capsules for Charleston’s history, taste, and décor.
“You see that sign up ahead?” Theodosia pointed.
Drayton peered ahead through darkness that was punctuated by glowing streetlamps. “Yes, it says ‘Fire Garden.’ What on earth is a Fire Garden?”
“I’d say we’re about to find out.”
They picked their way through throngs of strolling people and stopped in front of a large redbrick mansion that featured tall white columns, a wide veranda, and was surrounded by a genuine Philip Simmons wrought-iron fence.
“This is the Rosewalk Inn,” Drayton said. He cocked an eye at Theodosia. “Did you bring me here to spy?”
“You said you wanted to attend the Lumiere Festival. I’m just obliging you.”
“I have to admit, I’m a little curious about their Fire Garden installation.”
“So am I. Let’s go in.”
Tyrone Chandler, the manager, greeted them on the enormous front veranda. He was an African American man in his late fifties, quite distinguished-looking with his salt-and-pepper hair and infectious smile. Tonight he wore an elegant camel hair jacket with a white shirt and charcoal-gray slacks.
“Drayton, is that really you?” Chandler asked. He stuck out a hand as Drayton greeted him. “And Theodosia, too.” He chuckled merrily. “Have you come to see our Fire Garden?”
“We’re trying to figure out what a Fire Garden is,” Drayton said.
“It’s an idea that Marcella came up with,” Chandler told them. Marcella Soliere was the owner of the Rosewalk Inn. “She saw something like it in Perugia when she was traveling through Italy last summer. Couldn’t wait to re-create one here.”
“We’re intrigued,” Theodosia told him as they were ushered into the inn.
“Just head straight through the breakfast room,” Chandler said. “And then step out the sliding doors and onto the patio. The Fire Garden is just beyond our rose garden.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia said.
• • •
The Rosewalk Inn was named for the multitude of rosebushes that graced its back garden. Though most of the floribundas, polyanthas, and English roses were no longer in bloom, there were a few pink Chinese roses standing tall.
“Mr. Chandler must have grown these in a hothouse,” Drayton said. “Then transplanted them here especially for tonight.” His eyes traveled down the rosebush to study the area around the roots. “Yes, that’s exactly what that sly fox did.”
“Can’t put anything past you, Drayton,” Theodosia said. Then her eyes caught sight of what had to be the Fire Garden and she said, “Oh my, take a look at this.”
Theodosia and Drayton stepped past the expanse of rosebushes and onto the back patio. A huge circle of enormous rocks, à la Stonehenge, had been arranged in the middle. Inside were concentric circles of rocks that stepped up to form a large rock pyramid in the middle. Every one of the rocks had an enormous flaming candle on top of it.
“This looks like an image straight out of Dante’s Inferno,” Drayton said, though he was clearly intrigued.
“It’s a gorgeous display,” Theodosia said. “It really is a Fire Garden.” Flames danced and licked atop red, yellow, and orange candles that dripped rivulets of wax down the stones. But the arrangement didn’t look one bit hokey. It looked almost . . . sacrificial.
“There’s a bar over there,” Drayton said, g
azing across the dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs where guests were camped out. “Should we grab a table and have ourselves a cocktail?” He gestured toward the bar. “Or maybe a glass of wine?”
“Chardonnay, if they’ve got it. Or anything dry.”
Drayton sped away. “Coming right up.”
Spotting a table that was unoccupied, Theodosia hurried to grab it. Just as she pulled out a chair, someone clamped a hand on the chair adjacent to her. She glanced up quickly, surprised to see the two FBI agents who’d been practically haunting her shop.
“Hello,” she said. “I was wondering when I’d see you two again.”
Agent Zimmer nodded politely to her while Hurley actually smiled.
“Still working the case?” Theodosia asked, even though she pretty much knew the answer. Of course they were. They were jackhammering away like crazy.
“Absolutely we are,” Zimmer said.
“That’s good to know,” Theodosia said. She glanced around. Drayton was still standing at the bar ordering glasses of wine, and nobody else had taken notice of the two agents, even though they were dressed like a couple of G-men in a made-for-TV movie. “I assume you’re here because you’ve been talking to Professor Shepley? Interviewing him because he crashed the Heart’s Desire event?”
“You knew he was staying here?” Zimmer asked. “At this particular inn?”
Theodosia smiled demurely.
“If you had knowledge that he was staying here, that means you’ve been meddling,” Hurley said.
“She sees him as a suspect,” Zimmer said.
“I don’t really know if he is or isn’t,” Theodosia said. “I’d have to defer to your judgment on that.”
Zimmer exchanged a knowing glance with Hurley and then said, “We’ve done a careful assessment of Shepley and don’t believe he poses any immediate threat.”
“That’s good to know,” Theodosia said just as Drayton arrived with two glasses of wine.
“Gentlemen, if I had known . . .” Drayton indicated the wineglasses he held in his hands.
Zimmer put up a hand as the two of them backed away. “No, no. Thanks for the offer, but we have to get going.”