by Laura Childs
“Naw, we trailered these big boys to the parking lot at the Coast Guard station and unloaded there. The wagons were hauled in by tractor.”
“Neat.”
“Well . . .” Duke glanced back and saw that he had a full passenger load already. He tipped his hat to her. “Got to get going.”
“Good luck,” she said. “Be safe.”
• • •
Pleased that the hayrides were finally under way, Theodosia decided to do a quick inspection of the Heywood House. She strolled up the front walk, which was lined with silver and gold luminaries, and stepped inside.
It was absolutely amazing what the owners had done.
They’d turned the entire first floor of their home into a haunted wedding tableau. There was a ghost bride and her four bridesmaids getting gussied up in the front parlor. The hallway was draped in white gauze and fake cobwebs. In the library, on the other side of a white velvet rope, a ghost groom and his groomsmen preened in black and Day-Glo orange tuxedos. And in the large family room, folding chairs held a family of wedding ghosts—er, guests, Theodosia thought. She could just imagine them tapping their bony fingers, anxiously awaiting the ceremony.
Just wonderful, she thought. The home owners had really gone to a lot of effort. In fact, it looked as if they’d brought in a professional set decorator.
Outside, the expansive back patio was lit by hundreds of flickering candles. Flaming torches surrounded a long reflecting pool. Nearby, a Bloody Mary bar had been set up. Guests with the appropriate color wristbands were helping themselves to drinks and garnishing them with olives, shrimp kabobs, pickles, and lettuce stalks. Theodosia was happy to see that there was also plenty of apple cider and soft drinks available for the kids.
Thank goodness for all these hard-working volunteers, she thought. All these venues had been planned and plotted, and all she had to do was serve as the pro forma chairperson. Really, she thought, if Charlotte Webster had been only 2 percent involved in all of this, she still deserved a ton of credit.
As Theodosia was exiting the house, she ran smack dab into Max.
“There you are,” said Max. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” He smiled warmly. “But, hey, you didn’t wear your costume. I thought for sure you’d wear that witchy thing.”
“I thought I’d be better off in jeans and sneaks tonight,” said Theodosia. “Makes it easier to move around. Sneak around.”
Max spread his arms wide apart. “What can I do to help?”
Theodosia thought for a moment. “You know what? I haven’t been over to Gateway Walk yet. Do you think you could take a stroll over there and see how the cemetery tours are going?”
“Of course.”
“That would be great.”
They walked down Meeting Street together, dodging people, bumping shoulders, ducking around lampposts strung with twinkle lights. The street was getting more and more crowded, and there was a crackle of excitement in the air. It felt like a thousand people had turned out this Halloween night. Maybe even some that weren’t wearing wristbands? Probably, but Theodosia wasn’t going to worry about it. As long as everyone enjoyed the open houses, hayrides, and cemetery ramble, she figured she was way ahead of the game.
As Theodosia turned into the Featherbed House, Max continued on to the cemetery. She smiled as she climbed the steps to the lovely large front porch. Her friend, Angie Congdon, was the proprietor of the Featherbed House, and Theodosia had always found it to be one of the cutest, quaintest B and Bs in the entire area.
Stepping across the threshold, Theodosia was struck by the pitch-perfect mix of elegance and hominess. Quilted patchwork geese, carved wooden geese, and plaster geese were everywhere. Needlepoint pillows with geese motifs were propped on overstuffed chintz sofas and matching chairs. The lobby didn’t look spooky at all, but there was a life-sized witch with one boney hand pointing toward the outdoor patio. The sign hung around her neck read HAUNTED GARDEN.
That must be the place, Theodosia decided. She crossed the lobby and stepped outside. And practically laughed out loud.
It looked like an outdoor woodland café with the wicked witch from “Hansel and Gretel” as the hostess and proprietor. Trees were strung with orange, purple, and green lights, extra palm trees had been brought in to give the feeling of abundant flora and fauna, and papier-mâché gremlins and trolls peeped out from various groves of shrubbery.
And there, in the corner, sitting at a wrought-iron table, was Drayton. And, glory be, Charlotte Webster and Roger Greaves were also at his table!
Theodosia ducked under hanging branches and tiptoed around a large clump of palmettos.
“Hello there,” she said, popping out at them fast.
“Aiiii!” cried Charlotte, giving a little scream. When she recognized Theodosia, she said, “You scared the living daylights out of me.”
“Just trying to put you in the Halloween mood,” said Theodosia.
Drayton stood up and pulled a chair out for her. “Sit down, sit down. How’s it going out there?”
“I’d have to say everything’s running smoothly,” said Theodosia. She reached across the table and touched Charlotte’s hand. “And it’s all due to your good planning.”
“Thank you,” said Charlotte, beaming. “But I had a lot of help from some awfully good volunteers. Everybody really pitched in.”
“From my perspective,” said Theodosia, “it feels like a huge success.”
Charlotte looked suddenly serious. “Thank you so much, Theodosia, for taking this off my hands. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” said Theodosia. Because there really hadn’t been any problems.
Charlotte glanced sideways at Roger Greaves, then back at Theodosia. “I wanted to come out and thank you earlier,” she said, “but I was nervous about coming on my own.” She gave a little shiver. “There are so many people, so much going on, and . . . well, you know my circumstances.” She fluttered a hand to her chest. “Anyway, I was lucky that Roger agreed to serve as escort.” She smiled now. “I figured if I hung out back here, you’d turn up sooner or later.”
“And here I am,” said Theodosia. “I’ve been making the rounds . . .” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “And now I’d better continue doing so.”
“Can’t you stay for a drink?” said Charlotte. She looked pleadingly at Greaves. “Make her stay. Just one little drink?”
But Theodosia was insistent. “No, I’ve got four more venues to visit yet. If everything goes well, I’ll try to swing back here a little later.”
Drayton stood up, too. “I have to take off, as well.” He nodded toward Charlotte and Greaves and wished them a pleasant evening. Then he turned to Theodosia, and said, “I’ll stroll with you for a while.”
• • •
Back out on Meeting Street, things were getting wild. There were throngs of people wearing masks and costumes, and kids running wild. Fog streamed in from the Atlantic, and the evening had turned considerably cooler and darker. A vampire swooped by in a velvet cape, five teenaged boys wearing green alien masks charged past en masse, and a Venetian lord scrambled onto a front porch.
“I should check things out at the Ames-Parker House,” Theodosia told Drayton.
“Let’s do that,” said Drayton. “I haven’t been there in ages, and I’ve always been enamored of that free-floating staircase in the entry hall.”
When they went in, the staircase was still there, but it was decorated with bats and spiders.
“Dear me,” said Drayton. “They’ve gone positively batty.”
“Still,” said Theodosia, “it’s kind of cute.”
“If you like that sort of thing.”
They pushed their way through a library that had been decorated in a Sherlock Holmes theme, and headed out to the back patio. As they stood on the back stoop, Theodosia caught
a glimpse of Elliot Kern, the museum director. He was sitting at a table with several other people, enjoying a drink.
Hmm. Maybe a quick visit is all that’s needed here.
But just as they turned to go, they ran into Percy Capers.
“Hello, you two,” said Capers, grinning at them. He was holding a Bloody Mary in a plastic cup and dressed in a black ninja costume.
“Fancy meeting you here,” said Theodosia. She took a second look at his costume. “I hope you’re going on to another party,” she said in a good-natured tone.
“I am,” said Capers. “One of the other curators, Donald Ross—I don’t know if you know him—is having a party. But it doesn’t start until much later.”
“An adult party,” said Drayton.
“That’s right,” said Capers. “No dunking for apples, no mob of trick-or-treaters.” He held up his glass. “Just adult beverages and conversation.”
“What’s not to like?” said Theodosia. They walked back outside with Capers. As he wandered down the street, Delaine and Aunt Acid were just coming up the walk.
“Ha,” said Drayton. “You two are the last people I ever expected to see at this mob scene.”
“Mostly we’re just going to drop by the Featherbed House,” said Delaine. “I hear their Haunted Garden is really something.”
“You’ll enjoy it,” Drayton promised.
“And then we’re going to ride the hay wagon,” said Aunt Acid.
Delaine wrinkled her nose. “Seriously, Auntie? Horses are awfully . . . How shall I put this? Aromatic?”
“Stinky?” said Aunt Acid, smirking.
“Well, yes,” said Delaine.
“I still want to ride,” said Aunt Acid.
Delaine shrugged at Theodosia. “What can I say? She wants to ride.”
“Don’t let the haunts get you,” Drayton said to Aunt Acid with a twinkle in his eye.
“If they try,” said Aunt Acid, “I’ll give ’em a shot of my pepper spray!”
“Get a load of her,” said Delaine. “She thinks she’s my personal bodyguard.”
“Good luck,” said Theodosia. She gave a little wave as she and Drayton headed down the street in the direction of another house on her list. But they’d only gotten twenty feet or so when Max came running toward them. He was waving his arms, trying to get their attention.
“What’s wrong?” Theodosia asked as he huffed up to meet her.
“Aw, they’re completely swamped over at the cemetery,” said Max. “One of the guides from the Heritage Society, the lady who was doing a lovely lesson on the history of the place, just went home sick.”
Theodosia turned immediately to Drayton. “Drayton, can you do it? Can you lead the tour?”
“What?” His eyes widened and he touched a hand to his chest. “Me? You want me to lead a tour? What do I know about Gateway Walk and the program the guides are supposed to be presenting?”
“Are you serious?” said Theodosia. She practically laughed out loud. “Drayton, you know just about everything there is to know. I mean, you’re on the board of the Heritage Society. You’re probably one of the most knowledgeable people concerning legends and lore in this area.”
“You think so?” said Drayton.
“I know so,” said Theodosia. “So . . . will you do it?”
Drayton nodded. “For you, Theo, yes. I’ll try to muddle through.”
“Thank you,” said Theodosia. “Max, will you take Drayton over to Gateway Walk and get him set up?”
“You got it,” said Max.
As Theodosia watched the two of them disappear into a swirl of revelers, her cell phone began to hum. She dug for it in the bottom of her bag, fumbled it once, and then finally said, “Hello?” She hoped there wasn’t another problem somewhere along the route.
“Ms. Browning?” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Theodosia Browning?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She didn’t recognize the voice.
“This is Allan Abrams from the Crenshaw Museum. You wanted me to call you back?”
“Oh, yes, thank you!”
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but the voice mails you left were awfully insistent.”
“I do appreciate the call back,” said Theodosia.
“What was it you needed to know?” asked Abrams
“Just some basic information. I understand your museum is buying a Chinese tea house? From Mandarin Art and Antiques in Shanghai?”
“We’re trying to buy it,” said Abrams. “We’re in the process now of rallying support from the arts community and staging a number of fund-raisers.” He hesitated, sounding a little wistful. “Still, one-point-two million dollars is a lot of money.”
“Excuse me?” said Theodosia.
Abrams repeated himself, speaking up louder. “I said one-point-two million dollars is a lot of money.”
“Yes, it is,” said Theodosia. Somewhere in the back of her mind, that figure sounded way low. Hadn’t the Gibbes Museum paid considerably more for their tea house? She thought they had. “You know,” she said, “we have a tea house here in Charleston.”
“Yes,” said Abrams. “I saw the photos on your museum’s website. It’s a gorgeous tea house. Almost identical, I’d say, to the one we’re trying to buy.”
“Almost identical,” said Theodosia. Her mind was suddenly in a tumble. “Well, thank you,” she told Abrams. “Thank you for calling back.”
She punched the Off button on her phone and practically swayed as crowds streamed past her. Why was there such a discrepancy in price between the two tea houses? she wondered.
Why had the Charleston museum paid . . . what was the figure? She thought it was something like $2.3 million. But the Crenshaw Museum was only trying to raise $1.2 million for their tea house. That was a difference of $1.1 million.
Maybe the discrepancy didn’t mean anything. Maybe the two tea houses were completely different. They could be. They could be as different as night and day.
Or maybe my recollection is wrong.
Theodosia suddenly wondered if Charlotte Webster was still sitting in the Haunted Garden over at the Featherbed House. She drew a breath and glanced around. Only one way to find out.
Theodosia tore down the street and into the Featherbed House. She glanced right and left inside the lobby, then bolted out the back door and into the garden.
Charlotte was still there all right, sitting on the back patio with Roger Greaves, drinking what was probably her second or third Bloody Mary. She looked like she wasn’t feeling any pain.
Theodosia dashed over to her table.
“Charlotte!”
Charlotte looked up with a question on her face. “Theodosia?” Her bewilderment was soon replaced by worry. “Is something wrong? I mean, you look like you’re positively frantic. Please tell me something hasn’t turned disastrous.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come careening up to you like that,” said Theodosia. “But I have to ask you something. It’s really important.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Something about tonight’s event? I’d help if I could, but I’m just not—”
“No,” said Theodosia, interrupting. “I need to ask you about the Chinese tea house that you and your husband helped finance.”
At that, tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “The tea house,” she said, almost blubbering. “It was the fulfillment of Edgar’s dream. His legacy.”
Theodosia tried to pull Charlotte back into the here and now. “Do you remember the price that the museum paid for it?”
Charlotte swallowed hard and did a sort of double take. “The price?”
“Yes. Do you remember the exact amount the museum paid for it?”
“Of course, I do,” said Charlotte. “I have a very good head for numbers.”
; “And that number was?”
Charlotte didn’t hesitate. “All in, the price was two-point-three million dollars.”
“Quite a pretty penny,” said Roger Greaves, finally interjecting himself into the conversation.
“Yes, it is,” said Theodosia. She backed away from the table. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Theodosia?” Charlotte gazed at her sharply. “What’s wrong? Why are you asking about the tea house? And why do you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost?”
Theodosia mustered a faint smile. “Because maybe I have.” A ghost of an idea, anyway. “So I just need to . . . um . . . take care of a couple of things.” She took off hurriedly, leaving a very puzzled Charlotte in her wake.
26
Back out on the street, standing in a puddle of yellow light cast by a flickering street lamp, Theodosia ran the numbers in her head again. Just to make sure.
Okay, the Gibbes Museum paid $1.1 million more than the Crenshaw Museum planned to pay for their Chinese tea house. That was an awfully big discrepancy. Too big to ignore. So . . . was it possible . . . could someone have lined their pockets with that $1.1 million? She clenched her fists tightly. They must have. That had to be the answer.
Theodosia spun quickly and practically swayed in her tracks from the effort. So who had absconded with all that money? And—here was the kicker—had the thief murdered Edgar Webster because he’d discovered the theft?
Oh, dear.
This was big. This was too big for Theodosia to deal with all by herself. She needed to bring in reinforcements. Not just Drayton, not just Max, but the big guns: Detective Tidwell and his crew of detectives and uniformed officers.
Walking slowly down the street, Theodosia knew what she had to do. She turned down an alley where she could have a little privacy. Cool wind rushed past her, dried leaves swirled, footsteps echoed behind her.
She whirled around, saw no one, and smiled faintly.
Nobody there. Just ghosts.
Theodosia pulled out her phone and made the call to Tidwell. There was no answer. All she could do was leave a message. Tidwell was probably sitting at home in an oversized bathrobe, reading Plato or something incredibly academic. On the flip side, he might be watching trash TV.