by Laura Childs
Theodosia tried to keep her message as short and succinct as possible. She fought hard to modulate her voice, but she was aware that it was starting to rise—just like the panic that fluttered deep inside her chest.
What do I do now?
She dropped her phone inside her bag, hoping Tidwell would get her message and call back as soon as possible. Or rush over here as soon as possible.
In the meantime . . .
Maybe she could figure out exactly who had absconded with the money?
It didn’t seem as if Charlotte or Roger Graves could have pocketed the difference, since they had no idea that the museum had grossly overpaid for the tea house. So that meant they were free and clear as suspects.
Okay, what about Cecily? She might not be the most forthright person in the world, but she couldn’t have had anything to do with the actual transaction. She wasn’t involved with the museum, so there was no way any money had passed through her hands. There was no way she could have skimmed such a large amount.
So who was Cecily so afraid of? Who did that leave as suspects?
Well, it left the two people who’d been most involved in the importation and installation of the Chinese tea house, that’s who: Harlan Duke and Elliot Kern.
Harlan Duke was occupied right now, driving the hay wagon, but Theodosia wondered if Elliot Kern was still over at the Ames-Parker House? And, if so, what would happen if she went over there and accused him outright?
He’d deny it, of course. But her threat of unmasking him might also set something in motion. He might flee, he might hire an attorney, he might go into total denial, or he might beg for mercy. Really, anything could happen.
So . . . was she willing to take that risk? Did she feel comfortable confronting Kern to see what his reaction might be?
Theodosia wasn’t sure.
On the other hand, maybe she could drop a very broad hint and see if he flinched.
If he’s even still there.
Theodosia turned and hurried back toward the Ames-Parker House, still unsure of how she was going to play it. If she was going to play it. Her nerves were completely jangled, and she constantly had the feeling that her footsteps were being dogged. But when she looked back, she could see . . . nothing.
Back at the mansion, Theodosia crept past the bat-infested staircase, past the Sherlock Holmes room. She exploded out onto the back patio and looked around, ready for a cataclysmic confrontation with Kern.
He wasn’t there. The table where he’d been sitting was now occupied by a gaggle of women.
Feeling defeated, questioning her own reasoning now, Theodosia hauled herself back out to the street. Maybe Kern had gone to the Halloween party that Percy Capers had been headed to? She’d go after him if she could get the address. Try to pin his wily little ears back against his head. But she didn’t have the address. Who would know? Max? No, he’d been out of the museum loop for a few days, so that possibility was slim to none.
Disgruntled, Theodosia walked slowly down the street.
“Theodosia?”
She looked up. Maggie Twining, her Realtor friend, was smiling at her. But when Maggie saw the worried look on Theodosia’s face, her smile slipped a few degrees.
“Theo, are you okay?” Maggie asked.
“I’m just . . . Oh, I’m fine,” said Theodosia. “Just in a quandary over something.”
“You look pretty upset. I could tell straight away.” Maggie hesitated. “You’re investigating something, aren’t you?”
Theodosia’s brows pinched together. “Why would you say that?”
Maggie fixed her with a kind smile. “Because that’s what you do, hon. That’s what you’re good at. I mean . . . besides tea. Drayton mentioned it to me just the other day when I dropped in to grab some tea and scones. He’s very proud of your sleuthing skills.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “I’ll admit it. I am on the trail of something.”
Maggie seemed pleased. “I’ll just bet you’re following up on the murder of Edgar Webster. That’s all people have been talking about lately. That and the lovely tea house he helped bring to the museum.”
Theodosia stared at her. “You’re good.”
“Did I guess right?”
Theodosia nodded.
Maggie put a hand on Theodosia’s arm. “I hope your friend Max isn’t involved.”
Theodosia stiffened. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, just because he handles PR at the museum,” said Maggie. “I’d hate to see him pulled into any kind of witch hunt over there.”
She doesn’t know, thought Theodosia.
Theodosia desperately wanted to tell Maggie about Max being fired, but she didn’t want to lay a total bummer on this lovely woman.
“You know,” said Maggie. “I’m working with one of Max’s colleagues right now.”
“Oh, really?” Theodosia was only half listening. Her brain was still whirling like a cyclone, trying to figure out who might have benefitted financially from the tea house purchase. Could it have been the dealer in Shanghai?
“He’s buying a gorgeous townhouse on St. Michaels Aly,” Maggie continued. “Expensive, but positively steeped in history, with a walled courtyard garden to boot. Still, he’s putting a half million down. I had no idea those museum positions paid so well.”
Theo’s ears suddenly perked up.
“Huh? Excuse me, who’s buying it?”
“Percy Capers,” said Maggie. “You know, the Asian curator?”
The light instantaneously snapped on for Theodosia. (There was, in fact, an audible click inside her head, as if she could physically feel the lightbulb being turned on.)
Taking a deep breath and a step backward, Theodosia stared off into the distance, thinking. Percy Capers. Yes, he was most certainly the Asian curator. If anybody could have masterminded a swindle, it could have been him.
Feeling as if Max had been partially vindicated, Theodosia cast her eyes around and was rocked to the core when she suddenly saw the dark eyes of Percy Capers staring directly at her. He was practically hidden, crouched way back in the shadows, where a narrow walled alley led to a private garden. But she could tell he was staring fixedly at her and Maggie, his eyes as flat as a reptile’s, desperately trying to listen in on their conversation!
Theodosia tried to remain calm as Capers shifted slightly and continued to study her. She didn’t want to let on that she’d seen him.
Panic bubbled up inside her like hot lava, and there was a loud whooshing sound in her ears. What to do? How to get help? Most of all, she didn’t want to trigger a bad situation that would put this crowd of parents and kids in any sort of danger!
Theodosia tried to pull it together. She squared her shoulders and set her jaw in a hard line. She hadn’t intended to convey her fear to Capers, to give him what a Vegas card player might call a “tell.” Unfortunately, she probably had telegraphed the anxiety and fright that was prickling her senses and flooding her brain.
Oh, yes, she had, because Percy Capers suddenly broke cover and took off running down the block at full speed.
That was all Theodosia needed. She shoved her binder into the hands of a surprised Maggie Twining and, without really thinking about it, dashed after him.
Capers spun down the sidewalk, dodging people, slamming into a couple of older women, then dashing up onto a lawn and vaulting a flowerbed. Then he was careening down the middle of the street, feet slapping hard against the pavement.
“Stop!” Theodosia cried as she ran after him. “Stop right there!”
Capers continued his flight with Theodosia running hard right behind him. Startled by this impromptu chase, the crowd seemed to magically part as Theodosia—legs pumping, hair flying—tried to chase him down.
They may have been roughly around the same age, but Theodosia figured sh
e could take him. She was in far better shape, her muscles toned and tight from daily runs. Her lung capacity was the best it had ever been.
Legs flying, arms akimbo, Percy Capers dared to turn his head and sneak a glance back at Theodosia. Fear registered on his face when he saw that she was gaining on him fast. He’d started out with a half-block lead, and now Theodosia was a hundred yards back, running flat out with a cold, determined look on her face. And a battle song in her heart that said, I’m going to run you down, punk, and knock you flat to the ground.
Percy Capers did what all cowards seemed to do. He panicked. His mouth gaped open, and his pinched face took on the appearance of a cornered rat. He spun wildly around one of the red barrels that marked the hay wagon–loading station, bumping people left and right. The wagon had just emptied out, and the driver was standing on the street, talking to a group of small kids. Without breaking stride, Capers shoved his way past the startled driver and sprang up onto the front wheel of the hay wagon. He landed on the flat wooden seat with a thud and snatched up the reins. Giving them a furious shake, he let loose a loud cry and took off!
Metal horseshoes grated against cobblestones as the two giant horses struggled to gain traction. Gentle in nature, not built for speed, they’d been pulling the wagon at a nice sedate pace all night, and this new driver had shocked their equine sensibilities to the max.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Theodosia shouted after Capers as she raised a fist at him.
With barely a glance around, she leapt on board the second hay wagon. Floundering through a foot of loose hay, she scrambled madly toward the front seat and plopped down right next to Harlan Duke.
“Follow that wagon!” Theodosia screamed.
• • •
If it hadn’t been so dangerous, it would have been the Keystone Cops meets the wild, wild West.
Capers’s wagon roared down Meeting Street, shuddering and rocking, scaring everyone silly and causing innocent bystanders to run for their lives.
“You’ve got to catch him!” Theodosia shouted to Duke. “Capers killed Edgar Webster!”
Duke’s wagon was rolling fast and picking up speed. “You serious?” Duke shouted back to her.
Theodosia gritted her teeth and nodded. “I think he stole a big chunk of money and Webster found out.”
Comprehension dawned on Duke’s broad face. “He’s the one who handled the final . . .” He ground his teeth together and leaned forward, urging his pair of Percherons on harder. “The final sale,” he grunted out.
Theodosia grabbed his arm. “Be careful. We don’t want to kill anyone!”
“Brace yourself,” cried Duke as they spun around a corner.
Capers had turned his wagon onto South Battery, urging his horses to run full tilt. Not used to such a rough, unskilled driver at the reins, the nervous team plunged from left to right, changing lanes haphazardly. The hay wagon swung back and forth wildly, its wheels jouncing up over curbs and trampling flowerbeds. The wagon was swaying so violently that it slammed into a couple of parked cars.
“Ouch,” said Theodosia. “I think he just creamed a Volvo.”
“There goes a BMW,” said Duke.
“Pull over!” Theodosia screamed at Capers. But he ignored her and just kept going on his wild, destructive ride.
“Where’s he gonna run to?” wondered Duke.
“He’s headed straight for White Point Gardens,” said Theodosia. And, indeed, Capers drove his team right up over the sidewalk and into the park, clipping a magnolia tree and barely missing a row of Civil War–era cannons.
Clods of earth flew at Theodosia and Duke as both sets of horses dug their pounding hooves deep and hard into the turf.
“You’re finished, Capers!” Theodosia shouted after him. “Give it up!”
As if in answer, Capers yanked his reins wildly, causing his team of horses to spin right, turning so sharply that his wagon almost tipped over.
“He’s going back onto Murray Boulevard,” Theodosia yelled.
“Giddyup!” cried a voice from behind her.
Theodosia spun around in surprise and saw Aunt Acid lying in the far back corner of the hay wagon. She was giggling like mad and hanging on for dear life.
“We’ve got a passenger,” Theodosia told Duke.
But Duke’s face was set in a grim line. “Tell her to hang on tight.”
“You hear that?” Theodosia asked Aunt Acid. “You’ve got to hang on.”
“Giddyup!” the old lady cried again.
“What’s that up ahead?” asked Duke. They were running full tilt now and starting to close on Capers’s wagon.
“Holy guacamole,” said Theodosia. “It’s the WCTV van. I think they’re conducting some sort of interview.”
The two wagons flew directly toward a shiny white TV van with a satellite dish on top, toward the bright glow of lights where Stephanie Hayward was conducting what was probably a slice-of-life Halloween interview. She was leaning down, talking to a group of costumed trick-or-treaters. Doing what the station would call a human-interest story.
Stephanie, her cameraman, and the kids saw the first wagon coming and jumped out of the way, just in the nick of time. Then Theodosia’s wagon bore down upon them.
“Stephanie!” Theodosia yelled as they spun past. The cameraman, a seasoned correspondent who knew his trade, immediately swung his camera toward them and managed a fairly decent tracking shot as they raced by.
“Yeehaw,” cried Duke. “Now we’re on TV.”
“Dear lord,” Theodosia muttered as the hay wagons rocked and creaked and plunged through the dark night.
Of course Tidwell picked that exact moment to call her back!
Bracing herself, hanging on tight, Theodosia grabbed her phone, and said, “What took you so long?”
“It depends on what you want,” Tidwell grumped.
“Backup!” Theodosia shouted. She was hanging on for dear life as the wagon careened onto Ashley Street.
“What are you talking about?” said Tidwell. Then, sounding suspicious, he barked, “Where are you?”
“If you turn on WCTV right now,” Theodosia told him, “I think our hay-wagon chase is being broadcast live!”
“Hay wagons?” screeched Tidwell. “Live?”
“From the Haunted Hayride,” cried Theodosia. “Just please hurry up and get over here with as many squad cars as you can spare. Try to set up some sort of barricade across Montagu. Or maybe Calhoun Street! I mean, you’re going to have to stop a whole lot of horsepower!”
“Miss Browning!” came his shout, but she was already hanging up on him.
• • •
“Your man’s turning again,” shouted Duke.
“Dear lord,” said Theodosia. Was Capers going to head back into the Historic District? What new havoc would this cause?
But just as Capers rounded a corner, his right front wagon wheel caught the corner of a wrought-iron fence. There was an agonizing screech of metal, a sudden shuddering of the entire wagon, and then the vehicle began to tip.
“Noooo!” Capers screamed.
His cry sent shivers down Theodosia’s spine.
Duke pulled back on the reins to slow their wagon as they both watched in horror. Slowly, inexorably, Capers’s runaway wagon tipped up onto two wheels. It seemed to teeter for a moment, as if undecided. Then a sudden jerk from his team of horses sounded its death knell. The wagon rolled over onto its side with a thunderous crash. Hay bales tumbled, wood shattered, and Percy Capers was pitched headlong onto the cobblestone street!
His wagon dragged and screeched for another twenty feet. Then the horses, who’d clearly had enough, came to a stop.
Theodosia jumped out while Duke stayed behind to secure his team. She ran to Capers, slewed to a stop, and gazed down at him.
Capers hadn’t fared well. He
’d fallen hard and landed badly on his side. And from the way he was crying and whimpering, he had probably broken a couple of bones.
Capers tried to roll over, then caught sight of Theodosia. “Help me,” he cried in a dry, papery voice. “I’m hurt.” His eyes traveled upward, finally meeting her stony gaze. “You’ve got to help me,” he pleaded.
Theodosia knelt down next to him and thrust her cell phone in his face. “You help me, I’ll help you,” she said in a flat voice. “A little quid pro quo. I think that’s reasonable, don’t you?”
“What?” Capers gasped.
“Did you kill Edgar Webster?” she asked.
“Help me,” said Capers. His voice was a wet sigh. “Call for an ambulance.”
“I’m going to, I really am,” said Theodosia. “But you have to give me something in return.”
Capers gritted his teeth. “Okay, yes.”
“Webster,” she repeated.
“It was an accident, I swear.”
“An ice pick in the ear was an accident?” Theodosia shook her head. “Now, about the money . . .”
“Please,” groaned Capers. “I’m hurt bad.”
Duke came over and stood next to Theodosia. “Jeez,” he said. “The guy’s in kind of a bad way. We should get him to a hospital.”
“Almost done here,” said Theodosia. She leaned closer to Capers and practically whispered in his ear. “You were the intermediary, weren’t you? You handled the purchase of the tea house?”
“Yessss.” His voice was a low hiss.
“And you dipped your beak into a pile of money. To the tune of one-point-one million dollars, am I right?”
Capers writhed on the ground, practically gnashing his teeth. “All right, yes!”
“But Edgar Webster caught you with your hand in the cookie jar,” said Theodosia.
“Jeez,” said Duke. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “He really stole the money?”
Theodosia gave a thin smile. “Webster caught you stealing the money, didn’t he, Percy? And that’s why you killed him.”