Haunted Hibiscus

by Laura Childs

  Theodosia grasped the jewelry box and carefully righted it.

  “If I owned a stunning set of jewelry,” Theodosia said, “I’d probably keep it in something like this. In the very top drawer.” She pulled the top drawer all the way out to reveal—nothing. Just an empty drawer lined in red velvet.

  “I’m guessing our killer got his hot little hands on that diamond pendant after all,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia hastily searched through the rest of the jewelry box drawers. They contained rings, a couple of gold bangles, a few silver chains, and a charm bracelet. But no stunner of a Hibiscus Diamond pendant.

  “We should look in the freezer,” Drayton said.

  “You think Willow kept her ice on ice?” Theodosia asked as they headed into the small kitchen.

  “It’s been done before.”

  “Sure, but mostly in B movies,” Theodosia said.

  But when they opened the freezer compartment, there was nothing there but a small carton of praline gelato and two low-cal frozen dinners.

  “No pendant,” Drayton said. He was disappointed that his idea hadn’t panned out.

  “Unless it’s stuck in the gelato. Is it?”

  Drayton grabbed the gelato, removed the lid, and showed it to Theodosia. “Not even a scoop taken out of it.”

  “While we’re in here . . .” Theodosia said, looking around.

  She hunted through all the kitchen cupboards as well as the drawer beneath the stove, but all she found were cans of soup, dried pasta, boxes of cereal, plates, glasses, and pots and pans. Coming up empty, she turned to face the living room again. “All we can do now is root through the rest of this stuff.”

  Drayton nodded. “Got it. Maybe if I . . . paged through the books? There could be a hidden compartment.”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  Theodosia went back to the file drawer in the desk, deciding that’s where Willow probably kept her personal papers. She found bank statements, monthly statements from T. Rowe Price, credit card receipts, and a few paid bills. But no papers to indicate Willow might have a safe-deposit box somewhere.

  A filed marked wedding caught Theodosia’s eye. She pulled the folder out and casually thumbed through it. Sure enough, all the paperwork related to Willow’s upcoming wedding. A copy of an order for flowers at Tropics Florist, a bakery receipt for a six-layer wedding cake from Coco Bella Bakery, notes on her reservation for a reception at the Avalon Hotel, and lots more that Theodosia didn’t have the heart to look at.

  “Oh, Drayton, this is awful,” Theodosia moaned. “This poor girl’s wedding was only five weeks away.”

  Drayton looked up from a stack of books. “Everything will have to be canceled, I assume.”

  Theodosia returned the file and was about to close the drawer, when she noticed a stack of brochures sitting in the bottom. She hesitated a moment, then pulled them out. They were recent brochures and catalogs from the Heritage Society. One for their Carolina Gold Show, another for their Audubon Show.

  How interesting.

  “Was Willow a member of the Heritage Society?” Theodosia asked Drayton.

  He looked up, glasses halfway down his nose, making him look slightly owlish. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Theodosia held up the catalogs.

  “Look at these, Drayton. I think Willow might have been doing research on the Heritage Society after all.”

  “You think she was planning to write its history?”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to ask Timothy if he knows anything about this.”

  “Please do.”

  As Theodosia closed the file drawer her eyes fell upon an address book. “How quaint,” she murmured, since everyone she knew, with the possible exception of Drayton, kept their contact list on their cell phones. But as she opened the address book two note cards fell out.

  What are these?

  The first, strangely enough, was from Ellis Bouchard. It was a short handwritten note reminding her that the house on Tradd Street was reputed to be haunted by his great-aunt Abigail, hence the nickname the Gray Ghost.

  How interesting, Theodosia thought. Perhaps Willow had been working on a second book about Charleston hauntings and Bouchard wanted to make sure the old homestead was included?

  “Take a look at this, Drayton.”

  Drayton crossed the room, took the card Theodosia held out to him, and scanned it quickly.

  “From Bouchard. Strange,” he said. “Awkward, really.”

  “Maybe we need to conduct a séance and ask Great-Aunt Abigail exactly what happened,” Theodosia said.

  “Heaven forbid.” Drayton handed the card back to her. “What’s that second note you’ve got there?”

  “This one is even more bizarre.”

  “Why? What’s it say?” Drayton asked.

  “It’s a handwritten note that says, and I quote, ‘And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy. My dear Willow, I will never forget you.’”

  “Excuse me,” Drayton said, “but that first part is a direct quote from Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “I thought I recognized the words. They’re a little . . . ominous.”

  “Is the note signed?” Drayton asked.

  Theodosia’s eyes scanned down. “By someone named Henry Curtis. You recognize that name?”

  “No, but I think we might want to locate this Mr. Curtis. Talk to him.”

  “I think we should do more than that,” Theodosia said. “I think we ought to sit him down and give him the third degree.” She sighed and took a final look around. “Time to go?”

  “I’m taking those poor fish with me,” Drayton said. “Otherwise they’re not going to get fed.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but please don’t tell them about Willow.”

  Drayton raised a single eyebrow. “You think it would matter to them?”

  “Yes,” Theodosia said. “I do.” Theodosia believed that sentient beings, even tiny golden fish, could detect vibrations in the universe—that they somehow felt a blip when their world had changed. And what had taken place here last night had been a whopper of a blip.

  10

  Theodosia dropped Drayton off at his home, then headed over to University Hospital to see Riley. It was still early—well, maybe not that early—it was nine o’clock, but she doubted that Riley would be asleep yet. Unless of course he’d been given a sleeping pill.

  As luck would have it, he hadn’t.

  “Hey there,” Riley said when Theodosia entered his room. Then his smile faded and an accusing note crept into his voice. “You’re dressed all in black. Does this by any chance mean that you completely ignored my advice and went on a creepy crawl somewhere?”

  Oops, Theodosia guessed her black jacket, slacks, and boots might be a dead giveaway. She probably should have stopped at home and changed first. Put on something cheery.

  “Well, you’re right. I have been doing a little snooping,” she said. It didn’t feel right to lie to Riley; he looked so helpless in his hospital bed.

  Riley pulled himself up straighter. “You went to Willow’s apartment, didn’t you?”

  Doggone, the man is good.

  “I did,” Theodosia said.

  Riley waggled an index finger at her. “Bad idea. What have I been saying to you all along?” He didn’t give her a moment to answer. “I said don’t get involved, it’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s hard not to be involved. To not care about what happened,” Theodosia said.

  Riley looked vexed. “I know, I know. It’s your extreme sport. Some people jump out of planes, some dive with hammerhead sharks. You get drawn into murder investigations.”

  Theodosia gave him a faint smile. Everything he’d said was true. Then, “Do you know about the diamonds?” She figured she’d toss out that little factoid, plu
nge right into the deep end.

  “Yes, I know about the missing diamonds. Tidwell filled me in when he stopped by earlier.” Riley gave her a questioning look. “Wait a minute, is that what you were looking for tonight? The diamond pendant?”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Okay, this is going to sound terribly redundant, but I am a detective first grade and I have worked investigations before. You do remember me telling you that?”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic about it,” Theodosia said.

  “Then tell me what will work with you?” Riley answered back. “What do I have to do to get you to stop meddling?”

  “I wish you’d stop worrying about me and just concentrate on getting better.”

  Riley flapped a hand to indicate his sterile, boring surroundings. “I’ve got nothing better to do than lie here in this stupid adjustable bed and worry about you.”

  “Please don’t.” Theodosia moved closer to his bed. He was starting to guilt her and make her feel awful.

  Riley put a hand up and swiped his forehead. “I think all this back-and-forth is giving me a headache.”

  “I’m sorry.” Now Theodosia felt even worse.

  “We keep going around and around,” Riley said.

  Theodosia gazed at him for a long five seconds. Then she leaned forward and took his hand. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He groaned. “Oh man.”

  She pulled back and frowned. “You sound as if you’re in pain. Do you want me to call a nurse?”

  “No, I want you to—” Riley stopped abruptly and pursed his lips. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  “But you want this crime to be solved.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then work with me. Let me help. Bounce things off me.”

  Riley stared at her. “Bounce . . .”

  “Let’s go back to the very beginning,” Theodosia said suddenly, hoping to get him talking. “Try to re-create Sunday night at the haunted house.”

  Riley’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  “So it’s opening night and people have arrived for an evening of fun and fantasy. But the killer is probably there, too, ghosting around. Willow sits in the parlor autographing books, until suddenly she’s not. For some reason she leaves her table right in the middle of her big opening-night gig . . .” Theodosia stopped and stared at Riley. His eyes were half-closed as if he were visualizing the situation right along with her. Would he take up the narrative? Theodosia prayed that he would.

  “The killer is watching Willow,” Riley said slowly. “But mostly he’s got his eyes on the diamonds. They represent escape and power to him, a way out of trouble, a means to a better life.”

  “How does the killer lure Willow away from her table?” Theodosia whispered. “How does he get her to go upstairs with him?”

  Riley thought for a few moments. “Somehow they know each other. They’ve crossed paths before, so Willow feels safe. The killer says something to her, makes some kind of impassioned plea or excuse that gets Willow upstairs. Once she’s there he’s able to control her completely.”

  “How does he do that?” Theodosia asked.

  Riley opened his eyes. “The way most criminals control their victims. Threatened her, probably held a gun on her.”

  “What kind of slug did the doctors take out of your arm?” Theodosia asked.

  Riley stared at her. “A forty-five.”

  “So that’s what our killer-shooter was carrying,” Theodosia said. She felt a thrill at having a sliver of inside information. Now, could she do something with it? Could she take it to the next step?

  “But there was a loose end,” Riley said.

  “The pendant,” Theodosia said. “He was greedy and wanted the pendant, too. Because that’s the real biggie.”

  “She wasn’t wearing it,” Riley said. He stared pointedly at Theodosia. “You never did say—did you find the pendant when you were searching tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder if the killer had already found it?” Riley said. “Just before I showed up at Willow’s apartment.”

  “I’m guessing he did. And then, of course, he also grabbed Willow’s computer—her laptop. To make it look like . . . something else?”

  “Yes, but it’s entirely possible that the killer’s name was somehow on Willow’s computer. Perhaps there were e-mails or notes that the killer needed to erase. Best way to do that is to grab the whole thing and destroy the hard drive,” Riley said. “Beat it to death with a ball-peen hammer or dump it in a swamp somewhere.”

  “Besides the diamonds, do you think Willow’s murder had anything to do with a book she was writing?” Theodosia asked.

  “I don’t know. Was she working on another book?”

  “According to people at the Heritage Society, Willow might have been noodling one around.”

  Riley thought for a few moments. “That sounds like . . . not a good reason to murder someone.” He was quiet for a few moments, ruminating, then he turned his gaze back on Theodosia. “You’re a femme fatale,” he said. “You worked your wiles on me and tempted me into talking. I told you way more than I should have.”

  “But doesn’t it feel good?” Theodosia asked. “Don’t you feel like we’re getting somewhere?”

  Riley offered her a crooked grin. “I’m afraid the jury’s still out on that.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Earl Grey was waiting for Theodosia when she arrived home.

  “Sorry it’s so late, buddy,” she said. Snapping a leash on Earl Grey, she walked him down the back alley and around the block, allowing for plenty of mandatory sniff time.

  Back home, Theodosia locked the door, double-checked it just in case a boogeyman was hanging around, and made herself a cup of lavender tea. She placed the teacup on a silver tray along with a Fortnum & Mason ginger biscuit for herself and a dog biscuit for Earl Grey. Then she walked into her dining room, grabbed Willow’s book, and gave Earl Grey the high sign that it was time for them to head upstairs for the night.

  Theodosia was more than comfortable with the notion of being an old-fashioned girl, and the upstairs of her home reflected that sensibility. Her second-floor suite, consisting of a bedroom, walk-in closet, and tower alcove, had been lovingly and carefully furnished. A pale-blue Oriental rug was soft and easy on bare feet and paws. A billowy down comforter had turned her bed into a virtual cloud. Laura Ashley wallpaper—the Forsythia Seaspray pattern—adorned the walls. A vintage dressing table held an old-fashioned brush and comb set as well as a Jo Malone candle, bronze leopard statue, rose-patterned ceramic box, basket of costume jewelry, box of stationery, and her journal.

  Her tower room, her retreat, was furnished with an overstuffed chair, footstool, small lacquer table, antique bookcases, and a Tiffany lamp. Well, Tiffany-style anyway. Timothy Neville was the only person she knew who owned an authentic Tiffany lamp.

  Curling up in her easy chair, Earl Grey eating his biscuit while stretched out on his L.L.Bean dog bed (one of three in the house), Theodosia opened Willow’s book, paged through it, and began to read.

  The story she chose was “The Mystery of Alice Flagg,” the tale of a young woman who had a secret admirer. Unfortunately, her brother, a strict and straitlaced doctor, thoroughly disapproved of Alice’s choice in men. So poor Alice, for her sin of falling in love with this miscreant, was kicked out of her own house, contracted malaria, and eventually died. Upon her death, a wedding ring on a blue ribbon was found tied around her neck.

  Theodosia shook her head and closed the book. That’s all she needed, another tale of a would-be bride who ended up dead. Not the kind of stuff that was conducive to sweet dreams.

  Then again, her head was still spinning from nightmarish images. Poor Willow danglin
g from the end of a rope. And though she hadn’t actually witnessed Riley lying on a stretcher, a terrible red bloom of blood working its way through the thin white blanket the EMTs had hastily thrown over him, she could still see it vividly in her imagination.

  And then there was the angry face of Ellis Bouchard. The devastation on Robert Vardell’s face.

  So much to think about.

  Almost too much. She hoped it wouldn’t give her nightmares.

  11

  Theodosia stood at the counter, watching Drayton pull a tin of Fujian silver tea from his floor-to-ceiling shelves. He studied it, frowned slightly, as if something wasn’t quite right, and put it back on the shelf. He stood on tiptoes, searched his shelves again, and pulled out a tin of Harney & Sons Silver Needle tea instead. Even though the Indigo Tea Shop didn’t open for another twenty minutes, and customers pretty much chose their own blend of fresh-brewed tea, Drayton liked to be ready with a couple of steaming pots. For emergency purposes, he always said.

  “Who do you think is our prime suspect?” Theodosia asked him.

  Drayton set his tea tin on the counter and stared at her. “That’s a fine opening line for a Tuesday morning. Who do you think it is?”

  “Right now I’m thinking Ellis Bouchard.”

  “Interesting,” Drayton said. “Yesterday you weren’t so sure.”

  “I know. But I’ve given it some more thought, and I think Bouchard really was in a desperate situation with his real estate holdings. He was nervous, worried sick about losing his properties, until one day he noticed Willow’s diamonds.”

  “Where do you suppose he saw them?” Drayton grabbed a blue-and-white teapot and added three scoops of tea as well as the traditional pinch for the pot.

  “Maybe he was hanging around the Bouchard Mansion while the haunted house was being set up. Maybe he ran into Willow at the Heritage Society. She could have dropped by to visit Timothy. Or she was doing research in their library,” Theodosia said.

  “It all sounds a little far-fetched,” Drayton said.