by Laura Childs
Drayton burst her bubble.
“You have to tell Tidwell about this,” he said. “Like, right now.”
“But I was planning to track Vardell down and . . .”
“And what? Confront the man in person? Throw the bitter truth in his face?”
“Something like that,” Theodosia said.
“That’s far too dangerous. You need to turn this information over to the authorities. Let them deal with Robert Vardell.” Drayton stared at her. “Think of it as your contribution to law enforcement.”
“Maybe the authorities already know.”
“And maybe they don’t. Go ahead, call them,” Drayton said.
“Now?”
“There’s no time like the present.”
Theodosia went back to her office, still trying to decide if she should make the call. She plopped down in her desk chair, picked up a pen, and twiddled it between her fingers. She mulled it over, the pros and cons, changed her mind a few times. Then, finally, she called Detective Burt Tidwell’s office.
She didn’t reach Tidwell directly—he was harder to get hold of than the president—but she did talk to an investigator named Glen Humphries. She told him about her discovery, trying to be as calm and succinct as possible. Humphries listened carefully, thanked her, and assured her they would follow up on the information.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come over there?” Theodosia asked. “Go through this in person with Detective Tidwell? Lay it all out for him?”
“No,” Humphries said. “We’ll take care of it.”
* * *
* * *
Because it was still drizzling outside, only half of the tea room was filled for lunch today. Good thing, because Theodosia was still vibrating with outrage and excitement. Discovering that Robert Vardell was a bold-faced liar had pretty much changed everything. He’d suddenly been catapulted from a maybe directly to numero uno on her suspect list. And what Theodosia still wanted most of all was to confront him face-to-face. Before the Charleston Police Department got their hot little hands on Vardell, before he lawyered up. Easier said than done, however, because Vardell seemed to be a moving target. And if he knew he’d been exposed as a fraud, he might just go into hiding.
Theodosia’s brain was in a whirl as she took orders, served lunch, and hustled back to the kitchen to pick up the food. She needed to tell Timothy about this new development, too. Although she feared it would upset him even more, maybe even tip him over the edge.
“Earth to Theo,” Haley said. “Here are your two bowls of lentil soup.”
Theodosia pulled herself out of her head and back into the here and now.
“Okay, thanks, Haley. You do know your chicken salad puffs are going like hotcakes out there? The guests are loving them.”
“Is Drayton serving the Queen’s Blend green tea from Plum Deluxe? You know that’s such a nice accompaniment to chicken.”
“I’m pretty sure he did brew a pot.”
“Hey, remember when you were asking me about Willow? About her engagement and stuff?”
Theodosia cocked her head at Haley. “Yes?”
“Well, I remembered another thing. I don’t know if it’s going to help . . .”
“What is it, Haley? What did you remember?”
“I know Willow was working with some hotshot wedding planner. A guy who specialized in super elegant weddings and was taking care of all the picky little details for her.”
“Do you know the wedding planner’s name?”
Haley thought for a few moments, then shook her head. “Nope. She told me, but I guess I forgot.”
“Okay. Still, that’s an interesting sidebar.”
By one fifteen, things had settled down at the tea shop. Keeping an eye on her late customers, as well as a few who were still lingering, Theodosia finally called the Heritage Society and asked for Henry Curtis.
“Henry’s not here,” one of the women in the conservation department told her. “He was supposed to work today, but he never showed up.”
“Did he call in?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Okay, thanks,” Theodosia said. She thought about Henry Curtis and decided his no-show at the haunted house, the funeral, and now his internship at the Heritage Society was also puzzling. Did Henry have something to hide? Was she barking up the wrong tree with Robert Vardell? Maybe Vardell was just a liar and a poseur. Maybe Henry Curtis was the one she should be investigating.
Theodosia’s thoughts were interrupted when Haley came out into the tea room to talk with her.
“Got something I want to run by you,” Haley said.
“Sure.”
“You know that Enchanted Garden Party we’re catering at the Featherbed House this Saturday?” Haley said.
Theodosia nodded.
“I was thinking of making a raven cake.”
Drayton peered at Haley over his half-glasses. “You’re going to bake a raven? Won’t the feathers gum up your oven?”
“Not a real one,” Haley laughed. “A cake that’s in the shape of a raven.”
“In other words, you’re going to make one of your fabulous fondant creations,” Theodosia said. “A glitzed-up Halloween cake.”
“Yeah,” Haley said. “Probably sculpt my raven out of chocolate cake, make feathers out of fondant, and use colored candy for the eyes.” She paused. “Do you think Angie would like that?”
“I think she’d love it,” Theodosia said. Angie Congdon was the owner of the Featherbed House B and B and one of Theodosia’s dear friends. Angie also loved a good theme party.
“You know what else would be cool? I mean, for Drayton to do?” Haley said.
“I await your suggestion with bated breath,” Drayton said.
Haley reached out and poked a finger at Drayton’s chest. “You could do one of your readings.”
“Ah. You were thinking perhaps a work by Edgar Allan Poe?” Drayton asked.
“Why not? It’d be perfect for Halloween. More than perfect,” Haley said.
“Interesting idea,” Drayton said. He spoke in a casual, offhand manner, but Theodosia and Haley could see that he was almost gung ho to do it.
“Just noodle it around,” Haley said as she disappeared back into her kitchen.
“What do you think?” Drayton asked Theodosia. “About my doing a reading?”
“I think it’s a grand idea. Angie and her guests will love it. I mean, they’re decorating the garden to look all spooky, so a reading will fit in perfectly. Besides, it’s Halloween. People expect a few thrills and chills.”
Drayton scratched his head. “I’m not sure I have a book of Poe in my library at home. Pity that special one went missing from the Heritage Society.”
“Tell you what, I’m pretty sure I know where I can lay my hands on one,” Theodosia said.
* * *
* * *
Lois Chamberlain, the proprietor of Antiquarian Books, looked up from the book she was reading as Theodosia walked through her front door. Lois was a compact woman in her late fifties who today wore a dark-green pullover sweater, black yoga pants, and bright-red half-glasses. Her long gray hair was plaited in a single braid that extended halfway down her back.
“Thank goodness, a customer,” Lois said with her trademark crinkly smile. She was a former librarian who’d opened a used-book store when the previous occupant, a small map store, had gone belly-up and moved out owing several months’ rent. Now Lois occupied the space and dealt in used, vintage, and collectible books. With her smarts and knowledge of the book world, she seemed to be making a go of the place.
“Hey, Lois,” Theodosia said. “Do you have anything by Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?” Lois asked. Then added, “I probably have two shelves full of Poe. Over the
re, Theo. The bookcase against the far wall. Look under the red sign that says P to Q.” She chuckled. “Or maybe I should change it to read P’s and Q’s.”
Lois actually had more than four dozen books on Poe, but Theodosia chose the one that she knew contained the poem “The Raven” to complement Haley’s proposed cake. Theodosia carried the book to the counter and set it down.
“How much?”
“Ten dollars,” Lois said. “Let me guess. Is Drayton doing a reading?”
Theodosia nodded. “A little extra entertainment for the Enchanted Garden Party at the Featherbed House.”
Lois picked up the book and studied it. “Good old Edgar Allan. Ever since he spent that year or so here in Charleston, stalking our windswept beaches and writing poetry, he’s been one popular fella. Especially when Halloween rolls around. Even so, I sell a lot of these books all year. Sometimes it’s hard to keep them in stock.”
Theodosia opened her wallet, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and slid it across the counter.
“Lois, you’re a book person. Does the name Allan Barnaby ring any bells with you?”
“Sure does,” Lois said, as she put the Poe book into a small paper sack.
Theodosia didn’t think she’d strike pay dirt quite so easily. But seeing that she had, she decided to ask Lois a couple of questions.
“Really? How do you know Barnaby? Or I should say, what do you know about him?”
“You mean Barnaby’s curriculum vitae? All I know is he’s a partner in a newish publishing firm.”
“Barnaby and Boise.”
Lois cocked a finger at her. “That’s it. You know, I even stock a couple of their authors.”
“How are those books doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Actually, I’m more interested in how the publisher is doing,” Theodosia said.
“Obviously, Barnaby and Boise is new to the game, but their sales and distribution seem fairly solid,” Lois said. “Though I’m not sure their consumer marketing efforts have been all that extensive. Allan Barnaby’s expertise, of course, lies mainly in used books.”
Had Theodosia heard her correctly? “Used books?”
Lois nodded. “Sure. Allan Barnaby made his chops as a rare-book dealer.”
Theodosia’s heart skipped a beat. Was Barnaby still dealing rare books on the side? Could he have stolen the Heritage Society’s Edgar Allan Poe book?
“Do you know, was Barnaby fairly successful as a dealer of rare books?”
“Well . . .” Lois blinked. “I know that Allan Barnaby owned a bookshop down in Savannah for several years. On Whitaker Street where some of the more upscale retailers are located. So I’m guessing he did fairly well.”
* * *
* * *
Back at the tea shop, Theodosia handed the Edgar Allan Poe book over to Drayton and said, “Guess what.”
He gazed at her, a question on his face. “This is Timothy’s missing book?”
“I wish. Guess again.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Lois just told me that Allan Barnaby used to be a rare-book dealer.”
Drayton frowned. “That information strikes me as fairly . . . ominous.”
“Tell me about it. Just when I’d settled on either Robert Vardell or Ellis Bouchard as the killer, good old Barnaby breaks from the back of the pack and comes racing down the homestretch,” Theodosia said.
“Just because Barnaby might have filched Timothy’s rare book you think that makes him a killer?”
Theodosia put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “Drayton, I don’t know. I guess what I’ve got to do is . . .” She stopped for a few moments and tried to focus her thoughts. Did she know what she had to do? Well, yes, she actually did. “If I want to come up with persuasive evidence that I can present to the police, evidence that points directly to one single person, then I’ve got to work a whole lot harder.”
“No,” Drayton said. “We’ve got to work a lot harder.”
Theodosia saw the look of intensity on Drayton’s face. “You’re still willing to help? Really?”
“Haven’t I been helping so far?”
“A person couldn’t ask for a better amateur detective partner,” Theodosia said, flashing him an appreciative smile.
“Well there you go,” Drayton said. “We’ll just keep sticking our noses in where they don’t belong.”
“I guess it’s like they say in poker, Drayton. We’re all in.”
24
Tonight was a big night for Earl Grey. For Theodosia, too. They’d shown up at Pete Riley’s apartment around six thirty and immediately started cooking dinner. Well, Theodosia was doing the cooking; Earl Grey was more like hanging out and kibitzing.
“This is so great of you guys to come over,” Riley said. He was walking around in jeans, a T-shirt that said back the blue, and stocking feet. His left arm was in a sling, and he was sipping from a can of Hilton Head Crab Pilsner.
“You’re not taking pain meds with that, are you?” Theodosia asked. She didn’t want him to doze off before dinner. Or put himself into a stupor.
“Nope, I’m good,” Riley said. “Don’t even need the pain pills anymore. I didn’t take any yesterday, either.”
“Well, I’m glad we finally have some together time. I’m glad you found a break in your busy schedule for us,” Theodosia said.
“Yeah, well, it’s been weird. This whole week has been weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
Riley had requested Theodosia’s famous chicken with cheese and prosciutto, so that’s what she was busy fixing. She’d already dipped her chicken in an egg and herb mixture and was now browning it lightly in olive oil.
“You won’t forget to add the garlic, will you?” Riley asked.
“No, I’ve got it right here.” Theodosia tossed in three cloves of garlic, let them soften for a few minutes, then mashed them gently.
“Gee, this is great of you to fix dinner for me,” Riley said. “I know you’ve been busy.”
“I have been busy,” Theodosia said. She diced three slices of prosciutto and chopped up some provolone cheese to add later, once the chicken had baked in the oven for twenty minutes. “I’ve discovered a few strange things that relate directly to Willow’s murder.”
Riley peered at her from across the counter. “Such as?”
“For one thing, that so-called haunted house has a secret exit. But I think you already know that. I think you’ve probably been on the phone with Tidwell, burning up the lines, pressing him for as many details as possible.”
Riley didn’t confirm or deny. Instead, he took another sip of beer and said, “And you think that’s how the killer escaped.” It was a statement not a question.
“Probably,” Theodosia said.
“Which would point to Ellis Bouchard,” Riley said. “Since he had intimate knowledge of the building.”
“Yes, but there are a few other wrinkles. It turns out that Robert Vardell is a complete skunk. That he was leading Willow on.”
Now Riley started to look interested.
“What do you mean? How so?”
“Vardell managed to convince everyone—especially Willow—that he was some kind of financial genius. That he was bringing in a high six-figure salary at his investment firm. But the truth of the matter is, Vardell’s a flunky. He doesn’t have an assistant; he is the assistant.”
“Vardell was making a play for Willow’s money?” Riley said slowly. “So he had motive.”
“Beaucoup motive.”
“Somehow I doubt that Vardell willingly divulged his personal information to you. How did you find out?”
“Contrary to what you might think, I didn’t break into his building in the dead of night and rifle through secret files. I simply called his office and sp
oke with the receptionist.”
“That’s it?”
“Sometimes the most direct route is the best.”
“Did you tell Tidwell about this?” Riley asked.
“Yes. I didn’t want to show all my cards, but Drayton sort of forced me into it. Said it was my civic duty or some such thing.”
“Good for you.” Riley tipped his half-empty can toward her. “You have been busy. Tell me more. Wait, is there more?”
“Yes. I discovered that Henry Curtis, an intern at the Heritage Society, sent Willow a sort of love note.”
“Why would he do that?” Riley asked.
Theodosia just stared at him. “Maybe because he really, really liked her?”
“Okay, but . . . have you quizzed this guy Curtis about it? Tried to pin him down and find out what the relationship really was? I mean, what if there was a love triangle?”
Theodosia smiled. “You do have a suspicious mind, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“Hey, I’m the guy who’s stuck at home and getting all this tasty information secondhand. I’m not out there on the front lines anymore,” Riley said.
“Let’s try and keep it that way,” Theodosia said. “Until you get a lot better.” She scooped her chicken breasts into a baking dish and stuck it in the oven. “That’s got to bake for twenty minutes before I toss on the prosciutto and cheese.”
“Want me to open a bottle of wine?” Riley asked as he chucked his empty can into the trash.
Theodosia looked carefully at Riley. “Maybe you’ve had enough to drink tonight.”
“Keeping tabs on me, huh?”
“As you are on me.”
Riley grinned at her as he reached out with his good arm and pulled her close.
“Touché,” he said.
* * *
* * *
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Theodosia and Earl Grey left Riley’s apartment. And because Theodosia was still vaguely curious about Willow’s wedding planner, she decided to double back to Willow’s apartment. This time alone.