by Laura Childs
“You can’t get involved in this,” Riley pleaded.
“I already am,” Theodosia said. “Because I suspect something very important is going down with Fawn.”
Theodosia glanced over at Drayton, who was jammed into the passenger seat. His heels were wedged against the front floorboard; his hands gripped the dashboard.
“Yellow light!” Drayton yelped.
Theodosia blew right through it.
“The ransom call came through, didn’t it?” Theodosia said to Riley.
“Okay, yes, it did. I’ll level with you. But you’ve got to forget any silly notion of . . .”
“And Meredith delivered her bag of money?”
“It was a female officer dressed up to look like Meredith, but . . .”
“But what? Where did your officer drop the ransom money?”
There were a few moments of dead air, and then Riley said in an anguished voice, “What does it matter? We lost the guy.”
“The guy? What guy?” Theodosia asked.
“Whoever picked up the duffel bag of ransom money.”
“How could you people be so careless?” Theodosia was practically shouting now.
“We had a team on it, but whoever picked up the ransom took this twisty detour down Longitude Lane.”
“That can’t happen,” Theodosia said. “Longitude Lane dead-ends. There is no exit.”
“Our boy created one. Rammed into a wooden fence and plowed through someone’s prized rose garden. Toppled some expensive statuary, too.”
“Then what?” Theodosia asked.
“And then I don’t know what happened exactly. We think he drove down Tradd and hit East Bay Street. But it’s horribly foggy over there by the river, and there’s a possibility the guy pulled a fast one. Maybe changed cars in the Prioleau Street Garage . . . whatever. The point is, he’s gone. Disappeared like a thief in the night.”
“That’s all the more reason for me to follow Fawn!” Theodosia cried. “Don’t you see the connection? Come on, Riley, think hard and put the pieces together. Fawn has to be involved!”
“No! Do not follow Fawn. Give up this chase. It’s a terrible idea,” Riley said.
Theodosia glanced over at Drayton again. “Riley says this chase is a terrible idea.”
Drayton clenched his teeth together and gave a tight nod. “He’s right.”
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said to Riley, “but I’m going to stay on Fawn’s tail. Stick to her like glue. Try to figure where she’s going . . . where she’ll lead us.” Her eyes followed the black BMW as it sped along ahead of her, weaving its way down Meeting Street.
“Now, Theodosia, I want you to tell me exactly where you are,” Riley said. He’d suddenly switched to his nicey-nice voice. The voice cops generally use when they really want to get their way. “Tell me exactly what street you’re on and what intersection you’re approaching.”
“Sorry. What?” Theodosia handed the phone to Drayton.
“Hello?” Drayton warbled. He had one eye glued to the speedometer, one eye on the road ahead.
“Drayton! Talk some sense into her!” Riley cried.
Drayton listened to Riley’s pleas for a few moments, then dropped the phone to his chest. “He wants me to talk some sense into you.”
“Good luck with that,” Theodosia said. She’d just seen Fawn hang a hard right onto Atlantic, so she moved into the right lane and put on her blinker. Never mind that a semi tractor trailer was in the way.
“Careful!” Drayton shrilled. Then he waggled the phone at her. “What am I supposed to tell . . . ?”
“Just hang up. Turn off the phone.”
* * *
* * *
Theodosia followed Fawn through a warren of narrow streets and then onto the more traffic-heavy East Bay Street.
“This is the same route the ransom guy took,” she said softly.
“Hmm?” Drayton said.
As they passed Rainbow Row, Theodosia said, “How much do you bet Fawn’s heading out of the city?” A couple more blocks and she said, “Yes, here we go. She’s taking the entrance ramp to the Ravenel Bridge.”
“Stay back! Don’t let her see you,” Drayton warned.
Theodosia stayed two cars back as they hummed across the impressive Ravenel Bridge. The intricate network of guy wires strummed overhead; the Cooper River flowed dark and silent below them.
Once across the bridge, they were in Mt. Pleasant, moving at a fairly good clip. Fawn was a strong, aggressive driver who was unafraid to dodge in and out of traffic.
“You’re being very sneaky, keeping a couple of cars for cover between you and Fawn,” Drayton remarked.
“I saw this in a Vin Diesel movie once.” Theodosia tapped the side of her head. “I always figured the technique might come in handy someday.”
“Indeed,” Drayton said. Though he looked like he might lose his cookies at any moment.
“So why was Fawn in hiding?” Theodosia wondered aloud. “What exactly is her game?”
“Do you think Fawn was the one who murdered Reginald? Could she have shot him?”
“Maybe.”
“And you’re quite convinced that Fawn is linked to the ransom demand as well?” Drayton asked.
“I’d say she has to be.”
“Do you think Fawn hired someone to grab the ransom for her?”
“If the kidnapping has all been faked—and that certainly seems to be the case—then my best guess is that Fawn has a partner.”
“A compadre in crime,” Drayton murmured. “Someone to pick up the ransom money for her.”
“So maybe it was her partner who killed Reginald,” Theodosia speculated.
“No matter who committed the murder, it looks as if Fawn is a nasty schemer.” Drayton pursed his lips together. “And here I thought she was such a sweet girl.”
“Let that be a lesson to you,” Theodosia said. She was half-serious, half-joking.
Traffic had thinned out somewhat as they followed Highway 41 into a slightly more rural area.
“Be careful now,” Drayton warned. “We don’t want Fawn to figure out she’s being followed.”
Theodosia lifted her foot from the accelerator and fell back another hundred yards. They passed a strip mall, barbecue joint, market with pumpkins and squash piled up outside, used-car lot, and several small office complexes.
“Good thing Fawn’s driving that big BMW. It’s a recognizable car, easy to follow,” she said.
When they were well out into the countryside, gliding past the occasional seafood joint, gun range, and mom-and-pop store, Fawn slowed, then turned down Rutledge Road.
“Now what?” Drayton asked.
As if to answer his question, Theodosia turned off her lights.
“Good thing there’s a hint of moonlight out here,” Drayton said as they ghosted along behind Fawn.
“Let’s just hope some hotshot in a pickup truck doesn’t come roaring up behind us, only to see us at the last minute,” Theodosia said.
The road dipped slightly, and off to their right, moonlight glistened like oil on a pond of brackish water. Tupelo and white pine trees stood like sentinels.
“If I can rightly recall that map you printed out, doesn’t the Lavender Lady live out this way?”
“Blue Moon Lavender Farm is just down the road a piece, yes.” Theodosia was starting to feel sick at heart that Susan Monday might be involved in this murder-kidnapping scheme after all.
But when Fawn reached the turnoff for Blue Moon Lavender Farm, she sailed right past it. Didn’t hesitate, didn’t pass go, didn’t collect two hundred dollars.
“She didn’t turn in,” Theodosia whispered. Maybe she could breathe easy about Susan Monday’s innocence now?
“So where are we going?” Drayton asked.
“No idea.”
“What if Fawn just keeps driving? All the way to the Florida-Georgia line?”
“Then we’ll wave goodbye to her and buy a crate of orange
s for our trouble.”
“Or peaches,” Drayton said.
But they didn’t have to go quite that far.
Some eight miles later, Fawn passed a small white church with a soaring steeple—what Southerners often call a praise house—and then turned down a narrow dirt road.
“Here we go. Something’s happening now,” Drayton said.
Theodosia slowed, made the turn, and bumped along. Now Fawn was easy to follow—she was jouncing along ahead of them, kicking up a hellacious cloud of dust.
“She’s surely got a meet-up with someone,” Theodosia said as the road narrowed to a faint dirt track.
“Who can it be?” Drayton asked.
“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “We know it’s not Susan Monday, Clewis has already been cleared, and I don’t think Guy Thorne has the guts or the smarts for this type of intrigue.”
“Not Meredith?” Drayton asked.
“Meredith and Alex were the ones who got the ransom money together and entrusted it to the police. So who’s left?”
“Jack Grimes?”
“You think he came sneaking back from his brother’s place? That he was able to arrange all this?”
“Grimes did not strike me as a smart, methodical planner,” Drayton said.
“That’s putting it kindly.”
Theodosia felt like she was driving into a maelstrom as trees began to close in on her, blotting out the night sky and making everything seem darker. The road was turning to sticky mud beneath her wheels. Low-hanging branches swatted her windshield. Every once in a while, when she topped a slight rise, she could see the red taillights of the BMW still ahead of her.
Drayton gazed out the side window. “Spooky out here.”
Theodosia squinted through the haze, trying to make out the squishy dirt track that seemed to be getting more and more difficult to follow. Now and then, her headlights caught a pair of shining eyes.
“What was that?” Drayton asked as a pair of bright eyes stared at them, then disappeared into the ditch.
“Raccoon. Or maybe an opossum.”
“Are there alligators out here?”
“Yes, but probably not on this road.”
Suddenly, the BMW’s brake lights flared red.
“Something’s happening,” Theodosia said.
Drayton leaned forward expectantly. “Is Fawn stopping?”
“I think there’s some sort of—” Theodosia hit the brakes and slowed her Jeep to a crawl. “There’s, like, a barn up ahead.”
“Out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Maybe it wasn’t the middle of nowhere when the barn was built,” Theodosia said. She knew this land had once been occupied by dozens of rice and indigo plantations.
“Please be careful,” Drayton said as they coasted in closer.
They rolled to a stop in the shelter of a gnarled oak tree and watched as Fawn jumped out of her car and walked toward a small, dilapidated one-story barn. Almost instantly, a light flared inside the barn, as if a lantern had been lit or a flashlight turned on.
“Come on.” Theodosia grabbed a flashlight from her glove box, opened her door slowly, and eased her way out. Drayton followed suit.
They tiptoed slowly through tall, dry grass that made a soft whoosh-whooshing sound. There was the hoot of an owl off to their left, accompanied by a small, die-hard chorus of crickets. Dampness hung heavy in the air. They were in boggy territory now, probably close to one of the many creeks that honeycombed this area. Back in the eighteen hundreds, rice had been the cash crop here. Carolina Gold. Many of the old rice dikes and ditches, canals and ponds, still remained, dotting the landscape.
Theodosia and Drayton moved ever closer, wondering what Fawn’s secret meeting was all about. They could make out faint voices. But who on earth was she talking to in there?
They snuck up to a dusty, grimy window, hesitated, and then surreptitiously peered in.
There, in the dim light, was Fawn Doyle, resplendent in her lovely gold dress. She looked strangely out of place in the dingy surroundings. Yet there she was, holding out a green leather satchel as if she were asking someone to fill it with spun gold.
Who was supposed to fill it? Theodosia wondered. And with what? The ransom money? Okay, so just who was Fawn’s mysterious accomplice?
Off in the darkness of the barn, a shadow moved, then lengthened, as a man stepped into the light.
Theodosia blinked, barely able to believe her eyes.
It was Bill Jacoby! Reginald Doyle’s business partner!
Jacoby was talking to Fawn, speaking urgently. But this wasn’t the hail-hearty Bill Jacoby that Theodosia had seen before. This Bill Jacoby wore a nasty, tight smile on his face.
Killer was the first word that streaked like lightning through Theodosia’s brain. This man is a stone-cold killer.
“Have you got it?” Fawn demanded in a loud, authoritative voice. “Did the old lady drop off the money like you asked?” Fawn’s personality had also done an about-face. Where her voice had been soft and almost whispery before, her demeanor diffident, she’d suddenly assumed an aggressive stance and spoke in a harsh, abrasive manner.
“I got it,” Jacoby said. “Boy, did I get it.” He let loose the nervous cackle of a psychopath.
“Nobody followed you?”
“Not a chance,” Jacoby said. “Not the route I drove.” He puffed up his chest, just this side of bragging.
“You’re positive?” Fawn pressed. “You’re not exactly the brightest bulb in the box.”
They’re fighting, Theodosia thought. They’re not together on this at all. Which could be . . . a good thing?
Jacoby’s mouth pulled into a snarl. “Don’t be such a witch. Maybe you were followed.”
Fawn gave a snort and lifted her chin. “Nobody knows where I am, remember?” She sounded almost contemptuous. “For all they know, I’m fish food at the bottom of Charleston Harbor.”
She fooled us all, Theodosia told herself as she watched this bizarre tableau play out.
“Good thing I own a boat or you couldn’t have pulled that off,” Jacoby said.
“Good thing I intercepted your package from Huntley Ltd.,” Fawn shot back at him. “I wondered what you were going to do with that concealed pistol holster. Then I realized you were probably up to no good, and all I had to do was lie back in the weeds and follow you. See what poor schmuck was on your personal hit list. And lo and behold, there you were, slinking away from Reginald Doyle with the proverbial smoking gun clutched in your hand.” She uttered a sharp laugh. “It was textbook perfect.”
“That’s enough out of you,” Jacoby barked. “Shut up!”
“You shut up.” Fawn tossed her leather satchel at Jacoby, where it landed at his feet. “I want my cut. Half. Just like we agreed.”
Jacoby reached back and grabbed a brown duffel bag. It was fat and obviously stuffed with money. He reached in and grabbed a packet of hundred-dollar bills, stared at it, then handed it to Fawn.
“That’s it,” Jacoby said. “There’s your cut.”
“Not on your life!” Fawn shouted as the money fluttered in her hand. “This doesn’t even come close to what we agreed to. I want half. I deserve half.”
Jacoby stared at her for a long, hard moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was slippery as grease.
“I’m thinking we need to renegotiate our terms.”
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” Fawn yelled. “We had a deal. I not only kept my mouth shut about your cold-blooded murder, I helped you figure out an even better scheme—my own kidnapping and ransom demand.” She bared her teeth in an ugly snarl. “So I get half. Because I earned every single penny of it!”
“Little girl, I’m not sure you’re worth two and a half million dollars.”
“You incompetent fool. Don’t you realize I can make a call just like that to law enforcement?” The threat was imminent in Fawn’s voice. “All I have to do is accuse you of murder and kidnapping. Of holdi
ng me for ransom. Then where would you be?”
“Aren’t you the clever girl,” Jacoby said with a menacing sneer.
“So don’t dare try to cheat me.” Fawn’s face pulled into a nasty mask, her voice dropped to a grating, guttural rasp.
She sounded, Theodosia thought, just like the possessed child from The Exorcist.
“Or what?” Jacoby demanded.
“Or you can spend the next thirty years twiddling your fat fingers in an eight-by-ten-foot cell at Lee Correctional? How would you like that?”
“I know a better way to settle this argument.” With a superior smile, Jacoby reached into his jacket, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it directly at Fawn.
Good grief, Theodosia thought. He had that pistol stuck in his jacket. There’s your concealed weapon. The murder weapon.
“You see, my dear Fawn,” Jacoby said in a low, menacing tone, “you do not have the upper hand. You never did. It was all . . . an illusion.”
“You’re a ridiculous fool,” Fawn snarled. “How dare you.”
“Better to shut your mouth and whisper a final prayer,” Jacoby said as he lifted his pistol and aimed it directly at Fawn’s heart.
“You’ll never get away . . .” Fawn sputtered. All of a sudden, realizing her dire situation, she could barely speak. Her face, her body, betrayed it all. Fawn was stunned by the sudden turn of events, the hasty reversal of fortune. Blood drained from her face as she stared at Jacoby and whimpered, “Don’t. Please, don’t do it.”
Theodosia couldn’t bear it any longer. She knew she had to act fast, she had to do something to keep Fawn from being shot to death! She watched in horror as Jacoby’s finger, as if moving in slow motion, curled around the trigger.
Theodosia lifted her flashlight high above her head and swung it with all her might, as if she were hitting the winning home run in the final game of the World Series. As the flashlight crashed into the dusty window, the old glass shattered like skim ice on a pond. Shards of brittle glass flew like a hail of bullets. Theodosia felt a sting hit her forehead, watched as hundreds more sharp pieces blew into the old barn.
“Stop!” Theodosia screamed with all the sound and fury she could muster. “Drop the gun, Jacoby!”