Devonshire Scream (16 page)

“Stop it.” Theodosia batted him on the shoulder. “This is no laughing matter.”

Drayton sobered up. “Then we should leave.”

Theodosia held up a hand. “Not so fast. We've come this
far, so we should definitely check out the garage. See if his motorcycle is parked there.”

They hunched their way quietly toward the garage, a single-car structure that looked like it was practically falling down.

“Is there a window?” Drayton asked.

“Mmn . . . I think maybe.”

It was darker back there and the ground felt soft and squishy underfoot. Theodosia reached down and slipped off her shoes. No need to ruin them. They crept closer to the garage and found themselves stepping into some sort of flower bed loaded with mulch. Or maybe it was just dried-up leaves. Theodosia put a hand up against the garage wall and slid along to her left. Three steps later, her knee bumped against something hard. It was a wooden bench. And there was a small window set just above it.

“Help me up,” Theodosia whispered.

Drayton put a hand out to help her. When she was balancing on the teetering bench, he said, “See anything?”

“No, it's too dark.”

“Definitely time to go, then,” Drayton said. “Before we really do get caught.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when they heard a loud
rmm-rmm-rmming
sound.

Theodosia hopped noiselessly down from the bench and stared at him. “Was that a . . . ?”

“Motorcycle!” Drayton gasped.

A motorcycle was bumping down the alley, headed right toward them.

“Quick,” Theodosia mouthed.

They both ducked low just as a single headlamp swept across the brittle, dry grass of the backyard. There was more loud, throaty revving from the engine, then the rattling sound of a garage door going up.

Run for it? Stay put? Theodosia wasn't sure. Then, suddenly, the engine switched off and the night went silent. Now it was too late to make any kind of move. They froze instantaneously, and then slowly, carefully, tried to crouch even lower in the bed of mulch. They waited, barely breathing, as they heard boots scuffle on the cement apron, and then the garage door rumbled down.

Theodosia's eyes were wide as saucers as Billy Grainger passed within ten feet of them, heading up his back walk. There was a jingle of keys, and then the back door opened. Seconds later, it snicked closed and a light went on inside the house.

Theodosia slowly let out a breath. A close call. Grainger was inside his house now and, thank goodness, he hadn't seen them creeping around like a pair of Peeping Toms.

“We have to get out of here.” Drayton's voice was low and urgent.

Theodosia nodded. “I agree.” Then she tiptoed toward the house. The lights were blazing inside now. “But not before we take one little look.”

“No!” Drayton hissed.

But Theodosia was already creeping down the walk to the side of the house. Maybe something would be visible through that window now.

Drayton threw up his hands in frustration, but ended up following her anyway. When Theodosia pressed her nose to the window, he whispered, “Is Grainger in there?”

She nodded. “I think I saw him moving. But the window's so filthy it's hard to . . .” She rubbed a little circle on the window with her fist, trying to wipe away some of the grime.

“Now?” Drayton asked. “Now do you see him?”

Theodosia stared in again. “Oh jeepers.” Her voice was urgent and low. “Oh crap.”

“What?
What?
” Drayton asked.

Theodosia grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the window. Together they skittered toward the front of the house, then bent low and ran across the dry grass. Fifteen seconds later they were back safely in Theodosia's Jeep.

“What did you see?” Drayton asked. His curiosity was at a fever pitch; he knew she'd seen something strange.

“Billy Grainger,” Theodosia gasped out. “He was wearing a white shirt with a black bow tie.”

“What?” Drayton was practically dumbstruck by her words.
“What?”

“I said Billy . . .”

“No, no, I heard you the first time,” Drayton said. “What I meant was, what does that
mean
?”

“From the looks of things,” Theodosia said. “From the starched white shirt and fancy bow tie that he was wearing, I'd say Billy Grainger could have waltzed right in to the opera tonight!”

Midmorning on Thursday
and the Indigo Tea Shop was filled with customers. Teakettles chirped and burped as Theodosia and Drayton worked at top speed. Drayton pumped out freshly brewed pots of Nilgiri, orchid plum, and English breakfast tea. Theodosia hastily delivered these pots of tea, along with Haley's cranberry bread and orange scones, to all their customers who were seated at tables.

Just as they'd reached their maximum tipping point, just when they couldn't seat one more person or accept one additional take-out order, a colorful horse-drawn jitney rumbled to a stop outside their front door and disgorged a load of passengers.

“Uh-oh,” Drayton murmured. “Overload.”

Eight people spilled into the tea shop, chattering and laughing and shrieking for tea.

Except for one.

A solid-looking woman in a bright purple dress put her hands on her hips and said, “I don't drink tea.”

That brought the raucous group up short. They stood there, glancing about, shifting their feet.

Never wanting to turn away potential business, and seeing that a large table was about to become available, Theodosia stepped in to smooth things over.

“It's not a problem,” she told the group. “We have a Tea Totalers menu.”

Purple dress was not convinced. “What's that?” she asked, suspicion evident in her voice.

So Theodosia gave a quick explanation of teas and tisanes. How tea was brewed from the leaves of tea plants, but a tisane was basically a fruit or herbal infusion. She told her that a tisane might
look
like a tea and be served in a lovely china teacup, but it was really a brew made from plums or raspberries, peppermint or chamomile.

Once purple dress was satisfied that she could partake of a fruit tea, things settled down to a dull roar.

“Now, don't sneak any real tea into that lady's brew and make me a liar,” Theodosia warned Drayton.

“Hah,” he said. “After our sneak-and-peek excursion of last night, a little white lie is nothing. I ought to call and report you to Detective Tidwell for suspicious lurking.”

She turned. “You wouldn't.”

“No,” Drayton said as he measured out scoops of chocolate mint tea. “But you've certainly got me thinking the worst about Haley's boyfriend.”

“I hear you. But why would he be wearing a tux if he wasn't at the opera?”

Drayton poured a gush of hot water into a teapot, swished it around to warm the interior, and then dumped it out. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps his chosen profession demands that manner of dress?”

“You mean he's either a headwaiter or a vampire?”

“Very funny. But what if we accuse Haley's boyfriend of being part of that awful gang and it turns out he's not?”
Drayton asked. “If she gets mad at us for thinking the worst, she just might up and quit.” He glanced around at their roomful of customers. “Like right now. When we've got a full house.”

Theodosia had to agree. “That would be awful in more ways than one. We both love Haley. She's part of our tea shop family.”

“I completely agree,” Drayton said. “Plus, we've got our Romanov Tea later today.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You really wouldn't want to man the kitchen all by yourself, would you?”

Theodosia's eyes practically glazed over. “There's no way I could do what Haley does. Prepare all that food and get it out on time? Whip up actual blinis? I . . . well, I couldn't do it.”

They gazed at each other.

“Then perhaps we'll let the issue ride for now?” Drayton asked.

As if on cue, Haley came dashing out with a second tray of fresh-baked orange scones. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked as she set her tray on the counter. Her brows pinched together. “You look positively conspiratorial.”

“We were discussing you,” Drayton said.

Haley looked more than a little curious as she lifted the lid on a glass pie saver and began stacking her scones inside. “Oh yeah? What were you saying about me?”

“We're worried that we're putting too much pressure on you with all these themed teas,” Drayton said. “That you're possibly feeling scattered.”

Haley dropped the lid, shoved back a hank of blond hair, and gave him a quirky look. “Scattered? Me? Haven't you heard? I'm a millennial so I'm
supposed
to be scattered.” She struck a dramatic hand-on-her-hip pose. “And overly ambitious, too, don't you know? I'm supposed to be, like, this killer chef who has a hipster boyfriend and is studying
Mandarin Chinese while inventing new foodie apps for the iPhone. I'm supposed to want it all.”

Drayton was taken aback by her little outburst. “Goodness, Haley,
do
you want it all?”

Haley raised a fist over her head and grinned. “Of course I do. World domination, one scone at a time.”

•   •   •

At eleven o'clock,
just as Theodosia was about to run into the kitchen and check on lunch, Detective Tidwell strolled into the tea shop. She glanced around, spotted an empty table, and ushered him to it.

“Tea?” Theodosia asked. She knew Tidwell had come to talk, but he didn't mind being fussed over, either. In fact, all men enjoyed being fussed over when food was involved.

Tidwell's jowls sloshed in the affirmative. “Tea would be grand. And I wouldn't mind a scone as well.”

“Of course you wouldn't.”

When Theodosia returned with a pot of Fujian white tea and two scones, Tidwell was smiling like the cat who'd swallowed the proverbial canary.

“I have news,” he said, his beady eyes seeking her out.

Theodosia glanced about the tea room to see if she could spare a minute, and then slid into a chair next to him. “What? Is this about that poor woman last night at the opera?”

“No. My news involves the jewel heist at Heart's Desire.”

Theodosia suddenly felt a flood of relief. “Oh my gosh, you broke the case? You found the jewels?” A girl could hope, couldn't she?

“Not exactly,” Tidwell said. “But we have received word from the insurance company.”

Insurance? What does that have to do with anything?

“Wait, does that mean they're going to pay off Brooke's claim?” Theodosia asked Tidwell.

“Not quite. It seems that United Insurance and Guaranty
received a rather mysterious phone call that our tech geeks have been unable to trace. Apparently, this band of rather opportunistic jewel thieves has expressed a willingness to ransom back part of the stolen merchandise.”

“Ransom it back?” Theodosia had never heard of this before. “What does that mean? How does insurance ransom work?”

Tidwell explained, “It's not an uncommon practice, though you see it more often with stolen works of art. In this case, the thieves contacted the insurance company and presented them with the option of paying an enormous sum of money in order to get the jewels back in one piece.”

“Really? That's how it works?”

“The insurer also has the option of just kissing the loot good-bye and paying off the policyholder. Eventually, anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” Theodosia said. “So you're telling me that the main thief, the ringleader of this gang, the whoever, actually
contacted
Brooke's insurance company?”

“That's right. And then the insurance company contacted the FBI.” Tidwell picked up his knife and sliced one of his scones lengthwise.

“And then they contacted you,” Theodosia said. She was stunned. “Will the insurance company do that? I mean, will they pay money to get the jewels back?”

“It's highly doubtful. Seeing as how there was a homicide involved.”

“Wait a minute, how did the thief even know which insurance company to contact?”

“It was all spelled out in the newspaper. A pithy quote delivered by one of United Insurance's media-loving PR people. And one that our diligent robbers obviously picked up on.”

“You said the robbers wanted to ransom back
part
of the stolen jewels? Which part?”

“That I do not know. Except that it probably doesn't
involve diamonds. They're far too valuable and portable once they're pried from their settings.”

Theodosia sat back in her chair. “That's just awful.”

Tidwell slathered jam on his scone and took a bite. “Which part do you find distasteful?” He gave a perfunctory smile as he chewed.

“All of it.”

“Well, it is crime. When you're dealing with a criminal element, you've got to expect a few rough edges.”

“I get that,” Theodosia said. She hated it when he played coy with her. “Okay, what about that lady last night? Do you think she'll ever get her emerald necklace back?”

“Probably not.”

Theodosia shook her head. “Why not?”

Tidwell sighed. “Because the smash-and-grab at Heart's Desire was strictly business. While the robbery at the opera last night . . . well, it struck me as being slightly more whimsical. More like . . . sport.”

She stared at him. “Whimsy. Sport. Explain, please.”

“It's possible one of the thieves was toying with us,” Tidwell said. “Taunting us.”

“So you're saying that whoever struck last night might have been part of the same Heart's Desire gang?”

“I think it's possible. I also think that whoever is in charge of this gang, whoever masterminded the Heart's Desire robbery, might have decided to stick around Charleston for a while.”

“Because the pickings are good,” Theodosia murmured. She thought about all the wealthy people who lived in the area that was commonly referred to as Below Broad. In other words, the fat-cat district. This was where many of the pedigreed people lived, the descendants of Charleston's founders. They were the lucky ones who'd inherited great-
grandmère
's jewelry, Dresden china, sterling silver candlesticks, Chippendale furniture,
French antiques, and oil paintings. And now it might all be at risk.

The other thing that haunted Theodosia was the fact that a priceless Fabergé egg was probably rolling into town right about now. A fancy, jeweled egg that would be on display at the Heritage Society starting this Saturday evening. Was it going to sit in its glass display case like a glorified magnet, attracting every petty thief or organized gang in the area? She was afraid that it just might.

•   •   •

Tidwell hadn't been
gone five minutes when Brooke came in. She looked unsettled and a little scared. When she spotted Theodosia standing at the counter, she rushed over and said, “Have you heard?”

“About the insurance ransom? Yes,” Theodosia said. “Detective Tidwell was just in here a few minutes ago and spilled the beans to me.”

“I don't know what to make of all these new developments,” Brooke said. “I mean, the thieves contacting the insurance company? And then that horrible robbery last night? At the opera, no less. Smack-dab in the middle of hundreds of people. I was just reading about it in the
Post and Courier
. And it's all people are talking about up and down Church Street.”

“I know,” Theodosia said. “I was there last night.”

Brooke's eyes widened in surprise. “You were? Really?”

“With Drayton. Our seats were literally thirty feet away from that poor woman whose necklace was stolen.”

“Ripped right off her neck, I heard. And then her poor husband got clobbered for trying to defend her. It's almost like the Heart's Desire robbery and Kaitlin's killing all over again! Oh, Theo, what's going on?”

“I don't know, Brooke,” Theodosia said. “The robbery at the opera was horribly bizarre and daring. And now this ransom situation . . .”

Brooke nodded sadly. “It's unsettling . . . terrifying.”

“Which pieces of jewelry did the thieves offer to ransom back to the insurance company—do you know?”

Brooke bit her lip. “Some vintage Tiffany and Cartier bracelets, a suite of Tahitian pearls, and some gemstone rings and necklaces. I think they're trying that tactic because those particular pieces might be more difficult to fence.”

“And the other pieces?”

“Hah,” Brooke said. “The really important pieces, a Van Cleef necklace and earrings set and a spectacular alexandrite necklace, were never even mentioned in the ransom offer.”

“The alexandrite,” Theodosia said slowly. Something had just pinged deep inside her brain. “What can you tell me about that piece?”

“Oh . . . well,” Brooke said, a little flustered by the question. “I don't know if you're aware of this, but alexandrite is an extremely rare gemstone. It was named after Czar Alexander II. And the bluish-purple crystals that characterize the highest quality alexandrite were first discovered in the old emerald mines in Russia's Ural Mountains.”

Theodosia gave Brooke a slightly crooked gaze. “What do you know about your event crasher, Professor Warren Shepley?”