Devonshire Scream (19 page)

That simply cannot happen
, she told herself.

Theodosia wasn't sure how she was going to thwart a gang of international jewel thieves, she just knew she had to. If she could do that, she could also exact a small token of justice for Brooke.

“Theodosia?” Drayton said for a second time.

She pulled herself back into the here and now. “What?”

Now there were bursts of giggles from the guests.

Drayton looked at her expectantly. So did many of the guests. “You were going to say a few words?”

“Yes. Of course.” Theodosia snapped to, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor as she hurried over to join him. “Yes. I just wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight. When one plans a special event tea like this, you never know how well it's going to be received.” She turned in a circle, a smile on her face. “Or if anyone is even going to show up.”

“We love you!” Delaine called out.

“But it looks as though my fears were unfounded,” Theodosia continued. “So thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoyed the food, and I hope you decide to join us at the Indigo Tea Shop for our next special event tea.”

Thunderous applause rocked the tea room as Theodosia and Drayton smiled their appreciation. Then all the chairs screeched back as the guests seemed to jump up at once for a group mingle.

“It's gridlock,” Drayton chuckled as they were quickly enveloped by the crowd.

“We can't possibly clear these tables with everyone milling around like this,” Theodosia said with a shrug.

“Then we'll just let them go. We'll bid everyone good night and do our work later.”

“You'll grab the coats?” Theodosia asked him. “The ones that are stashed in my office, anyway?”

“Yes,” Drayton said. “But you better grab that professor of yours while you can and start shaking him down.”

“I will.”

Theodosia collared Professor Shepley just as he was about to slip out the front door. “I'm so sorry we didn't get a chance
to talk,” she said, grabbing hold of his sleeve and reeling him in like a struggling redfish on a hook.

“It was a lovely dinner,” Shepley told her. “And I'm pleased to say I made the acquaintance of some of your wonderful Charleston neighbors.”

“We're a friendly bunch, that's for sure. But you probably know that already. I understand you've been staying at the Rosewalk Inn?”

Shepley nodded. “Yes, but not for much longer. My work here is almost finished.”

Theodosia smiled as she hung on to him. “What work is that?”

He looked slightly disconcerted. “I'm writing a book on the influence of the baroque and rococo on eighteenth-century Russian literature.”

“Uh-huh, that's nice. And when are you leaving?”

“I was planning to drive back to Savannah on Monday. Possibly Sunday.”

“Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Theodosia knew she was pressing him, maybe even scaring him a little, but didn't much care.

“Well, um . . . yes, I suppose I might. I just now learned about the Fabergé egg that's going to be on display at the Heritage Society.”

“Really.”

“I hadn't heard about it until your man mentioned it. Drayton? Is that his name?”

Theodosia ground her teeth together. “That's right.” She pinched Shepley's arm even more tightly.

“I was thinking I might drop by for the opening party. Try to wangle an invitation. A sort of quid pro quo, one academic institution to another.”

“Wouldn't that be lovely,” she spat out.

“But I . . .” Shepley gave a vigorous tug and broke free,
his jacket finally slipping through Theodosia's fingers. “Now I really must be going.”

Theodosia waved after him. “Bye-bye, I'll be looking for you.”
Will I ever.

•   •   •

“How shall I
put this,” Drayton said. “It was an event to remember.”

They were standing in the darkened tea room, candles guttering in their pewter holders, dirty dishes littering the tables. The flowers looked peaked in their glass vases and most of the candy Fabergé eggs had disappeared. Walked out the door with the guests. Theodosia hoped petty theft wasn't a bad omen.

“I'd say our tea was a huge success,” Haley said. She was puttering around at one of the tables, stacking dishes. “I mean, our guests ate everything we put on the table. Seemed to enjoy it, too.”

“It
was
a success,” Drayton said. He glanced at Theodosia, who hadn't said anything. “Don't you think so, Theo?”

“Smashing,” she said. Then winced. Maybe
smashing
wasn't the best word for it.
Smashing
brought back memories of . . .

“Are you okay, Theo?” Haley asked in a tentative voice. “You had kind of a funny look on your face for a moment.”

“I'm just tired,” Theodosia said. She wasn't really tired, she'd just been thinking about Brooke and Kaitlin.

“You're not, like, mad about anything, are you? Mad at me?”

Theodosia turned and touched a hand to Haley's shoulder. “Not in the least. In fact, I should be thanking my lucky stars that we have you on our team. You're the one who was in the kitchen today, cranking it out like crazy right up to the bitter end.”

Haley ducked her head. “That's okay. It's what I do. What I love to do.”

“And now I think you'd better run upstairs and take it
easy while Drayton and I clean up.” Haley had moved into the apartment above the tea shop, where Theodosia used to live.

Haley looked surprised. “Are you sure? You don't want me to stick around and help with the cleanup?”

“Absolutely not,” Theodosia said. “You take off, okay?”

“That's right,” Drayton chimed in. “We'll handle it from here.”

“Well . . . okay,” Haley said. “Hey, thanks a bunch.”

•   •   •

“So what did
you find out about Professor Shepley?” Drayton asked. Haley had finally gone upstairs, and he and Theodosia were stacking dishes into the dishwasher.

“He's sticking around here until Sunday or Monday,” Theodosia said.

“Because . . . ?”

“Because he said, and I quote, he's going to try to ‘wangle an invitation' to the Heritage Society's big show. He also claims to have been unaware of the presence of a Fabergé egg until you so helpfully brought it up tonight.”

“Maybe he's telling the truth.”

“And maybe he's not,” Theodosia said. “Which is why Shepley is blipping on my radar screen like an errant satellite that's suddenly dropped out of orbit.”

“But you're also suspicious of Sabrina and Luke Andros and Lionel Rinicker,” Drayton said. “And let's not forget Billy Grainger from last night. Good old Motorcycle Billy.”

“There's another person I'd like to take a closer look at, too.”

Drayton looked surprised. “You can't be serious.” And then, because Drayton really was the curious sort, he said, “Who is that?”

“The rock-hammer guy,” Theodosia said. “A fellow named Marcus Clement.”

“This is because of those hammer images that Tidwell showed you?”

Theodosia nodded. “That's right. Clement's a rock climber. He supposedly owns one of those rock-climbing hammers like the thieves used to . . .”

“Smash open the cases,” Drayton said.

“Yes.”

“How did you come by this person's name?”

“I have my ways.”

“Theodosia.” Drayton half closed one eye and fixed her with a disapproving look.

So Theodosia gave him the rundown on Clement. And how Tidwell had already checked on the fact that he'd recently purchased a rock hammer.

“Wait a minute,” Drayton said. “You're losing me. Who bought the hammer?”

“He did.” She paused. “Clement did. And then I did, too.”

“What?”

She explained how she'd gone to Triple Peak and bought a rock hammer that was identical to the one Clement had purchased. And then had it delivered to his home.

“And you did this, why?”

“Well . . . so I could clandestinely obtain his address.”

“Of course, silly me. So now that you have Mr. Clement's home address, what do you plan to do about it? Or shouldn't I ask?”

“You can ask. But I'd rather you just come along quietly with me.”

“With you.” Drayton rolled his eyes, looking more than a little exasperated. “You want me to . . .”

“Snoop around Clement's house,” Theodosia said. “That's right.”

Drayton smoothed a hand across the top of his head. “I'm getting too old for these ridiculous capers.”

“Don't say that, Drayton. You're my voice of reason.”

“How could I be? Since you rarely heed my advice. Or warnings.”

Theodosia stood with her hands on her hips, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “So. Are you coming with me or what?”

“Yes, but for one reason only,” Drayton said. “I might have to post bail if you get caught.”

It was almost
ten thirty when they rolled past Marcus Clement's home. Theodosia checked the address she'd jotted down against the numbers on the house. Then she checked it again. They were in a neighborhood with a mixture of clapboard, stucco, and ubiquitous Charleston single houses. The asphalt streets were pitted, and the lawns and trees looked a little bedraggled.

“This is it?” Drayton asked.

“Yup. And thanks for coming, by the way. I appreciate having your company.”

“Not that I had much say in the matter.”

“Oh, come on, Drayton. Where's your sense of adventure?”

“Back home in my sock drawer, if you really must know.”

“But what if this guy turns out to be the ringleader of the gang that stormed Heart's Desire and ended up killing Kaitlin?”

Drayton pursed his lips.

Theodosia gripped her steering wheel. “Well?” She was fired up and ready to explore.

“Then I'd prefer he be hunted down by a federal agency and appropriately charged with robbery and murder. Not tracked by Nancy Drew and an aging Hardy Boy.”

Theodosia opened the driver's-side door. “Come on, let's go take a look.”

Drayton got out carefully. “I think we should just stroll casually past his house. But no prowling the premises like we did last night. Agreed?”

Theodosia's whisper floated back to him in the darkness.
“Come on.”

They strolled past a drab-looking little bungalow that had probably once been painted a Caribbean blue. But wind, heat, humidity, and rain—all the elements present in typical Charleston weather—had ground it down to silvered wood. No lights shone, it looked like no one was home.

“Charming,” Drayton remarked in a droll tone. “Homey. All it needs is an old-fashioned washing machine on the front lawn. Broken, of course.”

“Don't be snobby,” Theodosia said.

They walked past the house, turned the corner, and then walked back via a gravel alley.

“I want to take a closer look,” Theodosia said once they were standing directly behind the house.

“Not a good idea.”

“Just a peek.” Theodosia tiptoed up to the back porch, a screened-in affair, and looked in.

“You see,” Drayton whispered loudly. “Nobody's home. I think we should go.”

“Clement isn't here, but look,” Theodosia said excitedly. “There's a package tucked inside. Looks like it was left by UPS.”

Drayton walked up and pressed his face to the screen door. “What do you suppose it is?”

“I'm guessing it's the rock hammer I ordered for him.”

Drayton pulled back. “Wait a minute, you really did do that? I thought you cooked up some shaggy-dog story to lure me over here.”

“I'm gonna go in and look. See if it is the rock hammer.”

Drayton grabbed her arm. “Please don't.”

“You worry too much.”

“You don't worry enough.”

“Think of it as part of our investigation.”

“You're acting just like the FBI, you know that?” Drayton said.

“Not on your life,” Theodosia said. “I don't believe in wiretapping or trampling all over people's rights.”

“You just don't mind trampling your way onto their back porch.”

Theodosia pulled open the screen door. “I really wish you hadn't said that.” And ducked inside.

“Theo!” Drayton whispered.

“Shhh, I'm checking the package.” She bent forward and scanned the label. “Yup, it's the one I sent.”

“Get back out here.”

“I just want to . . . look around.” She wondered if maybe her rock climber had left a key somewhere. Rock climbers were casual, trusting sorts, weren't they? Maybe hanging near the door . . . ? She ran a hand up the doorjamb to check. No luck. Or under the mat? She flipped back a rubber mat and saw the glint of something shiny. A key. “I found a key, Drayton.”
Do I dare?

Drayton turned his back to her and fiddled nervously with his bow tie. “I don't want to know what you're going to do.”

“Then at least give me your hankie.”

“Fine,” Drayton said. He pulled a hankie from his jacket pocket and passed it to her. “Blow your nose and let's get out of here. Because I really don't care to participate.”

“The hankie's so I don't leave any fingerprints,” Theodosia said. She slipped the key into the lock. “And I don't need you to participate, Drayton. I need you to be my
lookout
.”

“This really is insanity.”

Theodosia turned the key in the lock and heard a soft
click
. Just like that. Open sesame, quick and easy, no big deal. “I'm going in,” she whispered, a faint, eager smile on her face.

“Please don't,” Drayton whispered back. But she was already gone.

•   •   •

Inside, Theodosia paused
in what was a small kitchen. A mélange of cooking odors hung in the air. Fried hamburger, some fried onions and potatoes. The place was warm, dark, and claustrophobic, but there was a small light on above an old Hotpoint stove that made it a little easier for her to get her bearings. In fact, as she looked around, it felt as though she'd stepped inside a vintage kitchen.

No, not vintage, Theodosia told herself. A kitchen that's never been updated. Old appliances, old curtains. Everything just . . . sad and tired.

She pulled herself back to the task at hand. Look around, she reminded herself. See if there might be something that points to Clement being a jewel thief.

Okay. If there are jewels, where would he hide them?

Her eyes went to the freezer compartment above the refrigerator. She stepped briskly across the kitchen and pulled open the freezer door. There wasn't much in there. A tray of crusty ice cubes, two frozen spaghetti dinners, a half loaf of garlic bread, and a carton of strawberry gelato.

She grabbed the gelato and pulled off the top. It was nothing but a swirl of pink dessert. With a touch of freezer burn at that.

Theodosia put the gelato back, closed the freezer door,
and spun around. What else? Where else? She stepped hesitantly across the linoleum, hearing it crackle softly beneath her feet. Felt her way along and ended up in a small living room. There was an ugly overstuffed sofa, the kind that sold for two hundred bucks at some awful furniture-barn-type place, a coordinating chair, a flat-screen TV mounted on one wall, and a small desk.

She moved to the desk and started riffling through the drawers.

There wasn't much there. Paper, pencils, a few stamps, a map of South Carolina, an envelope filled with canceled checks. She leafed through the checks, saw nothing that seemed strange or out of place. No big payoff from a fence in Miami.

“Theodosia,” came a strangled voice. Drayton was calling to her.

She went back to the kitchen and found him peering nervously through the screen door.

“Let's go,” he hissed. He tapped at his wristwatch. “Time's running out. It isn't safe.”

“Hang on a minute.” Theodosia was reluctant to give up so easily. Then her eyes fell upon a door. She stepped over and pulled it open. A dark stairway led down to a cellar. “One minute,” she called again, then flipped on the cellar light, started down.

The cellar was surprisingly clean and well lit, with climbing and camping gear strewn everywhere. But it was organized chaos. A pegboard for rope, shelves for tents and backpacks and cooking gear.

But where's his rock hammer?

Theodosia poked around, opened boxes, and dug through a backpack, but couldn't find it.

If Marcus Clement had used his rock hammer to smash the glass cases at Heart's Desire, would he have disposed of
it? Would he get rid of evidence that might contain microscopic particles of telltale glass? She knew it was a possibility. And as far as jewelry went, it could have already been fenced, buried for safekeeping, or stuck in any number of lock boxes across the state.

Or Marcus Clement might be completely innocent. Which meant her trip here had been in vain. A projection of her overactive imagination.

Okay, Drayton was right. She should get out of here. Quick, before somebody came home. Before they were both tagged as intruders and the police called in to investigate.

•   •   •

“I can't believe
you stayed inside for so long,” Drayton said. “You realize that was an actual home invasion.” They were back in Theodosia's Jeep, sitting in the darkness, nerves positively frayed. “Probably a felony offense.”

“I thought maybe . . .” Theodosia stopped. What had she thought, really? That an amateur rock climber was also a professional jewel thief? Was she grasping at straws or diligently chasing down leads? She turned on the ignition, put her Jeep in gear, and coasted slowly down the street. Just because a lead didn't pan out didn't mean . . .

“Watch out!” Drayton screamed.

Theodosia jammed her foot down on the brake and rocked to a stop. “Now what?”

Drayton was craning his neck, peering through the windshield, and then twisting and turning to look out the side window. “I think we almost hit a dog.”

Theodosia's heart leapt into her throat. “Oh no. I didn't see him.” It was her worst nightmare come true. She had been distracted and not concentrating on what was in the road ahead of her. And now she'd run down a poor, innocent creature. “Where is . . . ?” She followed Drayton's gaze.

“There it is,” Drayton said.

Theodosia blinked. There, cowering at the edge of her headlights, was a small brown-and-white fuzzy dog. The creature looked scared, half-starved, and had apparently been wandering right down the middle of the street. “Dear Lord, do you think it's okay?” she asked.

“Poor thing,” Drayton said. He immediately jumped out of the car and ran over to the dog.

“Drayton.” Now Theodosia had leapt from her car, too. “Is he okay? Or she?”

“I think so.” Drayton was on his hands and knees in the street, seemingly not caring that his trousers were getting filthy. He gently gathered the dog into his arms. “Poor little thing. No collar. And, look, her coat is completely matted and filthy. I do believe the little thing is a stray, that she's been trying to get by living on the street.”

Theodosia knelt down and gently put a hand on the little dog's head. It was small, maybe fifteen pounds soaking wet, with floppy ears and enormous brown eyes. “It kind of looks like a King Charles Cavalier,” she said.

The little dog looked at Theodosia with baleful brown eyes and shivered. Then it looked at Drayton and snuggled deeper into his arms.

“Looks like you've got a friend,” Theodosia said.

“I want to take her home and give her a bath,” Drayton said. “Try to figure out what to do.”

“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Of course.”

•   •   •

Drayton's kitchen was
warm, cozy, and well-appointed. He'd made considerable upgrades over the years, adding a countertop of reclaimed pecan, a hammered copper sink, and vintage hardware. A pair of Chippendale highboys held tins of tea and displayed part of his extensive teapot collection.

Drayton ran warm water into the sink, tested the temperature, and then gently eased the little dog into the water. “There you go. Not too hot, I hope. Just right?” He reached over and grabbed a small squeeze bottle of dish soap. “Do you think this soap is okay? I don't have any dog shampoo.”

“What kind is it?” Theodosia asked.

“Dawn. The kind they use to clean seabirds with when they've been caught in an oil spill.”

“Should be okay, then.”

Drayton squirted soap into the water and fluttered a hand, producing a mound of suds. “When we're done here,” he told the dog, “we'll find you something tasty to eat.”

“She is awfully skinny,” Theodosia said.

“Probably just been scrabbling through trash cans for scraps.” Drayton picked up one of her front paws and scrubbed it gently, like he was doing a doggy pedicure. “We've got to plump this little lady up.”

“When we're done here, I suppose we should take the poor thing to one of the local shelters.”

Drayton drew back, looking horrified at the thought. “And let them incarcerate her in some dreadful cement cell? Not on your life. Honey Bee isn't going to end up in a place like that.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a rescue shelter, not San Quentin. Wait a minute . . . Honey Bee? You've already
named
her?” Theodosia had always felt that once you named an animal you assigned a certain de facto personality to it. And along with that came serious responsibility. In other words, that animal was yours. For life.

Drayton was smoothing soapsuds on the dog's back, talking quietly to ease her nervousness.

“You named her,” Theodosia said again.

“That's right.” Scrub, scrub. “Because I'm going to keep her.”