Devonshire Scream (8 page)

“It's your duty,” Hurley said.

“This isn't just federal, this is international,” Zimmer put in. He was using his hard-edged FBI voice now. “We're working with our legal attaché offices overseas.”

Theodosia twisted the moonstone ring she wore on her left hand. Should she or shouldn't she? And did she really have a choice? She'd promised Brooke that she'd help as much as she could. And these two guys standing over her
were
genuine FBI.

“This man looks a little bit like Lionel Rinicker,” she said.

“Who is that?” Zimmer asked. “What do you know about him?”

“He's a fairly new Charleston resident and he serves on the board of directors at the Heritage Society.”

Zimmer began scribbling notes like crazy.

Then, like a cat sneaking up on its unsuspecting prey, Drayton appeared at their table. He'd been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

“Theodosia!” Drayton cried. “What are you telling these men?” He looked like he was about to have an explosive coronary.

Theodosia put a finger on the photo and spun it around. “Look at this guy,” she said. “Who do
you
think he looks like?”

Drayton stared at the photo. Then he put the palm of his hand against his cheek and shook his head vigorously, as if trying to deny it.

“Drayton?” Theodosia said, pressing him for an answer. “Come on. Just say it.”

Drayton finally met her eyes. “All right, it looks like Lionel. Just as you say, the man in this photograph looks a little bit like Lionel Rinicker.”

“Oh boy,” Hurley
said. His eyes danced with excitement, his fingertips twitched.

“But it's probably
not
him,” Drayton said in an icy voice. He was upset and didn't care who knew it. “It must be a case of mistaken identity.”

But Zimmer and Hurley were insistent, pressing Drayton for all the information he had on Lionel Rinicker. After two minutes of pressure Drayton folded like a cheap card table. He told the agents all about Rinicker moving to Charleston, his claim about living in Luxembourg and teaching art history at the University of Trier, and his being asked to join the Heritage Society's board of directors.

“Thank you,” Zimmer said. “You've been very forthcoming.”

“Not that I wanted to be,” Drayton grumped.

“Now we need to share some information with the two of you,” Zimmer said.

“Tell you a little story,” Hurley said. “A true crime story.”

“Have you ever heard of the Pink Panther gang?” Zimmer asked.

Theodosia and Drayton exchanged glances.

“Like in the movies?” Theodosia asked.

“This Pink Panther gang isn't quite as funny or lighthearted as it sounds,” Zimmer said. “Interpol gave them the name early on and I'm afraid that it's stuck. Best we know, they're a group of Serbs who are responsible for over five hundred million dollars' worth of daring robberies in Dubai, Switzerland, France, Japan, Luxembourg, Spain, and Monaco. The members in the gang are all fluent in several languages and possess multiple passports.”

Drayton scratched his head. “That all sounds rather amazing.”

“There's more,” Zimmer said. “The gang members that have been arrested have all managed to escape. One person actually escaped from a Monte Carlo prison while police officers fired machine guns at him. Poof—he was gone in a heartbeat. Another gang member masterminded a break from a prison in Lausanne, Switzerland, and took four other prisoners with him. And two others escaped from a Swiss prison in Orbe with the help of outside accomplices.” He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. “Did I mention they were daring?”

“And they enjoy their life of crime,” Hurley said. “It's made them rich. Rich beyond belief.”

“Your story is . . . fantastical,” Theodosia said. “And you were wrong, it
does
sound like a movie.”

“Except these Pink Panthers play for very high stakes,” Drayton said. He'd been seriously impressed with the derring-do of the gang. And maybe a little frightened, too.

“What we're wondering now,” Zimmer said, “is if your Lionel Rinicker could be one of them. If he's the leader of the gang that struck here on Sunday night.”

“That would make Rinicker one of the escapees?” Drayton
asked. “Let me see, perhaps he hopped a tramp steamer in Marseille, landed in Charleston, and started up a new gang of jewel thieves?”

“Now, that does sound like a bad movie plot,” Theodosia said.

“We don't know that any of this is related,” Zimmer said to Drayton. “The thieves at Heart's Desire may very well have been a South American gang that we've also been trying to track. They're a particularly nasty gang that's been quietly terrorizing Miami. But we do need to have a sit-down meeting with your Mr. Rinicker.”

“Couldn't you just check his fingerprints or something?” Drayton asked. “I mean, you must have fingerprints on those guys who escaped.”

Zimmer and Hurley exchanged glances. “We did,” Hurley said. “But not anymore.”

“Nice work there,” Theodosia said. “So what exactly are you telling us? What's the takeaway here? That you're hoping to nail Rinicker to the wall? A man who could easily be one hundred percent innocent? Or are you just going to wait around until this same murderous gang strikes somewhere else?” This time she threw a meaningful glance at Drayton.

The two FBI agents fell silent. Drayton fidgeted nervously.

“Okay,” Theodosia said. She knew it was time to grab the bull by the horns. “Now
we
have a story to tell you.” She glanced at Drayton. “Drayton? Please enlighten these two gentlemen about your Rare Antiquities Show.”

So Drayton gave the agents a quick rundown on the Heritage Society show that was scheduled to open this coming Saturday. He told them about the big-buck donors that would be in attendance, who was doing the catering, the Etruscan coins that would be on display, and then, as their eyes began to glaze over, he told them about the Fabergé egg.

That little nugget of information woke them up and rattled their cages in a huge and meaningful way.

“A genuine Fabergé egg?” Zimmer asked in disbelief. “You mean one that . . . one that . . . ?” He was sputtering now.

“A Fabergé egg that belonged to a
Russian
czar
,” Drayton said. “Yes, that's exactly what we're talking about.”

“Creepers,” Hurley exclaimed. “We're gonna need to bring in more agents.”

•   •   •

Once Zimmer and
Hurley had left, Drayton remained preoccupied for the rest of the morning. He greeted customers amiably enough, brewed tea, and even managed to charm the usually crusty Mrs. Merriweather, who'd dropped by for morning tea and scones. But Theodosia could tell he was still awfully upset.

“I'm sick at heart,” Drayton confided to Theodosia when she stopped at the front counter to grab a pot of black currant tea. “I never in a million years thought something like this could happen. Lionel has been a good friend and now I've betrayed him. I may have even ruined his life—caused catastrophic consequences for him that can
never
be put right.”

“You did no such thing,” Theodosia told him.

“But I did. Now those two FBI agents are going to be sniffing all around poor Lionel. Digging into his bank accounts, talking to his friends, probably interviewing him in some frightening room with bright lights and a two-way mirror. And it's all because of me.” Drayton dumped three scoops of tea into a Chinese teapot, seemed to lose count, and then haphazardly added another scoop.

“Actually, it's because of me,” Theodosia said. “I looked at that photo and his name pretty much flew out of my mouth. I mean, the guy in the photo really did look like Rinicker.” She gazed at Drayton. “Come on, he did. You thought so, too.”

“I know there was a slight resemblance, but I'm seriously regretting that I ever seconded your opinion.”

“Drayton . . .” Theodosia's voice was cajoling.

“Do you think I should call Lionel?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Theodosia said. “If Rinicker really is an international criminal and you tip him off, that makes you an accessory to a crime.”

“Oh dear. Now I don't know what to do.”

“Don't do anything,” Theodosia said. “Play dumb. Pretend this never happened. If Rinicker mentions that the FBI came calling and wanted to chat with him, just act surprised. Or commiserate with him if you want. Look down your nose and act haughty and outraged.”

Drayton nodded. “I can do haughty and outraged. I've got that down solid.”

Theodosia patted him on the arm. “See. There you go. It's all gonna work out fine.”

“You think?”

“Sure. Unless Rinicker really is this guy . . .”

•   •   •

Theodosia poured tea,
served plates of scones, and ferried a small bowl of strawberry jam to Leigh Carroll, the woman who owned the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop next door. She was an African American woman in her midthirties, fairly close in age to Theodosia. She was tall with beautifully burnished skin, sepia-colored hair, and almond eyes. When men first caught sight of her, they often fell madly in love.

“I heard you were at Heart's Desire when that big jewel robbery took place,” Leigh said. She dropped her voice. “And that Brooke's niece was killed by a piece of flying glass?”

Theodosia sighed. “It was awful. The robbery was bad enough. But Kaitlin . . .”

Leigh looked concerned. “How is Brooke taking all this?”

“She's heartsick, as can be expected.”

Leigh let loose a little shiver. “Makes you wonder. How
safe are we, anyway? Church Street has always felt like this sweet little slice of charm and gentility. And then something like this happens. It just shatters your faith in people and your own neighborhood.”

“I know,” Theodosia said. “It does make you wonder.”

•   •   •

And Theodosia was
wondering about something else, too. As if the FBI's suspicion about Lionel Rinicker wasn't bad enough, she needed to ask Haley about her motorcycle-driving boyfriend.

In their postage stamp–sized kitchen, Haley was doing her chef's spin-and-twirl ballet. With a white chef's hat the size of an overblown mushroom atop her head, Haley sliced and diced, then leapt over to her oven to pull out fresh-baked loaves of date-and-walnut bread.

Theodosia hovered in the doorway, a little unsure of how to launch the conversation. “Can we talk?” she finally asked.

Haley smiled and gestured for her to come in. “Entrée, please. Come into my domain, my little fiefdom, if you dare.”

“You're in a good mood this morning,” Theodosia said.

“I'm always in a good mood,” Haley said. “How are my maple nut scones faring out there? Everybody liking them?”

“They're loving them.”

“Thought so.” Haley picked up a knife and began slicing an English cucumber. “What's up, Theo?”

“You heard some of what was going on out there this morning?”

Haley gave a crooked grin. “You mean with those hunky FBI guys?”

“Yes, but I never realized they were hunky.” Theodosia was a little flustered. “Did you think they were? Really?”

“The tall one was. What was his name? Zimmer?”

“Special Agent Zimmer,” Theodosia said.

“I like that ‘special agent' stuff. It reminds me of secret agents. You know, like Tom Cruise in
Mission: Impossible
with his self-destructing tape player and rubber human head masks.”

“Mmn.” Theodosia picked up a wooden honey stick and played with it. “But do you know what they were asking about?”

“Sure. About the robbery and stuff at Brooke's shop. And about Kaitlin getting killed. And then you picked out that photo that looked like Drayton's friend.”

“Except it's probably
not
Drayton's friend,” Theodosia was quick to assure her. “We're pretty sure that Lionel Rinicker is a different guy entirely.”

“And, then again, he could be an international jewel thief.”

Theodosia decided to tackle the subject she really wanted to know about.

“Haley, I'd like to know a little more about your motorcycle-driving friend.”

Haley continued to slice away at her cucumber. “There's not much to know.”

“Then how about his name, for starters?”

“His name is Billy Grainger. You know, Drayton already quizzed me about this.”

“Please bear with me,” Theodosia said. “And I know this next question is really going to sound strange . . . but do you know where Billy was on Sunday night?”

Haley glanced up and gave a blank stare. “Sure, I do. But . . .” Then she stiffened and her eyes did a slow reptilian blink. “Wait a minute. Why are you asking about him?”

“The police and FBI think there was a guy on a motorcycle who served as a kind of lookout for the jewel thieves.”

Haley's good mood suddenly evaporated. “And you think it was Billy?” She sounded shocked.

“Not really. But it just feels like an awfully weird coincidence. There's a guy on a big bike who leads the getaway
car through town and suddenly you have a friend who rides a big bike.”

Haley shook her head so defiantly her blond hair almost escaped from her kerchief. “He wouldn't. I mean he would
never
.”

“I didn't think so, either, Haley. But I'm just . . . well, I'm kind of looking out for you.”

“And for Brooke.”

“Yes, of course, for Brooke.”

“And you want to find justice for Kaitlin.”

“That's a huge factor, too,” Theodosia said.

“Which is why you want to know where Billy was Sunday night.”

Theodosia peered across the butcher-block counter at Haley. “Do you know where he was?”

Haley stabbed murderously at a cucumber slice. “He told me he was working. And I believe him.”

“Okay, Haley.” Theodosia knew when it was time to back off. “I was just asking.”

“Asked and answered,” Haley said in a tight voice. She spun away from Theodosia and stood at the stove with her back to her. Finally she said, “I made a pot of squash bisque for lunch.”

“You must have hit up the farmer's market.”

“I did. And I'm doing chicken salad with apple and pineapple chunks, kind of a modified fruit salad, as well as a roast beef and Cheddar cheese sandwich.”