Shades of Earl Grey (17 page)

But she also found good, solid information, too. Newspaper articles about cat burglars who had struck in places like Malibu, New York, Palm Springs, and Palm Beach.

That chilled her. It was exactly what Burt Tidwell had said. The
migratory
type of cat burglar follows the goods.

There was information posted by different law enforcement agencies, too. And as she scanned the various MOs, one profile seemed to emerge. Cat burglars were bold, even fearless. They were adrenaline junkies who thrived on danger. Apparently, some cat burglars even preferred to ply their trade when a home, hotel room, or shop was
occupied.
The thrill of someone sitting downstairs, sleeping in the next room, or eating dinner nearby seemed to add an extra touch of danger, an extra dimension to a game they relished. It also appeared that cat burglars often circumvented security systems by scaling buildings or power poles and shutting off electricity.

That's what happened at the Heritage Society. Or had that been a storm-induced power failure that a thief simply took advantage of? She didn't know.

From everything she read, cat burglars also appeared to be smart. Very smart. One cat burglar, known as the dinner hour burglar, entered homes while the residents were downstairs eating their dinner. Another selected his targets by reading magazines like
Town & Country
and
Architectural Digest.
And still another savvy cat burglar with a predilection for gold and silver carried a test kit along with him. That way he could pass on the candlesticks and platters that were merely gold- or silver-plated and concentrate on stealing only the finer pieces!

Like Camille's wedding ring? Or the silver at the Lady Goodwood Inn?
she wondered.
Holy cow.

Theodosia quickly scanned the rest of the hits. Several law enforcement officials had gone so far as to speculate on the type of person who turns to cat burglary. They tended to be strong and agile, often with gymnast backgrounds, always bold.

She thought about this. Cooper Hobcaw was certainly bold enough. Bold bordering on brash. And as a criminal attorney, he courted danger in a manner of speaking. He could be looking for another outlet from which to get his thrills.

Was Claire Kitridge bold and agile? She wasn't that old, maybe late thirties. And she looked like she was in good shape. Maybe all those weekend jaunts into the country-side looking for antique linens were really . . .

Tired now, eyes stinging from peering at the monitor so intently, Theodosia exited the Internet and shut down her computer.

Enough,
she told herself.
Time to turn in.
Earl Grey was already snuggled in his dog bed, snoring softly. It was time she did the same.

But as cozy and comfortable as Theodosia's bedroom was, with the down comforter and the Egyptian cotton sheets, it was a long while before she was able to fall asleep.

LAST EVENING'S FOG
, which had grounded planes at

Charleston International Airport in North Charleston, had been dissipated overnight by strong winds swooping in from the Atlantic. The sky was a deep cerulean blue with just a few wisps of errant clouds, and the sun shone brightly, gilding the brick facades, wrought iron artistry, and wooden shutters that made the shops of Church Street so very quaint and picturesque.

But as Delaine Dish strode down Church Street, past the Chowder Hound, the Cabbage Patch Needlepoint Shop, the Antiquarian Bookstore, and the Peregrine Building, which housed the newly opened Gallery Margaux, she barely noticed the magnificent day that had dawned in Charleston.

Delaine was a woman on a mission.

She had driven back from Savannah last night with her friend, Celerie Stuart, feeling upset and more than a little helpless. Captain Corey Buchanan's funeral had been a blur. She'd been introduced to a kaleidoscope of solemnfaced, tight-lipped Buchanans, who had all seemed to regard her with the same measure of cool detachment.

After all, it was
her
niece who had been engaged to Captain Buchanan. And the tragic accident had occurred at the engagement party
she
had thrown!

They had looked at her with accusing faces. Did they not know she felt positively tortured by the terrible circumstances? How could she ever forget what had happened? How could anyone forget?

As if the death of Captain Buchanan wasn't enough of a tragedy, the issue of the missing ring had also been a sore point. She'd been informed by one of the Buchanans that they had been in contact with the Charleston Police Department and were awaiting a complete report on the accident.

Thank goodness the entire Buchanan clan seemed to believe the whole thing had been an accident!
Delaine thought to herself. A tragic accident that could be chalked up to an old greenhouse and an unfortunate lightning strike.

But the whole time she'd been in Savannah, the conversation she'd had with Drayton and Theodosia had spun hopelessly about in her head, playing like an endless loop on a VCR. She recalled their
hunch,
their
supposition
, that someone
could
have come crashing through the old greenhouse roof and landed squarely atop Captain Buchanan's head.

There were about a million times during the visitation, the funeral service, and the sad reception afterward when she felt she'd simply burst with this knowledge. There were a thousand times when she thought she should just sit down and
share
these terrible suspicions with Captain Buchanan's family.

But then what?

Then she'd have to prove everything. Maybe they'd even expect her to try to find the person responsible. And bring them to justice!

Delaine touched her right hand to her temple as if the very thought was enough to trigger a migraine.

She couldn't resolve any of this mess. Of course not. There was no
way
she could ever accomplish that type of Herculean task.

But Delaine had the proverbial ace in the hole. Theodosia and Drayton had searched high and low for the missing wedding ring and, in so doing, had become intrigued by the mystery of its disappearance.

Especially Theodosia. She had an adventuresome heart and a fearless soul, Delaine reminded herself. And Theodosia commanded the ear of Burt Tidwell, one of Charleston's finest detectives!

Tidwell, bless his snoopy, inquisitive little heart, had stopped by her shop this morning. Early, just after she'd first arrived, before she could even steam the wrinkles from that new line of hand-knit sweater jackets and get them out on the floor. Tidwell had pussyfooted around a bit, asking her this and that. Inquiring whether she remembered anything unusual, asking about any strangers hanging around that terrible night, and did she know the waiters who had worked the party?

Of course she hadn't. But Tidwell's probing had stirred in her a germ of an idea. And given her a ray of hope.

If Theodosia had been guardedly persuasive in her argument about a possible intruder—and now Burt Tidwell was snooping around—then there must be something to it!

Of course, Theodosia was completely convinced that Burt Tidwell hated her. That Tidwell regarded her as a bit of an airhead.

Delaine knew that nothing could be further from the truth. She'd seen the way Burt Tidwell looked at Theodosia Browning.

Not because he had any silly romantic notions. Oh no. Absolutely not. Burt Tidwell was far too professional for that. But Tidwell
did
admire Theodosia, did respect her thoughts and opinions. Valued her keen intelligence and remarkable intuition.

Which meant Burt Tidwell might just go out of his way to help her.

Delaine clutched her buttercup yellow cashmere cardigan around her as though it were protective garb. No, she couldn't venture to dream of getting to the bottom of this all by herself. But if she enlisted Theodosia's aid, really encouraged her to keep investigating, then . . . then she just might have a fighting chance.

 

“Delaine, you're back from the funeral.” Haley stood holding a green Staffordshire teapot, pouring a stream of amber tea into white take-out cups.

Delaine smiled a sad smile, touched a delicately manicured finger to her lips in a gesture that said
shoosh.
Then, choosing the small table closest to the counter, she slid quietly into a chair. “I don't really want to talk about it with everyone in the place,” she told Haley. “I'm keeping a low profile for now.”

“Theodosia and Drayton have been worried about you,” continued Haley. “We all have.”
Gee,
Haley thought to herself,
this is one bristly lady when she wants to be. And what's this low-profile stuff? Delaine has never kept a low profile in her life!

“But I
would
like to speak with Theo and Drayton,” she told Haley. Delaine glanced down at the bare wooden table as though she expected to find a teacup, linen napkin, and silverware all set up for her. “Just a cup of black tea this morning, dear. Irish breakfast tea.”

“Sure thing,” said Haley.

“How was the funeral?” asked Theodosia. Sitting in her office, she had heard Delaine's voice and immediately come out to speak with her.

Delaine plucked a handkerchief from her leather bag and daubed at her eyes. “Heartbreaking. Captain Buchanan's mother and sisters never stopped crying for one instant.”

“Oh, no,” said Theodosia as she slipped into the chair across from Delaine.

“At the church, they had poor Captain Corey's casket covered with an American flag and a military honor guard standing by. The service was very somber, of course, and his brother read a poem by Walt Whitman. I think it was
In Paths Untrodden.
Afterwards, the honor guard escorted the casket out of the church to the cemetery. After the minister said his final words, they fired a twenty-one-gun salute. Then a lone bugler played taps. Such a mournful sound.”

Theodosia nodded. On the few occasions she'd attended military funerals, the playing of taps at the end had always seemed so sad and lonely. The bugler's haunting notes a signal that the service was over, the deceased committed to the earth for eternity.

“What's Camille going to do now?” asked Haley.

Delaine glanced down at her wrist nervously and Theodosia noticed she wasn't wearing her usual jewel-encrusted Chopard watch. Probably left it at home for the funeral. Too showy.

“She's going to stay in Savannah for a while,” said Delaine. “Captain Corey's sister, Lindsey Buchanan, runs a travel agency and Camille is going to work for her.”

“That's nice,” said Theodosia.

“It will give everyone a chance to heal,” said Delaine. “Hopefully.” Delaine reached for her teacup, finally took a sip of tea. “So sad,” she murmured. “I was going through a few things at my shop late yesterday afternoon, after I got back. And I came across Camille's wedding veil.” Tears welled up in Delaine's eyes and threatened to spill down her flawless pink cheeks. “The base of the veil was this tiny little feathery cap, like something a ballerina might wear if she were going to dance
Swan Lake.
So pretty and feminine, with just a bit of dainty lace in front.”

“When did you get back from Savannah?” asked Theodosia, eager to guide Delaine to a more neutral and less heart-wrenching subject.

“Yesterday. Early afternoon,” said Delaine. “I went to the store because we had a big shipment coming in. But then I couldn't seem to get my head back into it.”

“That's understandable,” said Theodosia. “You're still in shock. Still in mourning.”

“I just let Janine tend to things,” explained Delaine. Janine was her sales assistant who'd been with her for quite a few years. “I went out and took a walk. I ended up over at Heart's Desire, talking to Brooke and Aerin.”

“Those two were in here yesterday,” said Haley. “Very nice ladies.”

“You know,” said Delaine with careful deliberation, “they
are
saying there's a cat burglar at work.”

“Who's they?” asked Theodosia. “Brooke and Aerin?”

“Not exactly,” said Delaine evasively. “But everyone up and down the length of Church Street seems to have mentioned it in one way or another. And Brooke and Aerin are both scared to death their shop might be targeted.”

“Yes, I know she's concerned,” said Theodosia, recalling her conversation with Brooke yesterday.

“You know,” Delaine added, “their vault is just
overflowing
with valuable estate jewelry. Brooke confided to me that she just received a shipment of fire opals from Brazil. And she's also a master goldsmith, so she plans to set them in eighteen-karat gold. Won't that make for an absolutely stunning necklace? Fire opals and gold? With matching earrings as well?”

“Delaine, maybe you shouldn't be talking about this,” Theodosia cautioned.

“I'm only telling
you,
” replied Delaine peevishly. “It's not like I'm dashing about the entire historic district telling everyone I run into!”

No,
Theodosia thought to herself,
but you could let this information slip to someone like Cooper Hobcaw. And that might not be the most prudent thing right now.

The fax machine on the counter next to them suddenly beeped sharply.

Startled, Delaine jumped at the intrusion, then put a hand to her heart. “What was
that?
” she asked.

“Lunch orders,” announced Haley, who headed for the counter, suddenly all business.

“Listen, Theo,” said Delaine, now that the two of them were alone. “Remember what we talked about a few days ago? The cat burglar?”