Twisted Tea Christmas

by Laura Childs

  “Which might have inspired them to get rid of her,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton looked unhappy as he rubbed a hand against the side of his cheek and said, “But if she was onto them, why invite them to her Christmas party?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Miss Drucilla planned to confront them. Maybe she was going to be a lady about telling them they were henceforth cut off from her largesse. Or maybe their names were on her standard guest list and Pauline simply mailed out invitations. Who knows?”

  “We have to ask Pauline,” Drayton said. “This is too important to ignore.”

  “We also have to let Tidwell know,” Theodosia said.

  “You think Sawyer Daniels has been conning Charleston’s wealthy, well-intentioned citizens all along? Taking a piece of the action for himself? Laughing all the way to the bank?”

  “Could be,” Theodosia said.

  “So how does the stolen painting figure in? And Wolf-Knapp’s murder?”

  “I’m not sure. Well . . . the painting maybe because they’re just plain greedy. And Wolf-Knapp because he somehow figured them out.”

  “I suppose it all tracks. So when do we tell Tidwell?”

  Theodosia pulled her phone from her pocket. “He’s not going to be happy about this but . . . how about now?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Now that Theodosia had Tidwell’s number, she tried it, but wasn’t able to get through to him. Instead she was routed to Glen Humphries. Humphries listened carefully to what Theodosia had to say about Sawyer Daniels and Majel Mercer and then replied with a no-nonsense “I’m on it.”

  “You are?” Theodosia was shocked that she’d gotten such an immediate reaction.

  “Of course.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drop by and—”

  “Really. I’ll follow up on this information. We’ve made anything that remotely pertains to Miss Drucilla’s case our top priority.”

  “Okay,” Theodosia said as she clicked off.

  “Well?” Drayton was staring at her.

  “Glen Humphries says he’ll make it a top priority. Maybe after last night the Charleston PD has decided to take us seriously.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Drayton said.

  They walked across the grass, hot cocoa and kettle corn long since forgotten. Overhead, fireworks were starting to light up the night sky. Hollow BAPS and BOPS sounded first; then flares streaked upward and erupted in shimmering gold and silver bursts. Onlookers shrieked with joy.

  Drayton stopped dead in his tracks, as if somebody had pulled his plug.

  “What?” Theodosia said.

  “What if Majel Mercer and Sawyer Daniels had nothing to do with Miss Drucilla’s murder? What if it really was Pauline? I mean, at several points along the way, you’ve leaned in that direction.”

  “I know, but last night she was so convincingly shocked by Wolf-Knapp’s murder that I kind of let that idea go.”

  Drayton shrugged. “She could have been a theater major, or have an innate acting ability.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Baffling, yes?”

  “Lots to stew over,” Theodosia agreed.

  “Still, you usually have a good nose for this sort of thing.”

  “Not when it comes to this case.” They crunched down a gravel path, heading for her car. “What do you think?”

  “I can’t say I harbor the most positive feelings for Pauline,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia thought for a few moments. “What if I call Pauline about the guest list? Ask her straight out if Majel and Daniels were specifically invited. Maybe even ask her if she’s aware the two of them are . . .”

  “An item?” Drayton asked mildly.

  “That’s one way to put it.” Theodosia turned and looked back over her shoulder but could no longer see Majel and Daniels. “Although maybe I’ll play that close to the vest for now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  When Theodosia got Pauline on the phone, the girl was in a tizzy.

  “Oh hi,” she said, sounding breathless. “I was just about to skip out of Miss Drucilla’s place.”

  “Still trying to wrap things up?” Theodosia asked. Drayton and she were sitting in her Jeep, engine running, waiting for a break in traffic.

  “Working at it anyway. I feel like it’s been dragging on forever.”

  “I need to ask you about the guest list for the Christmas party.”

  “I already gave you a copy.” A distracted Pauline now.

  “I know, but I have a question. Was that list pretty much Miss Drucilla’s standard Christmas party list?”

  “Oh yeah, it was all on the computer. All I did was press a button and print out labels for the invitations.”

  “Do you know, did Miss Drucilla add or subtract any guests?” Theodosia asked.

  “Not that I recall.” A pause. “Why? Have you heard something more about that murdered art dealer? Was he supposed to be . . . invited?”

  “Not really,” Theodosia said. “But I plan to follow up with Detective Tidwell. See if he’s learned anything more from the autopsy report.”

  “So grisly,” Pauline said, still sounding distracted. “Well, gotta run.”

  “Meeting Wade?” Theodosia asked out of curiosity.

  “No, he has to work late. I’m off to . . . Well, I just need to run an errand.”

  “Okay, talk to you later,” Theodosia said as she clicked off.

  Drayton took one look at the expression on Theodosia’s face and said, “What?”

  “I don’t know. Something funny. Pauline didn’t sound like herself.”

  “Concerning Miss Drucilla’s list?”

  “About anything.”

  “Do you think Pauline might be the evil mastermind after all?” Drayton asked. “Could she have murdered Miss Drucilla, stolen the Renoir, and then tied up loose ends by shooting Wolf-Knapp?”

  Theodosia pulled out onto Battery Street, bumped along, then turned down Legare.

  Finally, she said, “Drayton, I have no idea.”

  “Then why did you turn down Legare?”

  “Huh?”

  “The route you’re taking. We’re a block from Miss Drucilla’s place. Do you have some kind of hunch?”

  “No, I think I’m driving on autopilot because—”

  “Stop! Pull over!” Drayton commanded.

  When Drayton shouted (which he rarely did), Theodosia paid attention. She juked her steering wheel hard right and bounced up against the nearby curb. When the car shivered to a stop, she asked, “What?” in a quiet voice.

  “Look up there, right ahead of us. It’s Pauline.”

  Theodosia leaned forward and peered through her windshield. It was dark and a little foggy, but she recognized Pauline all right, a slight figure wrapped in a khaki coat and a red scarf, climbing into her little blue Honda Civic.

  “I wonder where she’s off to,” Drayton said.

  “She told me she had to run an errand.”

  “But where? This late at night?”

  Theodosia watched the blue Honda pull away from the curb; then she eased her foot down onto the gas pedal. Following along behind, she said, “I don’t know. But why don’t we find out?”

  * * *

  * * *

  They drove seemingly forever. Crossed the Ravenel Bridge with Drum Island right below them obscured by poufs of fog. Drove on through Mount Pleasant and up Highway 17. Pauline kept her car at a steady fifty-five miles per hour, so Theodosia did the same, always making sure there were at least two or three cars between them.

  “This is smart,” Drayton said, “keeping a safe distance like this. Just like cops do in the movies.”

  “At least in movies there’s an end point. Or an exciting chase.” Theodosia tilted
her head from side to side, working out a kink in her neck. “This is just plain boring.” They’d driven through the center of Mount Pleasant and traversed the suburbs, and they were now out on the open road. “Where do you think she’s headed?”

  “I don’t know, but we just crossed into Georgetown County. So your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What’s up this way?” Theodosia wondered. Once in a while, when the road swung close to the coast, they could spot the Atlantic off to their right, a dark horizon with a bank of gray clouds hanging over it. Most of the time, there were just trees and the occasional house, retail cluster, or farm stand.

  “Could she be going to Myrtle Beach?” Drayton asked.

  “Myrtle Beach is a summer resort. We’re three days out from Christmas. What could be happening there?”

  “Christmas shopping? Restaurants?”

  “Somehow I don’t think so.”

  Drayton yawned. “Then what?”

  His yawn was catching and Theodosia also yawned as she swept around a wide curve, her headlights searching the dark road ahead.

  “I don’t know,” Theodosia said. She felt tired and a little out of sorts. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea? “Maybe there’s . . .”

  “A shopping mall?” Drayton said. “I believe there’s a discount mall in—”

  “Whoa!” Theodosia cried suddenly. “Will you look at that?”

  “What?” Drayton hunched forward and peered out his side window, trying to figure out what Theodosia was so excited about. “I don’t see a thing.”

  “The sign. Look at the sign!” Theodosia said as she pumped her brakes hard, cut into the right-hand lane of traffic, then swerved to the side of the road. An SUV that had been on her tail tooted its horn as it whooshed by. Unhappy tailgater.

  “Sign?” Drayton smacked both hands flat against the dashboard to steady himself and stared straight ahead. “Sign for what?”

  “Straight ahead. You see that ginormous red billboard with the bright yellow letters?”

  He looked around, blinked hard, finally spotted the sign, and said, “Oh.”

  It was an enormous sign, the Taj Mahal of billboards. A brightly lit digital-powered advertisement for the Big M Casino Ship. Chase letters scampered across the bottom of the sign. They spelled out sailing nightly from little river.

  “That has to be it. Pauline’s going to a casino,” Drayton said almost matter-of-factly.

  “Okay, this is très spooky. But that’s exactly what Donny Bragg told us about Pauline.”

  “That she’s a gambler,” Drayton said. “I remember.” He sat there, practically hypnotized by the flickering, blinking, ever-changing lights. “Maybe he’s not such a blowhard after all.”

  “I may have to eat my words,” Theodosia said, “because, in his own way, Bragg does have Miss Drucilla’s best interests at heart.”

  “Which means Pauline might be a gambler but not a murderer?”

  “This changes everything,” Theodosia said. “Again.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They turned around and drove back to Charleston. Arrived about nine thirty, feeling tired and a little sheepish.

  “Sorry about dragging you along on yet another wild-goose chase,” Theodosia said as she pulled up in front of Drayton’s house.

  “That’s okay,” Drayton said as he climbed out of her Jeep. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “Really, I apologize. I know I jumped the gun tonight.”

  “It’s still good to know that Pauline was simply taking an innocent jaunt.”

  “As long as she doesn’t come home flat broke,” Theodosia said. “Or she could have . . .”

  “What?”

  “Pauline could have sold the Renoir and now she’s gambling away the profits.”

  Even in the dim light, Drayton looked unhappy. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “Sorry. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia was home for all of two minutes when she heard a knock at her front door.

  “Now what?”

  She looked at Earl Grey, who was just as mystified as she was.

  “Who is it?” Theodosia went to the door, peered through a sliver of windowpane, and saw Delaine standing on her front stoop.

  “It’s me. Delaine.” She saw Theodosia looking out at her and lifted a hand in a cheery wave.

  “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?” Theodosia said as she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then she stared in amazement.

  Delaine was standing there accompanied by six dogs.

  “I brought your foster dogs,” Delaine said. Even though she looked as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, she’d managed to paste a manic grin across her face.

  Theodosia frowned. “What do you mean, dogs? When I agreed to be a temporary foster home, you said it would be for one dog. Singular. I see a lot more than one dog here. In fact, I see . . .” Theodosia did a hasty head count. “Oh sweet dreams, you brought me six dogs?”

  “You see . . . there’s a problem,” Delaine stammered.

  “Obviously. But please don’t make it my problem.”

  “Hear me out,” Delaine implored. “Can we all come in, so I can at last explain the circumstances?”

  Theodosia sighed deeply as she stepped aside and watched the herd of canines invade her house. “This is the camel inching his nose into the tent, isn’t it?” she said. “This is how it starts. This is how animal lovers become the animal hoarders you see on TV. Crazy ladies with three dozen dogs, three hundred parakeets, and a herd of baby goats gnawing away in the backyard.”

  “You paint an overly dramatic picture,” Delaine said, “when it’s really quite simple. You only have to mind these sweet creatures for three, maybe four days at the most.”

  Theodosia raised both arms as if pleading for divine intervention. When it wasn’t forthcoming, when there was no bolt from the blue, she dropped her arms to her sides and said, “What went wrong?”

  Delaine offered her standard lemon face. “Some of the people who agreed to foster these dogs over Christmas weaseled out on me. So I need a teensy bit of help.” She held an adorable little dachshund in her arms and was hanging on to leashes for a Doberman, a poodle, and three other large shaggy dogs of questionable origin.

  “You mean, my help,” Theodosia said.

  “If you could find it in your heart, yes,” Delaine said. “Now this one’s named Pumpkin.” She pointed to the poodle and the Doberman. “Here are Marty and Sabrina. Those other two don’t actually have names and this big boy is Gruenwald.”

  “He’s the size of a horse!” Theodosia cried.

  “No, dear. Gruenwald is simply a cross between a mastiff and a Great Dane.”

  “What’s wrong with his fur? It’s all brown and mottled and swirly.” Theodosia felt like she might be edging toward hysteria. Could this be a bad dream? No, it was really happening. She could feel hot doggy breath all around her, sad brown eyes watching her. She could almost feel the hope in their hearts.

  “Gruenwald’s coat is a unique mixture of brindle and dappled,” Delaine said. “So it might be termed brappled?”

  “You made that up. That type of coat is not AKC recognized.”

  Delaine shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “What I really need to know is . . . is he friendly?” Gruenwald was eyeing Theodosia carefully. He seemed to have a contrite look on his broad furry face. Or maybe he was simply contemplating some kind of sneaky move.

  “He’s gentle as a lamb,” Delaine assured her.

  Theodosia reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a Milk Bone that had been intended for Earl Grey. “Hey, Gruenwald, how about . . . ?”

  WHOMP!

  Like greased lightning Gruenwa
ld leaped and his enormous jaws snatched the Milk-Bone from Theodosia’s hand. A millisecond later there was a loud GUNK, which meant he’d swallowed the treat whole. No chewing, no tasting, absolutely no hesitation. It was obvious Gruenwald had not been brought up to be a gourmet.

  “I should’ve warned you,” Delaine said. “Gruenwald’s what you’d call a trifle reactive. If you’re holding a treat or a toy, he tends to grab it right out of your hand.”

  “No kidding. He’s like the jaws of death.”

  “But basically a dear, dear boy,” Delaine insisted. She leaned forward and slung an arm around the dog’s wide neck. “Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Gruenwald?” She planted a kiss on his broad forehead, then straightened up. “Just be super, super careful when you stick out your hand, okay?”

  “Words to live by,” Theodosia said. She turned and gazed at Earl Grey, who was standing next to her, seemingly befuddled by this ruffian pack of intruding canines that had showed up unannounced. “What do you think?” she asked him.

  Earl Grey stared back at her, then gave the doggy equivalent of a shrug.

  So of course Theodosia took the dogs in. It was Christmas after all. And they were in desperate need of a home.

  27

  Theodosia’s phone chimed at precisely eight a.m. Saturday morning, one of Riley’s preferred times to call. But Theodosia wasn’t the only one roused from a deep slumber; her pack of wayward hounds began a morning cacophony.

  ARF, ARF.

  RUFF, RUFF, RUFF.

  BARKETY, BARK, BARK.

  A virtual canine symphony of barks, woofs, and howls played out all around her.

  Sitting up in bed, Theodosia grabbed for the phone. “Hello?” She not only sounded sleepy and groggy; she was sleepy and groggy.

  “Wake up, sunshine!” Riley said by way of a cheerful greeting. Then, “What’s all that barking? You got the TV on? Watching reruns of Lassie or The Hound of the Baskervilles?”

  Theodosia brushed away the sleep from her eyes and gazed at her menagerie of inherited dogs. They were barking, grumbling, rumbling, and stretched out everywhere as far as the eye could see. Like a great mottled carpet of fur that covered her entire upstairs. Brown, black, cream, spotted, and, yes, brappled. She’d be hard-pressed to take a step in any direction without encountering a nose, paw, or fuzzy tail.