by Laura Childs
“That’s probably a good idea,” admitted Theodosia. She would have done it herself last night, but the idea of the thief on the roof hadn’t completely gelled in her mind. It had been a theory, a decent one at that. But of course, there was no concrete proof.
Delaine suddenly clutched Theodosia’s hand. “Theodosia, you’ve got to help me!”
“Oh, no, . . .” protested Theodosia.
“Yes,” said Delaine, clutching Theodosia’s hand even more forcefully and digging in with her nails. “We need to get to the bottom of this, figure out what really happened. Like you, I simply don’t want to believe this was all just a horrible accident.” Delaine’s pleading eyes bore into Theodosia. “Oh please, you’re so terribly good at this kind of thing. You helped figure out who killed poor Oliver Dixon last summer when that horrible pistol exploded at the picnic.”
“She did do a fine job with that, didn’t she,” said Dray-ton, admiration apparent in his voice.
Theodosia frowned at Drayton. “That was a very different set of circumstances,” she protested. “I was standing right there and had just witnessed a rather strange argument between . . .” She hesitated, decided she’d better shift her line of conversation back to the here and now. “Delaine, I really wouldn’t have a clue as to where to begin. If my theory does hold water, it really was a motiveless murder.”
Delaine lifted her head and gazed at Theodosia mournfully. “But that’s just it. It was murder!”
“No,” said Theodosia, trying to back-pedal as best she could. “I stand corrected then. It was an accident. The kind of accident the police need to investigate. Let them determine if there were any suspicious people lurking about in the lobby last night. Any cars seen speeding away from the Lady Goodwood Inn. Any clues left on the rooftop. That sort of thing.”
“But we’ve got to get that ring back!” shrilled Delaine. “Camille is my niece. I’m responsible.”
“I’m sure Captain Buchanan’s family won’t hold you personally responsible,” said Drayton.
“Of course they won’t,” added Theodosia. “Because there really is nothing to go on,” said Theodosia. “No way to get a bead on this mysterious intruder.”
“If there even was one in the first place,” Drayton added.
Delaine sat there toying with her own ring, a giant moonstone that glimmered enticingly. “But there is a way,” she said slowly. “At least, there might be.”
Theodosia and Drayton exchanged startled glances.
“What do you mean, honey?” asked Drayton.
“You said the burglar was probably after the ring. Maybe even had his eye on the antique silver,” began Delaine.
“Probably being the operative word,” said Drayton.
“Well, what if this person really is a practiced thief,” said Delaine. “Then this wouldn’t be the end of it, would it? This person, this thief who prowls about in the night, wouldn’t just stop cold turkey, would he? This, whatever-he-is, cat burglar, would keep stealing, wouldn’t he?”
“I suppose so,” said Theodosia slowly.
Drayton set his teacup down with a loud clink. There was a distinctly funny look on his face. “Where are you going with this, Delaine?”
“I was thinking about tomorrow night,” she said. Now a sly look lit her face. “You know, the preview party at the Heritage Society. For the Treasures Show. There’s going to be that whole cache of European jewelry on display.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t go there, Delaine,” said Drayton. He pursed his lips and his lined face assumed a pained expression. “Really hoping you wouldn’t go there.”
Delaine continued to toy with her ring. “Well, Drayton, honey, I just did. So there. And you two know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looked up in triumph, then glanced back and forth, from Theodosia’s face to Drayton’s. “Don’t tell me the same thought hasn’t crossed your minds. You know darn well that any thief who was attempting to steal an heirloom ring might also have his eye on that European Jewel Collection!”
With that, Delaine put her handkerchief to her face and began emitting little sobs.
Theodosia sat back in her chair and studied Delaine. Are these crocodile tears or genuine tears of sorrow and frustration? Probably a little of both, she decided. Delaine was genuinely upset over the death of her niece’s fiancé as well as the apparent loss of the antique wedding ring.
On the other hand, if Delaine thought she could goad her and Drayton into helping, then she would. She’d use every trick in the book.
Theodosia sighed. Problem was, Delaine’s remark about the Treasures Show at the Heritage Society was a point well taken. Would a cat burglar stop with just one item? No, probably not. Would the European Jewel Collection at the Treasures Show be enough of a lure to bring him out again? Hmm... that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, wasn’t it?
“Drayton, what are you doing?” shrieked Haley in alarm.
Standing behind the counter, Drayton was dumping teaspoon after heaping teaspoon of Lapsang Souchong into a Victorian-style teapot.
“Hmm?” he asked. It was early afternoon and the luncheon crowd had just departed. Haley had whipped together chicken salad with pecans and served it mounded on lettuce cups with a wedge of banana bread spread with softened cream cheese. Every plate had sold out.
“You’ve dumped almost a dozen spoonfuls into that pot!” she told him. “Your tea is going to be so strong it’ll take the finish off!”
Drayton gazed down in horror. “Good lord! I completely lost track there, didn’t I?”
“Here,” Haley said as she elbowed Drayton out of the way, ready to take charge. “Let me do this. You get out the step stool and pull a couple jars of DuBose Bees Honey down from the shelf. You see that lady over there in the yellow sweater?”
Drayton scanned the tea room then nodded obediently, still lost in thought.
“Well, she adored the DuBose honey so much on her scone that she wants to take a couple jars home.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Really,” huffed Haley, “it seems like everyone’s lost their mind today.”
“Who’s lost their mind?” asked Theodosia as she emerged from the back carrying a fresh plate of scones.
“Drayton has,” said Haley. “He was about to make a superstrong pot of tea. As if that stuff isn’t strong enough to begin with,” she sniffed.
“Look at our little Haley,” said Drayton. “Two years ago she didn’t know a Darjeeling from a Yunnan. Now she’s an expert.”
“That’s enough sarcasm, Drayton,” Haley snapped. “I wasn’t the one who was about to send one of our guests into anaphylactic shock with a gigantic overdose of caffeine.”
The bell over the door tinkled as a group of tourists pushed their way into the shop. Haley, sensing that Dray-ton still wasn’t himself, immediately hustled over to seat them.
“Still feeling discombobulated?” Theodosia asked Drayton.
He nodded. “I keep thinking about what Delaine said regarding the members-only party tomorrow night at the Heritage Society. Granted, the installation of the entire Treasures Show won’t be completed until next weekend when the public opening occurs. But the traveling European Jewel Collection will be there tomorrow night. For all to see.”
“Including our so-called cat burglar.”
“Right,” said Drayton. “And if this thief had his eye on Camille’s ring, he might also be honed in on the European Jewel Collection. It certainly has received enough publicity.”
Indeed, there had been a splashy write-up in the Arts Section of the Charleston Post & Courier and Drayton had even been interviewed on the Good Morning, Charleston radio show.
“If it makes you feel any better, Drayton, those same concerns have been bouncing around in my head, too,” Theodosia told him.
“Unfortunately, there really isn’t much we can do,” said Drayton. He assumed a glum expression. “Something like this, you have to wait and see what happens.” He
paused, reached behind him for a cup of tea he had brewed earlier for himself, took a sip.
“Chamomile?” asked Theodosia. Chamomile was a tried-and-true remedy for nerves.
Drayton nodded. “Do you know if Delaine talked with the police yet?”
“I just got off the phone with her,” said Theodosia. “She was on her way over to the Lady Goodwood Inn to meet with two detectives from the Robbery Division.”
“Too bad your friend, Detective Tidwell, couldn’t be of help.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend,” responded Theodosia.
Burt Tidwell, one of the Homicide Detectives in the Charleston police force, had once insinuated that Bethany Shepherd, one of Theodosia’s former employees, had been involved in the poisoning of a slightly shady real estate developer during a historic homes tour. Theodosia had worked with Detective Tidwell, if one could call it that, to resolve the case and bring the true culprit to justice.
“Besides, Tidwell’s in the Homicide Division,” added Theodosia. “Last night’s event is being assessed as a robbery.”
“Right,” said Drayton. He set his teacup down, picked up the two jars of honey, balanced them in his hands as though he were weighing something. “Anyway, I’m still worried about tomorrow night.”
“What if we spoke with Timothy Neville?” said Theodosia. “Suggest to him that the Heritage Society might want to take some extra precautions?”
Timothy Neville was the president of the Heritage Society and a good friend of Drayton’s. Timothy’s great-greatgrandmother had been one of the original Huguenot settlers in Charleston back in the seventeen-hundreds and her descendants had become wealthy plantation owners, growing rice, indigo, and cotton. Timothy resided in a magnificent Georgian-style mansion over on Archdale Street.
Drayton nodded. “Timothy might go along with the idea. Should go along with it, anyway. It would certainly be in his best interests.”
“So you’ll speak to him?” asked Theodosia. “Share our concern without completely alarming him?”
“Absolutely,” said Drayton, making up his mind. “I’ll call Timothy this instant.”
Chapter 4
“This,” said the enthusiastic manager of Spies Are Us, “is the slickest little device this side of the DOD.”
“What’s the DOD?” asked Drayton.
“Department of Defense, my friend. And this little baby provides your first wall of defense.”
Theodosia and Drayton stood in the high-tech electronics store gazing at a device that looked like a second cousin to a video camera. Around them were showy displays that featured motion detectors, security cameras, tiny cameras that fit into pens and lapel pins, as well as miniature microphones.
“How exactly does this work?” inquired Drayton. He had voiced his feelings to Timothy Neville about heightening security at the members-only party tonight and, surprisingly, had received a green light. The problem he and Theodosia now faced was to select the right security device from the hundreds for sale in the store. Security, it would seem, was very big business these days.
“This motion detector functions like the automatic range finder on a camera,” said the young store manager whose fccname tag read RILEY. “Basically, you set the perimeter via this keypad.” Riley’s fingers tapped lightly on the shiny keypad. “Then, once the device is programmed, it emits sonar pulses and waits for an echo. But if someone breaks the electronic beam, say they walk through it or even pass a hand nearby... then wham! The alarm goes off!”
“How large an area will this secure?” asked Theodosia.
“What are we talking, warehouse or retail?” Riley asked.
“Think of a smaller retail space,” said Drayton. “With glass cases.”
“A smaller area, I’d say you should probably go with two,” Riley told them. “If you decide later that you need to expand your protected area, you can always add a couple additional modules.” Riley smiled and nodded over the top of Theodosia’s head toward a customer. “Could you excuse me for a moment? I’ve got a customer who’s here to pick up a security camera. Poor guy owns a couple liquor stores and is constantly getting ripped off.”
Theodosia looked askance at the device in Drayton’s hand. “How much is this thing?” she asked.
Drayton studied the price tag. “Ninety-nine dollars,” he told her. “I’m amazed this stuff is so affordable.”
“Me too. But you know how much technology has come down in price. Look at DVD and CD players.”
Drayton stared at her blankly. As a self-professed curmudgeon who was scornful of all things technologic, he still preferred his old Philco stereo and vinyl record albums.
“Well, never mind,” Theodosia told him, deciding this probably wasn’t the best time to illuminate Drayton on the advances that had been made in the past ten years. “You think we’d need two of these?” she asked.
Drayton studied the brochure and did some quick math, figuring square footage while he mumbled to himself. “Two should do it,” he decided. “The jewelry will be on display in the small gallery. That’s really our key area of concern right now.”
“And Timothy approved this expenditure?” Even though Timothy Neville lived in baronial splendor in a huge red brick Georgian mansion, he was notoriously frugal when it came to expenditures for the Heritage Society.
“When I spoke with him yesterday, he certainly agreed there was a potential for trouble. So yes, he did approve this. Tonight’s party is members-only, of course, and he didn’t seem to feel we should expect any problems. I think Timothy’s got more of an eye toward next weekend. That’s when there could be a security issue. I suppose he views tonight as a sort of dry run.”
“But he’s agreed to security guards, too,” said Theodosia. She wasn’t about to pin all her hopes on two ninety-nine-dollar motion sensors.
“Two security guards will be posted. But realize, we had to employ them anyway,” Drayton told her. “For insurance purposes. Anytime you have a traveling show like this European Jewel Collection, you’re contractually obligated to provide a certain amount of security.”
They stood there silently, eyeing the device.
“Are we overreacting?” asked Theodosia.
“Probably,” admitted Drayton. “In the cold, clear light of day, when you stand in this store and see all this trickytechy stuff that plays right into people’s paranoias, our cat burglar theory does seem awfully far-fetched.”
“Right,” Theodosia nodded. Her hand reached out and touched the motion sensor. It had a black metallic surface with a matte finish. Very gadgety and Mission Impossible looking. “This is sort of crazy,” she admitted. “You turn this little gizmo on and it generates supersonic detector beams.”
“It’s nuts,” agreed Drayton.
“Maybe we shouldn’t buy it then,” said Theodosia.
“Of course we should,” said Drayton.
* * *
Rain swept down in vast sheets, a cold, soaking late October rain that lashed in from the Atlantic. Spanish moss, heavy with water, sagged and swayed in the branches of giant live oaks like flotsam from the sea. Heroic last stands of bougainvillea and tiny white blooms from tea olive trees were mercilessly pounded, their blossoms shredded then pressed into the damp earth as though some careless giant had defiantly strode through and flattened everything in his wake.
Out in Charleston Harbor, waves slapped sharply against channel buoys as the Cooper and Ashley Rivers converged in Charleston Harbor to confront the driving tide from the Atlantic. The mournful sound of the fog horn out on Patriot’s Point moaned and groaned, its low sound carrying to the old historic homes that crowded up against the peninsula, shoulder to elegant shoulder, like a receiving line of dowager empresses.
The lights inside the old stone headquarters of the Heritage Society glowed like a beacon in the dark as ladies clad in opera capes and men in tuxedos splashed through puddles in their evening finery and struggled frantically with umbrellas blown i
nside out.
Standing in the entryway, Theodosia shrugged off her black nylon raincoat, gently shook the rain from it, then handed it off to a young volunteer, who seemed at a complete loss as to what to do with all these wet garments.
Patting her hair and smoothing the skirt of her black taffeta cocktail dress, Theodosia composed her serene face in a natural smile as she made her way down the crowded hallway, trying to push her way through the exuberant throng of Heritage Society members.
“Theo!” cried an excited voice. “Hello there!”
Theodosia turned to see Brooke Carter Crockett, the owner of the estate jewelry store, Heart’s Desire, smiling and waving at her.
“Brooke . . . hello,” she responded. But then she was carried along by a crowd of people and eventually found herself at the end of the great hallway in the suite of rooms the Heritage Society used for receptions such as this and as galleries to showcase items pulled from their vast storage vault in the basement.
Making a mental note to get back to Brooke later when some of the initial hubbub had died down, Theodosia gazed around appreciatively at the interior of the building.
The old stone building that housed the Heritage Society was definitely one of Theodosia’s favorite edifices. Long ago, well over two hundred years ago, it had been a government building, built by the English. But rather than exuding a residual bureaucratic aura, Theodosia felt that the building seemed more contemplative and medieval in nature. An atmosphere that was undoubtedly helped along by its arched wood beam ceilings, stone walls, heavy leaded windows, and sagging wooden floors.
It was, Theodosia had always thought, the kind of place you could turn into a very grand home. Given the proviso, of course, that you owned tons of leather-bound books, furnished it with acres of Oriental rugs and overstuffed furniture, and had a passel of snoozing hound dogs to keep you company.
It would be a far cry from her small apartment over the tea shop, she decided, which she’d originally decorated in the chintz-and-prints-bordering-on-shabby-chic school of design, and was now veering toward old world antiquities and elegance.
