by Laura Childs
“Carson and I never finalized our divorce papers,” Sissy said in a tone that was a boisterous half whisper. “The poor jerk kept putting it off. He was so busy being the important, high-powered Capital Bank executive that he never could find time to drop by my lawyer’s office and sign the papers.”
“Men can be so self-absorbed,” Delaine said, studying her lipstick in the mirror.
“Now look where it got him,” Sissy said, her voice growing louder. “Carson ran plumb out of time. In fact, he’s dead! Now I’m the bereaved wife who inherits everything.” She let loose a sharp, high-pitched chortle. “And you know what the best thing is?”
“Is there a best thing?” Theodosia asked. She thought Sissy seemed bizarrely jubilant about her situation.
“Of course there is,” Sissy said. “Best of all, Carson’s dopey girlfriend—the one he was probably planning to marry—gets nothing from his estate. Zip, zero, zilch.”
Delaine’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward expectantly. “Your husband had a girlfriend?”
Sissy curled a lip. “Absolutely, he did. Although I suppose the technical term would be mistress.”
“Goodness,” Theodosia said. She had a feeling the plot had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
“Or maybe badness,” Delaine said. Her eyes were wide and searching. “Do you know who the girlfriend was? Is?”
“I most certainly do,” Sissy said. “Charleston isn’t that big a town. You can’t hide a torrid affair like they had when you’re enjoying flirty lunches at the Peninsula Grill or all-day golf outings at Coosaw Creek Country Club.”
“Then who is it?” Delaine asked. She was dying to discover the woman’s name, practically choking on her words.
Sissy waved a hand. “It was a woman who worked with Carson at the bank.”
“Probably one of the tellers,” Delaine said.
“Carson didn’t think I knew what was going on,” Sissy continued. “But I wasn’t the dumb-bunny little wife he thought I was. I knew darned well that he was carrying on with Betty Bates.”
That name meant nothing to Theodosia. But she filed it away in her memory. Just in case.
* * *
• • •
“You didn’t buy anything at the sample sale?” Haley asked, as Theodosia let herself in the back door of the tea shop.
“No, things kind of went off the rails.”
“You mean Delaine was there?”
“And being a bit disruptive.”
“Yup, she’s like that,” Haley said. “Mad as a hatter.”
“Did I miss anything important?” Theodosia asked. She dropped her bag on her desk and pulled off her suede jacket.
“Lover boy dropped by.”
“Pete Riley was here?” Theodosia was suddenly hyperalert. And wondering why Riley hadn’t called her on her cell phone. Or maybe he had and she’d just been too distracted to notice.
“I’m not sure whether he came to see you or partake of my scones,” Haley said. She fluttered her lashes and twisted a hank of long blond hair. “Probably both.”
“So what’s up?” Theodosia asked. “What did he say?”
“You’d better go talk to Drayton,” Haley said. “He’s the man with all the answers.”
But when Theodosia asked Drayton about Riley’s visit, he made an unhappy face.
“Detective Riley told me that he interviewed Jud Harker, all right,” Drayton said. “But it wasn’t until after Harker paid us a visit.”
“Okay.” Theodosia had a feeling something strange was brewing, and it wasn’t a new blend of tea.
“It seems that Harker fed your Detective Riley a completely different story than what actually went on here.”
“What are you talking about?” Theodosia asked.
“Harker told Riley that you upset him terribly.”
Theodosia reared back in surprise. “I upset him?”
“Apparently Harker gave Riley some tearful song and dance number about how you yelled at him, hurt his feelings, and then shoved him out the door.”
“Wait a minute.” Theodosia flapped a hand in disbelief. “I hope you set the record straight, here. Did you tell Detective Riley that Harker came in chattering like a demented ferret? That he was out of control and pretty much upset our customers?”
“I told him that, yes,” Drayton said.
“And what did Riley say?”
Drayton thought for a moment. “Riley said that Harker probably concocted his whitewashed version of the story as a way to assert his innocence.”
“But Harker may not be innocent,” Theodosia sputtered. “In fact, he might be guilty as sin!”
Drayton gazed at her calmly. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
“Jeez.” Theodosia shook her head, put both elbows on the counter, and leaned forward. “What a crazy day. First Sissy Lanier and now this.”
“Excuse me?” Drayton said. “Did you just say . . . ?”
“Sissy Lanier, yes,” Theodosia said. “Delaine introduced us at the sample sale, which launched Sissy into a bizarre rant.”
“About her dead husband?” Drayton had a sympathetic look on his face. “Perhaps the woman just needed some kind words.”
“I think Sissy needs an exorcism. She was cackling away about the fact that her husband never got around to signing the divorce papers, so now she inherits everything.”
“Gracious.”
“She isn’t one bit gracious,” Theodosia said. She was about to tell Drayton about Carson Lanier’s affair, too, and then decided that might be a little too gossipy and inappropriate. Besides, maybe Carson Lanier hadn’t had an affair after all. Perhaps the affair was all conjecture—or smoke screen—on Sissy Lanier’s part. Maybe Sissy had been trying to assert her innocence as well.
Theodosia watched Drayton as he went back to brewing a pot of lemon gunpowder tea. And decided that Sissy, with her devil-may-care attitude, suddenly felt like the perfect suspect.
10
“I told you before that we couldn’t go for a run tonight,” Theodosia said. She was sitting in the living room of her small cottage a few blocks from the Indigo Tea Shop. And she was having a conversation with her dog, Earl Grey.
“This meeting at the Heritage Society came up unexpectedly.”
Earl Grey looked at her with limpid brown eyes and slowly cocked his head.
“Come on, don’t give me that accusing look. Show me some mercy, will you? I really don’t want to go to this stupid board meeting. I’m only doing it as a favor to Drayton.”
This time Earl Grey sighed visibly.
“How about if we negotiate a make-good? What if we take an extralong run tomorrow night?”
“Rowwr?” Earl Grey’s tail thumped a couple of beats.
“You want to go when I get back tonight? I don’t know—it could be pretty late. Well, I guess we’ll just have to play it by ear.”
That seemed to do it for Earl Grey. He bobbed his head and strolled over to the fireplace, where he curled up on his favorite Aubusson rug.
Theodosia let loose a long breath from her perch on the chintz-covered sofa. It was good to be home. Cozied up in her small cottage in the Historic District. And no matter her promise to Drayton, she would’ve preferred to stay home and enjoy Earl Grey’s sweet companionship. He was, after all, a terrific dog who had changed dramatically from the terrified, half-starved puppy she’d found huddled in the alley behind the Indigo Tea Shop some years ago. Earl Grey had since grown into a magnificent animal with his dappled coat (which is why Theodosia considered him a Dalbrador); expressive eyes; and fine, aristocratic muzzle.
Theodosia leaned back and gazed about her living room. She loved the beamed ceiling, parquet floor, and brick fireplace with built-ins on each side. When she’d moved here a couple of years ago, she’d been thri
lled that her chintz and damask furniture, antique highboy, and elegant oil paintings from her old apartment had fit right in. As if they’d always belonged here. As if it had been destiny.
Theodosia glanced at her watch. It was twenty to seven.
Okay, gotta get going. But first I’m going to try Pete Riley again.
His phone rang and rang, finally going to voice mail.
Where is he? Pulled into some new aspect of the investigation?
The notion made her fairly vibrate with energy. But this was no time to start spinning a web of what-ifs. Right now she had to grab her basket of scones and go pick up Drayton.
* * *
• • •
Drayton was waiting on the curb outside his house a few blocks away. When Theodosia pulled over and Drayton clambered into the passenger seat, she said, “I could barely see you out there.”
“Dark of the moon,” Drayton said.
“You make it sound so ominous,” Theodosia said as she pulled away.
“That’s because everything that’s happened lately verges on the strange and unusual.”
Theodosia hung a left down Tradd Street. “I brought our leftover scones along for the meeting tonight.”
“Good,” Drayton said. “We can throw them at anyone who tries to block the vote for Lanier’s replacement.”
“Is there going to be opposition?” Theodosia asked.
Drayton looked out the window as they sped along. “There’s always opposition, no matter what we’re voting on or talking about. A few years ago, we didn’t seem to have such a contentious board. But now . . .”
“Do you think it has to do with the Heritage Society’s recent financial troubles?” Theodosia asked. She knew that donations hadn’t been rolling in like they used to. Unfortunately, some of their wealthier donors had passed away recently, and now the place was being run on a shoestring budget. No wonder Timothy Neville was pumping out all sorts of different events, hoping to attract a raft of new patrons.
“Could be because of tight money,” Drayton said. “On the other hand, people seem a lot more prickly these days. I don’t know what it is. Politics in this country, world problems . . . the Internet.”
Theodosia made another left turn. “The Internet?” She sounded amused. “You’re blaming technology for rude behavior?”
“People are way too connected,” Drayton said.
Theodosia chuckled. “You’re not. You’re not on the Internet. You didn’t even want the simple e-mail account I set up for you at the tea shop and then tried to stuff down your throat.”
“That’s because I’m a Luddite, pure and simple. I can get along just fine without texting, tweeting, and chirping. I came into this world without the benefit of technology; that’s how I’ll probably go out.”
“Please don’t talk old,” Theodosia said as she changed lanes. They were almost at the front door of the Heritage Society.
“I am getting old.”
She pulled over to the curb and put her car in park. Stared at Drayton across the dark interior of her Jeep. “You’re not old, you’re seasoned.”
He gave a faint smile. “Ah, I suppose that does sound better.”
* * *
• • •
As they walked down the main hall of the Heritage Society, Theodosia was once again reminded of why she adored the place. The building was an enormous pile of gray stones, assembled to look almost castlelike, and hung with tapestries, oil paintings, and the most fantastical chandeliers. There was an enormous library filled with leather-bound books and leather chairs, and meeting rooms that featured candelabras and stained glass windows. Then there were the various galleries, all stuffed with art and antiquities. Even better were the enormous basement storage rooms. Theodosia loved wandering through storage, imagining that she was in a labyrinth beneath the streets of Rome or Paris, never knowing when she’d stumble upon some priceless treasure—or even something spooky!
They caught Timothy Neville just as he was exiting his office.
“Wonderful,” Timothy said when he spotted Theodosia. “You came after all. Appreciate it.”
“Only because Drayton twisted my arm,” Theodosia said.
“And we come bearing gifts,” Drayton said, holding up the basket full of scones.
“Thank you,” Timothy said as they walked along. “They’ll pair nicely with the tea that Sylvia, my admin assistant, just brewed. Nice of you to send a tin of your special Palmetto State blend over to us.”
“No problem,” Drayton said. “Um . . . is our new board member here yet?”
“They’re on the way,” Timothy said. “So hopefully all will go well.”
They paused in the hallway outside the main conference room, and Theodosia decided this was as good a time as any to speak up.
“Before we go in there,” Theodosia said, “I have to tell you about a strange incident that happened this morning.”
“At the tea shop,” Drayton said.
Timothy shuffled papers as his sparse eyebrows crawled up his smooth forehead. “Yes? What is that?”
“That man who’s been so vehemently opposed to your Rare Weapons Show—” Theodosia began.
“Jud Harker.” Timothy pounced on the name like he was swatting an insect.
“It turns out Harker works as a handyman at the Stagwood Inn,” Theodosia said. “You know, the B and B right next door to you.”
Timothy’s mouth dropped open and he blinked in surprise. “Are you serious?” When they both nodded, he said, “That’s utterly bizarre . . . I had no idea.” Then his expression hardened as it took him all of two seconds to forge a connection. “So Harker could have been lurking in the area Sunday night. He could have fired that deadly arrow from the third floor.”
“That possibility exists, yes,” Theodosia said. “The police have already questioned Harker, and he’s categorically denied everything. But they’re not about to let this go. They’ll keep after him, maybe even put a watch on him.”
“Don’t be surprised when the police circle back to talk to you again,” Drayton said. “Looking for more information.”
“You know, all I’ve ever received from this Harker person are angry letters and phone calls,” Timothy said, his hand settling on the doorknob. “I don’t believe I could identify the man if he walked into this room.”
“Well . . . you probably should find out what Harker looks like,” Theodosia said. “Just in case he ever tries to accost you in person. Really, the man struck me as being positively unhinged.”
* * *
• • •
The board members, six men and four women, sat around a mahogany table the size of a yacht’s main deck as Timothy called the meeting to order. The secretary read through the minutes of last month’s meeting, and they went over a few matters that were easily settled with verbal ayes or nays.
Then Timothy pushed back his chair and stood up, ready to address the real reason they were all there.
“You’re all aware,” Timothy began, “that one of our board members met with a terrible fate.” Feet shuffled and papers rustled all around him in the uncomfortable silence that spun out. Still, everyone remained focused on Timothy. “Carson Lanier was fatally shot with an arrow,” he continued. His voice remained strong, but his shoulders began to sag. “And this unholy deed happened while he was a guest in my home.”
A board member, a man named Nicholas Clayton, cleared his throat. “So Mr. Lanier’s death wasn’t an accident?” He glanced around the table. “I think we were all hoping that the press reports were wrong.”
“It appears to have been cold-blooded murder,” Timothy said. “Which is why the police are in the middle of a full-scale investigation.”
“So they’ll be talking to all of us?” another of the board members asked.
“That I don’t know,�
� Timothy said. “Perhaps the police will want to interview all of you; perhaps they’ll confine their questions to the people who were present at my home that night.”
“What can we do to help?” one of the female board members asked. Theodosia recognized her as Louella Rayburn, a well-heeled social doyenne.
Timothy opened his mouth to talk, but was suddenly so distressed by the circumstances that nothing came out.
“You can pray,” Theodosia spoke up in a soft voice. “And keep a good thought that this matter is resolved as quickly as possible.”
“Amen,” Drayton said.
Timothy cleared his throat. “There’s no hesitation on my part when I tell you I feel responsible.” He seemed to have recovered his bearings somewhat. “And that I’d like to help set things straight.”
“What exactly are you saying?” Clayton asked him.
“I know this is going to sound slightly unorthodox,” Timothy said. “But a possible successor has stepped forward. Someone who was quite close to Carson Lanier and feels they could adequately take his place here on the board.”
Timothy picked up a stack of papers and passed them around the table. When the papers got to Theodosia, she passed them on without taking one.
“What you see here is a résumé. A curriculum vitae, as it were,” Timothy said.
“And you’re recommending that we accept this new candidate?” Louella Rayburn asked. “To vote on them?” She wasn’t challenging Timothy, she was just clarifying his intentions.
“Absolutely, I want you to consider them,” Timothy said.
“When do we get to meet this new fellow?” Drayton asked.
“Right now.” Timothy stepped away from the table and pulled open the door. “Hello,” he said as he leaned out into the hallway. “Please come in and I’ll introduce you to our board of directors.”
All eyes were focused on the woman who stepped into the room. She was tall, with dark hair cut in a pageboy, a thin face, and narrow black metal glasses. She also wore a pink tweed skirt suit that looked both serious and expensive.
