by Laura Childs
“Really? You really want to know the whole sorry mess?” Theodosia felt such enormous relief she wanted to burst into tears.
“If it involves you, I want to know,” said Max.
The day turned into a magnificent spring afternoon. The sun shone down like an enormous yellow orb, wispy white tuffets of clouds twirled lazily across azure-blue skies, and Theodosia talked her heart out. She started at the beginning, that dreadful opening party at the Neptune Aquarium, and continued with every little nit and nat that had followed in its wake. She laid out hersuspects—there was a virtual smorgasbord ofthem—and carefully explained why each had earned a place of honor on her list. As she talked, she glanced at her scavenger hunt checklist, negotiating the twists and turns of the Maybank Highway until it led them right to the door of the Charleston Tea Plantation.
“Tea,” said Max, glancing out the window. “I should’ve known there’d be tea,” he chuckled.
“But no tea drinking,” said Theodosia. “Unless you want to open that thermos bottle I stashed in the backseat. I’d love to take you on the grand tour, but today we just need to snap a quick photo and be on our way.”
Max turned and stared at her with genuine curiosity. “Tell me,” he said, “did you figure all this out on your own?”
“All this… ?”
“Everything you’ve been telling me for the past half hour. About the suspects and, I guess, what would technically be called motives.”
“Drayton put in his two cents’ worth along the way,” Theodosia said, slowly. “And Detective Tidwell told me about Shelby being named beneficiary. That got my brain pinging, too.”
“Hmm.”
Theodosia wasn’t sure how to interpret this. “Hmm meaning not good?” she asked.
But a smile creased Max’s face. “It means I can’t quite believe I’m having a romantic relationship with my very own Nancy Drew.”
Theodosia blushed. “I don’t think poor Nancy ever had much romance in her life. Probably too young, I guess.”
Max made a Groucho Marx gesture with his eyebrows. “But we’re not.” He unsnapped his seat belt and reached for her. Pulled her into a kiss and then continued with a caring, gentle hug. “Poor dear, you’ve been through the wringer this last week. Now I feel awful about being gone. Missing in action.”
“But now you’re back,” said Theodosia.
“Willing and able to help,” said Max. “If you want me to, that is.”
“I think,” said Theodosia, reaching for her cell phone, “I can use all the help I can get.”
Fenwick Hall was their second stop, a brick manor house at the end of a broad avenue of oak trees. Though no longer a private home, it was reputed to have a tunnel leading from the basement to a nearby creek. John Fenwick, the owner and builder, had been known to have sneaky dealings with pirates as well as local riffraff.
“Okay, got it,” said Max, as Theodosia stopped just outside the impressivewrought-iron gates. Hedouble-checked his photo, then said, “Where to next?”
“Down Bohicket Road to Kiawah Island,” said Theodosia. She glanced at her scavenger hunt list. “We need to get a shot of Beachwalk Park. And then swing back to Johns Island and find the Johns Island Presbyterian Church.”
“It’s historic, I take it?”
“Founded in the early seventeen hundreds,” said Theodosia.
“I’ve been noodling all your information around,” said Max, “and as far as the suspects on yourlist—Manship; the lawyer, Beaudry; the ex-girlfriend, Shelby; and the aquarium guy, Sedakis—well, I can see why you’d want to keep an eye on them. But the one that seems sort offar-fetched is Peaches Pafford.”
“You think?”
“She’s just a businessperson who knows how to jump on a good deal when she sees it.” He paused. “Unless she’s really thewhacked-out character you say she is,” said Max.
“She’s one tough nut,” said Theodosia. “In fact, if Peaches had a nickname it would probably be Old Ironsides.”
A sly grin stole across Max’s face. “Sounds like I’m going to have to meet this Peaches Pafford for myself. And the sooner the better…tonight even.”
“I can pretty much guarantee it’s not going to be tonight,” said Theodosia. “Tonight Peaches is having a private oyster fest at her restaurant.”
“So I heard. Which makes it perfect.”
Theodosia shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. Because I hear the event’s completely sold out. You can’t possibly get in without a ticket.”
Max reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out four orange tickets. “Wanna bet?”
Theodosia did a double take, then focused her eyes back on the road. “Seriously? You have tickets? For the Oyster Fest at Aubergine?”
“Never underestimate the power of a PR guy,” said Max.
Theodosia grinned. “The big schmooze, huh?”
Max’s eyelids fluttered in a gesture of mock tribulation. “You have no idea how hard I have to work.”
“Well…great,” said Theodosia. “Then I guess we are going.” She’d never been to Aubergine before and figured it might afford her a chance to toss a few more probing questions at Peaches. Maybe catch her off guard.
“There’s only one small problem,” said Max.
“Oops,” said Theodosia. “I knew there’d be a catch. What is it? The tickets are promised to somebody else?”
“Nope. We can go, but only for a short while. The thing is, I also have a donor’s dinner tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. It’s practically a command performance.”
“So if you don’t show up by eight you turn into a pumpkin?” Theodosia turned into the parking lot of the Presbyterian church and eased to a stop.
“Or, worse yet, I get fired,” said Max. “So, my dear, like the proverbial bad date I’m going to have to duck out on you.”
“Man,” said Theodosia, “you’ve been home for, like, one day and you’re already dreaming up excuses to dump me.”
“Dump you?” said Max, leaning across the front seat and putting his arms around her. “Never. Not on your life.” He kissed her slowly then, in a dreamy, easy way. And Theodosiaresponded—although the fact that they were sitting outside a church gave her pause.
“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,” said Max. “I’m going to give you three tickets. Maybe you can get Drayton and Haley to come along, too. Seeing as how I have to run off like the scoundrel you think I am.”
“Mmm…okay.”
Max gave her an earnest stare. “Are you sure? Are you sure that works for you? You’re not going to feel cheated or something?”
“Not in the least. Besides, it’ll give me another chance to harass Peaches.”
Max shook his head. “You really are incorrigible.”
By five o’clock that afternoon, Theodosia had dropped Max at his apartment and headed for home. She was planning to meet him at Aubergine at seven, so she had a little time to hang with Earl Grey, then laze in a bubble bath.
But just as she stuck her toe into a frothy soup of T-Bath Bubbles, she remembered she had to call Drayton and Haley.
Okay, gotta do that first.
Turns out Haley already had plans to attend a rock concert with her boyfriend du jour. Some hot new group called the Smoke Jammers. But when Theodosia got Drayton on the line, he jumped at the chance to attend the Oyster Fest.
“Have you ever known me to say no to eating oysters?” asked Drayton.
“I had a hunch you might be up for it,” said Theodosia.
“But…won’t I be a third wheel? I mean, your friend Max just returned from New York. You two haven’t seen each other for an entire week.”
“We spent the afternoon together doing the second leg of the scavenger hunt,” said Theodosia.
“Better him than me,” said Drayton.
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Theodosia. “Your photos were great. But here’s the thing…Max has to run off to a donor’s dinner at eight. So you’d
be my date, too.”
“A backup date,” said Drayton.
“Something like that.”
“And we’d get an opportunity to see Peaches again,” said Drayton.
“Exactly my thought. I figured it might be a sort oflucky-strike extra.”
“Then it sounds like a plan,” said Drayton.
“Excellent.”
“So I should meet you there?” Drayton asked. “Where exactly is this chichi restaurant of hers?”
“Tell you what,” said Theodosia. “Max and I have to drive separately anyway, so I’ll drop by your house and pick you up.”
Theodosia allowed herself ten minutes of bubble bath reverie while she listened to an Alicia Keys CD. Then, refreshed and relaxed, she jumped out of the bathtub, ready to get duded up.
Or should she? How formal was this event tonight? Should she slip into her de rigueur black cocktail dress or switch things up and goboho-chic? Fun and funky was always better, she decided, so she stepped into her closet to see what garment tickled her fancy.
Ah. She had a terrific, floaty raspberry-pink top that would look great with gobs of pearls and a pair of white, tapered silk slacks. Really perfect.
Or was it? Could she wear white? Should she wear white? Only one way to find out. Phone up the arbiter of taste for the Greater Charleston metropolitan area.
Delaine sounded perturbed when she took Theodosia’s call. “You’re asking me if you can wear white?”
“Yes, I am,” said Theodosia. And then added, “You know, because it’s before Memorial Day and all that.”
“Theodosia!” Delaine sounded supremely exasperated. “Those tired old dictums went out the window years ago! In fact, practically every fashion rule that ever existed has been tossed out.”
“Then how come you’re always telling me never to wear brown with black or wear tights withpeep-toe shoes?”
“Excuse me!” Delaine bellowed. “Did you call to harass me or ask for advice? Because, if you must know, Dougan and I are also attending the Oyster Fest tonight. And I’m hurrying to get ready, too.”
“Sorry,” said Theodosia.
Delaine’s mood shifted, as it always did, just like the swirling tides of the nearby Atlantic. “Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’ll just take it out on you later.”
At six thirty that Saturday night, with Drayton sitting next to her wearing acream-colored linen jacket anddove-gray slacks, Theodosia pulled into the parking lot behind Aubergine. She cruised the first three rows, past BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes, and Audis. Deciding this was a fairly tony crowd and that this part of the lot was parked up solid, she figured she’d have better luck at the back of the lot.
Circling back, she bumped off the smooth asphalt and onto crunchy gravel, still searching for a parking spot.
“I think there’s a spot over by the Dumpster,” said Drayton.
“Just our speed,” said Theodosia. She cranked the steering wheel hard, pulled into a narrow slot between the hulking brown Dumpster and a pickup truck, then did a double take and cried out, “Holy crap!”
Drayton’s brows lifted slightly. “Excuse me?”
“You see that truck?” Theodosia was pointing and gesturing like crazy.
Drayton glanced out the window. “Yes?”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Theodosia cried, “it looks exactly like the truck that ran me off the road yesterday!”
27
They stared at the black truck as if it were a Magic 8 Ball, able to magically produce an answer. Very probable. Or perhaps Explore all possibilities.
Finally, Drayton said, “Do you think it’s also the same truck that pulled in when we were at the clam shack?”
I don’t know,” said Theodosia, squinting at it. “All trucks look pretty much alike to me. I’m not exactly a motorhead.”
“This one’s a what?” asked Drayton.
“Um…maybe a Chevy?”
“Okay,” said Drayton.
“That still doesn’t help much, does it?”
“Do you think maybe you’d recognize the driver?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia shook her head. “Unfortunately, I never really got a good look at him.”
“Or her,” Drayton muttered. When Theodosia registered surprise, Drayton added, “Well, the truck is parked behind Peaches’s restaurant.”
Theodosia considered this. “Good point.”
“Though it could be the wrong truck. Or just a weird coincidence,” Drayton hastened to add.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Theodosia. “Let’s go in and find out.”
Aubergine was a luxe, upscale eatery that had received four stars from Michelin and atwenty-four-point rating from Zagat. In other words, it was your basicwhite-linen-tableclothfine-dining restaurant with prices that soared to astronomical heights.
The expansive lobby was paneled in dark cypress and featured a giant stone fireplace, two curved sofas upholsteredin—what else?—aubergine-colored velvet, and a series ofgold-framed etchings on the walls that depicted turn-of-the-century Parisian street scenes.
“Very nice,” said Drayton as they stood in a short queue at the maître d’ stand.
Aubergine was pretty much what Theodosia had expected. Peaches Pafford always went forover-the-top glam, so it would stand to reason her restaurant would be showy as well.
“Look,” said Theodosia, nodding toward a gilt plaque that was engraved with several lines of flowing calligraphy. “Peaches even has a corporate philosophy.”
Curious, Drayton put on his glasses to read it.
“Well?” said Theodosia.
“Platitudes,” said Drayton. “And wishful thinking.”
“Not up there with Kierkegaard?” grinned Theodosia.
Drayton’s mouth twitched upward. “Hardly. Then again, who is?”
Moments later, atuxedo-clad maître d’ flashed his broad smile at them. “Good evening,” he said in a brisk tone. “Might I see your tickets?”
Theodosia produced two of the orange tickets and the maître d’ nodded his approval. “Ah yes, tabletwenty-two. Please go right in. If you prefer to begin your evening with a libation, our cocktail lounge is directly to your right.” He made a quick hand gesture. “Off to your left is our dining room. Tonight, in honor of our special event, we’re offering a seafood raw bar as well as a station where Chef Oliver is roasting oysters. Please. Enjoy.”
Opting for the dining room, Theodosia and Drayton pushed their way through anaubergine-colored velvet curtain and suddenly found Peaches’s restaurant spread out before them.
Everything had been designed on a grand scale. Large, circular tables; enormous, upholstered chairs that looked like they’d been liberated from a French castle; another large fireplace made up of almost perfectly rounded stones; and not one but three huge crystal chandeliers. And everything, everywhere, dripped with gold. The chairs were edged with gold, the chandelier sparkled with gold, gold edged the rims of the plates and glasses, even the flatware was gold.
“Goodness,” said Drayton, slightly taken aback. “What would one call this style of decorating?”
“Gilt trip?” said Theodosia, with a wry smile.
Her words tickled Drayton’s fancy. “Ha! Clever.”
“Let’s go find tabletwenty-two,” said Theodosia, “and see if Max is here yet.”
They eased their way between the various tables, mumbling excuse-me’s and occasionally stopping to greet a familiar face.
“Everyone who’s anybody is here tonight,” noted Drayton. “That table over there? The executive director of the Charleston Symphony and the chairman of the Art Association.”
“Why is Peaches such a hot ticket?” Theodosia wondered.
“She’s a schmoozer,” said Drayton. “She ingratiates herself all over town and donates just enough money to all the popular arts organizations and social causes. And, probably, her restaurants do turn out some very fine food.”
“At least her chefs do,” said Theodosia. They’
d arrived at tabletwenty-two and found it empty. Two chairs had white dinner napkins dropped onto the seats, an obvious sign that someone had been here and staked their claim. “So now what?”
“Now we eat,” said Drayton. “Any sort of investigation, no matter how trifling, must always be conducted on a full stomach.”
The raw bar at Aubergine was a thing of purebeauty—atwenty-foot-long table mounded with crushed ice and topped by a glittering ice sculpture of ahalf-naked woman rising from an oyster shell. But the shellfish were the real attraction. Gigantic pink shrimp curled on silver platters. Fresh oysters, practically quivering in their brine, were scattered atop the crushed ice. Lobster tails, crab legs, and even tiny imported periwinkles were enticingly displayed.
“This is amazing,” said Drayton.
“A feast,” agreed Theodosia.
Drayton brightened. “And look over there, they’re roasting fresh oysters over charcoal.”
“Yum,” said Theodosia. She smelled the mingled aromas of oak wood, sea salt, and hot sauce and could almost hear the oysters popping inside their shells. But first she was going to help herself to the chilled portion of the dinner. Specifically, the raw oysters.
“We’re two of a kind,” said Drayton, as they both placed oysters on their plates. “Love the briny little mollusks.”
“In the right season,” said Theodosia, “I think our local oysters are even tastier than blue crab.” Blue crab was also a local delicacy.
“It’s so interesting,” remarked Drayton, “that oysters actually derive their flavor from the region where they’re harvested.” He dribbled a dollop of creamy horseradish sauce onto his plate, then added, “Just as grapes take on the terroir, or taste of the land.”
“What would be the water equivalent for oysters?”
“Not sure,” said Drayton. “Aquoir?”
Theodosia giggled. “Nice try, but I don’t think that’s an actual word.”
Unfazed, Drayton said, “It should be.”
Max was lounging at their table when Theodosia and Drayton returned with their plates of seafood. He wore a snappy checked jacket and gray slacks and looked adorable (in Theodosia’s eyes, anyway) with hishalf-amused grin and carefully tousled hair. He was sipping from a flute of champagne and chatting casually with an older couple who were picking genteelly at small mounds of tiny pink shrimp.
