by Laura Childs
“It doesn’t work that way,” Tidwell said.
Theodosia was sticking to her guns. “Well, it should.”
“How does it work?” Drayton asked.
Tidwell grimaced. “Unfortunately, there are hundreds of major jewel heists that are never solved.”
“Never?” Theodosia squeaked. This didn’t sound good.
“Gems and jewelry,” Tidwell said, “diamonds in particular, are the most concentrated form of wealth. They’re small, portable, and easy to convert into cash. They’re the one form of currency that’s pretty much accepted anywhere in the world. From Zaire to Zagreb. Moscow to Monaco.”
“You’re talking as if we’re all playing parts in some grand caper movie,” Drayton said. “To Catch a Thief with Cary Grant. Where jewels are stolen and everybody sits around on the Riviera drinking cappuccinos.”
“I wish that were the case,” Tidwell told him. “Unfortunately, in the U.S. alone, the jewelry industry loses more than one hundred million dollars a year to theft.”
Theodosia poured a little more tea into Tidwell’s cup. “Tell us about the FBI being called in for the Heart’s Desire robbery. How will they help? What exactly are they expected to do?”
“Probably gum up the works,” Tidwell said. He took a sip of tea, put his cup down, and then used a napkin to blot his lips. “They’re not known for their skill or keen insight when it comes to actual field investigations.”
“But you were an agent once,” Theodosia said pointedly. “You were one of their best investigators.” Tidwell had been an FBI agent, years ago, before he’d quit the agency and come to Charleston to head their Robbery-Homicide Division.
Tidwell reached for a second scone, sliced it in half, then twiddled his silver knife. “I worked many cases, yes. But I was always butting heads with useless bureaucrats. When I pushed to question witnesses and do field research that might lead to actual clues, they preferred to do wiretaps, amass information, and do a data dump.” He snorted. “They wanted to write a report.” He said the word report as if he was referring to camel dung. “A lot of good that does.”
“So what now?” Drayton asked. He sounded a little frustrated. “Now what do we do?”
Tidwell gave a tight grimace. “I’d keep a close watch on that jeweled egg of yours.”
• • •
“Did you hear any of what we were talking about out there?” Theodosia asked Haley. She was in the kitchen, leaning up against the butcher-block table, enjoying the aroma of fresh-baked scones and muffins, and watching Haley stir a big pot of corn chowder.
“I kind of did,” Haley said. “Drayton said something about a Fabergé egg? What’s that all about?”
“The Heritage Society borrowed it for their Rare Antiquities Show. A Peter the Great egg.”
“Peter the Great from Russia?”
“That would be the place. And apparently this egg is the real deal.”
Haley twiddled her wooden spoon and gave the counter a tippety-tap. “I’d say the timing on that fancy egg is seriously wrong. Can they hold off on displaying it?”
“Drayton tells me it’s the key piece in their show. All their big-buck donors are coming Saturday night just to get a peek at it.”
“What if somebody else shows up to take a peek at it?” Haley asked. “Like the same clowns who showed up at Brooke’s shop last night?”
“Then we’ve got a huge problem.”
“We? No, no.” Haley looked startled. “Just leave me out of this, please. I’ve had enough robbery to last me a lifetime.”
Theodosia realized that Haley was still deeply shaken by the robbery. And, of course, Kaitlin’s death. “Yes, of course we will. Apologies if I upset you. Especially since I just came in to get today’s luncheon menu.”
“Whew.” Haley looked relieved. “Hopefully we’re back to our regular routine, then. Okay.” She dug out a three-by-five-inch index card from her apron pocket and handed it to Theodosia. “Here you go.”
Theodosia studied the card. “So lemon scones and your corn chowder as a starter.”
“Yup. And a choice of three entrées today,” Haley said. “Individual chicken potpies, zucchini quiche, and three kinds of tea sandwiches with either chicken salad filling, tomato slices with Cheddar cheese, or strawberry cream cheese. For dessert we’ve got toffee bars and chocolate brownie tortes.”
“It all sounds perfect.”
“With the cooler weather moving in, it’s fun to come up with some heartier offerings.” Haley smiled. “Heart-healthy ones, too.”
“Atta girl.”
• • •
Lunch was busier than Theodosia thought it would be. She greeted customers, poured tea, and took orders. And with the cooler temperatures moving in, customers did want heartier lunches. She brought out bowl after bowl of corn chowder and was beginning to fear that they’d run out of chicken potpies. But, somehow, through Haley’s magic, they still managed to have a few left.
When one fifteen rolled around, Theodosia found herself with a slight break in the action. So she grabbed a carton of scone mixes from her office in back and carried it out to the tea room so she could restock her shelves.
Theodosia prided herself on her little retail area. There were two antique highboys chock-full of tea strainers, tea towels, DuBose Bees Honey, and shiny blue bags of Indigo Tea Shop tea. This time of year, Drayton’s proprietary blends included Cranberry Razzle-Dazzle, Black Tea Orange, and Autumn Magic, which was a blend of white tea, apple bits, and black currants.
Her own line of T-Bath products lined the bottom two shelves. Her Chamomile Calming Lotion was by far the biggest seller, but they also sold lots of jars of White Tea Feet Treat as well as their T-Bath Bombs.
When everything looked perfect and organized, Theodosia glanced around the tea shop and smiled. The little shingled carriage house that she had freshened, decorated, and cozied up was her pride and joy. The tea-stained wooden floor lent rustic charm, while the candles, bone china, and fancy linens imbued it with a Victorian feel. Oh, and there were the decorated grapevine wreaths and swags hanging on the walls, too. Wild vines she’d collected and dried at Cane Hill, her aunt Libby’s plantation, then laced with velvet ribbons and hung with delicate floral teacups. So the whole shop projected a kind of rustic-Victorian-boho vibe, if there really was such a thing.
“Theodosia?” Drayton was calling to her, so she ambled over to the front counter, where he was chatting with a newly arrived guest. A man who was dressed almost on a par with Drayton. That is, a tweed jacket, pocket square, tailored slacks, and horn-rimmed glasses. But no bow tie, just a regular tie.
“Theo,” Drayton said. “I’d like you to meet Lionel Rinicker.”
Theodosia shook hands with a smiling Rinicker and said, “But I kind of know who you are already. You’re on the board of directors with Drayton. At the Heritage Society.”
Rinicker, who was six feet tall and thin bordering on storklike, beamed down at her. “That’s right. And I have to say I’m loving it, even though I’m relatively new to Charleston.”
“Lionel moved here six months ago,” Drayton said.
“And you’re already on the board,” Theodosia said. “That’s very impressive. Drayton and his merry band must think quite highly of you.” She decided that Lionel Rinicker did look rather cultured and urbane.
“Lionel and I have very similar tastes in art,” Drayton said. “In fact, he used to teach art history when he lived in Bous.”
“And that city is where?” Theodosia asked. She gave him a rueful gaze. “Sorry, geography was never my strong suit.”
“It’s in Luxembourg,” Rinicker said. “The southern part of the country. Though I’m afraid Luxembourg itself is only some nine hundred and ninety-eight square miles in total.”
“And you were born there?” Theodosia asked. She’d never
met a Luxembourger before. If that’s what they were called.
“No, no,” Rinicker said. “I’m not a native. I was born in Hollenburg, Austria, just outside of Vienna. I moved to Luxembourg some years ago so I could teach at the university just across the German border. The University of Trier.”
“Wow,” Theodosia said. “You’re a regular citizen of the world.”
“Hardly,” Rinicker said as Drayton began to steer him toward an empty table.
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said. “I’m standing here gabbing away and you’ve come to eat lunch.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I bring you? Did Drayton show you our menu?”
“Why don’t you bring him a cup of chowder, a scone, and a chicken potpie,” Drayton said. “If there are any potpies left.”
“Of course, there’s one left,” Theodosia told Rinicker. “And I’m pretty sure it’s got your name on it.”
He chuckled. “Lovely.”
• • •
Theodosia cleared two tables, rang up tabs for departing guests, and handled a half-dozen take-out orders. Then, when everything seemed fairly copacetic, she plopped into the chair across from Lionel Rinicker. He was just finishing the last bits of his scone.
A smile lit his face. He seemed charmed to have her company.
“I’m curious,” Theodosia said. “How did you pick Charleston?”
Rinicker rested his chin in his palm and looked thoughtful. “I think it was more a case of Charleston picking me. I came through here on a visit, not intending to stay. But there’s something about this place that intrigued me.” Now his eyes glowed with excitement. “It’s very thrilling to live on a peninsula with the Atlantic Ocean pounding in at you and two rivers on either side. And then, of course, I was completely enchanted by the architecture.”
“Some of it is very European,” Theodosia said.
“It definitely is,” Rinicker agreed. “But the larger homes carry such a distinct Southern flavor. I mean, who else but a Southern architect would take Italianate architecture and smatter on a few grand balconies and balustrades? It’s absolutely charming! And then, of course, you add in Charleston’s hidden walkways, churches, tumbledown graveyards, and the music, art, and theater scene, and it’s all just very exciting and romantic.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “As you might have guessed, I’m a romantic at heart.”
Theodosia hated to break his mood, but she decided she had to bring up last night’s robbery since it might impact the Heritage Society. “You know about the robbery that happened last night at Heart’s Desire? And that the police have now officially ruled the young woman’s death a homicide?”
Rinicker spoke in hushed tones. “Yes, I read about it in the newspaper this morning—it was the lead story. It must have been awful. And I’m to understand that the owner of Heart’s Desire is a good friend of yours?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Drayton told me you were there. That you witnessed the entire spectacle?”
“I feel like I saw bits and parts of it,” Theodosia said. “The robbery was all very erratic and confusing.” Actually, as she thought back over it, the SUV crash, the robbery, and the ensuing getaway had all felt like they’d happened in slow motion. What probably took sixty seconds seemed to have stretched into several minutes. Very disconcerting.
“Drayton mentioned that he’s worried about extra security for the Rare Antiquities Show,” Rinicker said. “Particularly when it comes to the Fabergé egg.”
“I think everyone at the Heritage Society should be worried,” Theodosia said.
“Well, I haven’t spoken to Timothy Neville yet, so I don’t know what his plans are. Or if they’ve changed at all.” Timothy Neville was the octogenarian executive director of the Heritage Society. He’d ruled the organization with an iron fist for decades and wasn’t about to relinquish one iota of control now. If anything, his gnarled fingers would grip a little tighter.
“I spoke earlier with Detective Tidwell,” Theodosia said. “He heads the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department—and he’s offered to send over some extra police officers.”
“That’s very generous of him,” Rinicker said. “I think that would make us all rest a lot easier.”
“I’m assuming the Heritage Society will hire extra security?”
“Like I said, I’m not sure what the plans are. But if Timothy agrees, we can for sure contact our security agency and double up on guards.”
“I think that would be a smart idea,” Theodosia said. “When is the Fabergé egg supposed to arrive?”
“We’re expecting it any day now,” Rinicker said. “It’s supposedly being driven here in a Brink’s truck. So it should be perfectly safe en route.”
Theodosia smiled. The only thing that trickled through her brain was a memory of an old black-and-white movie that she’d watched a couple of weeks before—The Great Brink’s Robbery. Millions stolen, the largest robbery in U.S. history at that time. Holy cats. She hoped there wouldn’t be a sequel—The Great Brink’s Fabergé Egg Robbery.
5
“Knock knock,” Drayton said as he pushed open the door to Theodosia’s office. “I come bearing a cup of rose hip tea. Any takers?”
“I’m dying for a cuppa,” Theodosia said. She quickly cleared a space on her desk for the filled-to-the-brim teacup.
Drayton took in the clutter of papers. “You’re looking through that rat’s nest of papers that Brooke brought in this morning?”
“Yes, but it’s not like I’m actually getting anywhere.”
Drayton picked up a sheet of paper. “What’s this?” he mumbled to himself. “Oh, I see, it’s a list of jewelers and museums that contributed items to her show.”
“This is so heartbreaking,” Theodosia said. “Brooke did all this work, sweet-talking all these people and negotiating for rather rare pieces, and now it’s all gone. Every bit of the . . . loot.”
“That’s probably how the robbers see it, too. Loot. Gems and jewels to be ripped apart and then disposed of. Fenced.”
“Where would you fence pieces like that?” Theodosia wondered.
“You heard what Tidwell said. Pretty much anywhere, since gems and diamonds are so portable. You just stash them in your pocket and fly to Hong Kong or down to Rio.”
“Because the good stuff, the shiny stuff, is always in demand.” In Theodosia’s mind’s eye she could see fences picking over the jewels like a flock of wary crows.
“That’s right,” Drayton said. “I’d venture to guess that the buying and selling of stolen gems makes up a good part of the underground economy.” He picked up another sheet of paper and shook his head. “How on earth would you even begin to find a clue here?”
Theodosia was a trifle more optimistic. “You never know.” Then she took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been noodling this robbery over and over in my head. And the one thing that keeps popping to the surface is, what if it was an inside job?”
Drayton peered at her over his half-glasses. “Excuse me?”
“What if one of the guests at Brooke’s party last night helped orchestrate the smash-and-grab?”
Drayton stood there rigidly, as if locked in place. “Why on earth would someone do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “Maybe to get filthy rich?”
He cleared his throat. “You know, I never would have considered that angle. You have a very devious mind, Theo.”
“Thank you. I think.” She waited a few moments. “So . . . what do you think, really? Am I completely off base or what?”
Drayton pursed his lips. “I think . . . I think perhaps we should take a closer look at that guest list.”
• • •
But twenty minutes later they hadn’t come up with much of anything.
“Look at the names on this list,�
�� Drayton said. “Two Pinckneys, a Ravenel, and a Calhoun. All old-name solid citizens. Pillars of the Charleston community.”
Theodosia had to agree. “Some of these families are so rich they don’t need any more money.”
“A bunch of jewels would be chump change to them.”
Theodosia thought for a few moments. “Then let’s look at the people who aren’t so rich.”
“Let me see.” Drayton frowned as his eyes traveled down one of the pages. “Well . . . this is going to be rather difficult. I mean, how do you calculate the net worth of someone you don’t really know that well?”
“I have no idea. But why don’t you take a ballpark stab, for Brooke’s sake. You actually know quite a few of these folks. Plus, you’re on the board at the Heritage Society and you hang out with the opera crowd . . .”
Drayton held up an index finger. “Many of whom I shall be rubbing shoulders with this Wednesday evening, since La Bohème is opening our season.”
“Excellent. So you see, you do hobnob with some of the wealthier folks around town, the socialites.” She tapped the list. “Keep looking. See if any of these names arouse your suspicions.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be very polite to ask them outright,” Drayton said.
“I think not.”
They checked and debated a few names for a good half hour.
Finally, Theodosia said, “I have another idea.”
“Which is?” Drayton asked.
“What if our insider didn’t take part in last night’s robbery at all? But what if they put together a group?”
“You mean like in the movies?” Drayton said. “A gang of hired thugs?”
“Sure. Kind of like the Bling Ring that knocked off Paris Hilton’s home. Stole jewelry, designer handbags, you name it.”
“Sounds far-fetched,” Drayton said.
