Broken Bone China

by Laura Childs

  “Would you believe I miss you?” Riley asked. He sounded as intense as he looked. Tall, with an aristocratic nose and cheekbones, cobalt blue eyes. Quite a hunk.

  “I certainly hope you do.” Theodosia felt a little thrill just hearing the sound of his voice. “How’s your seminar going?”

  “It’s interesting,” Riley said. But he actually sounded so disinterested he was practically stifling a yawn.

  “That bad?”

  “Ah, it’s just repetitive. Nothing I don’t already know or couldn’t get from reading a book.”

  “Or from practical experience?” Theodosia said.

  “Well, I did attend a two-hour-long seminar today on mitochondrial DNA.”

  “How was that?”

  “As exciting as the previous lecture on mass spectrometry. Which means I didn’t understand a single word.”

  “That’s what you’ve got the lab rats for,” Theodosia said. “Let the crime scene guys do the tricky analysis once you find some evidence and catch the bad guys.”

  “Say now, I heard via the grapevine that you were involved in some major excitement yesterday.”

  “The hot-air balloon crash. You know about that?” Theodosia asked.

  “I know you were there.”

  He’d caught her off guard. “But I . . .”

  “Don’t try to deny it, since the rumor mill has already been cranking away.”

  “I was there alright, but luckily not in the balloon that was shot down.”

  “Is that what happened?” Pete asked. “I thought it was a drone hit and run.”

  “Same thing,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Theodosia finally said goodbye to Pete Riley, she realized that time was starting to slip away from her. So she ran around her kitchen like a madwoman, grabbing plates, bowls, silverware, and wineglasses. She set it all out on her dining room table, added a pair of tall white candles, touched a match to them, and heaved a sigh of relief.

  Theodosia’s dining room, which was basically a nice-sized passageway between the living room and the kitchen, was accented with a glass-front cabinet that contained some of her treasures—teapots from her extensive collection, a few silver hotel water pitchers, Chinese vases, and a classic English mantle clock.

  But it was her living room that was really her pride and joy. Wood-burning fireplace, beveled cypress walls, beamed ceiling, and a polished wood floor. To cozy up this picture-perfect room even more, she’d added damask- and chintz-covered furniture, a blue-and-gold Aubusson carpet, and a few oil paintings hung on the walls for a finishing touch.

  The house itself was small and compact, built in a classic Tudor style with arched doors, cross gables, and a small turret. Rough cedar roof tiles gave it a thatched look, much like a traditional Hansel and Gretel cottage.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

  As Earl Grey let out a long woof, Theodosia said, “Drayton.”

  She hurried to the front door and let him in.

  “You made it,” Theodosia said as Drayton, wearing a Burberry cap and long black raincoat, stepped inside. Earl Grey gave him a quick sniff, his doggy once-over, and then walked away. He’d met Drayton lots of times. If Drayton hadn’t stashed treats in his coat pocket or brought along his dog, Honey Bee, then Earl Grey wasn’t much interested.

  “I made it by the skin of my teeth. The rain’s coming down harder than ever now.” Drayton slipped out of his raincoat and hung it on a brass coatrack. He held up his collapsed umbrella, which looked like a bedraggled black bat, and said, “This is going to drip everywhere.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Theodosia said. The floor in her small foyer was paved with antique bricks, so no harm there.

  “And I would have stopped to buy a sponge cake, but it probably would have sopped up all this rain. I tell you, this storm seems to be getting progressively worse,” Drayton said as he wandered into the living room and breathed a sigh of relief. “Early hurricane warnings and all that. Going to be with us for at least a few days.” He stopped, lifted his nose like a hungry coyote, and said, “Please tell me what smells so delightful?”

  “I made hoppin’ John.”

  “Be still my heart. You really did?”

  “I labored over a hot stove just for you. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat right away?”

  “Are you serious? I’m famished.”

  In the kitchen, Theodosia picked up a wooden spoon, gave her hoppin’ John a final stir, and took a taste. Good. Actually better than good. “This is definitely ready to serve,” she told Drayton. “Shall we open a bottle of wine to go with it?”

  “Perhaps a cabernet?” Drayton said.

  Theodosia grabbed two bottles from her wine rack. “I’ve got a côtes du rhône red and a nice cabernet from Caymus Vineyards in California. Your choice.”

  “Mmm, the côtes du rhône please.” Drayton grabbed it and was already working the wine opener into the cork. “I believe Wine Spectator gave this something like ninety-seven points.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They sat down at the dining room table to a mixed green salad with blue cheese and golden beets, bowls of steaming hot hoppin’ John, and glasses of red wine.

  “Delicious,” Drayton proclaimed.

  “The wine, the salad, or the hoppin’ John?” Theodosia asked.

  “Everything! You are a secret gourmet cook.”

  “Shh, don’t tell Haley.”

  As they enjoyed their dinner, Theodosia told Drayton all about her earlier visit with Tawney Kingsley. She described the huge mansion and the fantastic renovations the woman had planned.

  “I tell you, Drayton, Tawney’s got hand-painted wallpaper from France, a stained glass window, Swiss beds, Pratesi linens, and she’s even ordered heated towel racks. Talk about glam!”

  “More like expensive first-class taste. It sounds as if Tawney wants to recreate the Doge’s Palace or Versailles. Tell me, can she really afford this over-the-top décor?”

  “That’s the interesting thing,” Theodosia said. “I figure Tawney is either enormously wealthy in her own right or she must have siphoned off some serious money from SyncSoft.”

  Drayton stopped, his spoon in midair. “You think Tawney stole money from her husband’s company and then murdered him when she was found out?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a theory, albeit a shaky one.”

  “Maybe you could run a Dun & Bradstreet to check on the free-spending Mrs. Kingsley. It might give you a more accurate picture of her finances.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Oh, and there was another woman, a Dr. somebody Vance, who was also there inquiring about the flag,” Theodosia said.

  “You talked to this woman, too?”

  “Afraid not. She was rushing down the sidewalk just as I showed up. I only caught a quick glimpse of her.”

  “Was this woman another buyer? Or bidder?”

  “Tawney said yes. Of course Tawney also denied any knowledge about her husband’s flag. Claimed she’s never laid eyes on it.”

  Drayton took a sip of wine. “Did you believe her?”

  “I kind of did. Tawney’s got this wide-eyed, childlike quality about her. She makes you want to believe.”

  “Except you think she could have also stolen money from SyncSoft,” Drayton said.

  “Well. There is that.”

  “Money and flag aside, is there any chance Tawney could have been the one who brought down the balloon?”

  Theodosia shuddered. “I thought about that—and I was suspicious of her at first. But now I’ve pretty much discarded that idea. It would mean Tawney Kingsley is a cold, calculating woman with ice water running through her veins.”

  “There are female killers,” Drayton said. “Though most of them become so by dint of killing a hu
sband or boyfriend.” The corners of his mouth twisted up in a semi-smile. “They keep it in the family.”

  “And I’m so glad you mentioned that.”

  Drayton picked up the bottle of wine, ready to pour Theodosia another glass. “A refill for you?”

  Theodosia held up her hand. “None for me, thanks.”

  Drayton refreshed his own glass, then said, “Do you think a fancy new B and B so close to the Featherbed House will have an impact on Angie’s business?”

  “I’m not sure,” Theodosia said. “The newness of Tawney’s B and B might pull customers away initially, but over the long haul I think it will be fine. There are quite a few B and Bs and guest houses in the Historic District already. They compete with one another, but they also seem to get along quite well, given there’s enough business for everyone. Sometimes the B and Bs get together and advertise.”

  “Definitely good camaraderie,” Drayton said.

  They talked awhile longer, mostly about the tea events they had coming up later that week. When they were finished, they cleared away the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

  “If you want to fix us a pot of tea, I’ll go start a fire,” Theodosia said.

  “Perhaps a dessert tea?”

  “There’s a tin of Grand Keemun in the cupboard.”

  “Perfect,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia was on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace, arranging a pile of kindling when the doorbell did its ding-ding. Drayton was still in the kitchen fixing a pot of tea.

  “Somebody’s here,” Theodosia yelled loud enough for Drayton to hear. Her kindling was starting to burn nicely so she placed two small logs on top of it.

  “Who could possibly be roaming around outside in this dreadful weather?” Drayton called back to her from the kitchen. He let loose a strange chortle. “Besides me.”

  Now Earl Grey started barking his head off. “ARK, ARK, ARK!”

  “Shh, that’s enough,” Theodosia said as she hurried to the front door and pressed her nose against the lead-paned window to look out. “My goodness, it’s Angie Congdon!” Angie was the proprietor of the Featherbed House, the B and B they’d just been talking about. Her showing up at this time of night, and in this horrific weather, was a huge surprise.

  Pulling the door wide open, Theodosia said, “Angie, you must be soaked to the bone from being out in this rain. Come on in.”

  Angie Congdon stepped across the threshold into the small entryway. Her strawberry-blond hair was plastered against her head, and her slim figure was camouflaged by a bulky tan raincoat.

  Standing there, ready to take Angie’s coat, Theodosia was suddenly aware of the look of consternation on Angie’s face. “Angie, what’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” Angie said, her voice quavering. “I . . . I think I might need your help.” Now Angie clutched anxiously for Theodosia’s hand. “Or at least your good advice.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “It’s about the hot-air balloon that crashed yesterday,” Angie stammered. “I read in the newspaper that you were there. Serving tea. And that you witnessed the crash.”

  “Drayton and I were both there,” Theodosia said. “We had the unfortunate luck of seeing the drone dive directly into the hot-air balloon and then getting rocked, literally rocked, by the explosion.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Angie said. She stood there, dripping water on the brick floor, wringing her hands as if in utter anguish. “The police just took Harold in for questioning.”

  “Harold, your boyfriend?” Theodosia said, just as Drayton walked into the living room carrying a large silver tray laden with a teapot and three rattling teacups.

  “Harold’s my fiancé,” Angie said. “We got engaged last week.”

  “Then congratulations are in order,” Drayton said in a hearty voice. He set the tea tray down on a leather bolster and smiled broadly. He’d completely missed the part about Harold being hauled in for questioning.

  “It’s not exactly a congratulatory moment,” Angie said to him as she slipped out of her coat and handed it to Theodosia.

  “The police just took Harold in,” Theodosia quickly explained.

  “Why on earth would they do that?” Drayton asked.

  “Come in and sit down,” Theodosia said. “We’ll warm you up with some nice hot tea and you can tell us all about it.”

  Angie collapsed into a wing chair while Theodosia and Drayton fussed with the tea. When everyone was seated and had a cup of tea on their lap, Theodosia said, “Okay, tell us why the police are questioning Harold.”

  Angie grimaced. “Two years ago Harold bought a drone. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, a lark. They were starting to be all the rage and he just wanted to have fun with it. After a while, the newness wore off and he stashed the drone in my basement. I don’t think he’s even thought about it—or looked at it—in over a year. But after that terrible hot-air balloon crash yesterday, the police went through all the records of local companies that sold drones. Eventually, they hit on Harold’s name and came calling.”

  “They’re questioning everyone who bought a drone? That doesn’t seem efficient,” Drayton said. “There could be hundreds of buyers. Thousands.”

  “The problem is, Harold works at SyncSoft,” Angie said. “So the police are a little more than fifty percent suspicious that it could have been Harold’s drone that brought down the hot-air balloon.”

  “What!” Drayton cried. His teacup quivered in its saucer and he wasn’t smiling anymore. Suddenly, he looked dead serious.

  “You’d better tell us all about Harold and his drone,” Theodosia said. “And his job at SyncSoft. Start from the beginning. And don’t leave out a single thing.”

  9

  Tuesday morning and Theodosia and Drayton were standing at the front counter, still puzzling about Harold being taken in for questioning.

  “Wait a minute,” Haley said. She waved both hands in the air as if to interrupt them. “You’re talking about Angie’s boyfriend, Harold?”

  “He’s not her boyfriend anymore. He’s her fiancé,” Drayton said.

  “They got engaged?” Haley asked.

  “That’s right,” Theodosia said. “And now poor Harold’s being questioned about the hot-air balloon crash because he happens to own a drone and works at SyncSoft.”

  “Harold Affolter?” Haley said.

  “That’s the Harold we’ve been talking about, yes,” Drayton said. He sounded slightly annoyed with her.

  “Harold is, like, your basic little lamb,” Haley said. “I worked with him when we catered the Valentine’s Day brunch at the Featherbed House. You know, when we did the chocolate scones and the chicken salad sandwiches? I don’t think Harold is capable of hurting a fly.”

  “That’s not what the police are saying,” Theodosia said.

  “Or the NTSB,” Drayton added.

  Haley put a hand to her mouth. “You’re telling me that Harold’s in serious trouble? But why?”

  “Because of what looks like an amazing coincidence,” Theodosia said. “Think about it. Harold owns a drone and he works at SyncSoft.”

  Haley nodded. “Something to do with marketing.”

  “Actually, he’s an assistant product manager. And apparently very good at his job,” Theodosia said. She glanced at Drayton and then continued. “But according to Angie, Harold spotted some sort of design glitch in a new software product just as it was about to go to market.”

  “That’s good, huh?” Haley said. “To catch a problem like that?”

  “You’d think so, but when Harold brought it up to his boss he was told to leave it alone,” Theodosia said. “To let it go. Harold was so offended at being rebuffed, he took it all the way up the ladder and wrangled a meeting with Don Kingsley, the CEO. But Kingsley pooh-poohed Harold as well. It see
ms he wanted SyncSoft to be the first out with their new product.”

  “And that’s why the police think Harold caused the crash?” Haley asked.

  “That’s one theory the police think is quite plausible,” Theodosia said. “That Harold tried his best to be a whistle-blower but was ignored.”

  “The police just assumed that Harold was walking around with this gigantic chip on his shoulder? That he wanted to retaliate for being dissed?” Haley asked. “That’s nutty.”

  “Even so, the police see a connection,” Drayton said.

  Haley pounded a fist against the table. “But the police are wrong.”

  “They probably are,” Theodosia said. “But that doesn’t change the facts. Harold is probably going to be questioned repeatedly by the police and may end up persona non grata at work.”

  “That’s why Angie asked Theodosia for help,” Drayton said. “Which, I’m afraid, is quite impossible.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I mean, our Theo is bright but she’s not exactly a criminal attorney or software engineer.”

  “But Harold’s predicament isn’t an insurmountable problem,” Haley said. She turned toward Theodosia with an impassioned look on her young face. “All you have to do is get your cute little detective boyfriend on the case and have him straighten things out.”

  “Therein lies another problem,” Theodosia said. “My cute little detective boyfriend is out of town right now.”

  “Out of town where?” Haley asked.

  “He’s in Minneapolis. There’s some sort of big-time forensics conference for non-techs and Pete was selected to represent the Charleston PD.”

  Haley put her hands on her hips. “Well, you have to get him back here immediately.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Theodosia knew that Pete Riley wasn’t about to blow off his conference. He was far too dedicated to his job.

  “Then what are you going to do?” Haley asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Theodosia said. “Angie did ask for my help but . . .”

  “Angie’s our friend,” Haley said. “Which means we have to help her.”