Broken Bone China

by Laura Childs

  “All the paintings I have are on the walls and that particular room is being used for storage at the moment,” Bullitt said.

  “For early American pieces?” Drayton asked. “Sounds interesting.”

  “It’s nothing you’d be interested in,” Bullitt hastened to say. He advanced a few steps closer to the door and maneuvered himself so that he was blocking it.

  “You’re sure we can’t take a peek inside?” Theodosia asked.

  “Quite sure,” Bullitt said. “Maybe another time, once I get my merchandise appraised, priced, and straightened out.” He made a big show of looking at his wristwatch. “Now. If there’s nothing else I can help you with, I really have to get back to work.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Out on the sidewalk, Theodosia said, “He really didn’t want us to look inside that room.”

  “Maybe it was full of junk,” Drayton said. “Just like he said.”

  “Or maybe it’s full of stolen goods.”

  “You mean like the Navy Jack flag?”

  “That thought had crossed my mind,” Theodosia said.

  “Bullitt seems rather crafty,” Drayton said. “But he doesn’t strike me as being clever enough to pull off a drone attack and a major robbery all in one day.”

  “Maybe Earl Bullitt is simply opportunistic.”

  “What are you saying?” Drayton asked. “That Earl Bullitt heard about the hot-air balloon crash so he immediately rushed over to Don Kingsley’s house to steal the flag?”

  “It could have happened that way,” Theodosia said.

  “I don’t see how that scenario could have played out. I mean, how would Earl Bullitt know that there’d been a terrible accident involving Don Kingsley?”

  Theodosia was standing right next to Bullitt’s car. She bent forward and peered inside. “Maybe because he’s got a police scanner in his car?”

  Drayton opened his mouth as if to say something, and then snapped it shut.

  “I know,” Theodosia said. “It’s an odd coincidence and it does sound far-fetched but it could have happened that way.”

  The color drained from Drayton’s face. “Dear Lord. I suppose it could have.”

  A soft chime echoed from deep inside Theodosia’s handbag.

  “Excuse me, I’d better get this,” Theodosia said. “It might be Haley with a question about closing up the tea shop.” She grabbed her phone and punched it on. “Hello?”

  “Theodosia?” came a quavering voice.

  “Angie?” It’s Angie Congdon. What could she want?

  “Can you come over here right now? I mean, to the Featherbed House?” Angie’s voice veered from a nervous quaver to an almost-sob.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?”

  “Everything!”

  17

  There was a squad car along with an aging Crown Victoria parked in front of the Featherbed House when Theodosia and Drayton arrived. Theodosia immediately recognized the Crown Vic as belonging to Detective Tidwell. Ford didn’t manufacture that particular model anymore, but Tidwell was hanging on tight to his old one. Clearly, Drayton wasn’t the only person who was phobic about change.

  Teddy Vickers, the longtime manager at the Featherbed House, met them in the lobby. He was dressed neatly, in a navy sweater and khaki slacks, his dark hair slicked back, but he looked upset. His eyes were unnaturally bright and his cheeks were blotches of pink.

  “Where is she?” Theodosia asked.

  “Angie? She called you?” Teddy Vickers asked. He seemed vastly relieved to see Theodosia and Drayton.

  “Angie called and asked me to hurry over. She sounded upset.”

  “And rightly so. She’s being questioned by a police detective. Harold, too,” Vickers said.

  “Is it Detective Tidwell?”

  “I think that was his name, yes. And he brought along two of his flunkies,” Vickers said.

  “Where are they?” Drayton asked.

  “In the dining room,” Vickers said. “If you can do anything at all, anything to help Angie, that would be fantastic.”

  “We’re going to try,” Drayton said.

  Vickers glanced at his wristwatch. “I don’t know if this is a possibility, but if you could convince them to move into the breakfast room next door, that would be helpful. I’m supposed to be setting out wine and cheese for our guests right now. And all the glasses and things are stored in the dining room.”

  “You want to set up here in the lobby?”

  “That’s the plan,” Vickers said.

  Theodosia’s eyes flicked around the elegant lobby of the Featherbed House. The walls were painted a pale yellow but had been shellacked or glazed so they fairly glistened in the light from a dozen flickering candles. A persimmon-red Oriental carpet covered the polished wood floor, and wing chairs and two sofas, all covered in yellow chintz, invited guests to come and sit a spell. Angie’s trademark geese were all over the place, too. Needlepoint geese pillows on the plump sofas, hand-carved wooden geese decorating the fireplace mantle, bronze goose lamps, and an entire flock of ceramic geese.

  Theodosia touched the door that led into the dining room. “I’ll see if I can move things along.”

  Vickers nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  When Theodosia walked into the dining room, it felt like a scene right out of a B movie. Angie was sobbing quietly into a hanky while Harold Affolter, her fiancé, sputtered away indignantly. Detective Tidwell sat across the table from them looking like the judge on doomsday. His face wore a scowl that veered between angry and indignant. A young man sitting next to Tidwell just looked as if he were extremely interested in the proceedings. A uniformed officer sat next to him.

  Theodosia cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

  Tidwell glanced up at her. “Miss Browning,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. But he didn’t give her a welcoming look, either.

  Theodosia focused on the young man sitting beside Tidwell. “And who might you be?” she asked.

  “I’m—” the young man started to say, but Tidwell cut him off immediately.

  “This is Archibald Banks, a criminologist from our crime lab,” Tidwell said.

  “Archie,” the man said. “Call me Archie.”

  “Crime lab?” Drayton said. “Has there been a crime committed here?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Tidwell said, putting some grit in his voice. “And I don’t appreciate the two of you barging in here.”

  “We didn’t barge in, Angie invited us,” Theodosia said. She stared directly at Tidwell. “I take it you’ve come to ask more questions about Harold’s drone?”

  “It is an ongoing investigation,” Tidwell countered.

  Theodosia looked at Angie. “Did you call a lawyer?”

  Angie shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Do you want me to call my uncle?” Theodosia asked.

  Before Angie could answer, Tidwell said, “I don’t see any need for legal interference. We’re not here to arrest anyone, we merely want to take a look at Mr. Affolter’s drone.”

  “You’re here to look at Harold’s drone,” Theodosia repeated.

  “That’s correct,” Tidwell said.

  “Why do you want to inspect his drone?” Theodosia asked.

  Anger flashed behind Tidwell’s beady eyes for a split second, and then he turned a smile on her. But it was anything but warm. “Upon analyzing nylon shreds from the downed hot-air balloon, we discovered several small fragments of metal that were embedded—almost scorched—into it.”

  “If we can locate the drone, we can match the metal,” Archie Banks said. “It’s that simple.” He sounded excited. Almost happy.

  “Wait a minute. I thought the drone crash-landed,” Theodosia said. Last she’
d seen of the drone, it had dipped low and flown away as if trying to avoid the fiery explosion. She’d just assumed that the drone had spiraled down and ended up in a pile of metal not far from the hot-air balloon’s crash site, and that the police had already confiscated the wrecked pieces.

  “No such luck,” Tidwell said. “The drone went rogue. Apparently buzzed off and made a clean getaway.” Tidwell turned his gaze toward Harold. “Or maybe not so clean.”

  “So you just want to look at it?” Theodosia said.

  “We’re at the stage in our investigation where we need to physically examine a number of drones,” Tidwell said.

  “How many drones are you looking at?” Theodosia asked.

  “Six, all told. Unfortunately . . . we’re not getting the kind of cooperation we hoped for.” Tidwell lifted a hand and pursed his lips as if to say, What can you do?

  “This request doesn’t seem unreasonable,” Theodosia said to Angie and Harold. “Why don’t you show Detective Tidwell your drone and then he can be on his way?”

  “If you think it’s okay . . .” Angie said.

  “Where is the drone?” Theodosia asked.

  “The last I recall, it was stashed in the basement,” Harold said. “Right downstairs.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They all trooped out of the dining room and down a narrow hallway. The hallway led into the large kitchen, where two young chefs were prepping plates of cheese, fruit, and crackers. There were two doors against the far wall. One led to the outdoor patio, the other to the basement.

  Harold led the way down a narrow wooden staircase. “Be careful,” he warned. “These steps are somewhat rickety and difficult to negotiate.”

  Angie followed behind Harold, and Theodosia went down behind Tidwell, while Archie Banks and Drayton were last in line. Theodosia was aware of Tidwell’s slightly wheezy breathing as he descended ahead of her, but was amazed that he appeared so light on his feet for such a large man. Like a dancer, she thought. One who’s still got a few tricky moves left.

  The first room they encountered was a storeroom. A string of overhead lights lit the place. Crates of oranges, cartons of coffee and other canned goods, extra dining room chairs, and extra umbrellas for the outdoor patio tables, were piled up against the walls. It looked exactly like what you’d expect in a busy B and B. Not precisely organized, but not a total mess, either.

  The second room housed the wine cellar. At least three hundred bottles of wine were on display here, all resting on wooden wine racks. Theodosia spotted a Château Margaux and a Château Latour. Obviously, Angie had excellent taste. And so, probably, did a few of her guests.

  “This is a big cellar,” Archie Banks said as they walked through. Here the cement floor was uneven and patched. Spiderwebs hung everywhere.

  Tidwell sneezed. “And quite dusty. I trust we have an actual destination. That we’re making forward progress.”

  “It’s just up ahead,” Harold said, still leading the way.

  They came to a room with hewn stone walls, the largest basement room yet. Though the light bulbs were yellow and it was considerably more dim in here, they could make out dozens of objects scattered around. Lawn chairs, four fat tire bicycles, a pair of sawhorses, tools, a pile of lumber, a Weedwacker, and bags of fertilizer. It was messy but not hoarder messy.

  Harold scuttled ahead of the group. “It should be right . . .” He stopped abruptly in his tracks and peered down into a large cardboard box.

  Everyone gathered around him and peered into the box, as if it held some wonderful, mystical answer.

  Only problem was, the box was empty. There was no drone inside.

  Harold lifted a hand and scrubbed hard at the side of his head. “Well, the drone was here.” He looked puzzled. “I mean, it should be here.”

  “Unless your drone makes use of a Romulan cloaking device, I don’t see it,” Tidwell said.

  “Neither do I,” Theodosia said. She felt a surge of worry. Had Harold been involved in the hot-air balloon crash after all? No, she didn’t think he had. Then again . . .

  Harold Affolter was literally spinning in circles, tearing through the mishmash of stored junk. “It has to be here somewhere! I can’t imagine where it went. A drone doesn’t just disappear!”

  Angie made a small sound in the back of her throat, like a startled rabbit. She looked terrified.

  “Maybe during all our construction and rehabbing of the inn, the drone got packed up and moved somewhere,” Harold said. “Out to one of the garages.” He sounded both scared and hopeful. “Or maybe the workmen who were here thought it was a pile of junk that needed to be recycled.”

  “Let’s look around again,” Theodosia said. “Everybody spread out and take a careful look-see.”

  The search party of six combed through the entire basement, going from one room to another, looking behind old furniture, probing tarps and cloths, searching on overhead shelves. They found nothing.

  “I can’t believe it,” Harold said. His voice had risen two octaves to a shrill squawk. “It’s completely up and disappeared.”

  “And we’re sure we’ve looked everywhere?” Theodosia asked.

  “This is a large building, so not quite everywhere,” Tidwell said. “But a search warrant and some police reinforcements could easily fix that.”

  “Please, no,” Angie said. “I beg you not to go poking around the premises. You’ve got to respect our guests.”

  This inn is her only livelihood, Theodosia thought.

  Tidwell rocked back on the heels of his heavy cop shoes. “Clearly, the drone is no longer in your possession.”

  Harold was truly befuddled. “I honestly—honestly—don’t know where it could have disappeared to.”

  “Don’t you really?” Tidwell asked.

  “No, and I don’t like your tone of voice,” Harold snapped back at him. “Or where this conversation seems to be going.”

  “I’m afraid,” Tidwell warned, “that our conversation will remain ongoing. Until I lay my hands on that missing drone.”

  “How much access do your guests usually have to the kitchen?” Theodosia asked.

  “Not too much,” Angie said. “We serve breakfast in the dining room and wine and cheese in the lobby.”

  “What about in between?” Theodosia asked.

  “We don’t have lunch service, but we usually have cookies, fresh fruit, and bottles of water available all day in the breakfast room,” Angie said. “So guests are invited to help themselves.”

  “And the breakfast room adjoins the kitchen,” Theodosia said. “Which isn’t exactly off-limits. So it’s possible someone could have slipped in there and gone downstairs.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Angie said. “But . . .” She stopped and shook her head. She didn’t have anything else to add.

  * * *

  * * *

  Drayton led the way back upstairs, but Theodosia gestured to Tidwell to stay behind. She wanted to talk to him.

  With only a modicum of politeness, Tidwell remained with her in the basement. “What?” he asked as he wiggled his nose, trying to contain another sneeze.

  “Have you investigated any of the members of the Americana Club? Perhaps one of them . . .”

  “There’s nothing there,” Tidwell said. “They are all solid, upstanding citizens.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Tidwell sighed and started up the stairs. With his back to her, he said, “I’m quite positive.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Once Tidwell, Archie Banks, and the officer had left the Featherbed House, Angie pulled Theodosia out onto the front veranda. With the scent of magnolia blossoms perfuming the air around them and the sound of rain gurgling in the downspouts, Angie said, “Theo, I need to tell you something.”

  Theod
osia nodded.

  “I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone, because Harold would be terribly embarrassed. But . . .” Angie took a hard swallow and waved a hand in front of her face as if to stave off more tears.

  “Take your time,” Theodosia urged.

  Angie nodded. “It’s just that . . . well, Harold lost his job.”

  “Oh no.”

  “He got a call from SyncSoft’s director of HR this morning. It seems Harold’s been summarily fired.”

  “Can they do that? Is that a legal move?” Theodosia asked.

  “Well, they did it,” Angie said. “They told Harold that his entire department was being downsized and that he was entitled to two weeks of severance pay.”

  “So he has no recourse whatsoever?”

  “He’s still in shock and I’m not sure what to do about it. What I can do about it.”

  “Tell me,” Theodosia said. “Has Harold ever said anything to you about the Americana Club?”

  Angie thought for a minute. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “When we were doing some major renovations last year, I think Harold might have borrowed a couple books from one of their members.”

  “Books about flags?”

  “No, architecture. Harold was concerned about preserving architectural integrity.”

  “But Harold never joined this club?” Theodosia asked.

  Angie shook her head. “No. Never. Not to my knowledge anyway.”

  * * *

  * * *

  As Theodosia drove Drayton home, her fingers drummed an anxious beat against her steering wheel.

  “Are you still worried?” Drayton asked.

  “Aren’t you? Tidwell’s on a fishing expedition. Harold didn’t crash his drone into that hot-air balloon.”

  “But what if he did?” Drayton said in a quiet, even tone.

  Theodosia was so stunned she almost ran a red light. “Drayton, you can’t be serious!” She glanced over at him, a quiet shadow in her passenger seat.