Broken Bone China

by Laura Childs

  “No, no, it’s cool. The door was probably an oversight on my part,” Townsend said in a shaky voice. “Here, let me give you guys a hand.”

  Together, Theodosia and Townsend walked the still-staggering Tidwell into the kitchen and sat him down in a chair. Earl Grey followed. Theodosia called the police station and hastily explained the situation. The dispatcher promised to send a squad car immediately, lights and sirens.

  Tidwell cocked an eye open. “There’s no need for this fuss. I feel perfectly fine.”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Theodosia said, looking from Tidwell to Townsend, and thinking to herself that people who claimed to be just fine under unusual circumstances, generally weren’t fine at all. Often they were hiding something.

  But Theodosia didn’t have time to press Townsend on the subject because, two minutes later, a police cruiser pulled up in front and let loose a loud wail on the siren. Townsend ran out to meet the two officers and lead them back to the kitchen.

  Though Tidwell had tried to reject Theodosia’s help, he gratefully leaned on the arms of the two uniformed officers.

  “Thank you,” Theodosia said to Townsend as they all walked out onto the front veranda. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Townsend fluttered a hand. “No problem.”

  “Are you sure everything’s alright with you?” Theodosia asked him again. “You seem a little discombobulated.”

  “No, I’m fine and dandy,” Townsend said. His voice sounded shaky, as if he were trying to keep up a brave front. “Good night. Take care.”

  The officers gingerly loaded Tidwell into the back seat of their cruiser. Tidwell got himself situated and then put down the window and gazed out at Theodosia and Earl Grey.

  “Where are you going now?” Tidwell asked her.

  “Home. You want to tag along? Maybe poke around and look for a discarded drone?” Theodosia’s tone was slightly acerbic. She was still rankled that Tidwell had been so rude when he questioned Angie and Harold this afternoon.

  “Hardly. Though if you have the offending object stashed somewhere I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

  “I wish.” Theodosia leaned toward the car and dropped her voice. “Detective Tidwell, if you were here tonight, snooping around, you must be wondering the same thing I am.”

  “What am I wondering about?” Tidwell asked.

  “What if the flag wasn’t stolen by outside people at all? What if Charles Townsend took it himself and is biding his time? Maybe he stuck it in some deep, dark corner of that big house and he’s sitting on top of it like a greedy little spider.” She glanced at the Kingsley house. Townsend had shut off the lights on the front veranda. Now the house was couched in shadows. “You saw how he acted tonight. He was scared out of his mind. He’s hiding something for sure.”

  Tidwell thought for a few moments. “There’s no proof of his involvement.”

  “None whatsoever,” Theodosia agreed. “On the other hand, Townsend worked for Kingsley and had complete and unfettered access to his collection and his home.”

  “So you have a hunch.”

  “Let’s call it a spark of intuition,” Theodosia said.

  “I’m afraid female intuition is not the sort of evidence I can take to a prosecuting attorney.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Proof positive, my dear Miss Browning. Always hard proof.” Tidwell closed the window and banged the flat of his hand against the metal grate that separated the front of the police car from the back. “Go!” he shouted. “What are you waiting for!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia and Earl Grey walked the few blocks home. It had started to rain a little harder and nobody, but nobody, was moving around on the streets.

  Nobody but the person who conked Tidwell.

  And maybe they were home by now, chuckling about it, warming themselves with a hot cup of coffee.

  No. Better a cup of tea. At least for me, anyway.

  Theodosia was just about to slip down the cobblestone path alongside her home, when a panel truck slid quietly to the curb. It was white, with a satellite dish on top and, though it was dark, Theodosia saw that the side of the van was emblazoned with the TV8 logo.

  “You’re out late,” a voice called to her.

  Theodosia and Earl Grey waited as Dale Dickerson jumped out of the passenger side and hurried over to join them.

  “Not so late,” she said.

  Dickerson smiled broadly at her as he gave a shrug back and ran a hand through his roving reporter, finely coiffed hair.

  Theodosia wondered how he could look so Pepsodent perfect when she felt like a drowned wren that had been fished out of a storm sewer. She guessed that roving reporters always had to look picture-perfect, as if they were carved out of cream cheese. They had to be ready to emote and sparkle for the camera.

  “Have you had any more thoughts about the hot-air balloon massacre?” Dickerson asked her.

  “Are you taping this? Are you wearing a lapel camera I should know about?”

  Dickerson grinned to show off his set of perfectly expensive teeth. “Of course not.”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” Theodosia said, crossing her fingers for the little white lie that was about to come. “Because I really haven’t given it much thought.”

  “Truly?” Dickerson cocked his head, looking as if he didn’t believe her. “Because word on the street is you’re a pretty fair amateur detective.”

  Just fair?

  Dickerson stared at her and bounced on his heels. “Where were you tonight? Did something happen?”

  “Why on earth would you ask that?” Theodosia tried to keep her voice steady.

  Dickerson tried to downplay his question. “I don’t know. You look a little secretive. I can see it in your eyes. They’re smiley, but they’re hiding something. Like maybe you’re involved in . . . I don’t know. What are you involved in?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Theodosia said. “Look, it’s been a long day. I want to go inside and warm up. Dry off my dog before he starts smelling like a wet dog.”

  “You’re cute when you’re trying to act all innocent, you know that?”

  Theodosia gave a friendly wave as she turned away from him. “Good night. Take care.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Once they were inside, Theodosia rubbed Earl Grey with a soft, white towel and set the teakettle on to boil. Then she gifted Earl Grey with a chew bone (he’d certainly earned it), fixed herself a cup of chamomile tea (she’d earned it), and headed upstairs to her small suite of rooms.

  As she sipped her tea, Theodosia wondered if Dickerson knew more than he was letting on. Or had this just been a fishing expedition? Maybe that’s what roving reporters did. Wander around, try to stir up some trouble. And flirt. Yes, he had definitely been flirting with her.

  Theodosia sighed. She was definitely not interested in returning the flirt. Certainly not now, not since she’d begun dating Pete Riley. Smiling about that, and about the fact that he’d be back home in a few days, Theodosia rummaged through her closet looking for something to wear to the funeral tomorrow. Something warm. And probably black. Say now, how about this black skirt suit with a pair of black leather boots? Too severe? Way too Elvira, Mistress of the Dark? No, she didn’t care. That outfit would keep her warm and relatively dry.

  Theodosia shuffled back to her tower room and curled up in an easy chair. Outside, the rain was coming down harder. Rain gurgled in the gutters and downspouts and sluiced off the edge of her roof, creating a burbling symphony. She decided it was a good thing Shep was going to clear out all the debris.

  And as the wind picked up in intensity and whooshed through the crawl space above her, a branch scratched at the window, sounding like some kind of wild, clawed creature.

  Still, Theodosia sipped
tea as Earl Grey snoozed on his tufted dog bed. And she wondered what else she could do to help Tidwell. And, of course, Angie.

  20

  Magnolia Cemetery had never been a particularly upbeat place. Today, with rain sluicing down, with thunder rumbling overhead like some kind of unholy bowling alley, the atmosphere was downright terrifying.

  And then there were the tombs.

  As Theodosia and Drayton drove through the wrought iron gates of this Victorian-era cemetery, their eyes were immediately drawn to the tablets, tombs, mausoleums, and enormous assemblage of marble statuary. There were angels with hollowed-out eyes, dogs that were perpetually on guard, and a marble monument to a dead infant that was carved in the shape of a baby stroller. Drive deeper into this eerie park-like setting with its winding dirt roads and you’d also find a pyramid-shaped crypt and a spooky-looking mausoleum that looked like it had been built for a French emperor.

  “So many people buried here,” Theodosia said, a kind of awe coloring her voice.

  “From what you told me about the mishap last night, about Tidwell getting assaulted, it sounds like the population could have easily been increased by one more,” Drayton said.

  “He was hit hard, but not that hard.”

  “And so strange that it happened outside the Kingsley mansion. Right under Charles Townsend’s nose.”

  “I grant you it’s fishy, but we still can’t prove anything.”

  “You think Townsend will be attending the funeral today?” Drayton asked.

  “I don’t think he’d miss it for the world.”

  “Probably trying hard to remain in Tawney Kingsley’s good graces. So he can continue doing . . . whatever it is he does,” Drayton said.

  “Mmm.” Theodosia frowned as she drove along. They were approaching a fork in the road. “Which way do you think to the graveside service?”

  Drayton strained to see out the rain-spattered windshield. “There are a few cars parked over to our left.”

  Theodosia slowed as Spanish moss from giant oak trees whumped damply against her windshield. “Oh. I see them.” She cranked her windshield wipers to high and headed up a steep hill.

  “Huh,” Drayton said. “I believe this is Green Hill.”

  “What’s so special about Green Hill?”

  “Supposed to be haunted.” Drayton peered out the side window as if he were expecting an apparition to leap out at them. “There was a married couple interred here just two years apart. First the wife, then the husband. When they were finally reunited in death, a number of people claimed to see their spirits waltzing together among the tombstones.”

  “At night, I presume.”

  “Under cover of darkness, yes.”

  “But you don’t believe in spirits or haunts,” Theodosia said.

  Drayton hunched his shoulders forward. “No, I don’t.”

  “Except for the glowing orbs you once saw in St. Philip’s Graveyard.”

  “Except for the glowing orbs,” Drayton said.

  Theodosia parked behind a long line of cars and said, “Better grab your umbrella. I’m afraid we’re in for a bit of a hike.” They turned up their collars to block the elements and climbed out of Theodosia’s Jeep, reluctant to leave the warmth spewed out by the car’s heater.

  Drayton glanced at the sky where lightning strobed amidst a turmoil of dark clouds. “Besides this chill rain, all those lightning flashes are disturbing. If a lightning bolt should hit my umbrella I’m sure the current would travel right down the metal shaft and I’d be sizzled like a game bird on a spit.”

  “That’s a colorful metaphor,” Theodosia said.

  “Do you want to hold the umbrella?”

  “No.”

  Splinters of rain pelted down as Theodosia and Drayton walked gingerly across the cemetery lawn, shoes squishing loudly in the damp grass. They headed in the direction of a small black canopy stretched above a tiny patch of bright-green plastic funeral grass that was situated next to a small lagoon.

  “There’s already a sizeable crowd gathered,” Drayton whispered. “We’re never going to find a suitable seat under that shelter.”

  Theodosia patted his arm as she tried not to slip on the grass and twist an ankle. “We’ll be fine.”

  But they weren’t fine. They ended up being cold, miserable, and wet—the entire way through the service.

  Tawney Kingsley sat in the front row, of course, well protected from the elements. Charles Townsend and Brooklyn Vance sat in the row directly behind her. And, interestingly, Earl Bullitt sat hunched in the back row, his eyes downcast. He was either freezing cold or bored out of his skull.

  Theodosia didn’t see a freshly dug grave anywhere and then decided it must be hidden under the ghastly bilious-green indoor-outdoor carpeting. For modesty purposes, no doubt. Or maybe because the grave was already half-full of water and the sight would be too much for everyone to bear.

  The service was fairly standard as memorial services go. A somber welcome by a black-suited minister, a few songs that the mourners were urged to sing a cappella (which never worked out), and glowing eulogies by two executives from SyncSoft about their former CEO, Don Kingsley. Everyone listened politely but shivered in the chill air.

  Some forty minutes later, when the service finally wound down, Tawney stood up and turned to address the gathering of mourners. She wore a snappy black hat, black slacks, and a black jacket with sequins on the lapels. She looked, Theodosia decided, like she was auditioning for the road company of Cabaret. In her hands Tawney clutched a silver urn that contained the ashes of her deceased and estranged husband.

  “I’m not a big believer in final goodbyes,” Tawney said in an almost too-bright voice. “Which is why I’ve chosen to place Donald’s ashes inside a piece of custom-designed origami and float it out across the lagoon.”

  “Say what?” Drayton muttered.

  Everyone watched spellbound as Tawney pried the top off the urn and poured a stream of gray ashes into a large paper origami crane. The crane was bright red and measured about ten inches high with a wingspan of maybe eighteen inches. Once the ashes were securely folded inside the paper crane, the minister beckoned for all the mourners to follow along.

  So, once again, all the mourners squished across the grass to the soggy bank of the nearby lagoon.

  “Feet feeling damp?” Theodosia whispered to Drayton.

  “I’ll have you know these are English shoes. From George Cleverley,” Drayton said. “Not exactly your run-of-the-mill Hush Puppies.”

  “I guess that’s a no,” Theodosia said.

  They stopped at the edge of the lagoon, where Tawney placed the crane gently in the water and gave it a farewell shove.

  “Sad. So sad,” Tawney said as the origami crane slowly floated away. She’d managed to conjure up a tear in one eye.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the minister intoned. Because everyone was still looking perplexed, he hastened to explain: “Since this lovely lagoon is tidal fed, Mr. Kingsley’s ashes will be carried along where they will eventually migrate to the Cooper River.”

  “How weird,” Theodosia said under her breath.

  But there was still another event on tap.

  “Thank you all for coming here today, to bid farewell to Donald,” Tawney said in a chirpy voice. “I’ve arranged for a lovely post-funeral luncheon at the Veranda Bistro over on King Street, so I’d love you all to come.”

  “Do you want to go?” Theodosia whispered to Drayton.

  “Maybe. At least it would give us a chance to dry off,” Drayton said.

  “We can do that at the tea shop.”

  “You’re right. Perhaps we should skip the luncheon. What if Haley and Miss Dimple are horrifically busy?”

  “Let’s call them and find out,” Theodosia said as the crowd around them dispersed quickly.
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  Haley answered on the first ring. “How was the funeral?”

  “Sad,” Theodosia said.

  “Damp,” Drayton said loudly into the phone.

  “The thing is, Haley, we’ve been invited to a funeral luncheon. But we don’t want to leave you and Miss Dimple shorthanded,” Theodosia said.

  “Go,” Haley told her. “And don’t stress about us. We’re not one bit busy so Miss Dimple and I can easily take care of lunch. Only three tables are occupied right now and I don’t know if any more customers will show up. I even whipped together a banana pudding cake and now it looks like Miss Dimple and I will have to eat the whole thing.”

  “Okay, Haley, thanks,” Theodosia said. She turned to Drayton. “You catch that?” She checked her watch. “Do you have time? I know your photo shoot is scheduled for this afternoon.”

  Drayton nodded. “No problem. And I think we should attend the luncheon. At the very least it will give you a chance to snoop around some more and ask a few probing questions.”

  “You think that’s what I do?”

  “Yes. And you have it down to a fine science!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Walking into the Veranda Bistro, Drayton said, “I’m surprised your detective friend wasn’t shuffling around at the funeral, trying to look obscure but failing miserably.”

  “I’m guessing that Tidwell is still recovering from last night,” Theodosia said. “He got whacked pretty hard.”

  “From what you told me, it sounded suspiciously like the one who did the whacking might have been Charles Townsend.”

  Theodosia shrugged. “Could have been him or somebody else. Lord knows, there are enough suspects.”

  “But you said Townsend acted nervous. As though he had something to hide.”

  “Yes, but Townsend always acts a little hinky,” Theodosia said. She glanced around the interior of the restaurant. “This looks like a spot for ladies-who-lunch.”

  “What gave it away?” Drayton asked. “The pink floral wallpaper or the white wicker chairs?”