Devonshire Scream (10 page)

“Yes, of course,” Drayton said. “You know I'm just sick about this.”

Timothy gazed at Theodosia. “Agreed, Theodosia?”

“Sure.” Theodosia wasn't sick about the situation. Just extremely wary.

Timothy picked up a small bronze bust of Thomas Jefferson and creaked back in his chair. “My goodness, I find this hard to believe. Why, Lionel is even dating one of our rather prominent citizens.”

“Who would that be?” Theodosia asked.

“Grace Dawson,” Timothy said. “You probably know her. She's that peppy little blond-haired lady who lives in the old Burwick-Howell mansion on Tradd Street. You see her out walking sometimes with those two magnificent Doberman pinschers.”

“Sultan and Satin,” Drayton said. “Yes, they're beautiful dogs.”

“They're dating?” Theodosia asked. Then she quickly waved a hand in front of her face as if to erase her words. “Wait, I didn't mean the Dobermans.”

“I understand what you mean,” Timothy said. “And, yes, the two of them
are
seeing each other. Keeping company, or whatever you choose to call it.”

Theodosia smiled to herself. She'd call it dating, yes. Haley would call it friends with benefits. As for the dogs, Earl Grey and the Dobermans hadn't officially met yet. But she suspected it might be time to remedy that.

“So you've told the FBI about our upcoming show?” Timothy said. “About our Fabergé egg?”

“They're well aware of it,” Theodosia said.

Timothy seemed to make up his mind then. He put Mr. Jefferson's likeness down and said, “I'll hire more guards for Saturday night. And do you have a phone number for that agent you mentioned? Ziskie, was it? I'd like to speak with him.”

“Agent Zimmer,” Theodosia said. She removed Zimmer's card from her pocketbook and copied down the information for Timothy. But she kept the card.

If she truly intended to help Brooke find some answers, Agent Zimmer just might come in handy.

Earl Grey lounged
in front of the fireplace, looking lazy and content, as Theodosia bustled about the kitchen fixing dinner. Theodosia sometimes wondered who appreciated their harmonious evening routine the most. And judging by the peaceful, almost beatific look on her dear dog's face, she suspected it was him.

On warmer evenings, she'd have carried her plate out to the small patio in the backyard where decades of ivy crawled up a redbrick wall and a small fountain pattered away. It was a lovely Charleston pocket garden, green and lush, tangled rather than manicured. But tonight was way too cool and the fire much too inviting.

Theodosia moved briskly about the kitchen, dancing to Natasha Bedingfield's “Unwritten.” Tonight was going to be salad night. She chopped and diced grape tomatoes, shallots, and parsley, then tossed everything into a bowl of bulgur wheat. She whipped some olive oil and red vinegar
together and then poured it over her salad. Bits of crumbled goat cheese went on top, and there you had it. A Mediterranean grain salad. Haley would have approved. In fact, it was an adaptation of one of Haley's recipes.

Curling into a chair at the table, Theodosia tasted her creation. Mmn, it was delicious. As she nibbled her salad and glanced through the latest edition of
Charleston
magazine, her eyes were drawn to the pink orchid that sat on the dining room table. It had been a gift from Angie Congdon, her friend who owned the Featherbed House B and B.

Theodosia wasn't sure if she had a knack for the care and feeding of this particular
Phalaenopsis
, but she was willing to give it a try. Besides, it was nice to have something exotic in the house.

Earl Grey touched a nose to her knee and peered up at her.

“No,” she said. “You've had your dinner. A delicious kibble entrée.”

He continued to gaze at her, his sad brown eyes pleading for a bite.

“I know. If I give you a bite you'll never ask me again, right?”

“Rwww,”
Earl Grey responded.

“But you will. That's just how you are.”

This time he rolled his eyes at her, which immediately tugged at her heart. And just as she was about to break down, to run into the kitchen and get him a dog cookie, the phone rang.

“Saved,” she breathed, jumping up to snatch it. “Hello?”

“Hello, gorgeous,” Max cooed into her ear. Her ex-boyfriend certainly knew how to get her attention.

“Hey there,” Theodosia said. “How are things in Savannah?”

“Could be better.” His teasing tone awakened a flutter of butterflies in her core. “You could be here.”

“Oh, really?” Max was both charming and glib. He was a keeper, but one she couldn't keep.

His smooth chuckle rumbled over the line. “Definitely. In fact, I was hoping you might come down for the Festival of Lights in a few weeks. I know a great place you can stay.”

“I'm sure you do. The thing is, the holidays are our busiest time of year.”

“That sounds like a no.”

“No, it's just a maybe.”

“I could dine out on your maybes,” Max said.

“Then I'll really try to make it down there.”

“Can't ask for much more. How are things in Charleston?”

“Oh, fairly interesting.”

“Don't tell me you let yourself get pulled into some sort of crazy investigation again.”

“Then I won't tell you.”

“I'm not sure if that sounds ominous or hopeful.” Max chuckled.

“Probably a little of both,” Theodosia said. She really didn't want to get into a hot and heavy discussion right now on how a ring of international jewel thieves might be operating in Charleston. It was just . . . too much.

“Are you still running?” Max asked. “Keeping up those eight-minute miles?”

“I'm still at it. In fact, I'm going to take a run tonight.”

“Good girl. Just be careful. In the dark, you could twist an ankle on one of those pesky cobblestones. Or, you know . . .” His sentence hung unfinished in the air. He still worried about her. Theodosia wondered if that was a good thing or problematic.

“I'll be careful,” she said. “I'm always careful.”

“Yeah, right.”

Theodosia hung up feeling a small void in her chest. Change wasn't exactly her favorite thing. But it was certainly in the air. Changing leaves, changing seasons, changing times.

•   •   •

By seven thirty,
Theodosia and Earl Grey were bobbing down the back alley. The evening was beautiful, an inky blue-black sky scattered with shards of bright stars. Streetlights glowed like miniature beacons as she beat a path through the neighborhood, Earl Grey keeping pace at her side.

They bounced along, cutting through an alley or two, even running down Stoll's Alley, where narrow, rough-hewn stone walls closed in on them and a few withered ferns were attempting a heroic last stand.

As they hung a left onto Tradd Street, Theodosia experienced one of those serendipitous moments. There, up ahead of her, heading right for her, in fact, was a small woman handling two large Dobermans. It had to be Grace Dawson and her dogs.

Instead of giving the trio a wide berth, as she normally would, Theodosia stayed her course and gently slowed her pace. A few moments later, she and Grace were face-to-face, the dogs muzzle-to-muzzle.

There was the usual amount of sniffing and mingling, of doggy politics being played out. Then the dogs seemed to relax.

“You have a beautiful pair of Dobermans,” Theodosia said.

Grace Dawson's brilliant smile was pageant-worthy. “Thank you. I totally agree. But, of course, I'm shamelessly biased. They're family.” She patted her dogs' heads—one, then the other. “Sultan and Satin, meet . . .” She trailed off. “I'm sorry, you're both so familiar to me, I know I've seen you around . . . but I'm afraid I'm not very good with names.”

“This is Earl Grey and I'm Theodosia Browning.”

Grace beamed. “Of course you are. From the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.”

“You've visited us?”

“No, but I'm definitely planning to drop by. I've heard the most marvelous things about your tea shop. I understand you have your own pastry chef right there on the premises?”

“Haley bakes all our scones, muffins, bars, and brownie bites from scratch.”
And she would adore being called a pastry chef.

“Be still my heart,” Grace laughed.

Assuming this woman eats anything sweet.

Theodosia studied Grace. She had to be in her early fifties, but was lithe and almost fashion-model thin.

Probably lives on kale and
wheat shooters.

Her skintight black leggings and purple hoodie were definitely more Neiman Marcus than Sport Shack, and her sneakers were pure Gucci. With her blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, she looked like an older, wealthier Barbie.

“You do a lot of running?” Theodosia asked.

“I try to take these energetic beasts out every morning and most evenings,” Grace said.

Theodosia forced herself to focus. She needed to get serious before Grace continued on with her run. “You know, I was introduced to a friend of yours yesterday,” she said. “Lionel Rinicker.”

“Oh, Lionel!” Grace said with great enthusiasm. “Isn't he a dear? An absolute charmer?”

“I only met him for a few minutes, but he seemed like a very nice man.”

“Oh, he is,” Grace gushed.

Theodosia wondered if Grace might even mention something about the FBI coming to call on Rinicker. On the other hand, Rinicker probably hadn't told her. He was fairly new in town, had been lucky enough to make the acquaintance of a fairly well-to-do woman, so why would he want to screw things up?

Grace put a conspiratorial hand on Theodosia's arm.
“Let me tell you something, dear. Lionel's done a world of good for me since my husband passed away two years ago. He's made me feel alive again.”

“That's wonderful,” Theodosia said. Then, “What did your husband do?” she asked politely.

“Wilton owned a Mercedes-Benz dealership over on James Island.”

“A lovely area. I take it you used to live there, too?”

“Yes, but now I really prefer in-town living. I bought my house a year ago and I honestly haven't looked back.” Grace laughed, making a vague gesture at the neighborhood. “Look at this. Simply gorgeous. I can chug along on the beach or run through these amazing streets, admiring the history and architecture. The harbor and the yacht club are nearby and the air is always that heady oxygen-rich mixture of sea brine and freedom. And if I hadn't moved here, I never would have met Lionel.”

“He did strike me as a charmer,” Theodosia said.

“And very cultured. He's lived so many places I'm fairly green with envy. We met at the Coastal Carolina Flea Market, you know. I found a portfolio of sketches I thought might be Norman Rockwell originals and the seller agreed. Just as we were negotiating a price, Lionel came to my rescue. He knew right off they were just prints. Restrikes, I think he called them.”

“So you didn't lose any money,” Theodosia said.

“And I gained a boyfriend,” Grace said as the Dobermans strained at their leashes.

“You know,” Theodosia said. “My tea master, Drayton Conneley, and Lionel are on the board of directors together at the Heritage Society.”

Grace's eyes twinkled. “So you're probably looking forward to the gala Saturday night. For all the Gold Circle members?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Theodosia said.

•   •   •

Theodosia thought about
her quick encounter with Grace Dawson as she jogged along. The woman definitely seemed enamored of Lionel Rinicker. So what did that mean? That he was a nice, okay guy, someone to be trusted? Or that he'd managed to pull the wool over Grace's eyes?

Theodosia dodged down a narrow alley that led between two enormous mansions, and then burst out into White Point Garden. Pounding across the dried grass, the blessed endorphins kicked in. There was nothing like the bliss of a runner's high at the end of a busy, stressful day.

“What do you think?” she asked Earl Grey. “Do you feel it, too, boy?”

They ran along a narrow ridge where the Atlantic crashed in on shell-strewn sandy shores. Finally, after a good half mile at a blistering pace, Theodosia slowed. Memories of romantic strolls along the shore with Max flitted through her mind. This part of Charleston, the very tip of the peninsula, was the most romantic and spirited. Here you could tumble back in time, surrounded by elegant homes and the whoosh and whisper of the eternal sea.

Earl Grey nudged her hand with a cool, wet nose, bringing Theodosia back into the moment. She was moving at a comfortable jog-walk pace now, ambling along, heading in the direction of the Charleston Yacht Club.

Theodosia had sailed out of the yacht club many times and always felt inspired and uplifted by the bobbing of the boats and the clanking of the halyards against the masts.

So elegant
, she told herself as she surveyed the little fleet. All these posh blue-and-white vessels bobbing and nodding to one another, probably exchanging price points and pedigrees.

As she neared the clubhouse, she wondered if anyone was there.

But no, it was too late. All the lights were off and . . .

Her eyes flitted across a sign. An intriguing sign she'd never noticed before. It said:
GOLD
COAST
YACHTS
.

She'd almost forgotten about Sabrina and Luke Andros. She of the jewelry debacle and he of the fancy yachts.

Theodosia approached the small building that served as the office for Gold Coast Yachts and peeked in the window. In the dark, all she could make out were a large desk and a few chairs. Colorful posters of megayachts hung on the walls.

She checked her watch and was about to turn for home when a light way out at the end of the far pier caught her eye. She gazed through the mist that was starting to roll in now and saw an enormous one-hundred-and-twenty-foot yacht bobbing majestically.

One of the Gold Coast yachts? Had to be. All the other sailboats here were of the smaller variety. Ensigns and O'Days and a few Hobie Cats.

Curiosity pulled at her, dragging her toward that yacht like a moth to the flame.

And then voices floated across the sea air, muffled by the dampness.

Theodosia pressed a finger to her mouth, warning Earl Grey to be quiet. He turned his doggy gaze toward the boat, as if in complete understanding. And then they both tiptoed along the shoreline in the direction of the far dock. Together they stepped onto it and tread softly along smooth, wooden planks. Earl Grey's head bobbed sweetly as he seemed to make an effort to keep his toenails from clicking against the boards.

A voice grew steadily louder as they drew nearer the large craft, but Theodosia still couldn't make out any actual words. Could the voice belong to Luke Andros, the newly arrived, wealthy yacht broker? Was he the one who was doing all the talking?