Devonshire Scream (2 page)

Theodosia had been holding her breath, one hand clutching Haley. When she heard the SUV take off, she half stood and looked over the counter.

People were crying and coughing and moaning softly. Hunks of jagged glass lay everywhere, as if a giant kaleidoscope had exploded. A few larger pieces reflected the red-green of the stoplight down on the corner and the neon lights from the Red Peppercorn Grill across the street.

“Is it over?” Haley asked. Her voice was hoarse and shaky.

“Yes, but stay where you are.” Theodosia could hear the faint wail of sirens several blocks away. An alarm had been triggered, or someone had dared to call 911 on their cell phone. Help was on the way, thank goodness.

Across the shop, Brooke scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild with fear, her body shaking uncontrollably. “Is anybody hurt?”

Loud moans and cries rang out in response.

“I'm cut.”

“There are slivers in my hand.”

“Please help me.”

The sound of sirens was growing closer, Theodosia thought. Now they were just two or three blocks away.

“The police are coming,” Theodosia called out over the screams, trying to sound braver than she actually felt. “There will be ambulances, EMTs to help all of you. Just stay where you are and try not to move.” She figured the EMTs were the pros; they'd know how to triage the wounded. As far as everything else—the stolen jewels—that would just have to wait. The injured guests took precedence now.

“Kaitlin?” Brooke called out. She was hunting frantically for her niece. “Honey, where are you?”

“She's over here,” a man cried out. “I think she's hurt pretty bad.”

Brooke staggered her way across the front of the store, glass crunching underfoot as she tried not to step on the injured guests or fall headlong into the jagged, empty cases.

“Kaitlin?” Brooke called again as she finally reached her niece, who was lying prone on the floor. She bent down over Kaitlin's body. “Honey, I'm here.” Her voice was ragged and tight with fear. Her hand reached out and gently touched Kaitlin's face. Then her voice rose in a strangled gargle. “Kaitlin?”

Theodosia, sensing disaster, began to pick her way toward Brooke and Kaitlin.

“Don't touch her,” Theodosia warned. “The ambulances are here.” Red and blue lights strobed out in the street. “Let them . . .”

Brooke was bent over Kaitlin now, clutching her and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Brooke.” Theodosia's voice was a sharp bark, trying to get through to her friend. “Don't move her. Let the EMTs take care of her.”

But Brooke would have none of it. Lifting Kaitlin's head, she gently pushed back her hair to reveal a daggerlike hunk of glass embedded in the girl's throat. Kaitlin's eyes had rolled back until only the whites were visible. She was no longer breathing. The poor girl was gone.

Brooke's scream rose in a pitch-perfect high C that melded with the blaring sirens of the police cruisers and ambulances that had finally arrived on the scene.

It was a
catastrophe of epic proportions. Kaitlin dead, countless people injured, all the jewelry stolen, and Brooke's shop left in ruins.

How could this happen? Theodosia wondered as she watched a half-dozen EMTs and a dozen uniformed officers pour into the shop. One minute they'd all been sipping tea and gazing serenely at priceless jewels and gems, and now . . . everything lay in ruin.

“What are we going to do?” Haley asked, clutching at Theodosia's hand. She was trembling like a leaf. “People are bleeding . . . a lot of them are hurt really bad. And Kaitlin . . .”

They both turned to watch as an EMT knelt down over Kaitlin's body and did a quick life check. Despite Brooke's tears and loud protests, the EMT was shaking his head. No, Kaitlin was gone for sure. There was nothing that could be done.

“This is awful!” Haley cried. “What are we . . . ?”

Theodosia spun to face Haley and gripped her shoulders tightly. “Haley, we're going to pull it together, that's what we're going to do. We're going to take a deep breath and help wherever we can. We'll hold hands with the injured, carry stretchers if we have to, run and grab first aid supplies, and do whatever else the first responders might need. Okay?”

Haley wobbled her head. “I guess.”

“Pull it together, Haley.”

“Okay.”

For the next five minutes they worked in what could only be classified as a disaster zone. That time stretched into another fifteen minutes of critical care. They comforted the wounded, helped some of them limp out to waiting ambulances and squad cars, and pretty much did whatever the uniformed officers and EMTs directed. It was hard work and the awful part was that Kaitlin's body remained in place, exactly where she'd fallen, with just black-and-yellow crime scene tape strung around it.

Finally, as the mess slowly began to get sorted out, the big guns arrived to investigate.

“Tidwell,” Theodosia muttered when she saw the burly detective arrive on the scene. Burt Tidwell headed the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department and he was a force to be reckoned with. Tight-lipped, tenacious, and pugnacious, Tidwell was a dogged investigator who drove his men with unbridled zeal. His detectives and officers feared him, trusted him, and depended heavily upon him. If push came to shove, they would probably walk across hot coals in their bare feet for him.

Tonight Tidwell wore a rumpled sport coat that barely stretched across his ever-expanding frame. His slightly bulging eyes never stopped moving as he took in the injured guests, the first responders still toiling away, and the smashed jewelry cases, where the only telltale signs of missing jewelry were faint impressions left on velvet.

Theodosia knew that Tidwell had noticed her, but he hadn't bothered to acknowledge her even though he was a frequent gobbler of scones and guzzler of tea at her shop. Instead, he stomped around the premises, taking everything in, seemingly unaware of glass shards crunching loudly beneath his heavy cop shoes.

“I . . . I think my hand got cut,” a woman said in a small voice.

Theodosia whirled around to find Sabrina Andros standing there, looking slightly bereft. “Sabrina,” she said. She vaguely recalled that Sabrina had visited the Indigo Tea Shop a few times in the past couple of months. “What's wrong? How can I help?”

Sabrina held out a trembling hand. “My hand got cut.”

Theodosia peered at Sabrina's hand. There was just a faint abrasion on the back of her hand. “It doesn't look too bad,” she said, trying to be helpful.

Sabrina's face crumpled and tears glistened in her eyes. “I knew I shouldn't have come here tonight. I just knew it.”

Theodosia realized then that not all wounds were physical. Poor Sabrina's wounds were psychic and probably just as painful and upsetting as anyone else's cuts.

“Come here.” Theodosia opened her arms and let Sabrina step into them. She hugged the woman gently. “You're going to be okay. The worst is over now and the police are here. There's nothing more to fear.”

“But did you
see
what happened?” Sabrina snuffled. “Did you see those horrible men hacking away at the glass cases?” She exhaled deeply. “And then that poor girl got killed.”

Theodosia gently rubbed small circles on Sabrina's back. “I saw the whole thing,” she said. “And it
was
awful.”

“Awful,” Sabrina repeated. Then she pushed away and said, “I should go home. I should leave now.” Her tears seemed to have dried up. Now she was talking in a more matter-of-fact tone of voice.

“I think the police want to interview everyone,” Theodosia said. “I'm sure any information you can give them would be of value.”

Sabrina shook her head. “No, I don't think I can do that.” Now she just seemed nervous.

Theodosia grasped Sabrina's elbow. “Let's just go talk to one of these nice police officers, shall we?” She pulled Sabrina along. “Excuse me, Officer?”

A bookish-looking uniformed officer with blond, brush-cut hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses glanced her way.

“I have another witness for you to interview,” Theodosia said.

“Very good,” the officer said, turning his attention to Sabrina. “I just have a few questions . . .”

Theodosia backed away and studied the scene once again. Brooke was talking to Tidwell now. They were standing just inches from the crime scene tape that was draped around Kaitlin's body. From the droop of Brooke's shoulders and the despondent expression on her face, she was obviously relating her version of how the robbery had unfolded. Only her version wasn't that of an innocent, shocked bystander. It was from the perspective of someone whose shop had been rudely invaded by masked gunmen and her niece brutally killed in the process.

Theodosia shuddered. She knew Brooke must be completely devastated, though she seemed to be holding it together.
Amazing
, she thought. The inner strength of that woman.

Tidwell had handed Brooke off to another investigator and was now headed in Theodosia's direction. Theodosia squared her shoulders, preparing herself for a barrage of curt, no-nonsense questions.

“Well,” Tidwell said. He beetled his bushy brows and peered at her, eyes bulging, chin tucked down. His feet
were spread wide apart in an almost confrontational stance. “What can you tell me?”

“Probably not a lot more than you've already heard,” Theodosia said.

Tidwell nodded abruptly. “Yes, yes, the black SUV, the devil masks, the wrecking of the glass jewelry cases, and of course . . .” His words halted abruptly and he jabbed his chin in the direction of two EMTs who hovered over Kaitlin's body.

“Kaitlin,” Theodosia said. “Dead.”

“Killed in a hail of shattered glass.” Tidwell shook his head. “Obviously a terrible accident.”

“If Kaitlin's dead,” Theodosia said, “wouldn't that constitute murder?”

“A possible homicide, anyway,” Tidwell said.

“But if it was intentional? Then wouldn't it be murder?”

“Why don't we leave the technicalities to the district attorney?” Tidwell muttered. “I'm not here to prosecute anyone, only to solve the crime.”

“To apprehend the perpetrators,” Theodosia said.

“I do understand what's involved, Miss Browning. I have done this before.”

“Of course you have,” Theodosia said.

“Now. What can you tell me?” Tidwell asked. He held up a hand. “And before you say anything, there's no need to rehash the story of the SUV crash. I've heard twenty versions already.”

“Perhaps you'd like to hear some new information, then?” Theodosia said.

“Do you have something new?”

“I may have picked up a small clue.”

Tidwell cocked his head at her. “Do tell.”

“I think one of the robbers might have been a woman.”

“And why do you think that?”

“This particular robber happened to have a much smaller hand. And I think was wearing a ring.”

Tidwell rocked back on his heels. “Hmm.” He didn't seem all that impressed with her observation.

“And I might have caught sight of something else, too.”

“Please, Miss Browning, don't keep me in suspense.”

“I think this same person . . .”

“The one with the small hand.”

“Yes, I think that person might have also had a tattoo.”

Tidwell frowned. “It was my understanding that they were all wearing gloves as well.”

“I caught sight of something between this person's glove and shirtsleeve. It looked like . . . a small grouping of blue lines. Or maybe it was calligraphy. I'm not entirely sure; everything happened so fast.”

“Interesting,” Tidwell said. One of the uniformed officers suddenly shouted his name out and he jerked about abruptly. “Yes? What is it?” he asked.

“Crime scene techs are here,” the officer called to him.

“Excellent,” Tidwell said. Muttering to himself, his mouth working furiously, he stalked off without a word of thanks to Theodosia.

That was just fine with Theodosia. She hadn't expected much more and Brooke had hurriedly stepped in to take his place.

“Did I hear you right?” Brooke asked, a look of expectation on her face. “Did you just tell Detective Tidwell that you saw something on one of the robber's hands?”

“I told him I might have seen a tattoo,” Theodosia said.

“That could be a clue,” Brooke said, jumping on her words. “That could be important.”

“And it might not be. Do you know how many people have tattoos these days?”

Brooke's eagerness turned to disappointment. “Oh. Well.
I suppose you're right.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And whatever it was, it's not going to bring Kaitlin back.”

Theodosia moved closer to Brooke and gave her a hug. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about Kaitlin.” She saw that the crime scene techs were busily taking photos of Kaitlin's body now, their cameras strobing like mad.

All Brooke could do was bob her head.

“I know you feel absolutely devastated.”

“You have no idea,” Brooke said in a hoarse whisper. Then she stepped back from Theodosia and said, “Theodosia, you've got to help me.”

“I will,” Theodosia said. “I'll do anything I can to help.”

Brooke glanced over at Tidwell and then back at Theodosia. “No. I mean with Kaitlin.”

Theodosia frowned. She didn't know if Brooke wanted her to help plan a funeral or if . . .

“I want you to help find her killers,” Brooke said urgently.

There it was. The “or if.”

“Of all the people here tonight, you were the one who remained calm,” Brooke said. “The only one who managed to come up with a clue.”

Theodosia wanted to help, she really did. But she was reluctant to muscle her way into a major police investigation. “I wouldn't know where to start,” she said, giving a helpless shrug.

“What if I gave you all the information that I have?”

“What do you mean, Brooke?” Theodosia flinched. The crime scene techs had just rolled Kaitlin's body into a black plastic bag.

“My list of jewels, the guest list . . . you know.” A faint twitch played at the corner of Brooke's mouth. “Theodosia, you're the smartest person I know when it comes to unraveling this type of thing.”

“Oh no, not really,” Theodosia said. “Detective Tidwell has all the experience. He's the expert.”

“But I know you've worked with him before on a couple of things.” Brooke's tone had turned pleading, desperate.

Theodosia was silent for a few moments. And then she said, “Well, maybe I have. On a couple of things, anyway.”

They both fell silent as two EMTs loaded the black plastic bag containing Kaitlin's dead body onto a gurney. They rolled it across cracked glass and strips of jagged metal, and then humped it through the doorway and out to a waiting ambulance.

Brooke dropped her head as tears streamed down her face.

Theodosia's heart went out to her. She wanted to help, really she did. But she wasn't a detective, private investigator, or even a
CSI
buff. She was a tea shop lady. An entrepreneur in her midthirties who served tea and scones with a smile, exchanged friendly banter with customers, did a bit of catering on the side, and had the same concerns about a shaky economy that every other small business owner did.

Of course, Theodosia was also smart as a whip, filled with curiosity, and possessed an almost poetic sense of justice. Maybe she'd inherited those qualities from her librarian mother and lawyer father, both gone now. Or maybe those traits had just incubated inside of her these many years until she'd finally witnessed enough injustice in the world.

Making up her mind, Theodosia grasped Brooke's hand and squeezed it hard. “All right,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I'll do what I can. I'll try my absolute best.”