Gunpowder Green (22 page)

“Oliver Dixon was a brilliant man,” said Giovanni. “One our community isn't likely to forget for a long time.”

“It's a shame the company is being shut down entirely,” continued Theodosia. “To keep Grapevine going, to build it into a success, would have been a tremendous testament to your husband.”

“Unfortunately, it's just not to be,” said Giovanni. His eyes seemed to have taken on a hard shine, sending a not-so-subtle warning signal to Theodosia.

Giovanni's overprotectiveness rankled Theodosia and gave her the impetus she needed to continue.

“Well-planned companies usually have a number of capable executives who can take over at the helm,” said Theodosia. “For example—” Under the table, she felt a subtle kick from Drayton. Obviously, he thought she was going too far, pushing a little too hard, as well. “For example,” she continued, “it turns out Ford Cantrell was doing some consulting work with your husband. As a former VP at Vantage Computers, perhaps he could have provided the needed interim leadership.”

Doe frowned and cast her eyes downward, while Giovanni stared at Theodosia with a cold fury. “I'm afraid we'll be leaving now,” he announced. He stood abruptly, and Doe, tight-lipped and grim, stood up as well.

Then Giovanni Loard headed for the door without uttering another word and Doe, bidding them a clipped good-bye, followed on his heels.

 

“Well, you certainly got a rise out of them,” said Drayton as they huddled at the counter. “And some might say exceeded the boundary of good manners.”

“I take it you disapprove?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton put one hand to the side of his face and patted it absently. “Not entirely,” he said. “Like you, I get a very queasy feeling about a number of people.”

“And your suspicions are focused on . . .”

“The girl, yes,” said Drayton. “Such a pretty thing. But I can't help feel that beneath that radiant exterior is a very tough cookie.”

“A girl who arranged to have her own husband murdered?” asked Theodosia.

“It's true, Doe didn't pull the trigger,” said Drayton. “Poor Oliver did that all by himself.”

“Rather convenient, wasn't it?” said Theodosia. “And now sweet young Doe has inherited Oliver Dixon's home and all his worldly assets.” She turned to arrange a stack of saucers and cups. “Did you get the feeling that Doe knew Ford Cantrell had been working with Oliver Dixon?”

“Hard to tell,” muttered Drayton, “hard to tell.”

Over lunch at her desk, Theodosia reread the
Post and Courier
article. The byline at the end of the article said J. D. Darling. She knew J. D. Darling wasn't one of the regular business writers and, from the tone of the piece, the whole thing sounded like a quick rewrite of a press release. Probably one that had been issued hastily by Cherry Tree Investments over the weekend, then reworked by one of the copy cubs who pulled the Saturday to Sunday shift.

Theodosia drummed her fingers on her desk. The last line of the article intrigued her. It said that Cherry Tree Investments would continue to focus its efforts on several new high-tech start-ups.

Close down one high-tech company to start another? It happened, but it still sounded strange. Especially in light of all the gut-wrenching front-end work that had probably gone into Grapevine; months or perhaps even years of product development, writing a business plan, creating marketing and media strategies, finding a distribution chain, and developing a sales force strategy.

And, truth be known, high-tech companies weren't exactly the darlings of the venture capital world these days. It wasn't that long ago that the whole dot com thing experienced a disastrous shakeout on Wall Street, and skeptical analysts, probably the most vocal being those who got burned themselves, had stuck dot coms with the kiss-of-death label “
dot bombs.
”

Theodosia set her tuna fish sandwich down and dialed information. Within seconds, she'd obtained the number for Cherry Tree Investments and was dialing it.

“Hello,” Theodosia greeted the woman who answered Cherry Tree's phone, “this is Judith Castleworth at the
Post and Courier
. I'm calling to clarify a few facts for one of our business writers, Mr. J. D. Darling?”

“Of course,” said the receptionist.

“In Cherry Tree's recent press release regarding the closing of the company Grapevine, you mention that Cherry Tree is undertaking financing for several new high-tech companies. Can you give me the names of those companies?”

“You're talking about our newest underwritings,” said the receptionist, not sounding completely sure of herself.

“Yes,” said Theodosia.

“Let me see if I even have that information,” said the woman. “Shirlene, the regular girl is at lunch, I'm Marilyn. Can you hold for a moment?”

“Of course,” said Theodosia.

There was a rustle of papers, and Theodosia could hear the woman coughing gently. Then she was back on the phone.

“Miss Castleworth? I have those names for you.”

“Go ahead,” said Theodosia.

“The companies are Deva Tech, that's D-E-V-A Tech, two words. And Alphimed, A-L-P-H-I-M-E-D, one word.”

“Deva Tech and Alphimed,” repeated Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Marilyn. “Deva Tech manufactures scanners for the warehouse industry, and Alphimed is a franchised medical testing company. Interim financing for both has already gone through, and Cherry Tree will be issuing a complete story to the media . . . oh, probably next month.”

“Would it be possible to speak with your president, Mr. Booth Crowley?” asked Theodosia.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Crowley's at lunch. Could I have him return your—?”

“Thank you anyway, Marilyn,” said Theodosia.

Theodosia replaced the phone in the cradle and leaned back in her leather chair. So Booth Crowley was financing two more high-tech companies. And from the way things sounded, they were very close to launching.

Booth Crowley. He was the man who'd handled Oliver Dixon the pistol. He was the man who'd been so hostile toward Billy Manolo at Oliver Dixon's funeral. And Booth Crowley was the big-time venture capitalist who launched Grapevine by virtue of his financing, then pulled the plug after Oliver Dixon was killed.

“You look like you've got a headache,” said Haley.

“Getting one, anyway,” said Theodosia, her head spinning with possibilities. She was hungry but had only eaten a quarter of her sandwich.

“I have the perfect antidote,” said Haley. “Just give me a sec.”

Theodosia stared out the window, thinking that
everybody
had suddenly begun to look suspicious.

Haley returned with a teacup filled with pale yellow liquid. “Drink this,” she urged.

“What is it?”

“Meadowsweet tea.”

“Perfect,” declared Theodosia. Meadowsweet was a plant that had been used for centuries to fight fever and tame headaches. Its derivative, salicylate, was the compound that had been chemically formulated to produce aspirin.

“Drayton told me about your genteel conversation with Giovanni and Doe,” Haley said, very tongue-in-cheek. “You don't think
she
had anything to do with Oliver Dixon's death do you?”

“I'm not sure what to think anymore,” replied Theodosia. “First Ford Cantrell looked suspicious, then Billy Manolo. Although Billy just seems a little crazy.”

“But crazy people do crazy things,” said Haley.

“Yes,” said Theodosia slowly, “they do. And now I'm also having second thoughts about Doe. It would appear she had a lot to gain from Oliver Dixon's death.”

“You think the prom queen whacked her own hubby? Gosh, it sounds like tabloid fodder, doesn't it? Or a plot for a B movie.”

“It doesn't stop there,” sighed Theodosia. “I'm also curious as to what Booth Crowley is up to. It still seems strange to me that he just closed down Grapevine.” Theodosia sipped her tea as Haley stared placidly at her. “Haley, tell me more about PDAs.”

“What do you want to know?”

Theodosia paused. “There are different kinds. . . .” She wasn't sure where she was going with this.

Haley frowned at Theodosia, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. “You mean different operating systems?”

“I think so, yes,” nodded Theodosia.

“Oh that,” said Haley. “There's two kinds duking it out right now. Palm versus the Pocket PC.”

“And your gizmo uses Palm,” said Theodosia.

“Right,” said Haley, “because I've got a Palm Pilot.”

“What was Grapevine designing applications for?” said Theodosia.

“Not really applications, more like expansion modules.”

“For the Palm,” said Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Haley.

“And now Booth Crowley is going to underwrite Deva Tech, a company that manufactures warehouse scanners. What kind of computer systems do big warehouses generally use?”

“Big stuff, networks,” she said.

“No Palm operating system?” asked Theodosia.

Haley smiled. “Hardly.”

“So maybe Grapevine was small potatoes,” said Theodosia.

“Or Booth Crowley didn't want to tick off the powers that be, the Microsofts of the world. It was just easier to dump Grapevine.”

“Or dump Oliver Dixon,” said Theodosia.

“Chilling thought,” said Haley.

“Which means I need to find out a whole lot more about Booth Crowley,” said Theodosia.

“How about tapping into radio free Charleston down the street?” suggested Haley.

“You mean Delaine?”

“Who else? She always seems to have the latest word on everything. Just don't let on that you're
too
interested,” warned Haley.

“
THEODOSIA, I
JUST got in the most
marvelous
green silk jacket,” exclaimed Delaine. “It is to
die
for.” Delaine bustled over, delivered a quick air kiss in Theodosia's general vicinity, then scampered off, leaving an aromatic cloud of Joy in her wake.

“Janine!” Delaine yelled to her overworked assistant. “Where did we hang those silk jackets? Or are you still steaming them?”

Janine came rushing out from the back room, bearing silk jackets on padded hangers. Janine always looked a trifle red-faced and out of breath, and Theodosia often wondered if the poor woman had borderline high blood pressure or if her state of nervous excitement was due to six years of working for Delaine. She suspected the latter.

“Here, try this.” Delaine pulled at Theodosia's black cashmere cardigan, trying to wrest it off, while she held out the green silk jacket for her to try on. “No, this is a medium, Janine, get Theodosia a small. These jackets run a tad generous, and our girl seems to have lost a couple pounds. Did you, dear?” she asked pointedly.

Theodosia ignored Delaine's question and, instead, slid into the smaller-size jacket. She adjusted it, buttoned a couple buttons, pirouetted in front of the three-way mirror.

“Oh, with your hair,
très élégant,”
gushed Delaine.

Theodosia gazed at herself in the mirror. The jacket was a stunner, she had to admit. Sleek, lightweight, and a very bewitching green. She could see herself wearing it to any number of upcoming outings and parties. Accompanied, perhaps, by Jory Davis?

“I have it in jade green, pomegranate, and, of course, black,” said Delaine. “Very limited quantities, so you won't see yourself coming and going.” She plucked at one of the sleeves. “And so light, gossamer light, like butterfly wings. Perfect for a cool spring evening.”

Theodosia snuck a peek at the price tag and decided she'd have to sell a good sixty or seventy cups of tea to finance her purchase.

“Let me think about it, Delaine,” she said, slipping the jacket off and delivering it into the waiting arms of Janine.

Delaine wagged a finger at her. “Don't wait too long, Theo. These jackets will go like hotcakes.”

“I know, I know.” Theodosia picked up a beaded bag.

“Those are all hand-stitched in Indonesia,” Delaine told her. “They come in that leaf pattern or there's a star motif.”

“Lovely,” said Theodosia as she examined the bag, then set it back down on the little display table. “Doe and Giovanni stopped by the tea shop this morning,” she said.

Delaine brightened immediately. “Did they really? How is Doe getting along?”

“Seems to be bearing up quite well,” said Theodosia. She didn't want to confide to Delaine that Doe and Giovanni had both exited the tea shop in a somewhat hasty huff. Delaine would probably learn about that soon enough. “And you heard about Grapevine, Oliver Dixon's company? Booth Crowley closed it down.”