Chapter 14
14
When Theodosia got back to the Indigo Tea Shop, she was still fuming about her dustup with Adam Lynch. She hadn’t actually come right out and accused Lynch of sabotaging the greenhouse, but he’d reacted so violently that she now believed he was quite capable of engineering that kind of madness. So he’d definitely solidified his place on her suspect list.
Theodosia looked around for Haley and Miss Dimple, then realized that it was well past four o’clock and they’d undoubtedly gone home for the day—Haley to her apartment above the tea shop with her cat, Teacake, and Miss Dimple to her cottage not far from White Point Garden. Drayton was still at the tea shop, however, languidly pushing a broom across the floor, doing a final cleanup.
When Drayton spotted Theodosia, he said, “So tell me, how’d it go with Adam Lynch?”
“Not very well,” Theodosia said. “The man is obnoxious, still angry at Bettina, and a certified maniac.”
“If Lynch is that miserable, he might even be miserable enough to sabotage a greenhouse.”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Really? Well, I hope he didn’t try to get physical with you,” Drayton said.
“Mostly Lynch just yelled and screamed like a petulant two-year-old and ordered me out of his office. But, Drayton, he knew exactly why I was there. I was barely two words in when he started screeching to high heaven that I was trying to pin the greenhouse collapse on him.”
“Seems as if Lynch is not so incapacitated with anger that he can’t put two and two together—meaning Bettina’s wedding and Celeste dying in the greenhouse collapse. It’s been all over the newspapers, so it surely must have caught his eye.”
“He said he saw it on TV, too.”
“There you go,” Drayton said. He leaned his broom against the counter. “So Lynch is a frightening fellow?”
“He’s ugly-scary. I can’t imagine how Bettina could have dated him in the first place.”
“Might I remind you, she didn’t just date the man, she was engaged to him.”
“It boggles the mind,” Theodosia said.
“Maybe Bettina likes bad boys.”
“Please don’t say that. Then I might have to put Jamie on my list, too.”
“Seriously?” Drayton said.
“Do you know how many new brides are murdered by new husbands?”
“No, and please don’t tell me,” Drayton said. “It’s too awful to even contemplate.”
“Change of subject then. You know we’re supposed to attend Celeste’s visitation tonight?”
Drayton nodded. “That’s why I waited around for you.” He glanced at his watch. “But we’ve still got time. Have you had a chance to eat?”
“Just breakfast and half a scone this afternoon,” Theodosia said. “So I am fairly hungry.”
“Why don’t we mosey into the kitchen and I’ll whip up an omelet?”
“You’d dare appropriate one of Haley’s precious omelet pans?”
“Along with four of her precious eggs from free-range chickens who probably spend the day doing yoga and listening to new age music.”
“Sounds like Haley,” Theodosia said.
True to his word, Drayton whipped the eggs into a golden slurry, added salt, pepper, and a dash of cream, then sizzled it all on the stove.
“Perhaps a little cheese, too,” he said as he sprinkled shredded cheddar over the eggs.
“I think I’m going to like this,” Theodosia said as she watched the eggs bubble and then turn golden when Drayton stuck them under the broiler for thirty seconds.
“No,” Drayton said. “You’re going to love this.”
And she did. Every tasty morsel of it.
* * *
Forty minutes later, well fed and amped with curiosity, Theodosia and Drayton were on their way to Strait’s Funeral Home.
“You know what?” Theodosia said. “Before we hit up Celeste’s visitation, I want to make a quick stop.”
“At home?” Drayton asked. “To check on your pup?”
“No, Mrs. Barry, his dog nanny, has probably already been there to feed Earl Grey and walk him. I’m talking about a stop at Greebe’s Gym.”
“And that would be because…?”
“Because Martin Hunt was an amateur Golden Gloves champion. And apparently still does some boxing.”
“And you think the people who run the gym will be able to shed some more light on him?”
“We won’t know unless we ask, Drayton.”
Greebe’s Gym was a storefront operation in a no-nonsense cement block building over on Laurens Street. It was sandwiched between Lundeen’s pawn shop (From Dust to Dollars) and Bob Bloomer’s locksmith shop (Unlock the Possibilities).
“Look at this,” Drayton said. “In one city block you can buy a set of lockpicks, learn how to punch out somebody’s lights, and hock stolen merchandise.”
“It’s the circle of life,” Theodosia said.
“Only if it’s a life of crime,” Drayton replied.
Inside Greebe’s Gym, the place smelled like sweat, rubbing oil, and stinky sneakers. Two men were inside a boxing ring, wearing protective headgear and boxing gloves, and about to square off against each other. Other men were working out on Nautilus machines and punching heavy bags. A few men worked speed bags, their fists making sharp slap-whap sounds that ricocheted through the overheated room.
A man in gray sweatpants and a Greebe’s Gym sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off came over to greet them. “Help you?” he said. Then added, “I’m Frank Greebe, the owner.”
“My friend here was interested in a gym membership,” Theodosia said.
Drayton’s eyes widened in complete surprise, but no more than Greebe’s, who was suddenly giving Drayton the once-over.
“You want to get back in fighting shape, huh?” Greebe said. He seemed particularly fixated on Drayton’s tweed jacket and bright pink bow tie.
“Why not,” Drayton said in a strangled voice.
“Like I tell my clients, it’s never too late,” Greebe said, but his voice carried a dubious tone.
“You came highly recommended by a friend of ours,” Theodosia said. “Martin Hunt.”
“Oh sure,” Greebe said. “Hunt hangs out here a bit. Back in the day he was Golden Gloves. Got the talent and the deadly right cross, won a diamond belt and a whole passel of medals.”
“And Hunt still boxes here?” Theodosia asked, indicating the boxing ring, where the two fighters wearing boxing shorts and protective headgear were jabbing at each other without much success.
“No, not so much anymore,” Greebe said.
“Why not?” Theodosia asked.
“Most people are too afraid to get in the ring with him.”
* * *
Back in Theodosia’s Jeep, Drayton said, “You intentionally blindsided me back there.”
“Apologies, because I didn’t mean to,” Theodosia said. “It’s just that once we got inside that gym, I realized all the members were men.”
“And I happened to be the handyman.” The corners of Drayton’s mouth twitched upward at his own joke.
“Well…something like that.”
“Okay, no harm done,” Drayton said. “In fact, in hindsight, it was a rather humorous episode. Did you catch the look of surprise on the owner’s face when you said I was interested in joining the gym?”
“You could have knocked Greebe over with a feather,” Theodosia said as she slowed, braked, then turned into the parking lot for Strait’s Funeral Home. “As for your bow tie, he couldn’t take his eyes off it.”
“I could have been a contender. The Gentleman Boxer.”
“You could have. And look, now we go from a boxing gym to this,” Theodosia said as she eased into a parking spot.
Drayton gazed at the funeral home, a pile of red bricks that looked none too friendly. “This visitation is going to be just plain sad.”
“Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“To ask a few subtle questions?” Drayton said. “Obtain information?”
“If we can, absolutely. And also try to determine if there are any more possible suspects in Celeste’s mysterious death. Or maybe see if anyone happens to be giving Bettina and Jamie an extra close inspection.”
“They’re both going to be here?”
“Jamie got out of the hospital this morning.”
They exited the Jeep, walked to the funeral home, and climbed the stone steps. His hand on an old-fashioned brass doorknob, Drayton paused and said, “Someone once told me that killers are known to show up at their own victims’ funerals.”
“That was me who told you,” Theodosia said.
“Why am I not surprised?”
* * *
You could tell from the muffled sobs where Celeste’s visitation was being held.
“Oh my,” Drayton said as they walked through the depressing lobby, with its overstuffed furniture and floral wallpaper, into an even more depressing visitation room. “This is not going to be fun.”
There had to be at least sixty people crowded into a room that was designed to hold forty. And most of them were dressed in black and looking mournful. Up in the front of the room, a silver casket rested on a wooden bier, surrounded by dozens of white orchids.
Theodosia wondered if the orchids had been sent compliments of Foxtail Flower Farm, then decided that this detail wasn’t important. What was important was who was here.
“Where did Celeste work that she knew so many people?” Drayton whispered as he glanced around the room. There were rows of black metal folding chairs that slightly resembled crouching crows, purple-paisley wallpaper, and a small table in the back where pink punch and sugar cookies were being served. Soft funereal music oozed out of hidden speakers.
“Celeste was a physical therapist, so I think a lot of folks from her clinic are here,” Theodosia said. “Plus friends and relatives and maybe even a few of her clients.”
The contingent of relatives was huddled up near the casket, so that’s the direction Theodosia and Drayton headed. Theodosia approached the casket first, feeling more than a little apprehensive, wondering if it would be open or not. Celeste had sustained serious head and throat injuries, so that could present a problem.