Chapter 23
23
Theodosia did go home and get glammed up. She dug around in her walk-in closet and found a midlength black, gauzy skirt, a faux-leather black bustier to go with it, and her way-too-expensive witchy black boots. If she added a few strands of pearls like Drayton had suggested, she’d be rocking a Coco-Chanel-meets-spooky-ballerina look. So…almost perfect for tonight’s Vampyre Ballet.
Once Theodosia had figured out her costume, makeup was easy. A dab of brow gel, some tinted moisturizer, and loads of black mascara. Well, maybe a touch of lipstick, too. She looked in the drawer of the vanity she’d inherited from her mother and found the perfect dark lipstick, one called Burnt Suede by Yves Saint Laurent. She sat down on the vanity’s low padded bench and gazed in the mirror as she applied her lipstick. Nice . A subdued pop of color rather than a slash of outrageous color that so many women (like Delaine) thought was the height of glamour.
Styling her hair was another matter. First she tried twirling it into a chignon and piling it on top of her head. But that seemed to yield an almost unwieldy mass of hair. She took a brush, stroked her hair until it crackled, then pulled it to one side and held it in place with a silver barrette. Better. Now add the pearls and a few glittery rings and she’d be good to go. Oh, and maybe a spritz of Chanel No. 5 behind her ears and a half spritz of Miss Dior, since perfume zoning seemed to be the latest thing.
Theodosia called Drayton from the back patio, where Earl Grey was snuffling around, hoping to flush out a rogue rabbit or squirrel.
“I’m going to pick you up in ten minutes, okay?” she said.
“I’m not only ready, I’ll be outside waiting for you,” Drayton said. “Honey Bee has been walked and fed, while I have been walked but not fed. Hopefully, the Heritage Society will have heaping platters of delightful hors d’oeuvres for us to feast on.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
As Theodosia turned and walked back toward the house with her dog, her eyes caught sight of the skull from last night. She stared at it, then walked over and gave it a good, swift kick, like Inter Miami’s Lionel Messi booting a soccer ball down the pitch. The skull flipped into the air, arced for a good ten feet, then—CRASH—smashed hard against the brick chimney, cracking into a dozen pieces.
Score!
* * *
True to his word, Drayton was waiting for her on the curb outside his house. He looked dapper in a black tuxedo, purple bow tie and cummerbund, and full-length cape.
“Good Lord,” Theodosia exclaimed as he climbed into the passenger seat. “You look like the Phantom of the Opera.”
“And I even have the mask,” Drayton said.
“No you don’t.”
He responded by holding up a white half-mask that looked remarkably similar to the one the Phantom had worn. “Do you want me to hum a few bars from the musical?”
“No need. And I actually think you look dashing without it.”
“My thought exactly,” Drayton said, tossing his mask to the floor. Then, “Will Riley be joining us? I have an extra ticket.”
“Not likely. There’s something about the word ballet that sends ordinary men scrambling toward a bucket of greasy chicken wings, a recliner, and a big-screen TV.”
“Are you saying I’m not ordinary?”
“You’re extraordinary,” Theodosia said as she cruised down Tradd Street for a few blocks, then turned on Meeting Street and started looking for a parking spot. “Speaking of which, why don’t you use your X-ray vision to find us…ah, never mind, I see a spot. Hope I can squeeze in.”
Theodosia parked (gingerly) between a BMW i5 and a Lexus RX 350. As they exited her Jeep and crossed the street, she said, “Looks like a tony crowd here tonight.”
“You know how it is,” Drayton said. “There are lots of what stockbrokers like to call high-net-worth individuals living in this area. They’re not your run-of-the-mill Halloween partyers or trick-or-treat types, so they find a nice hoity-toity event like a Vampyre Ballet at the Heritage Society rather appealing.” He grinned. “Must bring out the devil in them.”
The Heritage Society was Drayton’s pride and joy because he’d served on the board of directors of this cherished museum for over a dozen years. Historians, genealogists, authors, and scholars flocked to the Heritage Society to use their well-stocked library and to study many of its exhibits.
The Heritage Society was also one of Theodosia’s favorite places but for a different reason—it stirred the romance and fantasy within her. Tucked inside this marble edifice was a library filled with leather chairs, cases of floor-to-ceiling leather-bound books, and brass lamps with emerald green shades. A half dozen period rooms were furnished with English and French furniture, priceless silver, and faded (but still glorious) oil paintings. There were also collections of drawings, old pottery, sculptures, antique linens, and even antique firearms. With its high ceilings, manor house interior, and tucked-away rooms, the place reminded Theodosia of a castle, where tapestries dampened sounds, contented hounds could stretch out in front of an oversized fireplace, and a girl could curl up and read to her heart’s content.
Theodosia and Drayton made their way through the large rotunda that served as the entryway, rubbing shoulders with several dozen guests and greeting friends. Many of the men were in black tie; most of the women wore some sort of costume that entailed a long dress, gobs of jewelry, and a feathered mask.
“Lots of sparkle and bling here tonight,” Theodosia remarked.
“Everyone looks like they’re off to a Mardi Gras party in the Garden District,” Drayton said.
“Have you ever attended one of those parties?”
“Once, years ago. A delightful woman by the name of Baby Fontaine invited me to her home for a private Mardi Gras party. It was splendid. An ambrosia of French antiques, Louisiana cuisine, and quirky New Orleans characters. Almost as strange as the folks we have here in Charleston.” He looked around. “I say, everyone seems to be headed for the Great Room, where the drinks and hors d’oeuvres are being served. Shall we amble that way as well?”
“Lead on,” Theodosia said.
The Great Room was exactly that. Great in size and in spirit. It had high ceilings, tall clerestory windows, and carved walnut paneling. Hanging high above the center of the room was a recent installation—a Dale Chihuly chandelier of frosted green-and-amber glass formed into unique twists and squiggles.
In honor of the Vampyre Ballet, the caterers had set a table laden with delightful tidbits and local favorites. There were plump Carolina oysters on the half shell, jumbo steamed shrimp, bruschetta with a mixture of goat cheese, serrano peppers, and honey, as well as mini crab cakes and fig and prosciutto flatbread.
“Delightful,” Drayton proclaimed as he took a small plate and headed straight for the oysters.
“And there’s champagne,” Theodosia said as she heard the telltale POP of a cork.
“Trust Timothy Neville to put on a delightful spread for his guests.”
“Did I happen to hear my name mentioned?” came a voice from behind them.
Theodosia and Drayton both whirled around to find Timothy Neville, the executive director of the Heritage Society, grinning at them.
“Timothy!” Theodosia cried. And promptly enveloped him in a big hug.
Drayton, who saw Timothy on a weekly basis, extended a hearty handshake.
“Come to see the vampires flit among the flickering torches on our back patio?” Timothy asked with a twinkle in his eye. He was a small man, impeccably turned out in a bespoke tuxedo. What little hair Timothy had left was slicked back, emphasizing his prominent cheekbones, dark eyes, and small, agile mouth. Board members loved Timothy, donors fawned over him, and curators feared him since his knowledge of art, antiques, and architecture was encyclopedic. He lived nearby in a spectacular mansion on Archdale Street with a full-time staff and a Siamese cat named Chairman Meow.
“We could hardly miss a spectacle featuring vampires,” Drayton said.
Timothy rocked back on his heels. “The fact of the matter is, one of our most generous donors also sits on the board of the Wild Dunes Ballet Company, so an arrangement was struck.” He shrugged. “Why not? It’s practically Halloween, so it’s all in good fun.”
“Props for going with such a quirky idea,” Theodosia said. “A Vampyre Ballet is completely opposite from your usual scholarly programs on Charleston architecture and low-country plantations.”
Timothy nodded. “Shakes up people’s expectations, doesn’t it?”
“Which is always a good thing,” Theodosia said.
Timothy moved off to greet more guests while Theodosia and Drayton walked the buffet line, grabbed glasses of champagne, and greeted a few more friends. Brooke Carter Crockett, owner of Hearts Desire, was there, wearing a short black sequin shift along with a jangle of silver necklaces and bracelets that she’d created herself. Leigh Carroll, from the Cabbage Patch Gift Shop, was also there with her boyfriend, Darien Brown, and his sister, Kenesha Taylor.
Finally, Drayton tapped his watch and said, “It’s almost time for the ballet to begin. We should probably stroll out to the patio and take our seats.”
“Can we take our champagne with us?” Theodosia asked.
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s finish what we have and grab a fresh glass.”
Standing in line at the bar, Theodosia decided she was having a good time after all. It had been a good idea to come here tonight. After a hectic few days, this was proving to be a welcome interlude. She didn’t have to think about murderers, suspects, or plastic skulls. She could let her brain relax and…
“Theodosia?”
Theodosia was suddenly aware of Babs Campbell elbowing her way through the crowd. She was wearing a short pink tweed dress and black boots. A pair of black velvet cat ears were perched adorably atop her head.
“Babs,” Theodosia said. “I had no idea I’d see you here tonight.”
“I had no idea I’d be coming,” Babs said. “But my friend over there…” She squinted, shrugged, and said, “Well, Helen was over there. Anyway, she had tickets and called at the last minute.” Babs turned, glanced over her shoulder at Theodosia, and said, “Have oodles of fun, see you later.”
“I was just saying hi to Babs,” Theodosia said to Drayton as he spun around and handed her a fresh glass of champagne.
“She’s here?”
“She came with a friend,” Theodosia said.
“Babs and I had a good meeting today,” Drayton said. “She’s a smart girl.”
“You think? How’d her business plan look?”
“There are a few bugs to work out, like how she’s going to bite off her fair share of customers in an already-crowded coffee shop market. But her operating numbers made sense and her enthusiasm is off the charts.”
“Sometimes a gung ho attitude is the most important thing for a new entrepreneur,” Theodosia said. She could remember her own excitement when she’d finally decided to kick marketing to the curb and open the Indigo Tea Shop. She’d been steadfast in her vision and had ignored any and all naysayers. It was also why she felt strongly about helping Babs as well as other young women find their way in business. If they needed a mentor, a cheerleader, or just a hard nudge, she felt it was her duty to pitch in and help. In fact, she’d already helped one young woman start a housecleaning business and another to start a jewelry pop-up shop.
They strolled down the hall with the rest of the crowd and walked outside to the Heritage Society’s rather expansive garden. On any other day you’d find the patio set with casual tables and chairs, planters overflowing with flowers, a reflecting pool, and a rotating display of sculpture pieces. Tonight, the back patio had been turned into a dance theater. The reflecting pool had been covered over by a large platform that gave the ballet dancers much more room to move about, the tables and chairs had been replaced by multiple rows of black folding chairs, and large flaming torches sprouted from all the planters. A purple backdrop had been strung up along with a crisscross of overhead twinkle lights.
“I wonder which ring of Dante’s hell this is supposed to be,” Drayton joked as they strolled into the makeshift outdoor theater.
“Hopefully an entertaining one,” Theodosia said.
Drayton pulled out his tickets, studied them, and located their seats in the sixth row.
Theodosia looked around, nodded to a few friends, and noticed that Adam Lynch, owner of the Lynch Mob, was talking to guests a few rows over. Lynch was wearing a black leather jacket and dark green slacks, and his hair looked wet, as if he’d managed to squeeze in a workout, then taken a shower and hurried over here. But the real killer was that he was passing out business cards.
“There’s Adam Lynch,” Theodosia said, gently nudging Drayton.
“Mmn, the web graphics guy you told me about.” Drayton barely gave Lynch a second glance.
“And there’s…oh my.”
“What? Who?”
“Jimmy Simonton, aka Slide, is here. Looks like he’s cruising around, talking to people.”
Drayton leaned forward to get a better look at Slide. “He’s the infamous dope dealer? I daresay he doesn’t look the part. That fellow is wearing a Brioni tuxedo.”
“Okay, so he’s a high-net-worth dope dealer.”
“You mentioned that Mr. Slide has a well-to-do father. Maybe Slide senior is one of the Heritage Society’s donors.”
“Which would account for Slide junior having tickets.”
“Does he appear to be with someone?” Drayton asked as people suddenly filled the rows next to them and in front of them. “Did he bring a date?”
Theodosia cocked her head to watch Slide. “Doesn’t look like it. Maybe he’s here to do business.”
“That would be heresy. Selling drugs on Heritage Society property.”
“There’s not much we can do about it unless we catch Slide in the act. And I have a feeling Slide’s honed his act to perfection.”
At that precise moment, the lights dimmed and an announcer’s voice came over the sound system. It said, “Ladies and gentlemen, kindly take your seats. Our program will begin in exactly three minutes.” As guests scrambled to find their seats, the announcer continued: “As Halloween approaches, we want to welcome you to the terrifying yet hauntingly beautiful domain of the vampire as the talented members of the Wild Dunes Ballet Company perform their interpretive and highly original Vampyre Ballet, conceived, written, and choreographed by renowned ballet master Ignatius Pollatino.”
“Who?” Drayton said under his breath. “I’ve never heard of him.”
Theodosia smiled to herself, knowing this wasn’t exactly a production at the Met. She reached over, patted Drayton’s hand, and said, “He’s probably new.”
A minute later, the ballet started for real. With a fog machine pumping out streams of fog, the dancers burst onto the stage. The women wore pointe shoes, the men were barefoot, and all wore full-length unitards with filmy capes that swirled around their bodies. Theodosia wasn’t sure if they were all supposed to be vampires—that wasn’t quite clear—but their pirouettes, dancing, and high-flying leaps all commanded—in fact, demanded—the audience’s attention. There were projections on the back screen of crumbling castles and gnarled trees, and the sound engineer had done a spooky mash-up of pieces by Tchaikovsky, Franz Liszt, and Marilyn Manson.
“This is certainly different,” Drayton whispered to Theodosia.
“Are you kidding?” Theodosia said. “It’s completely off the chain.”
The ballet was quirky, daring, and divided into two “chapters,” the first one called “Shadows” and the second called “Surrender.” Halfway through “Surrender,” pyrotechnics reminiscent of a rock concert were ignited. As golden sparks burst all around the dancers and guests, the music and dance grew more frenzied, and a dancer in a red cape leaped onto the stage.
Theodosia was totally engrossed until she noticed Slide rise from his chair, ghost his way down the dark center aisle, and head back inside the Heritage Society. A minute later, two other men got up and headed in the same direction, all of which caught Theodosia’s attention.
What’s going on? A dope deal? Only one way to know for sure .
Theodosia whispered “Excuse me” to Drayton, ducked her head as she eased her way down the row of seats, and hurried into the Heritage Society.