Chapter 9
9
“Hey there,” Theodosia exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise.” She sprinted to the door, grabbed Riley by the hand, and pulled him to one of the tables. “I’m guessing you have something for me?”
“It’s something all right,” Riley said as he plopped down in one of Theodosia’s antique captain’s chairs.
“The stills from the trail cam?” Theodosia felt a flutter of anticipation as she sat down across from him.
Riley stuck a hand inside his leather jacket and pulled out three four-by-six photos. “The DNR was able to pull three blurry stills from that trail cam footage. But I don’t think they’re going to solve any mysteries.”
“Let’s take a look,” Theodosia said.
Riley spread them out on the table like a blackjack dealer flipping out cards. “You see? There was a person walking by, but it’s hard to tell what’s going on, or even if it’s a man or a woman.”
Theodosia studied the three stills. “You’re right.” They were grainy black-and-white, blurry to the point of being practically abstract. Still, she could discern that a human form had been caught from the side at a low angle. She could make out the head and shoulders, one arm, legs.
“Can’t even tell what they’re wearing,” Riley said.
“Not really.” But as Theodosia scanned the images more carefully, her eyes were drawn to one small thing. “Except for his shoes.”
Riley wrinkled his brow. “What are you seeing that I’m not?”
Theodosia touched one of the blurry stills. “You see where the bottom half of this still is slightly more distinct? Down near his feet? I’d almost bet this person was wearing Sorel boots. You see that little white squiggle? I think it’s their polar bear logo.”
Riley squinted at it. “Okay, maybe it’s a bear. But how can you be sure?”
“For one thing, I own a pair of Sorel hiking boots with the exact same logo on them. And I’ll wager you a hundred bucks that if you check the photos and plaster casts that the Crime Scene techs pulled from behind the greenhouse, you’ll find they match the waffle sole of a Sorel boot.”
“Okay, that’s something,” Riley said. “A killer who wears Sorel boots. That should narrow it down. Not.”
“Hey,” Theodosia said. “What do you want? At least it’s some kind of clue.”
“I suppose you’re right. Okay, I’ll shoot these over to Sheriff Ambourn so he can follow up on his end as well.”
“Have you started interviewing witnesses?” Theodosia asked.
Riley shrugged. “Working on it.”
“Anything interesting turn up yet?”
“Nope. How about you?”
Theodosia gave a dimpled smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
* * *
“Is your Detective Riley onto something?” Drayton asked once Riley had been packed off with a take-out cup of tea and a bag of scones.
“He had three blurry stills that the Department of Natural Resources people pulled off a trail cam in Kipley Park. You could kind of see a human figure, but what interested me most was the fact that you could make out a Sorel logo on one of the guy’s boots.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Riley wasn’t all that impressed, but I think it could lead to something,” Theodosia said.
“Like the actual killer?” Drayton asked.
“Not yet, but it’s a step in the right direction.” She thought for a minute, then pulled out her cell phone and wandered back to her office. Maybe Sheriff Ambourn had something to add to the Sorel boot clue?
Theodosia called the sheriff’s office, asked to talk to Sheriff Ambourn, and was put on hold for almost five minutes. When the sheriff finally came on the line, she identified herself and asked how the investigation was going.
“Who is this again?” Sheriff Ambourn asked.
“Theodosia Browning. We met Saturday. I was the one who crawled under the table and pulled that girl out?”
“You’re the woman with the curly auburn hair.”
“That’s me.”
“Heck of a thing you did there,” Sheriff Ambourn said. “Fast thinking.”
“Not fast enough. Sheriff, I was wondering if you’ve come up with anything new.”
“Nope, not yet. Me and my boys are working it, though. Thanks so much for calling.”
And with that he hung up.
“Did the sheriff have any new information?” Drayton asked as Theodosia walked back to the front counter.
Theodosia shook her head. “The sheriff was extremely tight-lipped. I got the feeling that even if there was a break in the case, he wouldn’t tell me.”
“He blew you off?”
“Essentially.”
“That’s Johnny Law for you. But maybe…” Drayton stopped short as the front door flew open and Bill Glass came stomping in.
“ You ,” Glass said, pointing an accusing finger at Theodosia. “I need to have a serious conversation with you .”
“Glass,” Theodosia muttered under her breath. “I should have known.” Bill Glass was the editor and publisher of Shooting Star , a local gossip rag. Which meant he was always on the prowl for society scuttlebutt, news of the weird and wacky, and, in this case, details over a suspected murder.
“I heard what happened at that flower farm and I want the story,” Glass demanded. “The whole story.”
“I don’t have the whole story,” Theodosia said.
“Bull wacky!” Glass thundered.
“Say now,” Drayton said in his sternest tone. “Kindly restrain yourself, there are ladies and gentlemen present in this establishment.”
“Okay, okay,” Glass said in a conciliatory tone. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m on deadline.” He unslung a camera from around his neck and stared at Theodosia.
Theodosia stared back. Mostly because Glass looked so crazy-awful today. He wore a brown corduroy jacket with a rip on the right shoulder seam, bilious green slacks, and sloppy high-top tennis shoes. He wasn’t a bad-looking man, with his olive complexion and dark slicked-back hair, but his taste in clothes ran the gamut from ragamuffin to ruffian. Theodosia wondered, once again, how Glass managed to pick up as much society gossip as he did, since he basically had the charisma of a reptile. On the other hand, he was so outlandish that people probably fed him juicy tidbits just to make him go away. Yup, that had to be it.
“I’m afraid we have nothing for you, Glass,” Drayton said.
“Aw, not even a cup of tea?” Glass had switched to whiny mode.
“Only if it’s to go,” Theodosia said.
Glass’s face crumpled. “Sounds like a bribe.”
“Because it is,” Drayton said.
“Take it or leave it,” Theodosia said.
“Awright, I’ll take it,” Glass said. “But you gotta give me something.”
“The greenhouse collapsed and poor Celeste Haynes was killed,” Theodosia said.
“That’s it?” Glass had a cagey look on his face. “Then why are the police involved?”
“Are they?” Theodosia said. She was all innocence.
“That’s what my contact in the department says.” He accepted the cup of tea that Drayton handed him and added, “I know you’re up to something, Theodosia Browning, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“Good day,” Drayton said. “Nice of you to drop in.”
Bill Glass lifted his cup in Theodosia’s direction and said, “But I’ll be back.”
* * *
With the afternoon fading away, Theodosia took a quick peek at her watch and said, “Drayton, can you hold down the fort for a while?”
“What are you up to?”
“I want to run over to Hunt and Peck and talk to Martin Hunt.”
“The guy who lost all the money in the stock market?” Drayton said.
“The one who smacked Jamie in the eye,” Theodosia said.
“Okay. But if he swings at you, be prepared to duck!”
Theodosia jumped into her Jeep and drove over to King Street. She lucked out and found a parking spot just two doors down from Hunt and Peck. As she walked toward the men’s shop, she happened to peek in the window of Cornucopia Antiques. And there, in the front window, was a perfect blue-and-white Meissen teapot.
Be still my heart , was her first thought. As well as, I wonder if I can afford it.
Asking was free, so Theodosia went inside. And found herself in an antique shop that was tiny, tidy, and glittering with Majolica porcelain, French Sèvres bisque statues, bronze sculptures, jardinieres, and Chinese lacquer. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, and glass cases held jewelry and antique perfume bottles.
How is it I’ve never been in here? Theodosia wondered. Although there were so many delightful antique shops in Charleston that she’d barely scraped the surface.
A silver-haired woman in a silver-gray dress looked up from a spinet desk in the back of the shop and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“I couldn’t help but notice the Meissen teapot in your front window,” Theodosia said.
“Yes, that one’s a honey,” the woman said. She stood up and said, “I’m Grace Warner by the way, welcome to Cornucopia Antiques.”
“Theodosia Browning,” Theodosia said.
Grace studied her for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “You’re the tea shop lady, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“No wonder you have an eye for the Meissen,” Grace Warner said. “Here, let me pull it from the display so you can take a nice up close look at it.” Grace lifted the teapot out of the window, spun about, and handed it to Theodosia. “As you can see, it’s in remarkable condition.”
Theodosia studied the teapot. It was an exquisite blue-and-white porcelain teapot with metal mounts securing the handle. When she turned it over, there was the maker’s mark of crossed swords and a price tag that said four hundred dollars.
“Authentic and it has some age on it,” Theodosia remarked.
“Early eighteenth century,” Grace said. “Maybe you’d like to add it to your collection? I’m assuming you have a collection.”
“Enough to fill a warehouse,” Theodosia said. “But this one…this would be special.”
“The jewel in the crown, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Theodosia said. With some reluctance she handed the Meissen teapot back to Grace Warner. “Let me think about it.” And wish upon a star for an extra four hundred dollars.
“Of course.”
Theodosia thanked Warner for her help, then, still thinking about the Meissen teapot, dashed down the street and ducked into Hunt and Peck. Drayton and Delaine had both been spot-on in their description of the place, because Hunt and Peck looked like a spiffy men’s club. The carpet was a dark hunter green, oil paintings of yachts and polo ponies hung on the walls, and there was rack after rack of hunting vests, tweed jackets, wool slacks, Barbour jackets, and handsome shirts. The place smelled like Cuban cigars, old books, and rugged leather, though Theodosia was pretty sure the scent came compliments of an aroma diffuser.
A young male clerk approached her immediately. He was slim, wore a tailored camel-hair sport coat and dark green twill slacks, and had the look of money about him. Theodosia pegged him as a scion from one of the old Charleston families.
“May I help you?” The young man’s voice was melodic and his diction private-school precise.
“I’m looking for Martin Hunt,” Theodosia said.
His eyebrows rose a notch. “You have an appointment?”
“Not really, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”
“In that case, may I tell him who’s calling?”
“Theodosia Browning.”
“I’ll be right back.”
The clerk returned almost immediately. “You’ll find Mr. Hunt’s private office upstairs on the mezzanine,” he said, then indicated the stairway on the sidewall. “Go on up.”
“Thank you.”
Theodosia climbed stairs covered in a whisper-soft carpet with a horseshoe pattern and found herself on the mezzanine. Here, fine wool suits and handsome tuxedos were on display, and there were leather and hobnailed club chairs for relaxing in, as well as two large three-way mirrors. She figured most of the tailoring was done up here.
“Miss Browning?” Martin Hunt emerged silently from behind a rack of shooting jackets. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, thank you,” Theodosia said. She smiled at Hunt and decided he definitely had the look of a serious gym rat. His shoulders were so bulked up that his jackets must undoubtedly have been super tailored to fit a body that tapered to a narrow waist. He had short dark hair, piercing amber eyes, and a thin mouth poised over a square chin. The word thug danced in Theodosia’s brain for a split second.
“How may I help you?” Hunt asked.
Theodosia decided to take a direct approach. “I’m here because I’m looking into the recent tragedy involving Celeste Haynes and Jamie Wilkes.”
There was a hint of a smirk on Hunt’s face when he said, “I heard what happened at that flower farm this past Saturday. Some bridesmaid chick got offed.”
“And the groom, Jamie Wilkes, was seriously injured as well. I believe you know Mr. Wilkes?”
“Know him and would trust him about as far as I could spit a rat.”
“I think Jamie might have been directly targeted,” Theodosia said. “By whom, I don’t know, but I’m checking all angles, talking to everyone who knew him.”
Now Hunt showed a hint of a smile. “I’ll bet that little weasel sent you sniffing in my direction, didn’t he?”
“Jamie might have mentioned your name, yes.”
“Well, I don’t have any idea what happened. Who rigged that greenhouse or who was the intended target.”
“You’re quite sure about that?”
His jaw hardened. “Absolutely.”
“Because Jamie mentioned that you—”
“Look, what’s your interest in all this?” Hunt asked, cutting her off. “Are you some kind of private investigator?”
“Actually, I own the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street. But I’m a close friend of Bettina and Jamie’s.”
“Good old Bettina, the heartbreaker.”
Theodosia narrowed her eyes. There was something peculiar about the way Hunt said that. “Heartbreaker. Why would you use that particular word? Were you two romantically involved?”
“No way, not me. As far as Bettina ’s romances go, that’s another story.”
“How so?” Theodosia asked.
“Bettina. Where do I start?” Hunt rocked back on his heels. “Okay, if you want to run around playing amateur Sherlock Holmes—and it seems like you do—you need to take a look at Adam Lynch.”
“Why is that? Who is that?”
“Lynch is Bettina’s most recent ex-fiancé.”
Theodosia’s mouth opened in surprise, but no words came out.
“Oh, you don’t know about that, huh?” Hunt said in a snarky tone. “The blushing little bride didn’t happen to mention Adam Lynch?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Adam Lynch, the poor sap, thought he was engaged to Bettina right up until the bitter end. When he finally found out—secondhand, I might add—that Bettina was engaged to Jamie Wilkes, Lynch went apeshit. Tried to win her back with bouquets of roses, candy, love notes…” Hunt chuckled. “When that didn’t work, Adam Lynch slashed her tires, stalked her, and bombarded her with threatening calls.”
“So he tried to harass her into loving him?” Theodosia said.
“Crazy, huh? Anyway, Lynch finally talked Bettina into getting together with him for a big come-to-brass-tacks meetin’. When Bettina showed up, he begged, cajoled, and screamed at her. When Bettina said no way was she getting back with him, Lynch hauled off and hit her. Popped her so hard he knocked out a tooth.”
“Holy crap,” Theodosia said. “So you’re telling me this guy is dangerous?”
“Are you kidding?” Hunt said. “Adam Lynch is a freaking maniac.”