Chapter 27
27
“Let’s talk over by the front counter,” Theodosia said. She didn’t know what Babs had in mind but decided she didn’t want her guests to overhear their conversation.
Babs followed Theodosia to the counter and said, “I just now remembered something that may or may not be related to Jamie’s disappearance. It concerns Karl Rueff.”
“Celeste’s ex-boyfriend,” Theodosia said. She didn’t know much about Rueff except that, in the back of her mind, she’d always thought of him as a long-shot suspect.
“It occurred to me that I kind of know Rueff,” Babs said. “Well, not personally, but I’m familiar with him.”
“Because he showed up at Celeste’s visitation?”
“No, there’s something else.”
“Okay.” Theodosia was interested because…well, you never know.
“I just remembered that our firm, Milne and Kerrison, did some damage control for Karl Rueff a year or so ago.”
Theodosia gave an encouraging nod. She knew that, besides placing newsworthy stories about people and products with select media, PR firms also helped shut down unflattering stories. Since PR firms enjoyed hotlines to senior writers, editors, and management, exerting pressure to dump a story wasn’t unheard of. In fact, it was referred to as a kill shot.
“What did Karl Rueff want killed?” Theodosia asked.
“I don’t recall the exact details, but it had to do with Bluestone, the tech company Rueff works for. He’s a VP there and they’d developed some AI product that had been hailed as a major breakthrough for being super user-friendly, but then it turned out to be a dud. Rueff was suddenly all over us and wanted any and all stories and rumors killed before the media, major investors, and tech magazines got wind of their problem.”
“And this relates how?” Theodosia asked.
“Because Karl Rueff was basically a hard-ass about it, really difficult and unpleasant to work with.” Babs paused. “And I know that Rueff is Celeste’s ex-boyfriend, so I was wondering if maybe he was somehow involved? In her death or…”
“Or with Jamie’s kidnapping?” Theodosia said.
Babs nodded. “And I heard that you had an in with a police detective, so I thought…”
“That I might want to mention this to him. That Rueff has a prickly, tough-guy personality.”
“Right.”
Theodosia thought for a few moments, then said, “Your inside story on Rueff is interesting. And even though it doesn’t offer anything concrete, it still could be relevant.”
“Good,” Babs said. “I was hoping you’d say that. And I’ll keep offering up a few more prayers for Jamie’s safe return.”
Theodosia gave her a quick hug. “Do that.”
* * *
While the guests were digging into their blackberry cobbler, Theodosia called Riley on his mobile phone, knowing that phone was permanently glued to his ear. Which is why he answered on the first ring.
“Riley here.”
“Hi, it’s me,” Theodosia said. “Any news?”
“Afraid not. Your boy Jamie is still MIA.”
“Are the police taking his kidnapping seriously?” For some reason, Theodosia was afraid they weren’t.
“We’ve got everybody out looking for Jamie and that jacked SUV. We even assigned a squirrel cop.”
“What does that mean?”
“Guy was pulled off park patrol.”
“Oh. Okay. Listen, there’s a guy by the name of Karl Rueff,” Theodosia said. “He’s an ex-boyfriend of Celeste and supposedly a fairly nasty guy.”
“And, let me guess, you think he’s involved in Jamie’s kidnapping?” Riley asked. “I don’t see the connection.”
“I know it’s circuitous, but it’s there. This Rueff character might be worth looking into.”
“Maybe,” Riley said, but he didn’t sound all that convinced.
“Okay, forget I mentioned it. At the very least, will you call me if you hear anything?”
“Will do.”
Theodosia went back to circulating among her guests. She helped one woman choose a couple of tins of tea—“starter teas,” the woman called them, since she was just getting into tea drinking. And she helped two more women select teapots and tea strainers from displays on her highboy. The teapots were wrapped in Bubble Wrap and indigo blue tissue paper and sent off with a wave and a hearty thank-you. After that, it was time to clear tables and get set up for afternoon tea.
By midafternoon, fretting that nothing had broken yet, that nothing was getting done, Theodosia decided to call Karl Rueff herself and ask a few gently probing questions. She went online, looked up Bluestone Software, and called their main number.
“Bluestone Software,” a cultured woman’s voice said. “How may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak with Karl Rueff,” Theodosia said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rueff left early today, he had a plane to catch.”
“Is there any chance of getting a message to him?”
“If he calls in, sure,” the woman said. “I’ll be at the front desk until five.”
“You can’t give me his personal number?” Theodosia asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Okay then.” Theodosia gave the woman her name and number and said, “Just ask Mr. Rueff to call me. Tell him it’s important.”
“If he calls, I’ll tell him.”
* * *
“That went well,” Drayton said as he carefully aligned his armada of steeping teapots.
“The luncheon? Yes, it did,” Theodosia said. “Even though my mind was only halfway in the game.”
“I know the feeling. And now we’ve got afternoon tea to deal with.” Drayton furrowed his brow as he added water to a teapot and said, “The word that’s supposed to be a clue… buzz . Do you think it relates to beehives?”
“You’re thinking about the community beehive project over in Petigru Park?”
Drayton shrugged. “That comes to mind. Although buzz could also relate to gossip.”
“You mean like the morning buzz?” Theodosia said. “But that’s kind of…generic. Don’t you think?”
“What about buzz saw ?” Drayton asked.
“I don’t like where your mind is going with that.”
Drayton’s face reflected a fair amount of intensity. “Still…we can’t discount it as a possibility.”
“What are you saying?” Theodosia asked, her voice suddenly sounding strained. “That Jamie’s being kept prisoner in a sawmill? Do sawmills even exist anymore?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t have to be a working sawmill.”
“You mean, like, a defunct sawmill?” She grabbed the edge of her apron and twisted it.
“It’s just a thought,” Drayton said.
“It’s a terrible thought,” Theodosia said. Drayton’s sawmill idea conjured up images of spinning blades with high-pitched whines. She shook her head to clear it and pointed to a pink-and-green teapot. “Is that my tea for table four? The vanilla orange jasmine blend?”
“That’s it.”
Theodosia grabbed the teapot and carried it to a table of six women who’d driven over from Goose Creek. They’d requested what they laughingly called “the full monty.” That meant scones with Devonshire cream, two flavored teas, an assortment of tea sandwiches on three-tiered trays, and an array of petite desserts also served on three-tiered trays. A large party always warranted a little extra time and care, so Theodosia fussed over them, brought seconds on Devonshire cream, and answered questions. She also let Drayton’s idea of a sawmill ruminate in her brain.
When her table of six finally left, when there were only two tables remaining in the entire tea shop, Theodosia grabbed a take-out cup of Dimbula tea, asked Drayton to hold down the fort, and ran down Church Street to Antiquarian Books.
Lois’s shop was a jewel of a bookshop. A small white building with yellow awnings set between two redbrick buildings. Hand-lettered gold script on the front window announced Antiquarian Books . And this week’s window display was a collection of mystery books. Theodosia saw a pair of old Nancy Drew books from the thirties that she’d kill to have, along with vintage books by Edgar Allan Poe, Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Erle Stanley Gardner.
Pumpkin’s sharp bark rang out the minute Theodosia stepped through the front door.
“Hello there, baby Pumpkin,” Theodosia said. She knelt down to pet Lois’s adorable little dachshund and said, “I think I might have…” Theodosia dug in her pocket as Pumpkin’s bright eyes followed her every move. “Yes, I do have a treat. Would you like it?” Pumpkin wagged her tail and immediately sat down, an expectant look on her furry face. “Here you go, sweetie.”
“Is that you, Theodosia?” Lois called from behind a row of bookshelves.
“It’s me,” Theodosia said. “And I brought you a cup of tea.”
“Wonderful,” Lois said as she suddenly appeared, dressed in a yellow sweater, blue jeans, and her trademark scuffed brown clogs. “Nothing like hot tea on a cool day. And I see Pumpkin got a goody as well.”
“My jacket pockets basically sag with dog treats,” Theodosia said. “It’s the one thing that keeps Earl Grey on his toes. Such as they are.”
She looked around the bookshop and smiled as she took in its quaint laid-back atmosphere. Tiffany-style lamps hung from raw wooden ceiling beams, faded Oriental carpets covered the floor, unpainted wooden bookshelves that still smelled like fresh-sawn wood were stocked floor to ceiling with books and carried labels that read Fiction , History , Local Lore , Cooking , Romance , Music , Art , Business , and Religion . Upstairs in the loft were the Mystery and Children’s sections.
“This tea is delish,” Lois said as she took a sip. “One of Drayton’s concoctions?”
“It’s his favorite Ceylonese Dimbula tea, rich with a hint of sweetness.”
“Tell Drayton I’m in love.”
“I’ll do that,” Theodosia said. “Now I have a weird question for you.”
“As an ex-librarian I thrive on weird questions,” Lois said.
“Are there any old sawmills in the area?”
“Well, that came zinging out of left field, didn’t it?” Lois said. “Sawmills, old sawmills,” she murmured to herself. “Off the top of my head I don’t know of any that exist, but I probably have a reference book or two that we could check.” She took another sip of tea, then spun toward the large oak library table that served as her desk. “Now where are my glasses?” Lois surveyed the scatter of papers and invoices, then looked down and found her glasses dangling around her neck on a multi-colored Croakie. “Here they are. Okay, let’s have a look-see.”
Lois led Theodosia to the section marked Local Lore , knelt down, and pawed through a shelf of books. “Maybe this one…no, that’s written by Sidney Malcolm, far too pompous and scholarly. I think we’re better off with something a little more commercial.” She plucked a book off the shelf, stood up, and showed it to Theodosia. The title was Low-Country Shadows . “This book has lots of historical information on old churches, rice and indigo plantations, heart pine logging, and oystermen. Good photos, too.” Lois turned to the index at the back of the book. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” She turned a few pages and said, “Take a look. Here’s a photo of an old sawmill.”
Theodosia took the book from Lois and gazed at the photo. It was an old-timey black-and-white photo, almost like an old daguerreotype, with a caption under it that said Sawmill Workers Taking a Break . It was dated 1936 and showed a half dozen men, all wearing rough work clothes, clustered around an enormous round blade with jagged edges. It was terrifying to think that a blade like that could chew its way through large tree trunks. The men in the photo were all thin and had hollow eyes, like soldiers you’d see in old Civil War photos. A carved sign hung on the sawmill’s back wall said Whiskey Creek Sawmill .
“Do we know where this is?” Theodosia murmured to herself. Then saw an inscription carved under the sawmill’s name. Cat Island . “Cat Island, I’ve been there.” She studied the picture again. “Do you think this sawmill is still in existence?”
“No idea,” Lois said. Then, “Tell me why you’re so interested in sawmills.”
Theodosia drew a deep breath and told Lois. Started with the murder of Celeste at the greenhouse, the possible suspects she’d uncovered, and the taunting voice-changed person who’d called in during her podcast with Charlie Skipstead.
“This is all because of a mysterious caller?” Lois said.
“No, there’s more,” Theodosia said. She told Lois about what had happened last night—Bettina’s frantic call about being tasered and Jamie being kidnapped. Lois listened without asking a single question. Pumpkin listened as well, cocking her head a few times as if to make sure she was hearing Theodosia correctly.
By the end of the story, Lois had a hand pressed to her chest, and her mouth was wide open in amazement. “And you think the word buzz is a genuine clue? And that it might refer to a sawmill?”
“I don’t know that at all. It’s really just a guess.”
“One thing I know about you is that you’re mighty smart when it comes to educated guesses,” Lois said. “And connecting the dots.”
“But is buzz —a possible sawmill reference—one of those dots? The story I just told you is weird and discombobulated, the facts are all true, but…”
“True crime,” Lois said.
“Sure, but I don’t know where to go from there.”
Lois nibbled her upper teeth against her lower lip, then said, “I know of another possible reference.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how there are all these crazy pop-up haunted houses around town? People pay to go through them and scream and get scared out of their wits when phony ghosts and goblins jump out at them?”
“Sure, there are at least a dozen haunted houses this year. I saw a list in the paper. A lot of them are sponsored by clubs and charities as fundraisers. I think some animal rescue group even had one last year.”
“Right,” Lois said. “So there’s a haunted sawmill over on Ashley Avenue, just down from the Medical University.”
“You’re kidding.” Theodosia felt her heart skip a beat.
“I know it’s probably a long shot,” Lois said. “But all the same, if buzz is your clue …”
“It’s not a bad idea, maybe worth checking out,” Theodosia said. She tapped the book with a fingertip. “Lois, do you mind if I borrow this book from you, just in case…”
“In case of what?” Lois asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Take the book,” Lois said. “But please be careful.”