Chapter 7 #2
“Yes. And I have some similar Victorian pieces at Mayfair Antiques.” Twombley smiled at Theodosia, then snapped his fingers and did a kind of double take, as if something had just occurred to him.
“You know what? Angie mentioned to me that you’re hosting a Queen Victoria Tea tomorrow.
So I’m just wondering”—now Twombley’s eyes twinkled and he was grinning from ear to ear—“if you’d like a few of my Victorian pieces on loan to use as centerpieces? ”
“Are you kidding? That would be outstanding!” Theodosia said, jumping at his kind offer.
“Good. I’ll pick out a few pieces and bring them—”
Voices suddenly rose at the front of the house, then footsteps banged across the marble entry.
“Oh dear,” Twombley said as a man came storming into the room. Wild-eyed and slightly frantic, he was followed by a nervous-looking Birdie.
“What’s going on!” the man shouted. “If that woman weaseled her way in here, I’m going to…” He stopped suddenly when he saw Theodosia. “Wait a minute, you’re not Payton.”
“I’m Theodosia.” She stuck out her hand. “Theodosia Browning. And you must be…”
“Brody Van Courtland,” he said. He shook hands with Theodosia, then spun around and gazed at Birdie. “What’s going on?”
But Theodosia was the first to speak. “Mr. Van Courtland, please accept our sympathies. We’re heartsick about your mother’s death and certainly didn’t mean to upset you in any way.”
“Okay,” Brody said. “But who—”
“Mr. Twombley here just completed a cataloging and appraisal of your mother’s fine art and antiques,” Theodosia explained.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Brody said. He glanced around again. “So you’re sure Payton’s not here?”
“I can assure you, your ex-wife is not here,” Theodosia said. She was trying to keep her voice reasonable and calm so Brody wouldn’t question her presence.
“Okay, got it. Sorry I kind of went off on you guys like that,” Brody said.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had wide shoulders and narrow, athletic hips and slightly long surfer-dude hair that was blondish with a hint of gray at the temples.
He wore a quilted Barbour vest over a plaid shirt, khaki slacks, and woven leather loafers without socks.
“Again, you have our sympathies,” Theodosia said. “This must be a very trying time for you.”
Brody ducked his head. “It is.” Now he focused his gaze on Birdie and said, “Whatever you do, Birdie, please don’t let my ex-wife in here.”
“I won’t, sir,” Birdie said.
“In fact, don’t let that fruitcake within fifty feet of this house. Wait, better make it a hundred yards. The woman is totally bonkers. She spends every waking moment scheming about how to get her hot little hands on my mother’s money.”
“And your money, too?” Theodosia asked. This was a bizarre way to meet someone. But interesting. Brody’s nervousness and paranoia were giving her a good insight into his personality. And it wasn’t exactly textbook normal.
“Payton’s already eviscerated me in court and put me on the hook for a humongous alimony payment,” Brody said.
“So I understand, via the rumor mill,” Theodosia said.
“But I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on a penny of my mother’s money,” Brody said.
“Most of which is earmarked for her charities.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and looked around the room carefully.
“As for all this stuff—my mom’s art and antiques—I’m not terribly interested in what happens to it.
It could end up in a landfill for all I care. ”
“Oh my, no,” cried a horrified Gordon Twombley.
Brody squinted at Twombley. “You’re a local antique dealer?”
“Proprietor of Mayfair Antiques,” Twombley said. “Over on King Street. As Miss Browning just explained, your mother hired me to catalog and appraise her art and antique collections.”
Brody focused on him. “So the work’s already been done? There’s a list of all this stuff? With approximate values and all?”
“That’s correct,” Twombley said. “In fact, I was just going over some of it with Mrs. Huger.”
Brody looked thoughtful. “So I could engage you to help dispose of it?”
“I’d be delighted to be of assistance,” Twombley said.
“That’s great. So maybe you could get this stuff crated up and shipped to Crispin’s Auction House in New York?” Brody asked.
“Sir,” Twombley said, “there are any number of lovely pieces that would sell just as well here in Charleston. Perhaps even better. You may not realize it, but Charleston is a hotbed for antique buyers.”
Brody shook his head. “Maybe so, but these objects carry too many painful memories for me. And now that Mom’s gone…well, please, if you could arrange shipping to Lionel Holbein at Crispin’s it would take a great deal of stress off me.”
“Absolutely,” Twombley said. “No problem. I could probably have most of it dispatched within a week or so.”
“Perfect,” Brody said.
“Mr. V,” Birdie said to Brody in a soft voice, “will you be staying the night? Shall I freshen one of the guest rooms?”
“No thanks,” Brody said. “I’ve already booked a suite at the Charleston Place Hotel.
” Then he looked around and sighed deeply.
“Once all this stuff is cleared out, I’ll probably have to interview a few Realtors and put this white elephant on the market.
Though one developer’s already contacted me and claims he’s basically salivating to get his hands on the place. ”
By the look on Birdie’s face, Theodosia could tell she was utterly dismayed.
“Hell-o, hello-o,” a singsong voice suddenly called from the front hallway.
Birdie started for the door, but Brody held up a hand. “Don’t bother,” he said. “It’s only Amber.”