Chapter 32 #2
But Theodosia wasn’t about to give up. She drove quietly now and at a much slower speed.
“Fingers crossed,” she said. Then she doused her lights and, like a cat creeping through the shadows, coasted slowly down Stoll’s Alley.
Built in the sixteen hundreds, the alley was abutted by old brick buildings that had once served as stables and shops.
Now they were quirky old homes, made charming by the fact that Stoll’s Alley was like a wonderful old secret just waiting to be revealed.
“You see anything?” Theodosia whispered. The alley was dark as a tomb. Quiet as one, too.
“Not sure,” Drayton said as they rolled along. Then he hunched forward, frowned, and said, “Maybe…”
Theodosia saw it the same instant Drayton did. There, tucked close to a crumbling brick wall, its lights off, was a silver SUV!
Theodosia crept closer as if she was stalking her prey. “Is it Twombley? Do you see the sticker?”
“I’m trying but it’s so dark,” Drayton said.
When Theodosia was within ten feet of the SUV, she flipped on her lights. And like a rabbit flushed from its hidey-hole, the SUV suddenly roared to life and took off, bouncing down the alley.
“Doggone, Drayton, that’s Twombley!” Theodosia cried as she gunned the engine and chased after the SUV.
They spun past a row of homes, then jogged left and were running fast along East Bay Street.
The sluggish Cooper River was off to their left; a few stately homes loomed on their right.
Theodosia could see Twombley a half block ahead of her but he was really pouring on the speed.
Could she catch up to him? She wasn’t all that confident.
Digging in her purse, she fumbled around and pulled out her cell phone.
“Here,” she said, tossing it to Drayton. “Call 911 and tell them where we are.”
“Where are we?” Drayton asked. They were zipping past street signs faster than they could read them.
“We’re…whoa!” Theodosia cried as, just ahead of her, the SUV’s brake lights flared red. Then it made a sharp, unorthodox left turn into White Point Garden, the historic park that graced the very tip of the peninsula.
Theodosia didn’t hesitate. She bumped hard over the curb and tore across the grass, following the SUV as it churned up chunks of sod.
Grass and bits of dirt hit her windshield and she eased back just a bit.
Up ahead, Twombley torqued his vehicle again and careened around an old wooden bandstand that still hosted many wedding photo sessions.
“Where does Twombley think he’s going?” Drayton cried. They watched as the SUV slewed through a bed of mums, scattering petals and leaves in its wake, then continued to pound its way across the grass.
Theodosia juked around the flower bed, determined to catch up to him. “Call!” she yelped at Drayton. “Dial 911.”
Up ahead, Gordon Twombley was headed straight for an old Civil War cannon, a monument that had stood in the park for one hundred sixty years.
Seeing it at the last minute, realizing it was a huge, immovable barrier, Twombley cut left to circle around it.
But, unbeknownst to Twombley, he was driving straight into a row of cast-iron cannonballs.
An instant later, metal screeched against metal as his left front bumper slammed into one of the iron behemoths.
Then his right front tire exploded as he swerved and plowed into yet another cannonball.
Centrifugal force took over from there and the SUV was sent spinning like a toy top.
With shredded tires on metal rims, the vehicle’s nose suddenly dipped and dug hard into the soft earth.
Then the SUV began to roll over until it was almost, but not quite, tipped onto its side.
Theodosia braked to a jolting stop, then jumped out and rushed to the wrecked vehicle.
Her heels sank into the damp grass as she ran, her dress felt like it was being shredded, and she felt a sense of fear and desperation.
She had no idea what she’d find in that SUV, but prayed it wasn’t a dead Twombley and a dead Pumpkin.
Reaching the SUV, she saw that the driver’s side window had blown out completely and Twombley was suspended sideways, still strapped in by his seat belt.
The blood had drained from his face and it was crisscrossed with tiny cuts from the shattered glass.
His eyes were completely shut and a stream of blood oozed from his nose.
“Gordon?” With his face gone slack, Theodosia couldn’t tell if the man was dead or alive.
Slowly, painfully, Twombley’s right eye twitched open and he made a pitiful uh uh sound. Then he lifted his head from where it lay on the dashboard and spit out a single tooth. He didn’t look like he was in a huge amount of pain. Then again, he was probably in shock.
“Are you hurt?” Theodosia asked.
“I…yeah,” Twombley mumbled. He tried to twist in her direction and grimaced. “I think my shoulder’s broken.” He’d dropped the phony English accent. Now he just sounded sad and broken.
He’s alive. But what about Pumpkin? Please, dear Lord, let Pumpkin be safe.
Theodosia ran around to the rear of the SUV and jerked open the back gate.
“Pumpkin? Pumpkin, sweetheart, where are you?”
There was a muffled ARF and then a furry little head with bright eyes and droopy ears popped up to greet her.
“Pumpkin!” Theodosia cried as the dog leaped into her arms.
Cradling Pumpkin, Theodosia circled back to where Twombley was still pinned. She bent down and said, “Confession time. Did you murder Mrs. Van Courtland?”
Tears streamed down Twombley’s face as he tried to answer her. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he said, “I didn’t want to.”
“But you did,” Theodosia said. Her tone was hard and flat.
“At first she was going to consign all her art and antiques to my shop,” Twombley blubbered. “I would have made a bloody fortune. But then she changed her mind and I…I guess I needed to get revenge.”
“And you poisoned Veda?”
“Only as a smoke screen, to get you off my tail.”
Theodosia could hardly believe what she was hearing. Gordon Twombley, mild-mannered antique dealer, had turned out to be a stone-cold killer.
“And what about kidnapping Amber?”
“She was…” Twombley groaned, clearly in pain now. “Amber was an afterthought. I was clean out of money and desperate. Until I thought about kidnapping her. I figured Brody would pay a freaking fortune to get her back.”
“And he did. But then you screwed it all up—you got greedy. Tonight. You stole Delaine’s necklace.”
“It was right there, all blinged out for everyone to see. Like some kind of…fantastic treasure from King Tut’s tomb.” Twombley made a sound—could have been a choke, could have been a laugh—and said, “I guess I just can’t help myself.”
Disgusted by what she’d heard, Theodosia backed away from Twombley and the wrecked SUV. Drayton had no doubt called the police by now and requested an ambulance as well. There was nothing more she could do until help arrived.
Theodosia headed for her commandeered car and called out to Drayton, “You called 911?”
“They’re on their way,” Drayton called back. “A couple minutes out. I’m still on the line with them.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said tiredly. She looked down at her gown and noticed large dark smudges along with a series of rips. Her heels were trashed.
Oh well.
Then the quiet was shattered as Ken Lotter’s van came ricocheting toward her.
He bounced across the grass, dodged the line of cannonballs, and pulled up next to the overturned SUV.
Lotter’s vehicle had barely come to a stop when he jumped out and cried, “This is fantastic!” Then he turned to his news crew and yelled, “Jimmy, hit the lights. Leon, get your camera rolling.” To Theodosia he said, “We almost lost you guys after Price’s Alley.
It was pure luck that we tracked down East Bay and noticed the overturned SUV. ”
Per Lotter’s orders, Jimmy turned on his lights, hitting the overturned car and Twombley’s bloody face with a thousand lumens of light.
“What I want,” Lotter shouted at Leon, “is for you to get a shot of the overturned car, then slowly pan down to the driver.” Lotter was so excited he was jumping up and down, barely able to hold his microphone in place.
With a huge grin on his face, he looked at Theodosia and shouted, “This is TV gold!” Then, “Hey, where’d you get the dog? ”