Devonshire Scream Read online

  Drayton stared at her intently. “Explain, please.”

  Theodosia leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “The man was telling his group that they could leave town in another four days.”

  Drayton blinked. “Four days?”

  “The Rare Antiquities Show is in four days. Or it was, anyway. Four days from yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Drayton was still processing this information. “Oh my.” His fingers crept up to his bow tie. “That does sound a little ominous.”

  “I think so, too,” Theodosia said. “Which is why I made it a point to tell Tidwell about my eavesdropping.”

  “Good for you,” Drayton said. He dipped his wooden scoop into a tin of loose tea and said, “But do you think Tidwell took you seriously? Is he going to investigate Luke Andros?”

  Theodosia looked grim. “We can only hope.”

  14

  Theodosia arrived at Channel 8 studios with barely one minute to spare. She pulled her Jeep into the last available visitor’s spot and gazed into her rearview mirror. Eek. An open window and an easterly wind had done a number on her hair, billowing and pillowing it into a mass of auburn curls that any Pre-Raphaelite angel would have been proud of. But not so great for a TV appearance.

  Theodosia smoothed her hair and climbed out. She grabbed the cardboard box filled with tea, teapots, and scones that Haley had put together for her, and scurried toward the hulking white building that was ahead of her. It was hard to believe they produced all the area’s lovely cooking, art, and local news shows inside all that stark architecture.

  “Hello.” Theodosia approached the expansive front desk, where a security guard and female receptionist sat in silence, transfixed by the glowing screens of their cell phones. “Excuse me.” She tapped the desk gently with her knuckles. The reception area had the same white, sterile look as the exterior of the building, except for a bright-red rug in the middle of the floor.

  The guard immediately hopped to his feet and stuffed the phone into his pocket.

  The young woman glanced up at her and blinked. “Oh. I guess it’s still windy outside, huh?”

  “No,” Theodosia said sweetly. “My car’s still in the shop so I took a ride in the Large Hadron Collider.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m here for an appearance on Charleston Today. Theodosia Browning from the Indigo Tea Shop.”

  The receptionist frowned and touched a glitter-polished nail to her computer screen. “Let’s see. Yup, here you are. And it looks like you’re late.” She shoved a plastic visitor’s badge across the desk to Theodosia. “Put this on and head down the hall to Studio B, just past the room with all the vending machines.”

  Theodosia pinned the badge to her jacket lapel and grabbed her box. Halfway down the hall, the odors of popcorn and burned coffee wafted out to greet her. Could the vending room be far away? No, there it was just to her right.

  She continued on down the hallway, bumped her way through swinging double doors into Studio B, and paused to take it all in. The enormous studio was dimly lit, with a smooth floor, lots of cameras and dollies parked everywhere, and klieg lights dangling overhead. A brightly lit set glowed at the far end of the studio. A kitchen set. Perhaps that was where she’d be taping her segment?

  A blonde with wide eyes and a pixie cut bounded to Theodosia’s side.

  “Theodosia?” she asked.

  Theodosia smiled. “Yes?”

  “I’m Alicia, the production assistant for Charleston Today.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hmm.” Alicia ran a practiced eye over her. “We might want to get you into hair and makeup.”

  “You think I need it?” Theodosia wasn’t big on makeup. Just a touch of mascara and some lip gloss and she was good to go.

  In answer, Alicia took Theodosia’s box from her and propelled her into an adjacent room. “Tara?” she screeched. “We need you.”

  Tara materialized. A skinny young African American woman in low-slung jeans, a concert T-shirt, pink fauxhawk, and a fey smile. She whistled the sound of a falling missile, and then circled Theodosia like a critic. “Wind really got you, huh?”

  Theodosia smoothed her hair again as she looked for the nearest exit.

  “Whoa,” Tara said, sensing that Theodosia was ready to bolt. “Take it easy. We’re not gonna do anything radical. We’re not gonna shave your head or anything.”

  “Thank goodness.” Theodosia settled into the makeup chair and crossed her legs. She wasn’t crazy about being fussed over.

  Tara fingered Theodosia’s wavy hair. “Where’d you come up with this crazy color?”

  “Genetics.” Theodosia smiled, thinking of her English-Irish ancestors.

  “Okay, girlfriend. I can work with that.”

  Tara arched Theodosia’s brows, lined her lips, and subtly rouged her cheeks. Then she grabbed a huge, round brush and combed her hair into loose waves. She placed her hands on Theodosia’s shoulders and swung her chair toward a three-way mirror. “Now, what do you think?”

  “Not bad.” Theodosia studied her reflection. “What’d you do to my eyebrows?” She’d never seen them look so . . . manicured.

  Tara shrugged. “Arched them and added a little eyebrow gel to keep everything in place. One of the tricks of the trade.”

  “I think I like your tricks,” Theodosia said. Feeling a lot more confident, she walked back into the studio where Alicia was waiting for her.

  “Beautiful,” Alicia said. “You’ll be brilliant.”

  “Promise?” Theodosia said.

  Alicia led her through the studio, dodging cameras and thick rubber cables that snaked underfoot, until they reached the brilliantly lit kitchen set. Her kettle had been put on to boil, the teacups, flowers, and candles were all arranged. A sound guy crept in and clipped a tiny microphone to Theodosia’s collar, ran a thin wire down her back.

  “You’re on in thirty seconds,” Alicia said, backing away.

  “That soon?” Theodosia said. “Wait a minute, what do you mean ‘on.’ This is live? I thought we were taping.”

  But the show’s genial host, a man with a gelled pompadour, suntan-colored pancake makeup, and a European-cut pin-striped suit was already slicing his way across the studio, heading right for her.

  “Weston Keyes,” the man said, his smile stretching tightly across his face. “Howja do, honey. Nice to have you as a guest. You stand on this mark here”—he grabbed her elbow and seesawed her into place—“and I stand right here.”

  “And we’re doing this live?” Theodosia asked. “What we say and do just spews directly out to your audience?” She was having trouble wrapping her mind around this.

  “Live TV always has a more immediate feel.” His teeth were large and brilliant white. Like shark’s teeth. He nudged her. “Ready?”

  She straightened up. “I was born ready.” Actually, I’m terrified.

  Alicia, kneeling in front of them, held up five fingers and then silently counted down to zero.

  “Welcome back to Charleston Today,” Keyes burbled to the camera. “I’ve got Theodosia Browning here from the Indigo Tea Shop, and she’s promised to give us some insider’s secrets on how to host a spectacular tea party.” He turned toward her. “Theodosia, what have we got here? It all looks so prim and proper.”

  “No, no,” Theodosia said. “A tea party is all about having fun. Relaxing with friends and savoring the moment over a hot cup of tea.”

  “I’m a coffee guy myself,” Keyes said.

  “I’ll bet the right tea can make a convert out of you,” Theodosia said with a wink. She grabbed the kettle, poured a good draft of hot water into a fancy pink-and-green teapot, and swirled it around.

  “Now why are you doing that?”

  “To warm the teapot. Temperature is critical in brewing tea. Then we dump
out this water, add our scoop of Darjeeling—always using the freshest tea leaves available—and add in our fresh hot water.”

  Keyes peered into her teapot. “Those leaves are jumping around like crazy in there.” He gestured toward the camera. “Get a shot of this, Harry. Folks, take a look.”

  Theodosia tilted the pot toward the camera. “That’s called the agony of the leaves. The tea leaves are twisting in the hot water, releasing their aroma and flavor.”

  “It certainly smells wonderful,” Keyes said. “Very fragrant.”

  “I like to think of tea as aromatherapy,” Theodosia said. “The scent of the tea, the lovely aromatic steam, it’s all very conducive to relaxation.”

  Keyes pointed to her plate of scones. “Those biscuit things look pretty tasty, too.”

  Theodosia picked up a scone, dabbed on a puff of Devonshire cream, and handed it to Keyes. “Try one of our fresh-baked strawberry scones.”

  Keyes took a huge bite, bobbed his head, and said, in a muffled voice, “Absolutely delicious. Mmn . . . and we’ll be right back once I polish off the rest of this scone.”

  “And we’re out,” Alicia said.

  Still chewing, Keyes turned to Theodosia and said, “When we come back from commercial break, you’ll have twenty seconds to promote your event.” He peered at her. “You do have an event to pitch, don’t you?”

  “Our Romanov Tea?”

  “Sure, honey, whatever.”

  Tara was suddenly standing at Keyes’s side, sponging at his makeup, spritzing on an extra layer of hair gel.

  “Easy there,” Keyes said, waving his hands. “You put any more of that tanner on my face and I’m gonna look like a bronze statue.”

  “Ten seconds,” Alicia called, and then silently counted down.

  Keyes stuck his face right into the camera and ratcheted up the charm again. “Tell me, tea lady, what marvelous event do you have coming up?”

  “Our Romanov Tea is tomorrow and . . .”

  “I’ll bet it’s in honor of that fancy Fabergé egg that’s coming to town, right?”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Theodosia said.

  “And there are still tickets available?”

  “Yes, there are. And our Full Monty . . .”

  “Thank you, Theodosia!” Keyes boomed. “And thank you, Charleston. I hope you’re all having a Southern sunshiny day!” He leaned into the camera and said, in a conspiratorial voice, “Next up, a doggy fashion show you won’t want to miss!”

  That was it. Theodosia’s TV career was over in the blink of an eye. She could barely remember what she’d mumbled, or if she’d even bothered to light a candle. She glanced back at the set. Alicia was haphazardly tossing everything back into her box, while a parade of poodles, schnauzers, and miniature collie dogs, all bundled up in colorful knitted sweaters, suddenly converged on the set.

  “Here you go,” Alicia said, shoving the box into Theodosia’s hands. “Thanks so much.” She backpedaled away. “Gotta set up for the next segment.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Theodosia said. “Have a Southern sunshiny day yourself.”

  • • •

  Outside, the wind had finally quieted down by the time Theodosia reached her Jeep.

  Weird, she thought. What a totally weird experience. Like being in a car accident, but being so frightened you don’t really remember getting hit.

  A dose of chipper whistling caught her ear.

  Theodosia shoved her box into the backseat, spun around, and scanned the parking lot.

  “Hey there!” Lionel Rinicker called out. He was striding across the lot toward her, looking shockingly upbeat and dapper in a navy-blue suit and red rep tie.

  “Mr. Rinicker?” she said, caught by surprise.

  “Lionel, please,” he said. “I thought that might be you with all that fiery auburn hair. You fit right in with this autumn day.” He glanced at the building. “I bet you were here doing a TV gig.”

  “I’m afraid so. Although it felt more like riding a speeding roller coaster.”

  “Isn’t that always the way it is when you have to appear in front of a camera or do some public speaking?” He stuffed both hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m doing a segment here, too.”

  “No kidding.” This was a surprise.

  “The Heritage Society is keen on publicizing the opening of our Rare Antiquities Show,” Rinicker said. “Especially since it kicks off on Sunday for public viewing.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Theodosia wondered if Timothy had given his blessing to this bit of propaganda. Or had Rinicker set this up all on his own?

  “My friend Grace says they’ll try to put makeup on me,” Rinicker said.

  “Probably.”

  Rinicker tipped his head back and laughed. “Everything I’ve always wanted, then.”

  He certainly was a charmer, Theodosia thought.

  A sudden puff of wind rattled dry leaves across the parking lot.

  Rinicker blew into cupped hands. “The weather’s started to shift. Temperature feels like it’s really dropping.”

  “Autumn’s like that in Charleston,” Theodosia said. “One day it’s eighty degrees and sunny and the azaleas are out, the next day, boom. The bottom drops out.” She paused. “But you must be used to cool weather. You said you were from Luxembourg? That’s what I’d classify as northern Europe.”

  “I lived there most recently, yes. For almost twelve years.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg.”

  “It must be a beautiful country. Lots of forests and mountains.” Theodosia was thinking about the rock hammer Tidwell had shown her earlier.

  “The Ardennes mountains,” Rinicker said. “Spectacular, just nothing like them. Of course, there’s the Kneiff and Buurgplaatz, too.”

  “I’ll bet it’s picture-postcard gorgeous.” Theodosia glanced at her watch. She was running late. Probably Rinicker was, too. “You’d better get inside if you’re appearing on Charleston Today,” she told him. “They really like to hustle their guests along.”

  Rinicker stepped away and gave a friendly wave. “You’re right. Gotta go drum up some big-time interest for our Rare Antiquities Show.”

  Theodosia smiled after him. She hoped that, when Sunday came, the collection would still be intact.

  15

  Theodosia knew she was definitely running late. She had to get home and do her makeup (thank goodness her brows were already in great shape), get gussied up, and then pick up Drayton at seven o’clock on the dot.

  But first—well, she had to make a detour. Because ever since Tidwell had shown her that picture of the rock hammer this afternoon, ever since she’d seen the name Clement scrawled on the back of the paper, that nasty little tool had been percolating on the back burner of her mind.

  She touched her brakes as she coasted down Maccorkle Avenue. There were lots of unusual stores over here that you didn’t see in the Historic District, her regular stomping ground. Geo’s Natural Foods, Power’s Running Store, the Digital Café, Jelly & Craig’s New Age Gifts. But where was . . . ? Oh, there it was. Up ahead on the left. Triple Peak. What Tidwell had told her was Charleston’s only climbing store.

  Theodosia pulled into a parking spot, plugged a quarter into the meter, and danced her way across the busy street. Her heart gave a little thump-bump as she pushed into the shop.

  And what an unusual shop it turned out to be. The first thing that struck her was the multitude of rope. One entire wall was covered with loops and coils of colorful nylon and cotton rope that, she supposed, was one of the most important tools a climber would ever need.

  There was lots of other gear, too. Wicked-looking ice axes, fingerless gloves, chalk bags (whatever those were), carabiners, all manner of unusual shiny hardware, climbing shoes, nylon clot
hing, and an infinite array of safety helmets.

  A clerk looked up casually from where he’d been pecking away at a computer terminal and smiled at her. He was probably twenty-three or twenty-four years old, all angles and long sinewy muscles, like a snake. His long hair was pulled back into a high, short ponytail in the style of a samurai warrior, and he had a thin scruff of beard.

  “Help you?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for a piece of equipment,” Theodosia said.

  “For rock climbing, ice climbing, big wall, or canyoneering?”

  “Um . . . rock climbing, I guess,” Theodosia said. She hadn’t realized there were so many specialized aspects to climbing. To her it was just about ascending a scary-looking cliff. “I’m looking for a rock hammer.”

  The clerk gestured at the case in front of him. “We carry lots of different kinds. They’re pretty much our bread and butter.”

  “The thing is . . . I’m looking for a particular type. I believe it’s manufactured by Petzl?”

  “Yeah,” the clerk said, scratching his flat stomach idly. “We definitely carry that brand.” He was dressed in Lycra leggings, a T-shirt that said ROCK AROUND THE CLOCK on the front of it, and some flat, rubber-soled shoes that Theodosia surmised were climbing shoes. “We keep them over here.” He walked over to another glass case, bent forward, and slid open the back door. “Yup, here you go.” He pulled out a Petzl hammer and handed it to Theodosia. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Theodosia hefted the hammer in her hand. It felt sleek, well balanced, and deadly. The kind of hammer you could whack someone in the head with and really get the job done. Or crack open a bunch of glass display cases in a hurry. Better yet, it looked like the one she’d seen the black-suited vandal wielding.

  “This is perfect,” she said. She was so excited, the hammer almost felt like it was vibrating in her hand. “I have a friend who had one just like this and then lost it up near Table Rock State Park.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s some rad rock climbing up there. Jocassee Gorges is good, too. Right in the neighborhood. Lots of dudes I know climb up there.”