Shades of Earl Grey Page 19

  “What’s the story?” asked Haley. “Why will it be on display?”

  Theodosia thought for a moment. “We’ll say it’s part of Drayton’s collection.” She gazed at him, liking the sound of it. “Will that make good enough fodder for a newspaper article?” she asked.

  “I’ll call Sheldon Tibbets now,” Drayton told her.

  CHAPTER 20

  CHICKEN PERLOO HAS long been a dinner time favorite in Charleston as well as the surrounding low-country. Really a type of pilaf or jambalaya, Chicken Perloo, usually pronounced PER-lo and sometimes spelled pilau, is a homey one-pot meal that combines chicken, onions, celery, butter, tomatoes, thyme, and that ever-popular Carolina staple, white rice.

  Simmering and bubbling on the stove in Theodosia’s kitchen, the Chicken Perloo emitted enticing aromas as Theodosia, Jory, Drayton, and Haley sat around Theodosia’s dining table. First course was a citrus salad topped with sliced strawberries and toasted almonds.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t check on the Chicken Perloo?” asked Drayton. He was seated closest to the kitchen door and was the one most tantalized by the flavorful aroma.

  “Don’t you dare lift the cover on that kettle,” warned Theodosia.

  Haley shook her head. “Why do men always want to take a peak?” she asked.

  “Because that’s how men are,” said Jory Davis. “It’s inherent in our nature. We’re compulsive lid-lifters and oven-door openers.” He took a sip of wine. “Curiosity is a wonderful thing,” he added.

  “Not when it causes a cake to fall,” said Haley. “Remember that angel food cake I made last month? Drayton just couldn’t resist. Had to sneak the oven door open and take a look. And what were the results of his unbridled curiosity? Bam. A nasty mess. The poor thing crashed like the Hindenburg.”

  “Why blame me, when the true culprit was the humidity,” protested Drayton. “Everyone knows you can’t bake angel food cake when the air is completely saturated with humidity.”

  “We hadn’t had rain in days,” said Haley. She slid out of her chair and began collecting the empty salad plates. “I’ll help you serve, okay?” she said to Theodosia.

  “Great,” said Theodosia. “And if Jory could pour some more wine, I think we’re set.”

  It was a perfect dinner. Morsels of fresh, plump chicken blended with the tomatoes, celery, onions, and moist rice in a rich milieu. Not quite a stew, not quite a gumbo. And with Jory’s crisp white wine and a pan of fresh-baked corn muffins, nothing else was needed.

  No one spoke of cat burglars or the dilemma at the Heritage Society until dessert, when Haley’s cake and lemon curd were served. And then it was Theodosia who began the discussion by bringing Jory Davis up to speed on the strange note they’d received that morning.

  “It does seem like a cryptic warning,” he said as he held the note in his hands, studying it. “It’s tempting to just blow it off or chalk it up to a disgruntled customer, but I don’t think that’s the case here.”

  “Neither do we,” said Theodosia.

  “So you think it’s from this cat burglar guy, too?” Haley asked Jory as she began collecting plates.

  “It’s possible,” said Jory. He stared across the table at Theodosia and concern was apparent in his face. “Tell me again about your idea for tomorrow night?”

  Earlier in the evening, when Jory Davis had first arrived and she was still chopping celery, she’d mentioned her plan for putting a rare postage stamp on display at the Heritage Society tomorrow night. Now she filled Jory in about how Drayton had convinced his friend, Sheldon Tibbets, to write a short blurb about the Z grill to run in tomorrow’s edition.

  Jory Davis leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Sounds good. Although I must say, you three have exceedingly active imaginations.”

  “But do you think it will work?” pressed Drayton.

  “Why not,” said Jory, suddenly switching to a more serious demeanor. “Of course, not being a stamp collector or . . . what’s the technical term?”

  “Philatelist,” filled in Drayton.

  “Not being a dedicated philatelist,” said Jory, “the stamp sounds intriguing. But not something I’d risk life and limb for. However . . .”

  He gazed across the table at Theodosia, bathed in the glow of pink candlelight.

  “I think that professional thieves are probably also knowledgeable connoisseurs,” continued Jory. “My guess is they have a fairly good grasp of today’s market value for oil paintings and jewelry and stamps and such. That’s what drives them.” Haley set a dessert down in front of him and Jory immediately helped himself to a bite of cake. “Mmn, good. That might also be your cat burglar’s Achilles’ heel, by the way.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Haley, fascinated.

  “My guess is their knowledge is their downfall. It’s how they eventually get caught. A professional thief knows the value of his ill-gotten merchandise, yet often ends up trying to negotiate with fences or unsavory dealers who don’t. If these dealers get an inkling that something is of real value, they could easily flip on their so-called customer, report it to the insurance company, and pocket a nice fat reward.”

  “And if a cat burglar sells his stolen goods on the Internet?” said Theodosia.

  Jory Davis knew she was referring to Graham Carmody. “That’s a different story,” he said. He looked around the table. “Have you told them about Graham Carmody?” he asked her.

  And so Theodosia quickly related her tale of going to Graham Carmody’s house, snatching the black plastic garbage bag, and finding it stuffed with computer printouts from various Internet auction sites.

  “Theodosia,” chided Drayton, “you continue to trample the boundaries of what is prudent and safe. Going to this Graham Carmody’s house alone was far too impulsive.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Haley, “you should have asked us to go along with you. Make a real outing of it!”

  Drayton glowered at Haley. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

  “But look at the valuable information she picked up,” argued Haley. “Up until now, did you think this waiter was a viable suspect?”

  Drayton shrugged. “It was anybody’s guess,” he said.

  “Right,” said Haley. “And look where we are now.” She flashed a lopsided grin at Drayton, who did his best to ignore her.

  “Let’s talk about tomorrow evening,” said Drayton. “I’m exceedingly nervous about pulling this off.”

  “I think we all are,” said Theodosia. “But at least we’ll have our whole cast of characters assembled there.”

  “Graham Carmody is on the list as one of the waiters?” asked Jory.

  “His employers at Butler’s Express assure me he’ll be there,” said Drayton.

  “Are we keeping an eye on Cooper Hobcaw?” asked Haley. “I’m still suspicious of him after you told me about his nightly runs through the historic district.”

  “Cooper Hobcaw will be attending with Delaine,” said Theodosia. “After all, she’s on the committee for ticket sales.”

  “What if he’s cooling off over Delaine and getting interested in Aerin?” asked Haley. “I mean, the two of them really had their heads together when I saw them. It looked fairly intense. Maybe he’s up to something?”

  “I’ll stop by Delaine’s store tomorrow morning and have a chat with her,” said Theodosia. “See what I can find out.”

  “So who else needs to be covered?” asked Jory.

  “Claire Kitridge,” said Theodosia. “She’s kind of a wild card in all this.”

  “Will she be at the opening?” asked Jory.

  “Certainly not as an invited guest,” said Theodosia.

  “I hardly think Claire will be there,” replied Drayton, “seeing as how the poor woman’s been placed on suspension.”

  “I’ll watch her,” volunteered Jory. “I’ve always wanted to be on a stakeout anyway.”

  “I’ll baby-sit Earl Grey,” piped up Haley, “but if anything big happe
ns, you guys better promise to call me.”

  “So we’re set,” said Theodosia. “Our bait will be in place, now all we have to do is see if anyone comes sniffing after it.”

  “To the hunt,” said Drayton, raising his glass of wine in a toast.

  Theodosia, Jory, and Haley raised their glasses to join him. “To the hunt,” they chorused loudly, startling Earl Grey from his bed and prompting a hearty woof.

  Haley giggled as their wine glasses came together in a mighty clink.

  Only Theodosia did not join in the laughter. To her, this was no laughing matter.

  CHAPTER 21

  CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP. Two great gray Belgian draft horses dipped their noble heads and shuddered to a halt on Meeting Street. Behind them, sitting in the brightly painted red and yellow carriage, visitors perked up and listened with rapt attention as their guide began a slightly theatrical narration about two of Charleston’s so-called “haunted” houses.

  Halloween, or All Hallow’s Eve, was tomorrow night and the various carriage tours that plied the lanes and cobbled streets of the historic district were making the most of the spooky legends and ghostly sightings that were so much a part of Charleston folklore.

  Theodosia was out with Earl Grey this Saturday morning. Together they were enjoying the fine cool weather and stretching their collective legs. Today, however, Theodosia had opted not to jog, but rather to stroll leisurely through the historic district as she pondered what events might possibly transpire tonight at the Heritage Society’s public opening of the Treasures Show.

  She was both dreading and looking forward to tonight.

  Hoping they’d be able to smoke this cat burglar out of his lair, of course, but nervous about the possibility of putting anyone in harm’s way.

  Cutting through Gateway Walk back to Church Street, Theodosia passed by St. Phillips’s Cemetery. Tomorrow night children would dare each other to run through here, she thought. As if these poor departed souls could cause anyone harm. No, she decided, it was the living that threw a wrench into things. It was the living you had to watch out for.

  “You be a good boy and wait here,” Theodosia told Earl Grey as she clipped his leash to the wrought iron fence next to the building that housed Cotton Duck, Delaine Dish’s clothing store. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

  Earl Grey plopped himself down on the sunny sidewalk and gazed up at Theodosia as if to say, No problem, I could use a break anyway.

  “Well, lookie who’s come to call,” sang out Delaine as Theodosia entered the store. “Miz Theodosia Browning.”

  “Hi, Delaine,” said Theodosia as she gazed about at the funkiness and opulence that characterized Cotton Duck. Racks overflowed with casual cotton outfits as well as elegant silks. Antique cupboards, their doors flung open, were filled with a luxurious array of cashmere sweaters, silk scarves, beaded bags, and sparkling costume jewelry. Delaine might be a little over the top, Theodosia decided, but she was utterly brilliant when it came to fashion merchandising. On every buying trip that Delaine made, she focused on a specific palette of colors. Sometimes the clothes and accessories she brought back featured brilliant jewel colors such as emerald, purple, and hot pink. Sometimes they were more subdued shades such as persimmon and mulberry and loden green. But whenever you shopped in Delaine’s store, you were guaranteed to find fabulous outfits and accessories that matched and blended beautifully. It was quite a talent, Theodosia had to admit.

  “I was just reading the Post & Courier,” said Delaine. “Sheldon Tibbits gave tonight’s Treasures Show another nice write-up.”

  “Oh, did he?” said Theodosia with as much innocence as she could muster.

  “I certainly had no idea Drayton’s stamp collection was so . . . elaborate,” said Delaine.

  Theodosia decided elaborate was Delaine’s code word for valuable.

  “Drayton’s been collecting for an awfully long time,” said Theodosia.

  Delaine reached out and straightened a display of leather handbags. “A Z grill stamp. Now that’s something you don’t see every day. Nice of Drayton to allow it to be shown tonight.”

  Theodosia turned her attention to a rack of skirts and grabbed a black skirt in an attempt to stifle a giggle. She was quite sure Delaine had never even heard of a Z grill stamp until this morning’s article.

  “Oh, no, not that one, dear,” Delaine suddenly protested. “A long black skirt is far too somber for someone like you.” She hurried to Theodosia’s side, snatched the offending black skirt from Theodosia’s hands, and pawed hastily through the rest of the rack.

  “This is what you need,” she declared triumphantly as she held up a long, elegant silver skirt cut from thin crinkley cloth. “Très elegant?” she asked.

  “It is gorgeous,” Theodosia admitted as she gazed at the shimmery skirt.

  “Perfect for tonight,” declared Delaine. “If you pair it with . . .” Her eyes roamed across the stack of sweaters. “Ah, here’s the perfect match,” she said as she pulled a sweater out. “A perfect pearl gray cashmere. Cool and understated, but still delivering a hearty dose of va-voom.”

  Theodosia stood back and appraised the outfit. It was gorgeous. Silver and pearl gray. Very ice maidenish. Or Swarthmore ’sixty-two. She could accent the clothing with what? A colored gemstone pin? Maybe her garnet earrings?

  Delaine held the clothes out enticingly. “Want to try them on?” Then, without waiting for an answer, Delaine spun on her heel. “Janine,” she shrilled loudly to her perpetually harried assistant. “Put Theodosia in the large dressing room, will you?”

  Minutes later Theodosia was out of the dressing room and doing a pirouette in front of the three-way mirror.

  “Lovely,” declared Delaine.

  “Lovely,” parroted Janine, who was perennially red-faced from rushing around trying to follow Delaine’s often contradictory directives.

  Theodosia smiled at herself in the mirror. Never had she once heard poor Janine express an opinion of her own. Then again, Delaine was opinionated enough for an entire room full of people. Oh well. She peered in the mirror again. Hmm . . . the outfit did look good. The long silver skirt gave her a nice, lean silhouette and the pearl gray cashmere sweater, which was baby-bunny soft, made her auburn hair shine. Yes, she decided, she’d wear the garnet earrings Aunt Libby had given her. Definitely.

  “You’ll wear it tonight?” asked Delaine, vastly confident in her recommendation.

  “Why not,” said Theodosia, throwing up her arms in mock defeat.

  “Janine, be sure to let Theo take the skirt on a hanger,” Delaine told her. “Don’t go folding it or anything,” she cautioned.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Janine.

  “I imagine you’re looking forward to tonight as well,” said Theodosia, catching Delaine’s eyes in the mirror.

  “A lot of us have worked very hard on this exhibition,” said Delaine who, Theodosia knew, had headed ticket sales. “So yes, I am. As long as there are no unusual surprises.”

  “Coop will be there with you tonight?” asked Theodosia.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Delaine declared breezily.

  CHAPTER 22

  “I HOPE YOU realize,” said Timothy Neville as he pulled Drayton aside, “that philatelists all over Charleston are positively drooling!”

  Drayton wrung his hands nervously. “This wasn’t actually my idea . . .” he began.

  Timothy stared back at him with hooded eyes.

  “This rare stamp display was Theodosia’s brainstorm,” explained Drayton. “Honestly. The stamp isn’t mine. The Z grill really belongs to her Aunt Libby,” he whispered.

  Timothy gave a sharp nod, then gazed over at Theodosia, who was busily engaged in conversation with Delaine Dish and Cooper Hobcaw. Suddenly, an uncharacteristic grin split Timothy’s ancient, sharp-boned face. “So that’s the story, is it? Well good. Now let’s just hope her little plan works!” he declared, giving Drayton a firm thump on the back.

  “I
sn’t this fun,” drawled Delaine, giving a little shiver as she slid her wrap off her bare shoulders. “Can you believe how many folks have turned out? I knew ticket sales were going well, but this is absolutely splendiferous!”

  Cooper Hobcaw gave her an approving grin. “That’s my girl,” he told her. “Hits a home run every time.”

  The first night of the Treasures Show looked very much like a rousing success as hundreds of people streamed into the Heritage Society’s great stone building. The red-carpeted lobby was thronged with new arrivals making the requested fifteen-dollar donation, and a waiting line of previously ticketed guests had already formed in the hallway that led to the exhibition rooms.

  “Theo,” said Drayton as he put a hand on her shoulder, “a moment of your time, please.”

  “You’re looking dapper tonight,” cooed Delaine as Theodosia turned her attention toward Drayton.

  “And you, Miss Dish, are as ravishing as ever,” Drayton said to Delaine, favoring her with a genteel half-bow.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being obsequious?” Theodosia asked him as they hurried down the corridor together.

  “Me? Never,” declared Drayton with a sly grin. “Obsequious is my middle name. Drayton Obsequious Conneley. In fact, you can just call me Drayton O.”

  At the end of the corridor, Drayton steered Theodosia around a corner, slipping past the purple velvet cord that kept visitors in line, and led her into the largest of the two galleries.

  It was a sight to behold.

  The large gallery, paneled in cypress wood, gleamed with a welcoming glow. Tables and glass cases displayed the finest treasures from the Heritage Society’s sizable collection. A collection of antique pewter tankards rested on a Hepplewhite sideboard. Silver candlesticks and gleaming bowls adorned a revolving Sheraton drum table. On a French Empire card table reputed to have once belonged to Napoleon was an antique Japanese Imari bowl.

  Entranced, Theodosia’s eyes drank in the various displays. Here was a portrait by Alice Ravenel Huger Smith, an eighteenth-century painter who had immortalized many of the old Carolina rice plantations in her moody, sienna-tinged paintings. And here were a dozen original Audubon prints. And hung on the back wall, a half-dozen painted portraits from the mid-seventeen-hundreds done by Charleston artist Jeremiah Theus.