Shades of Earl Grey Page 2

  In the past year, the Indigo Tea Shop had catered a multitude of engagement teas, garden teas, and wedding receptions. So being a guest here tonight really was a luxury for Theodosia.

  “Tell us about Captain Corey Buchanan,” Haley urged Delaine. “I love the idea that he’s a captain in the Marines. Just the thought of it is so dashing and romantic.”

  “Well, I don’t know him all that well,” replied Delaine. “In fact I’ve really only met the dear fellow twice. But I can tell you he’s a graduate of Annapolis and the Basic School in Quantico, and that Captain Corey Buchanan is one of the Buchanans from Savannah.” Delaine’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “They’re a very old family. Terribly well-to-do.”

  “I’m sure he’s a fine young man,” said Theodosia, choosing to ignore Delaine’s somewhat tactless implication of wealth and riches. “And that he and Camille are very much in love.”

  Haley nodded in agreement. “In the scheme of things, that’s what really counts.”

  “Have you seen Camille’s ring?” asked Delaine, still in a twitter.

  “Gorgeous,” replied Drayton.

  “Oh, no,” Delaine was quick to protest. “Not the engagement ring. Of course, that’s beautiful. Stunning, really. But wait until you-all get a gander at Camille’s wedding ring. I just put it on display in the Garden Room a few minutes ago. It’s what you’d call a killer ring. Estate jewelry, don’t you know?”

  “Estate jewelry,” repeated Haley. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Delaine looked pleased at Haley’s question. “Honey,” she said in a hushed tone, “it means the ring has been in Captain Buchanan’s family for decades!” She took a quick sip of champagne to fortify herself, then continued. “The ring is an emerald-cut diamond flanked by six smaller round diamonds. The center stone came from a distant relative, Angelique Delacroix, who was a French noble-woman married to a minor Austrian archduke back in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The archduke reputedly purchased the diamond when one of Marie Antoinette’s crowns was sold off!”

  “Wow!” said Haley, impressed now. “Sounds like the kind of ring a girl could lose her head over.”

  “Oh yes,” Delaine bubbled on. “Wait until you see it.” She glanced around. “Captain Buchanan and the rest of the boys should be here any moment. A couple of the grooms-men had tuxedo fittings this afternoon.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how young men are. They probably stopped at Slidell’s Oyster Bar for a celebratory drink. I certainly hope they won’t be indiscreet.”

  “Or delayed,” added Theodosia. All the guests had been sipping cocktails for the better part of an hour now and there seemed to be a restless hum in the tightly packed room. Probably, Theodosia decided, most of the guests were as ready as she was for dinner in the more spacious Garden Room, which had once been the inn’s greenhouse. Delaine had been huddling with the Lady Goodwood’s head chef for weeks and had finally decided upon an appetizer of she-crab soup, a salad of baby field greens, and an entrée of smoked duck breast, cranberry relish, and fried squash blossoms.

  “So when do we get a peek at this show-stopper of a ring?” asked Haley, looking around in great anticipation.

  Delaine glanced nervously at her watch again, a jewel-encrusted Chopard. “Hopefully we’ll be going in for dinner any minute now. We’re really just waiting for Captain Buchanan.” Delaine drained the last of her champagne. “Until this afternoon,” she explained, “Brooke had been storing the ring in her vault at Heart’s Desire. For safekeeping, of course.”

  Located on Water Street in the historic district, Heart’s Desire was one of Charleston’s premier estate jewelry shops. It was owned and lovingly operated by Brooke Carter Crockett, a woman who could trace her ancestry all the way back to the famous frontiersman, Davy Crockett.

  Over the years, Heart’s Desire had become the premier jeweler for buying and selling estate jewelry. So much fine jewelry was still available in Charleston, owing to the many French and English families who had settled in and around the area during the seventeen- and eighteen-hundreds. And over the years, their rice, indigo, and cotton plantations had yielded enormous wealth and all the trappings that came with it.

  “Camille and Captain Buchanan have even agreed to allow the wedding ring to be displayed in the Heritage Society’s Treasures Show,” Delaine prattled on.

  “That starts this weekend?” asked Haley.

  “The members-only part is this Saturday evening,” explained Drayton, who currently served on the board of directors of the Heritage Society as parliamentarian. “Then the grand opening for the public will be the following weekend.”

  “Of course,” said Delaine, “the wedding ring is not quite as showy as some of the pieces in the European Jewel Collection, but it’s a quality piece, just the same.” The European Jewel Collection was a special traveling show that was being brought in to augment the Heritage Society’s own pieces.

  “It was a lovely and generous gesture on the part of Camille and Captain Buchanan to allow their ring to be displayed,” said Drayton.

  “Oh, Coop, over here!” chirped Delaine. She waved at a tall, lanky man, beckoning him to come join their foursome. “You-all know Cooper Hobcaw, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Hello, Mr. Hobcaw,” said Theodosia, shaking hands with the silver-haired, hawk-nosed Hobcaw.

  “Coop. Just Coop,” he told her. Glancing at Drayton and Haley, Cooper Hobcaw nodded hello.

  Cooper Hobcaw was a senior partner at Hobcaw Mc-Cormick and one of Charleston’s premier criminal attorneys. He was smart and tough and wily and had a reputation for playing hardball. Last year he’d defended an accused murderer and had succeeded in getting him acquitted. That had made Cooper Hobcaw slightly unpopular among Charleston’s more politically correct set and had greatly rankled Burt Tidwell, the homicide detective who was an on-again off-again friend of Theodosia’s.

  But a person shouldn’t be defined by what they do, decided Theodosia. Cooper Hobcaw had been squiring Delaine around for quite a few months now, and Delaine seemed completely and utterly charmed by him.

  “Would you like another drink, honey?” Cooper Hobcaw asked Delaine solicitously.

  “Please,” she said, handing over her empty glass. “But this time . . . maybe a cosmopolitan?”

  “Ladies?” Hobcaw threw a questioning glance at Theodosia and Haley, who both shook their heads. Their champagne glasses were still half-full.

  “I’ll come with you,” offered Drayton.

  “No, no, please. Allow me,” said Cooper Hobcaw. “You stay with the ladies and keep them amused. I’ll bring you a . . . what is it you’ve got there? Bourbon?”

  “Right,” nodded Drayton.

  “Good man,” said Hobcaw with a crooked grin. “I can’t stand that bubbly stuff either.”

  “Okay,” said Haley after Cooper Hobcaw had moved off, “tell me which one is Camille Cantroux. There are so many pretty girls here, I don’t know one from the other.”

  “Over there,” said Theodosia. “Standing by the baby grand piano. With the short blond hair.” She indicated a young woman in a champagne-colored slip dress whose tones just happened to perfectly match her short-cropped and ever-so-slightly-spiked hair.

  “The one who’s about a size two?” said Haley. “My, she is pretty, isn’t she.”

  “Camille’s adorable,” gushed Delaine, who was fairly ga-ga over her young niece.

  “Did you help pick out her wedding gown?” asked Drayton, who had finally assumed an if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em attitude about the wedding discussion.

  “Of course,” said Delaine. “But being that Camille is so tiny, I suggested breaking from traditional style. Instead of her being overpowered by a big flouncy dress and flowing veil that would make her look like a human wedding cake, I found the most adorable little French creation. It has a bodice with just the tiniest bit of rouching, and a tulle ballerina skirt. Très elegant—but, of course, not in white.”

  “Not in white
?” said Drayton. “Then what . . . ?”

  “Ivory,” said Delaine, as though she’d single-handedly invented the color. “Ivory is so much more elegant than white. White has become awfully” she paused, searching for the word “passé.”

  “I’m particularly fond of ecru myself,” said Haley. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t entirely rule out alabaster . . .” Haley suddenly stopped short as a deafening crash echoed through the room. At the exact same moment, a flash of lightning strobed in the tall, cathedral-style windows that lined one end of the ballroom, illuminating the night sky.

  Startled, Theodosia took a step backward and turned toward the nearest waiter, fully expecting to see an entire tray of champagne glasses dumped on the floor. But no, the waiter was still clutching his tray, looking around in alarm.

  The string quartet had stopped mid-note and the musicians were also glancing about with nervous looks. A strange hush had fallen over the room as the guests milled about, mumbling quietly and looking profoundly unsettled.

  As if on cue, a second crash suddenly rocked the room. This time, the noise was louder still. And there was no mistaking the direction from which it came.

  Camille Cantroux broke from the crowd and ran to the double doors that led to the Garden Room, where the sit-down dinner was supposed to take place. Grabbing the ornate door handles, Camille tugged at the doors, struggling to pull them open. The heavy doors seemed to resist for a moment, then they suddenly flew open, revealing the interior of the Garden Room.

  But instead of elegant linen-draped tables alight with blazing candles, the Garden Room was a disaster! Half of the roof had seemingly collapsed. Rain poured in from above, drenching tablecloths, place settings, floral arrangements, and gifts. Sheets of glass mingled with smaller, dangerously pointed shards. Twisted metal struts, once part of the roof, poked up from the rubble.

  And underneath it all lay Captain Corey Buchanan.

  Camille’s voice rose in a shrill scream. “Corey! Corey!” she cried as she ran to him and threw herself down on the floor, ignoring the shattered glass and jagged metal.

  Facedown, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll, poor Corey Buchanan lay motionless. Camille plucked frantically at the back of his damp uniform as blood gushed from Captain Buchanan’s head and rain poured down from above. Desperate, needing to do something, Camille struggled to work her arms under and around Captain Buchanan, ignoring the debris that tore at her, wanting only to cradle her fiancé’s bloody head in her arms.

  Following directly on Camille’s heels, Theodosia had raced across the room, covering the short distance in a heartbeat. She’d hesitated in the doorway for a split second, taking in the roof with its gaping hole, the wreckage of glass strewn everywhere, and the one enormous shard of glass that had imbedded itself deep in the back of Captain Buchanan’s neck, right near the top of his spine.

  And Theodosia knew in her heart there was no hope.

  Kneeling gingerly to avoid the needle-like slivers of glass and pointed metal, Theodosia gently placed her index and middle fingers against Corey Buchanan’s neck. Hoping against hope, she held her breath and prayed. But there was no pulse, no sign of life in this poor boy.

  Captain Corey Buchanan, eldest son and proud warrior of the Savannah, Georgia Buchanans, would never again serve his country as a United States Marine, would never walk with pride down the church aisle in his dress white uniform. Now the only service poor Captain Buchanan would take part in would be his own funeral.

  Wailing in helpless despair, Camille rocked her dead fiancé back and forth in her arms. “Now who’ll place the wedding ring on my finger?” she sobbed.

  Theodosia turned her gaze to the black velvet ring box that was perched atop the silver card receiver she’d brought over earlier. Captain Buchanan had obviously slipped in the back door with the intention of putting the ring on display. But the velvet box sat empty. There was no ring to be seen.

  CHAPTER 2

  FROM A SCENE that seemed to unfold in slow motion, activity suddenly accelerated with warp speed. Police and paramedics arrived to load Captain Corey Buchanan onto a gurney and hustle him out to a waiting ambulance. A sobbing Camille Cantroux was aided to her feet by Theodosia and Drayton. Then Delaine, shell-shocked and shaking, led her away, presumably to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

  The rest of the party goers pressed through the double doors into the Garden Room. They crunched across glass, gaping at the enormous hole in the ceiling and talking in hushed tones about the horrible turn of events.

  At one point Theodosia was aware of Cooper Hobcaw arguing with Frederick Welborne, the manager of the Lady Goodwood Inn. Hobcaw’s once-elegant suit was now dripping wet. He had apparently run out into the street to flag down the ambulance and guide the paramedics to the nearest entry.

  As he loudly harangued poor Frederick Welborne, the man looked as though he might suffer a heart attack on the spot.

  Cooper Hobcaw’s slipped into his role as lawyer, Theodosia thought to herself. Probably talking about liability and personal injury suits. She decided she wouldn’t want to be in Frederick Welborne’s shoes tonight. No way, no how.

  “I can’t believe this,” wailed Haley. She was pale and shivering. “Do you think Captain Buchanan will be okay?”

  Theodosia pulled Haley aside and out of the way of the gawkers. “It doesn’t look good,” she told her in a quiet voice.

  Haley bobbed her head rapidly, obviously experiencing more than a little stress. “That’s what I was afraid of. Oh, that poor, poor man, did you see the glass sticking out of . . . ?”

  Drayton put a hand on Haley’s shoulder. “Shhh . . . it’s okay. Try to calm down.”

  Haley stared at him with sadness in her eyes. “But it isn’t okay,” she whispered. “Theo thinks he might be dead!”

  “We’ll phone the hospital later and see what news there is,” said Drayton. He kept his voice calm and soothing, and his reassuring tone seemed to work on Haley, seemed to calm her down considerably. “Delaine and Camille went on to the hospital,” he added, “so we’ll be able to speak with them later and see what’s going on.”

  “We need everyone to exit this room, please!” rang out a loud, authoritarian voice. Cooper Hobcaw stood in the doorway, gazing imperiously at the crowd. When he seemed to command everyone’s attention, he clapped his hands together loudly. “Please, we need you-all to leave . . . immediately!”

  The crowd seemed to hesitate for a moment, torn between their fascination with the terrible accident that had just occurred and doing what they knew was the proper thing. Then, slowly, people began to depart the room.

  Cooper Hobcaw watched as the crowd trickled past him, then strode over to the head table where Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley were still gathered.

  What once had been festive and romantic now seemed macabre. The head table had been set with enormous bouquets of white roses and elegant sterling silver candlesticks. Now, one bouquet was knocked over, another completely flattened by a pane of falling glass. Candles had been knocked out of their holders, dishes lay spoiled and broken. Only the large silver teapot and matching cream and saucer pieces seemed to remain unscathed. Set on a matching oval tray, the tea set lent the only hint of normalcy to the entire table.

  “Miss Browning, may I have a moment?” Cooper Hobcaw asked. “I . . . I need your help.”

  Theodosia turned to Cooper Hobcaw, concern on her face. “Of course,” she said.

  “This may seem a strange thing . . .” Cooper Hobcaw hesitated. “. . . but Delaine is terribly concerned about the wedding ring. Strangely enough, it appears to be . . . missing.”

  “Yes,” said Theodosia. “I noticed that, too.” She had immediately seen that the wedding ring was no longer nestled in the black velvet ring box that had been prominently displayed at the head table. The ring must be . . . where? she wondered. Had it been knocked out of the ring box and now it was under one of these tables? She looked around at the terrible chaos. Pro
bably.

  “Since you are such a dear friend to Delaine,” Hobcaw said, “could I impose upon you to . . .”

  “You’d like us to stay here and search for it?” Theodosia finished the sentence for him.

  Cooper Hobcaw’s face seemed to sag with relief. “Yes,” he said. “Would you?”

  Drayton suddenly jumped feet-first into the conversation. “Of course we will,” he said graciously. “You go on to the hospital and lend what support you can to Delaine and Camille. We’ll stay behind and find that ring. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Cooper Hobcaw clutched Drayton’s hand and pumped his arm mightily. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he said. Then he grabbed Theodosia’s hand and did the same. “You are a dear lady,” he told her, then strode quickly out of the room.

  Theodosia turned toward Haley. “Haley, why don’t you go home now.”

  “You don’t want me to help?” she asked, her eyes still wide with concern. She still seemed rather jumpy.

  “No need,” said Theodosia. “I’m sure the ring simply rolled under one of these tables.” She looked around the Garden Room, noting what an absolute mess it was.

  “Okay,” said Haley, relief palpable in her face, “but call me the minute you find something out about poor Captain Buchanan, okay?”

  “We’ll do that,” Drayton assured her.

  With the Garden Room empty of guests, Theodosia and Drayton stared at each other, unsure of where to begin.

  The rain had thankfully let up, but the room was a soggy mess with glass and debris scattered everywhere. In the paramedics’ haste to extract Captain Buchanan, they had rolled towels about their hands then shoved the larger hunks of glass aside. Smaller pieces had been ground under the wheels of the gurney and now glistened dangerously.

  “The ring must have just rolled out of the box, don’t you think?” said Drayton. He sounded positive, but looked a trifle dubious.