Haunted Hibiscus Page 2

  A loud, collective gasp suddenly rose up from the moving crowd, drowning out the rest of Drayton’s words.

  Puzzled at the burst of noise, Drayton shook his head and said, “What?” just as a woman’s high-pitched scream rose like some kind of ungodly yodel and pierced the night air.

  Both startled and curious, Theodosia spun around just in time to see something—could it be a body?—dangling out the window of the third-floor tower. She grasped Drayton’s arm and pulled him around as well. “Drayton, look up there!”

  “My heaven!” Drayton exclaimed in a shaky voice, as all around them the cacophony of screams and shouting continued to build and build until the noise seemed like an explosion.

  “It’s some kind of illusion!”

  “How terrifying!”

  “Oh no, it’s really happening!”

  “Help her! Somebody please help that poor girl!”

  At first glance, Theodosia thought it had to be part of the entertainment, some special effect that had been rigged to frighten people. A woman’s body, dangling from a rope, motionless and frozen in the harsh purple and green lights.

  But that would be too terrible, wouldn’t it? And this looks positively . . . real.

  And then the body twirled slowly and horribly, twisting around so everyone could finally see the dark-purplish tinge to the woman’s face, the dead sunken eyes, the long blond hair whipping frantically in the night wind.

  That’s when a rocked-to-the-core Drayton suddenly clutched at his heart and gasped, “Dear Lord, it’s Willow. Someone’s hanged her to death!”

  2

  While dozens of stunned visitors whipped out their cell phones en masse and flooded Charleston’s 911 system with distress calls, Theodosia short-circuited the lot of them. She immediately called Pete Riley, police detective first grade, trusted first responder, and boyfriend extraordinaire.

  Riley picked up on the third ring. “Well, hello there,” he said in a leisurely tone of voice. He had caller ID, so he knew it was Theodosia. What he didn’t know was how upset and terrified she was.

  “Riley, I need you to come quickly!” Theodosia said in a tight voice. She tried not to sound crazed or hysterical, just focused every part of her being on holding it together.

  “What’s wrong?” Riley knew Theodosia well enough to realize there had to be some sort of emergency.

  “At the haunted house . . . the one the Heritage Society is sponsoring, there’s been a . . .”

  “Hold a sec, will you?”

  “Riley!” Now Theodosia did cry out in frustration. Why had he cut her off like that? What could be so all-fired important? Especially now when she needed him the most.

  A few seconds later Riley was back on, his voice crackling with alarm. “I just received an emergency text from dispatch. Theo . . . are you calling from the haunted house on Tradd Street?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then stay put. I’m on my way.” And just like that Riley was gone.

  Drayton stared at Theodosia with alarm in his eyes. “While you were talking, the police just . . . They’re already here. Two officers ran upstairs to see if . . .” Drayton’s words ended in a guttural choke, as if he’d run out of air. Then, “Did you get ahold of him? Riley? Is he coming?”

  Theodosia breathed out slowly. “He’s coming.”

  “We need to find Timothy,” Drayton said. “To tell him . . .” He touched a hand to the side of his head. “Gracious me, what do we tell him? How do we tell him?”

  At that exact moment, a sharp, strangled scream rose up from inside the haunted house.

  “I think he already knows,” Theodosia said.

  * * *

  * * *

  The EMTs arrived next. Hauling a gurney and emergency packs, they charged into the house and up the stairs to the third floor. Then three more squad cars came screaming in, the officers immediately rushing into the haunted house to try to round up visitors and herd everyone outside.

  “Timothy,” Drayton said as they watched the frightened visitors pour out. “He’s still in there. What must he be feeling? We’ve got to go in and help him!”

  Together, Theodosia and Drayton fought their way through the surging, almost hysterical crowd. They pushed back up the front walk, reached the porch, and then slipped inside. They found Timothy standing in the parlor where Willow had been signing books only minutes earlier. His face was twisted in anguish, his narrow shoulders hunched. He looked as if he’d just been sentenced to death.

  “You people need to go outside,” an officer barked at the three of them.

  “The woman . . . she’s his grandniece,” Drayton said.

  The officer’s face fell. “Oh,” he said, stepping away.

  Theodosia, Drayton, and Timothy stood there, too stunned to even speak to one another, as yellow-and-black crime scene tape was strung all around them and more officers arrived.

  Finally, Detective Pete Riley came flying through the front door.

  “Riley!” Theodosia cried as she rushed into his arms.

  “You saw it happen? You’ve been here the whole time?” Riley asked her.

  Theodosia nodded, savoring his warm embrace. Then she took a step back and gazed at him. “It was awful. I thought maybe . . .” Tears formed in her eyes. “I guess I don’t know what to think.”

  Riley just nodded. He was used to dealing with distraught people. Used to investigating homicides and serious crimes. At age thirty-seven, he was one of the up-and-coming detectives on Charleston’s police force. A tall, intense man with an aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and cobalt blue eyes. Theodosia, of course, simply thought of him as Riley, her Riley. He called her Theo, and she called him Riley. It was as simple as that because it suited them.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Theodosia asked.

  “This whole place is a crime scene, so we’re going to follow standard procedure,” Riley said. “We’ll detain as many people as possible and get statements from them. At least that’s what the boss ordered.”

  “The boss?” Theodosia said.

  “Tidwell.”

  “You’ve already talked to him?”

  Riley nodded. “He’s on his way over. Should be here any minute.”

  Theodosia glanced at Drayton and Timothy. “I should stay here with them. Maybe I could . . .”

  “No,” Riley said. “Let’s get you outside right now before things get really ugly.” He walked Theodosia to the front door and down the steps into the large front yard. Harried-looking officers wielding pens and clipboards were hastily asking questions and writing down the names of as many witnesses as they could round up.

  “What are you going to do?” Theodosia asked Riley.

  Before Riley could answer, a large, bulky man strolled out of the shadows and into the garish green light. It was Detective Burt Tidwell, the head of Charleston PD’s Robbery and Homicide Division. He was as wide as a soccer mom’s van and as touchy as a puff adder.

  “Riley,” he growled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “After we conduct a thorough search of this so-called haunted house, I want you to go over and search the victim’s apartment,” Detective Tidwell said in his trademark baritone. Hesitating for a moment, Tidwell cast a quick, almost sardonic glance at Theodosia and added, “That’s if you’re not too busy here.”

  “I’m on it, sir,” Riley said. He snapped to attention as Tidwell pushed past them, his large belly protruding from between the lapels of his ill-fitting tweed jacket. Though Tidwell was irascible, overweight, and overbearing, he was undeniably the finest investigator on the force. As a leader who inspired utter confidence, his men would probably leap into a volcano for him. They’d probably follow him into the pit of hell.

  Theodosia watched, fascinated, as the crowd parted for Tidwell as if he were a visiting dignitary. She’
d butted heads with the crusty Tidwell before. And though she didn’t always get along with him, didn’t always see eye to eye, she did respect him.

  Theodosia turned back to Riley, put a hand on his arm, and said, in an urgent voice, “Let me go with you.”

  Riley half smiled as he shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  Theodosia was not about to take no for an answer. This was far too important.

  “Please,” she said. “For Timothy’s sake. You’ll be haphazardly looking through all his grandniece’s personal belongings. And I’m positive it would be a great comfort to Timothy if someone he knows and trusts went along with you.”

  “No can do. We can’t have civilians poking around and contaminating a crime scene.”

  “You think that’s a crime scene, too?” Theodosia asked. The idea hadn’t occurred to her. Now the notion of checking out Willow’s apartment seemed almost tantalizing.

  “I suppose I won’t know until I get there,” Riley said.

  Theodosia stared at Riley, a combination of nervousness and excitement sparking in her eyes. “I’m not exactly a civilian, you know. I’ve been down this road before.”

  “I get that. It’s just . . . tonight, no. It’s simply not possible.” Riley brushed his lips across Theodosia’s forehead and was gone. Strode deftly through the crowd and back into the haunted house.

  Five minutes later, Drayton emerged. He had a hangdog, defeated look on his face.

  “They threw me out,” he said to Theodosia.

  She touched a hand to his shoulder. “Timothy’s talking to the investigators?”

  Drayton nodded. “Trying to anyway. He’s awfully upset.”

  “They’ll see he gets home safely,” Theodosia said. Then, “There’s nothing we can do for him here.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Drayton said. “But I still wanted to . . . Oh no, will you look at that?” His eyes drooped heavily as he glanced out toward the street.

  Theodosia followed Drayton’s gaze and saw that one of Willow’s books had been discarded in the gutter, its spine broken, pages fluttering crazily as they were ripped out, one by one, by the chill wind that was now battering in from the Atlantic.

  3

  With sad and heavy hearts Theodosia and Drayton left the crowd of gawkers behind and wandered aimlessly down Tradd Street.

  “I wish there was something we could do for Timothy,” Drayton said. “The poor man wasn’t just upset; he was desolate.”

  “There is something,” Theodosia said.

  “Hmm?”

  “We can be his friend. Try to help him in any way possible.”

  “Of course.” Then Drayton’s conservative bent kicked in. “Up to a point, that is. We can’t exactly solve a murder.”

  Theodosia was about to say, Why not? Then she changed her mind and said, “But there is something we have to deal with immediately. Like, tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve got to break the news to Haley. She and Willow are pretty good friends.”

  “Were friends,” Drayton said. “I’ll give Haley a call soon as I get home and try to tell her as gently as possible.”

  They stopped at the corner of Tradd and Meeting Street under a wrought-iron lamp made to resemble a turn-of-the-century gas lamp. Pale-yellow light filtered down, giving their faces and everything around them a slightly ethereal look. Wind whipped at trees; faint tendrils of fog drifted in from Charleston Harbor.

  “That’s kind of you to volunteer,” Theodosia said. “But maybe I should . . .”

  Drayton shook his head. “No, you need to head on home. There’s always a chance Pete Riley will call you and we can learn something new. Some information, something crucial that might shed a bit of light on this terrible tragedy.”

  Theodosia thought about this for a few moments and decided that Drayton was right. Riley would probably be on his way to Willow’s apartment in a few minutes, so that might produce some key information. And even though Drayton was just as bewildered and angry as she was, he was basically the calm, rational one right now. He wasn’t a hot reactor like she was. If Theodosia had her way, she’d be back at the haunted house, creeping through the attic, searching for clues.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Theodosia said. It really killed her to go on home and leave the senseless murder of Willow in the hands of the police. But she did stand down.

  At least for now.

  * * *

  * * *

  Theodosia’s little home in the Historic District was a welcome sight tonight. It was a perfect Queen Anne–style cottage complete with slanting shingled roof, leafy vines crawling up the brick exterior, small turret, and rounded front door. Cute as a gnome’s home.

  As she stepped through her front door, Earl Grey came hurtling toward her.

  “Hey, fella,” Theodosia said. All fifty-five pounds of him thumped hard against her, almost knocking her off-balance. Then she knelt down and gave her dog a hug, touched her face to his soft muzzle, and found quiet comfort.

  Earl Grey wasn’t just a rescue dog; he was also a well-mannered tea shop dog (allowed in on special occasions) and a trained therapy dog. With his gentle and friendly Dalbrador demeanor (half dalmatian, half Labrador), he loved to interact with seniors in special care facilities as well as children in hospitals.

  Theodosia dumped her hobo bag on the buffet as she and Earl Grey bounced from her living room to her dining room and then out the kitchen door and into her small backyard.

  Gazing up at the sky with its scatter of stars, Theodosia inhaled the night air. The evening was cool and getting colder with the faint salty scent of the Atlantic Ocean riding on the breeze. There were night sounds, too. Leaves tumbling across dry grass, scritching and scratching, bare branches rubbing together like dry bones.

  Summer’s truly gone, Theodosia thought to herself. All Hallows’ Eve creeps in this Saturday night, and winter’s chill is just around the corner.

  “C’mon, boy,” she called to Earl Grey. He was snuffling around the base of a pine tree that Drayton had artfully clipped and snipped to create a supersized bonsai. “Let’s go back inside.”

  Theodosia and Earl Grey stepped into her kitchen. It felt warm and cozy after the evening’s chill, and the sweet, slightly outdoorsy aroma of fresh wood lingered in the air. Her new Carolina pine cabinets had finally—finally—been installed. And they looked absolutely wonderful, even if she was still waiting for some brass knobs and pulls that were being handcrafted by artisans who, like monks working an entire year on a single manuscript page, were taking their own sweet time. She paused to admire her new kitchen cabinets—yes, they really were lovely—then grabbed a bottle of Fiji water from her fridge.

  In the dining room, Theodosia paused as a wave of sadness suddenly washed over her. She stepped to the Sheraton buffet, where she’d tossed her purse, and pulled out the book Willow had autographed for her less than an hour ago.

  Carefully, almost reverently, Theodosia set the book upright on the dining room table. How bizarre that Willow’s book would be a compendium of hauntings and strange deaths. Giving a little shudder, Theodosia wondered if the book had been some sort of harbinger of doom.

  But no, that wasn’t possible. That would be way too freaky.

  Perhaps if she kept the book in a special place and treated it as a sort of talisman, thought only positive things . . .

  Theodosia’s cell phone shrilled inside her jacket pocket, practically scaring her to death. She grabbed for it, fumbled around, then was finally able to answer.

  “Riley?” she said. She was fighting to remain calm even while anticipating the latest breaking news.

  “Theo?” Riley’s voice sounded faint and a little bit hoarse. As if there were millions of miles between them instead of just a dozen or so city blocks. Like their cell phone signal was randoml
y bouncing from satellite to satellite.

  “Yes!” Theodosia said as her words bubbled out. “Are you at Willow’s apartment? What did you find? Anything that might help shed a light on . . . ?”

  “Sweetheart . . .” Now Riley’s voice sounded thick and a little strangled. As if he was trying to clear his throat but couldn’t quite make that happen.

  “What is it?” Theodosia asked again. A nugget of worry blipped in her brain. “Is something wrong?” For whatever reason, Riley didn’t sound like himself. His chipper professional demeanor just wasn’t there.

  “I don’t want to upset you,” Riley said. Now hesitation was evident in his voice.

  To Theodosia, Riley’s words weren’t just heavy with caution; they were flashing bright-red warning signs.

  “You are upsetting me,” she said. “In fact, you’re scaring me. Did something happen at Willow’s apartment? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I will. But first you have to make an excellent promise to me. I don’t want you to come running over here because . . . Wait one, Theo. Hang on a minute.”

  “Riley,” Theodosia said in exasperation. Then, “Okay, I’ll . . .” Her voice trailed off as she heard a hollow thunk. Riley had set his phone down. Or maybe he’d dropped it. It was obvious something major was taking place. Maybe he’d stumbled upon some critical piece of information? Maybe he’d already figured out who Willow’s killer was?

  Theodosia stood in her dining room, tapping her foot, staring at Willow’s book, waiting for Riley to come back on the line, all the while growing more and more restless.

  “Riley, what’s going on?” Theodosia finally shouted into the phone.

  There was still no reply.

  Where did he go? Should I be worried? Nope, too late for that. I’m already worried sick.

  Theodosia perked up when she heard faint voices in the background. It sounded as if more people had arrived at Willow’s apartment, if that’s where he was calling from. Okay then, Riley must have found something important and brought in a crime scene team. She allowed herself to relax. Additional law enforcement felt like a positive step.