Twisted Tea Christmas Page 6

  “You’re sure about this?” Theodosia asked.

  “Positive,” Bragg said.

  “If Pauline was gambling to the extent that you imply, do you think Miss Drucilla was aware of it?” Theodosia asked.

  Bragg snorted. “Doubtful. Then again, Miss Drucilla always looked for the good in people.”

  “And usually found it,” Drayton said.

  “Another question,” Theodosia said, “before we talk to Smokey.”

  “What now?” Bragg asked. He glanced at his watch as if he had somewhere important to be.

  “If Pauline’s a gambler as you say, do you think she might be having financial difficulties?” Theodosia asked.

  Bragg was already bobbing his head. “You’re talking about gambling debts? I’m guessing Pauline Stauber never saw a line of credit she didn’t try to stretch to the max.” He shrugged, suddenly bored with the subject. “Anyhoo. Good old Pauline’s out of a job now, isn’t she? So why don’t we shut this down and move along to your big confab with Smokey? I’m guessing you think he could be a legitimate suspect, huh?”

  “Do you think he could be?” Drayton asked.

  “Don’t know. Don’t think so,” Bragg said. “But you people are the ones playing amateur detective and asking all the questions.”

  Bragg led them through his house and out the back door onto a patio. He huffed along in front of them, taking them along a redbrick path through a garden rampant with azaleas, magnolias, and mature fruit trees. It was full-on dark, but low yellow lights lit the way, which eventually led to his carriage house.

  “This is a lovely old place,” Drayton said when they stopped in front of the carriage house. It was a redbrick building decorated with wrought iron curlicues that snugged up to a narrow shared alley. An old-fashioned brass lamp on a post spilled enough light to illuminate the area.

  “Hard to navigate back here with a large vehicle though,” Bragg said. “This alley’s narrow, one way in, one way out, built back when people had horse-drawn carriages. Not very convenient when you drive a Range Rover.”

  Drayton directed his gaze to the second floor. “Looks like a good-sized apartment up there though.”

  “It’s not bad. As you can see, this lower level houses a two-car garage. Then upstairs is a storage area as well as Smokey’s apartment.”

  “You think he’s home?” Theodosia asked.

  “I know he is.” Bragg grabbed the railing, took a deep breath, and started to climb the narrow flight of wooden steps. Halfway up, he stopped to catch his breath, then continued on until all three of them were crowded onto the small landing at the top. Light shone through a screen door and the interior door stood open even though it was a cool evening. Bragg knocked and the screen door rattled in its frame.

  “Yello?” Smokey called out.

  “Smoke?” Bragg said. “Couple people here want to talk to you.”

  “What about?” Smokey asked.

  Theodosia moved around Bragg and put her face to the screen. “Smokey? I’m Theodosia Browning. I own the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street?”

  “Yup, know where it’s at,” came a rumbling voice.

  “I was a friend of Miss Drucilla’s. Can I come in for a couple of minutes?”

  “Miss Drucilla’s dead,” Smokey said.

  “I know and I’m very sad about that. I also know you were a friend of hers. Helped out around her house.” Theodosia paused.

  Ten seconds went by and then the screen door opened.

  “Come on in,” Smokey said. He peered at Drayton. “You, too.”

  “I’ll see you folks later,” Bragg said as he turned and clomped back down the stairs.

  * * *

  * * *

  Smokey was tall, with wide shoulders and slender hips, built like a cowboy. He dressed like one, too, in jeans, a faded plaid shirt, and boots. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing ropy muscles and a few tribal-looking tattoos. He’d probably just finished dinner since the place smelled like burgers and onions and cigarettes.

  “What can I do for you?” Smokey asked. He’d taken a seat in a rocking chair while Theodosia and Drayton crowded together on a small lumpy sofa. The apartment was plain and utilitarian, the decor on the walls a poster from Darlington Raceway and two paintings. There was a small galley kitchen with a two-person dinette table and a doorway that led to what was probably the bedroom and bath.

  “Well, you know about Miss Drucilla,” Theodosia said.

  “Yeah. Somebody killed her.” Smokey pulled a cigarette out of a pack he had in his shirt pocket and lit it. Blew out a plume of smoke. “That what you’re here for?”

  “Pretty much,” Theodosia said.

  “We’re asking all the neighbors if they saw or heard anything,” Drayton said.

  “Like what?” Smokey asked.

  “Like a stranger lurking around last night. Or someone running away from Miss Drucilla’s place,” Theodosia said.

  “Nope. Wish I could help,” Smokey said. Clearly, he was a man of few words.

  “Maybe you can help,” Theodosia said. “Were you working at Miss Drucilla’s place yesterday? Maybe helping her get ready for the big Christmas party?”

  “Yesterday I was over at the Simmons place, replacing a chunk of their back fence. They got a new Jack Russell terrier—a puppy really—and are worried about the little guy getting out of the yard and running away.”

  “So you didn’t see anybody who might have been acting strangely or casing nearby houses?”

  Smokey shook his head. “Nope. But if I see anything like that in the future, I should . . . what? Let you know?”

  “Probably call the police,” Theodosia said.

  “Mm-hmm,” Smokey said.

  Theodosia and Drayton thanked Smokey, then trooped back downstairs to find Donny Bragg lounging on his back patio, wearing a rust-colored barn jacket and smoking a cigar.

  “Cohiba cigars,” he said when he saw them. “Got a friend in Miami who’s a broker for high-end yachts. Every once in a while he bops over to Havana and brings back the good stuff.”

  “Lucky you,” Drayton said.

  “How’d your talk with Smokey go?” Bragg asked.

  Theodosia gave a shrug. “Fine. He was cooperative.”

  “But you’re not ready to drop him from your suspect list?” Bragg asked. He sounded amused.

  “Probably too early for that since we’re just getting started,” Theodosia said.

  “Smokey’s an okay guy, but he’s dumb as a sack full of hammers,” Bragg said.

  Maybe not that dumb, Theodosia thought, since Smokey’s clearly mastered the art of playing it close to the vest.

  “Is there anyone you think deserves to be looked at?” Theodosia asked. Besides yourself?

  “You talk to the housekeeper yet? Mrs. Fruth? She’s retired but she might know something.”

  “We’re working our way around to her,” Theodosia said. “Anybody else you can think of?”

  Bragg leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes, as if he were deep in thought. Then his eyes snapped open.

  “Well, there’s a nephew. Miss Drucilla has a nephew somewhere.”

  “Pauline mentioned him to me. But said she didn’t know how to get hold of him.”

  Bragg made a whatever gesture with a hand and said, “Now that you’re asking, I’m not sure I’d trust that scummy Sawyer Daniels. The guy’s obsessed with money.”

  “I thought Daniels ran some kind of charity-review company,” Theodosia said, “and that he was helping Miss Drucilla decide exactly where to direct her donations.”

  Bragg shrugged. “Yeah, he probably was.”

  “Do you have any idea which charities Mr. Daniels might have been recommending?” Drayton asked.

  “Or the amount of the don
ations?” Theodosia asked.

  “Dunno,” Bragg said. “No idea. I guess you’d have to corner Daniels and ask him yourself.”

  “Okay, thanks a lot,” Theodosia said.

  “Happy to cooperate,” Bragg said with an unhappy look.

  7

  Dark clouds bubbled overhead; a cool breeze wafted in from nearby Charleston Harbor. But as Theodosia and Drayton walked down Legare Street, the glow and good cheer of the Christmas season seemed to be everywhere. Strings of lights outlined the fronts of houses, giant wreaths hung on doors, and shiny brass lamps were swagged with greens, pinecones, and red velvet ribbons. Even some trees and shrubs were festively lit with gold twinkle lights.

  “You think Bragg knows something?” Drayton asked as they ambled along. With Miss Drucilla’s house only three doors away, it was easier to walk than drive.

  “Maybe,” Theodosia said. She was still processing the conversations they’d had with Smokey and Bragg, rolling them around in her mind like rocks in a tumbler, trying to polish up any important bits.

  “Or do you see Bragg as a suspect?”

  “I’m not sure,” Theodosia said. “It’s all a little foggy. You know, Pauline was the one who kind of nudged me in Bragg’s direction. And then Bragg, in what felt like a retaliatory chess-player move, tried to convince us that Pauline was a problem gambler.”

  “Do you think she really is? A gambler, I mean.”

  “No idea. But I suppose it bears looking into,” Theodosia said, “though my hunch is that the two of them simply don’t like each other, that they’re at odds for whatever reason.”

  “What about Smokey?” Drayton asked as they turned up the walk to Miss Drucilla’s house. “He’s quiet, unobtrusive, obviously knows his way around the neighborhood. Can you see him as a suspect?”

  “I’m not sure. He seems okay. So maybe more of a person of interest at this point.”

  They climbed the front steps and hesitated on the wide veranda. Two Christmas trees stood in pots to either side of the door. They’d been lavishly decorated with angels and candy canes, but the string of lights that wound around them hadn’t been lit.

  “Okay,” Theodosia said, peeking in one of the windows. “There are lights on inside, so Pauline’s definitely here. We can grab that guest list and ask her a few more questions. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  When they rang the doorbell they heard a loud BRIIING that echoed all the way to the back of the house. Drayton’s mouth twisted in a visceral reaction, the sound obviously reminding him of last night’s security alarm.

  They heard footsteps; then Pauline peeked out through a triangle of small windowpanes on the front door.

  “Being cautious,” Drayton murmured.

  “Can you blame her?” Theodosia said. “After last night’s awful—”

  The front door whooshed open.

  “Pauline!” Theodosia exclaimed.

  “Theodosia,” Pauline said. She was smiling. “And it’s Drayton. Did I get that right? In all the furor and horror of last night, I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

  “Drayton Conneley,” he said. “At your service.”

  Managing a faint smile, Pauline said, “You’d better come in, I suppose.”

  Pauline opened the door wider and they stepped into a large entry with a white marble floor and cream-colored walls painted with tropical birds and banana leaves. On their left, closed double doors led to the large parlor where last night’s festivities had been centered; on their right was a curved stairway. Theodosia snuck a quick look down the center hallway, where Miss Drucilla had met her demise. It was dim with just a single light burning at the far end.

  “Maybe we could talk in here?” Pauline opened a hidden door and led them into a small room. It was furnished with a white sofa that had an abundant number of poufy green-and-yellow pillows, a small table, an antique secretary, and two lovely palm trees.

  “This is cozy,” Theodosia said. This room seemed small and delicate, so vastly different from the rest of the home that had been decorated on such a grand scale.

  “This was one of Miss Drucilla’s favorite rooms,” Pauline said. “She loved to sip her morning tea in here and read the newspapers.”

  “Lovely,” Drayton said. He seemed particularly interested in the small secretary with a slanted front. “Is this by any chance a Biedermeier?” he asked.

  “I believe so, though I’m not terribly well versed when it comes to antiques,” Pauline said.

  “Even though you’re surrounded by them,” Theodosia said.

  “I suppose when you’re busy—working here every day, answering phones and such, taking notes, running errands—the decor becomes a little like wallpaper,” Pauline said.

  Approaching footsteps and a rattle of paper sounded outside the room and caused everyone to turn expectantly. Then a tall, good-looking man materialized and said, “Oh, they’re already here.”

  “You must be the boyfriend,” Theodosia said.

  That brought a smile to his face. “And you must be the amateur detective,” he said.

  “Not exactly,” Theodosia said. “Well . . . maybe.”

  Pauline stepped forward to greet him. “This is Wade, Wade Holland. He’s been a lifesaver, helping me with packing, cleaning, whatnot.” She gripped his arm. “Wade, this is Theodosia Browning, the woman I told you about, and her friend Drayton Conneley.”

  Once greetings and handshakes had been exchanged, Theodosia said, “Wade, were you by any chance here last night?”

  Wade shook his head. “I was still at work, so I missed all the excitement.” Then his expression turned sad. “If that’s what you’d call it.” Wade wore faded blue jeans that matched his wide blue eyes and a T-shirt with a nifty image of a sphinx on it. His light brown hair was fashionably disheveled and he wore black hipster glasses. Theodosia knew he worked at an upscale gift shop but decided he could have probably passed for a bass player in an indie rock band.

  “Is that the . . . ?” Pauline asked him.

  Wade handed her the paper. “The guest list, yeah. I just finished printing it out.”

  Pauline gave the paper a cursory glance, then handed it to Theodosia. “Here you go, as promised.”

  Theodosia skimmed the list, recognized a few names, then passed it to Drayton.

  “Are you familiar with most of the people on this list?” Theodosia asked Pauline.

  “Really only the neighbors,” Pauline said.

  “Like Donny Bragg. And Smokey?” Theodosia asked.

  “And Darcy and Jordan Fitzgerald from right next door,” Pauline said.

  “What about Sawyer Daniels, the man who was helping Miss Drucilla select her various charities?”

  “I’ve met him once or twice. Majel Mercer, too,” Pauline said. “Majel’s with the Justice Initiative. She’s really sweet. In fact, I have some papers for her to pick up.”

  “Is her charity receiving one of the grants?” Drayton asked.

  Pauline lifted a shoulder. “I really don’t know. I’m not sure that’s all figured out yet. Probably up to the lawyers now.”

  “Has the housekeeper been here?”

  “She was here today. We’ve been kind of crossing paths and getting in each other’s way.”

  “How long will you continue to work here?” Theodosia asked.

  Pauline looked glum. “That’s kind of up in the air for now. I’ve been told two or three more weeks. After that . . . who knows?”

  “Will you be helping out as well?” Theodosia asked Wade.

  “I wish he could,” Pauline said quickly.

  Wade was shaking his head. “I work full-time as assistant manager at the King’s Ransom Gift Shop over on King Street . . . so no, I won’t. I can’t.” He gave Pauline a commiserating look. “I wish I could lend a hand, but it wouldn’t b
e permanent, so it doesn’t make any kind of sense to quit my job.” He focused on Theodosia now. “But you . . . Pauline told me you’d agreed to run some kind of— What would you call it? Amateur investigation?”

  “I’m going to give it a shot,” Theodosia said.

  “Thank you for that,” Pauline said. “I’m grateful you’ve decided to look into things and talk to a few people.”

  “I think it’s smart to have another pair of eyes on this,” Wade said, “besides the police. They’re procedural based versus someone who’s more . . .” He glanced at Pauline.

  “Intuitive,” Pauline said. “Delaine told me that Theodosia was very intuitive.”

  “I hope I am,” Theodosia said.

  “She is,” Drayton said. “Trust me.”

  “We talked to a couple of people on our way over,” Theodosia said. “Donny Bragg and Smokey Pruitt.”

  “Anything there?” Wade asked. “I’ve been kind of picking Pauline’s brain about potential suspects and . . .” He glanced at Pauline, who jumped in to finish his sentence again.

  “And I haven’t come up with much of anything,” Pauline said. “I just don’t know the key players well enough.”

  “This morning you were nudging me toward Donny Bragg,” Theodosia said.

  “That was earlier,” Pauline said. “But now that I’ve had time to think, I’m not sure I know anyone who could be so cruel and heartless.”

  “What can you tell me about Julian Wolf-Knapp?” Theodosia asked.

  “Just that he’s an art dealer,” Pauline said.

  “And Miss Drucilla worked with him.”

  Pauline thought for a moment. “Yes, but on a limited basis. I believe she bought only a piece or two from him.”

  “But one of the pieces was the Renoir,” Drayton said.

  Pauline’s face suddenly crumpled. “I wish Miss Drucilla had never brought that stupid painting into this house. If she hadn’t, she’d still be alive.”