Shades of Earl Grey Read online

  Theodosia studied the surface of the painting. It was aged and the glaze crackled, that was for sure. So the painting certainly wasn’t recent. The signature looked good and the subject, a young woman sitting beside a fireplace, did seem to emit a certain glow from within. Still . . .

  “May I?” she asked. Timothy nodded abruptly as Theodosia picked up the portrait and turned it over. It had been painted on canvas, she noted, not just on a wooden board. And the wooden canvas stretchers looked old and weathered, which was often a good giveaway of authenticity.

  “I’d say it’s real,” she told Timothy. “And a fine example, at that.”

  Timothy Neville beamed at her. “Well done, Miss Browning. May I ask what aspect of this painting most convinced you as to its authenticity?”

  “The canvas looks old,” she said. “A little dry, in fact. And the stretchers are the slot and groove kind. That usually indicates late-eighteenth or early-nineteenth century.”

  “Yes, this portrait is absolutely authentic,” Timothy told her. “It’s a recent donation and a welcome one at that.” Timothy rocked back on his heels. “I don’t know how popular we’re going to be in the future, however. Our recent debacle last Saturday night may have sealed our fate as far as donations go.”

  He sat down heavily in his chair, as though he’d suddenly run out of energy and enthusiasm. “Sit, please,” he told her.

  Theodosia moved around his desk and seated herself in one of the oversized leather chairs that faced Timothy’s desk.

  “I talked with Tidwell,” she told him.

  “Good. And I spoke with our insurance company.” He drew in a breath, held it, then blew out heavily. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. You obviously came here to share some news.”

  Theodosia nodded. She wasn’t sure how pleased Timothy Neville would be with her news, however.

  Timothy leaned forward in his chair. “You kept your meeting confidential?”

  “It was just Drayton and myself, yes. Tidwell already knew about the two robberies, of course. But we spoke with him about the possibility of a cat burglar at work in Charleston.”

  “And what was his learned opinion?”

  Theodosia gave Timothy a quick rundown of their conversation with Tidwell, including his territorial great white shark analogy.

  When she was finished, Timothy grimaced. “Territorial. I don’t like the sound of that at all. Especially with the Treasures Show about to open this weekend.”

  “Is it opening?” she asked.

  “For now, yes,” replied Timothy. “The decision’s just been made.” He hesitated. “Actually, truth be known, we arrived at a sort of compromise. The European Jewel Collection won’t be part of it. Those pieces are being packed up even as we speak. They’ll be shipped back to the organizing museum in New York. So the Treasures Show that the public will see this Saturday evening will consist only of selected pieces from the Heritage Society’s collection. A pair of Louis the Fifteenth chairs, some excellent Meissen ware, this portrait by Sully . . . you get the general idea.”

  Theodosia nodded. “But no headliner pieces.”

  “Nothing outside the realm of what we already have. Unless you have something utterly spectacular stashed in your attic. No . . .” Timothy shook his head slowly. “We’ll have to come up with something else to put in the small gallery. I don’t exactly know what yet.” Timothy cast his eyes about his office to the shelves that lined the walls. They contained rare books, old maps, some pewter ware. “Maybe our collection of antique sterling silver letter openers?” he offered, but he didn’t sound totally convinced.

  Theodosia smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Still . . .” said Timothy. “There’s no guarantee that the disaster of last Saturday night won’t be repeated.”

  Timothy looked so bereft that Theodosia’s heart went out to him. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she assured him. “On a more personal note, how are you feeling? You gave us all quite a scare the other night.”

  Tapping his chest, Timothy gave her a rueful look. “I didn’t even have a regular physician and now it seems I’ve inherited a team of specialists. A cardiologist and some fellow who studies respiration. Don’t need anyone, of course. I’m as healthy as you are.”

  Theodosia knew that Timothy adhered to a strict daily regimen of vitamins and minerals. Drayton had even told her once about some sort of life extension formula that he imported from Rumania. Considering that he was just past eighty and acted fifty, that formula just might be the real deal.

  “Have you heard any more about the security guard who was injured Saturday night?” Timothy asked her.

  “He’s still in intensive care at Saint Anne’s Hospital,” said Theodosia. “I thought I’d stop by and visit him tonight. I was scheduled to go to Saint Anne’s anyway. Earl Grey is paying a visit to the children’s ward.” She smiled warmly at Timothy. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Do that,” Timothy said. “We’ve sent flowers and such, but I’m sure he’d be pleased to see an attractive face such as yours.”

  “Can you help him?” asked Claire as Theodosia darted past the front desk.

  Theodosia stopped in her tracks. “Can I . . .”

  “Ever since that necklace disappeared Saturday night, Timothy hasn’t been the same,” said Claire. “He’s been quiet and brooding all morning, hasn’t looked good. I’m worried about him. Everyone here is.” Claire leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “We’re worried about his heart.”

  “So am I,” confided Theodosia as she slipped out the door.

  Goodness, she thought to herself as she hurried across the patio. This really is a mess. Because no matter how valuable that missing necklace is, and the number has to edge up to almost half a million, it’s nowhere near as important as Timothy’s health. If he worries himself to death over this . . . Theodosia suddenly stopped in her tracks, freeze-framing that thought. No, she wasn’t going to think like that. Nobody was going to die. She simply wasn’t going to let that happen!

  CHAPTER 9

  EARL GREY POKED his furry muzzle through the slats of the tiny patient’s bed. Wearing his blue vest with his THERAPY DOG INTERNATIONAL insignia, he looked very official, acted very well behaved.

  “Do you want to pet the doggy, Katie?” asked Angela Krause. Angela was a nurse and a friend of Theodosia’s. She had worked at Saint Anne’s Hospital for almost five years and was a fixture on the children’s ward.

  Katie, a tiny five-year-old who’d just undergone a round of chemotherapy for acute myeloid leukemia, nodded. Blue veins showed through her almost transparent skin and her head was covered by a small red kerchief. But she was still game to meet Earl Grey.

  “Okay, then,” said Angela, “put your hand out. He won’t hurt you.”

  Katie stuck her hand tentatively through the slats of the crib. Gently, Earl Grey sniffed at the tiny hand.

  There was a delighted giggle and then Katie’s entire face was pressed up against the slats.

  “Do you want to toss the ball?” asked Theodosia.

  Katie reached out her small hand and Theodosia placed a red rubber ball in it. Winding up like an all-star pitcher, Katie flung the ball out the door of her room and Earl Grey bounded after it. Within seconds, he returned and gently placed the ball in Katie’s hand.

  “Good doggy,” said Katie.

  “His name is Earl Grey,” said Theodosia.

  “Earl Grey,” said Katie, patting his head gently. “Bye bye, Earl Grey.”

  Out in the hallway, Theodosia and Earl Grey stopped in front of another patient room.

  “What about this one?” Theodosia asked Angela.

  Angela looked grim. “Billy Foster,” she said. “He hasn’t spoken since he underwent surgery three days ago to repair a collapsed lung.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor little guy. First he gets banged up rather badly in a car accident, then he’s traumatized by the ordeal of surgery. Plus both his parents are in the ho
spital, too.” Angela made a rueful face. “Nobody wearing seat belts. Billy wasn’t in a children’s car seat.” Gazing in the door of the little boy’s hospital room, she said, “Sometimes these kids are as resilient as a rubber band, other times they’re just incredibly fragile.” Angela glanced again in Billy’s room, where his small body lay immobile under the covers. “This one”—she looked about ready to cry—“just tears my heart out. The doctors say he should be able to take deeper breaths by now, but for some reason he can’t. Or won’t. His blood oxygen saturation is low and the poor guy is still on a nasal cannula.”

  Theodosia bit her lip. This was the hard part of volunteering with a therapy dog. Seeing little children who were so very, very ill.

  “Maybe a dog would cheer him up?” Theodosia suggested.

  Angela nodded. “We’ve tried just about everything else we could think of to get him to breathe on his own. She pushed open the doors to Billy’s room. “Just hang on a minute, though. Let me go in and talk to him first.”

  Theodosia watched from the doorway as Angela walked quietly over to Billy’s bed, knelt down beside him. She could hear her murmuring to him, gently, very quietly.

  The little boy must have understood everything Angela had said, because he suddenly turned his head and stared directly at Earl Grey, his soft brown eyes suddenly big with interest. Angela motioned for Theodosia and Earl Grey to enter the boy’s room.

  Earl Grey entered slightly ahead of Theodosia, restrained by his leash, but still on his best behavior. When they got to Billy’s bedside, Theodosia gave Earl Grey the sit command. Earl Grey responded immediately, sitting like a perfect gentleman, staring inquisitively at Billy even as the little boy stared back.

  Suddenly, just as Billy leaned forward, Earl Grey thrust his head forward, too. Billy’s face connected squarely with the tip of Earl Grey’s soft muzzle and the dog planted a gentle kiss on the boy’s cheek.

  Surprised, the boy drew a sudden, swift intake of breath. Which immediately triggered a beep on the machine he was connected to.

  “Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Angela.

  “Should I run to get help?” asked Theodosia quickly. Her heart suddenly in her throat, she was convinced something had just gone terribly wrong.

  “No, no. It’s just that . . .” Angela said in a stunned tone of voice. “He took a breath. She knelt down beside the little boy. “Billy, you took a deep breath, didn’t you? The doggy surprised you and you took a deep breath!”

  Eyes bright, Billy nodded back at her.

  “Can you take another one?” she asked.

  Billy nodded and the machine at the bedside blipped happily again.

  How could this visit have turned out any better? Theodosia thought to herself as she and Earl Grey strode back through the corridors of Saint Anne’s.

  Now they were one floor down and about to stop by to visit Harlan Wilson, the security guard who’d been injured at the Heritage Society. He’d been moved from the ICU to a regular patient room this morning. Theodosia figured that was a good thing. Must mean Mr. Wilson was showing real signs of improvement.

  “Pardon me,” said Theodosia as she approached the nurses’ station. “I’m—”

  “We know who you are,” said a pretty African-American nurse whose name tag read CECILE RANDOLPH. “Angela just called to say you were coming by with your very gifted dog.”

  “He’s just along for the ride now,” laughed Theodosia. “Earl Grey’s finished with his visiting.”

  Cecile nodded. “Angie said you wanted to look in on Mr. Wilson?”

  “Yes, is he awake?”

  “He wasn’t when I checked ten minutes ago, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t now. He’s been in and out all day.”

  “But he’s getting better?” asked Theodosia.

  “Absolutely,” Cecile assured her. The phone on the desk in front of Cecile started to ring and she reached for it. “Go ahead on down. He’s in room two-oh-seven.”

  Theodosia and Earl Grey walked down the hallway looking for room two-oh-seven. It was almost eight-thirty and the hospital was quiet, visiting hours almost over for the evening. Lights had been dimmed and the exit sign glowed red above the door to the emergency stairway at the end of the hallway.

  Room two-oh-seven turned out to be the second to the last room. But the door was closed.

  Should she go in?

  Theodosia paused for a moment, wondering if it was too late for a visit. Glancing down at Earl Grey, trying to decide what to do, she saw that the dog had his head cocked, listening.

  Suddenly curious, Theodosia listened herself. It did sound as though someone was moving around in there. Good. Probably Harlan Wilson was awake after all. Perhaps trying to manage a glass of water or reach the call button.

  Knocking softly, Theodosia didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she pushed the door open slowly. But as the door swung inward on its hinges, she could see that Harlan Wilson was still asleep in his bed. A shaft of light from somewhere—the bathroom?—played across his face.

  Theodosia was ready to turn around and leave when Earl Grey suddenly gave a low growl.

  She stopped in her tracks, still half inside the room. But now her eyes had had a few moments to get accustomed to the dark. And she was able to see that she wasn’t alone. Just to her left, someone was pressed up against the wall of Harlan Wilson’s room!

  Who could it be? she wondered, her brain trying to process this strange information. Hospital personnel? No, no, no, her brain flashed a warning to her. Not a nurse, someone who meant to do him harm!

  Suddenly, whoever it was, dove around the corner into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  In a flash, Theodosia was pulling at the bathroom door.

  It stuck for a moment, then flew open. Nobody there! Too late! It was a shared bathroom and the menacing visitor must have dashed into the room next door.

  Theodosia and Earl Grey pushed through to the adjoining room, found it empty. Without hesitation, they charged out into the hallway . . . . . . And got there just in time to see the door to the stairwell swing shut!

  “Cecile, call Security,” Theodosia yelled.

  “What?” came a startled voice.

  “Security!” yelled Theodosia as she dropped Earl Grey’s leash and pushed the door to the stairwell open. “C’mon, fella. Downstairs! Follow him!”

  As they charged down the stairs, Theodosia could hear the door at the bottom clang shut. But which door? Theodosia wondered as they hit the first-floor landing. The door that led to the lobby or the emergency exit that opened outside?

  Has to be outside. Theodosia decided as she lowered a shoulder and hit that door hard.

  Cool air greeted them as they rushed out.

  They found themselves in back of the hospital. Dark and deserted, there appeared to be a thin line of trees and what looked like a small garden where patients could go and sit.

  That garden was in deep shadows now, but Theodosia could just make out a figure slipping in among the trees.

  “Go get him!” she told Earl Grey. “Stop him!” She’d never taught him those commands before, but the dog responded like a champion, dashing off toward the small woods.

  Theodosia ran after her dog. Just maybe, she thought, Earl Grey can catch him and run him down like a rabbit. Because whoever had been lurking in Harlan Wilson’s room had certainly been up to no good.

  Dashing into the thin line of trees, Theodosia leapt over a fallen log, almost stumbled, then broke out of the woods into the parking lot of the Dixie Quick Market.

  From somewhere nearby came the cough of a car ignition turning over, then a loud squeal of tires.

  Theodosia ran out to the street. Earl Grey was standing there, tail low, hackles up, still growling. Together they watched as red taillights receded in the distance.

  CHAPTER 10

  DRAYTON FROWNED AS he carefully measured several spoonfuls of dragon’s well tea into a blue willow teapot. Haley always chided him for wanting to “m
atch” teas to teapots. Well, so what if I do? he thought to himself. Would you really want to serve this fine sweet tea from central China in a Japanese tetsubin? No, of course not. No tea lover in their right mind would. The traditional metal tetsubin should be reserved for Japanese green tea like bancha or gyokuro. Or even better, a nice first-flush sencha.

  But Haley’s good-natured chiding wasn’t what was chafing at Drayton this morning. No, he decided, it was Theodosia’s visit last evening to Saint Anne’s. And the fact that she had chased, actually pursued, some strange intruder down the stairwell and into the dark.

  He’d always known Theodosia had a wild streak in her. But this last incident seemed positively reckless!

  On the other hand, the fact that some lunatic had been lurking in Harlan Wilson’s room seemed to confirm the fact that the guard had actually seen the thief at the Heritage Society the other night. So maybe they’d really have something to go on now. That would certainly be welcome news to poor Timothy Neville, who seemed to be waiting on pins and needles for the ax to fall on his head.

  “I can’t believe you actually chased this fellow,” Drayton said to Theodosia. “Did you alert the security staff at the hospital, too?”

  Theodosia nodded. “I went back afterwards and talked to them.”

  “And . . .” said Drayton.

  “Someone had fiddled with Harlan Wilson’s oxygen line.”

  Drayton’s face blanched white. “Good lord! This intruder really did mean to do harm!”

  “It looks that way,” said Theodosia. “Apparently Mr. Wilson didn’t exactly need the oxygen, it was supplemental, but the intruder didn’t know that.”

  “So the intent was still to harm him,” persisted Drayton.

  “Looks like,” said Theodosia. She glanced up from the counter, where she and Drayton had both been fixing pots of tea. Haley seemed to have all the tables under control. All she needed were the fresh pots of dragon’s well and English breakfast tea that were now steeping.