Shades of Earl Grey (22 page)

“Hmm?” he asked as he looked over her shoulder, his face suddenly lighting up. “Well, look who's here! Hellooo!”

“Oh, my gosh,” exclaimed Theodosia as her Aunt Libby walked through the door. “What are
you
doing here?”

Libby Revelle squared her narrow shoulders and gave her niece a mildly inquisitive look. “You invited us, don't you remember?”

“Yes, of course. But I never expected you to show up.”

Libby turned to Margaret Rose Reese, her companion and housekeeper. “It seems we're a bit of a surprise,” she said dryly.

“You're a wonderful surprise!” exclaimed Theodosia as she suddenly threw her arms around Aunt Libby and planted a kiss on her smooth cheek. She released her, then repeated her motions with a slightly embarrassed Margaret Rose.

“Oh, honey,” protested Margaret Rose, who struggled to maintain the stern facade she'd honed to perfection from years spent as a housekeeper for an aging Episcopalian minister, “you don't have to go all gushy. It's just us.” But she was pleased anyway.

“We decided to make an evening of it,” declared Aunt Libby. “Margaret Rose and I have been stuck out at Cain Ridge for what feels like forever.”

Cain Ridge was the former rice plantation out in the low-country where Aunt Libby and Theodosia's father had grown up.

“Our master plan,” continued Aunt Libby, “was to drop by your little reception, then treat ourselves to dinner at the Women's Club. Afterwards, we're going to soak up a little culture at the symphony.”

Theodosia stared at her. “
I'm
going to the symphony tonight. With Jory Davis.”

“Good,” declared Aunt Libby with a sly grin. “Then you and your gentleman friend can buy us both a nice Dubonet with a twist during intermission” And with that, Aunt Libby pushed her way into the crowd, eager to get reacquainted with old friends and enjoy a good chat.

THE HAUNTING STRAINS
of
Nessum Dorma
from Puccini's opera
Turandot
filled the auditorium as the symphony orchestra played their fourth piece of the night. Normally, the symphony offered three concert series over the course of their season—Chamber Music, Classical, and Pops. But tonight's gala was a special concert, an opera venue that featured a medley of work from such opera greats as Puccini, Verdi, and Rossini.

On the stage, Timothy Neville played first chair in the violin section. In the audience, sitting center stage, fifteen rows back from the orchestra, Theodosia and Jory Davis listened with rapt attention. Off to their left and a few rows down were Aunt Libby and Margaret Rose. Before the auditorium lights had dimmed, Theodosia had spotted Delaine and Cooper Hobcaw over to her right, their heads together, whispering conspiratorially.

The conductor bobbed and wove with the sweetly lyrical music. Then, as the final elegant notes hung in the air, he spun on his heels, his baton held aloft, and bowed deeply. The packed house rose to its feet and thunderous applause flooded the hall.

Jory Davis gazed down at Theodosia. She could see in his eyes that he approved of how she looked tonight. She'd dressed in a short silver sheath and left her auburn hair loose so that it fell over her shoulders.

“Want to stroll down to the lobby for a drink?” Jory asked. “We've got a good twenty minutes before the second half of the concert begins.”

Theodosia's shining face smiled up at him. “Love to,” she said.

Everyone seemed to have the same idea, and by the time they'd elbowed their way to the small bar, it was six deep in thirsty customers. It seemed that almost every opera lover was also eager for a cold refreshment.

“I've got an idea,” said Jory, taking Theodosia's elbow and steering her away from the knot of people. “Let's sit at one of those little tables over by the window. I actually believe there are waiters who'll shuttle drinks to us.”

Theodosia followed Jory to a tiny black enamel table and seated herself on an even tinier black enamel folding chair.

“I wonder where Aunt Libby and Margaret Rose are?” said Theodosia, looking around, trying to peer over heads.

“Maybe they didn't come down for intermission after all? Oh, here we go,” said Jory as a waiter dropped two white bar napkins on the table. “Theo, what would you like to drink?”

“White wine, please,” she said as she continued to scan the crowd.

“Glass of white wine,” Jory repeated to the waiter, “and a bourbon and water.”

Theodosia glanced up just as the waiter finished making a note of their drink order and turned to leave. Recognition jolted her and she instinctively clutched at Jory Davis's arm. The waiter who'd just taken their drink order was none other than the young man she'd paid a surreptitious visit to last night! Graham Carmody!

Amazing,
she thought to herself.
The very same waiter who was working at the Heritage Society the night the Blue Kashmir necklace disappeared and at the Lady Goodwood Inn when Captain Corey Buchanan was killed! And now he's turned up here.

As Theodosia stared at the retreating back of Graham Carmody, she realized that, if the young man really
was
a cat burglar, his job as a waiter was the perfect ploy to put him in close contact with potential victims! What better way to check out which ladies were wearing diamond earrings or flashing an emerald bracelet or carrying a Judith Leiber jeweled purse? You could spot your mark and then pounce!

“It's perfect,” Theodosia uttered aloud, surprised at the simplicity of it all. Because when you thought about it, working as a waiter for an upscale caterer really
was
a clever cover.

Jory Davis smiled at her, apparently assuming her remark referred to their evening together thus far. “Glad you're having a good time,” he replied. “You seemed a bit distracted earlier, but I chalked it up to a hectic day.”

“Jory,” she said, “we need to talk.”

Jory gazed at her anxiously. “Okay,” he said slowly.

Theodosia saw the worried look on Jory's face and hastily reassured him. “No, this isn't about us. This isn't one of those
We need to talk because I just want to be friends
kind of things.”

Exhaling with a mock sigh of relief, Jory suddenly turned sober. “Hey, you're really upset, aren't you?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what's going on,” he urged. “Let me help.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “but let's get our drinks first. And move outside. You'll see why in a moment.”

Once their drinks arrived, they carried them out to a small patio directly off the lobby. The night was cool and the beginnings of a full moon bobbed overhead.
Halloween's in two nights,
Theodosia reminded herself. A haunting night, a night filled with mystery. Then again, she just might have as much mystery and intrigue as she needed right now!

Settling down on a wide bench, Theodosia took a quick sip of wine, then held Jory's hand in hers as she slowly related to him the events of the past week.

She told him about the mysterious intruder she and Earl Grey had chased from Harlan Wilson's hospital room.

She told him about Cooper Hobcaw and his evening runs through the historic district. Explained that just when Cooper Hobcaw was given custody of the key to Delaine's house, her expensive Chopard watch suddenly turned up missing. Then she related how the watch had been discovered in Claire Kitridge's desk at the Heritage Society, thanks to an anonymous tip.

Theodosia's suspicions about the waiter, Graham Carmody, came as a complete surprise to Jory. So much so, in fact, that when the strains of the opening overture came wafting out, he asked Theodosia if she'd rather stay there and keep talking.

“Absolutely I would,” she told him.

“You're sure you don't mind missing the second half?” he asked. “They're doing Bizet's
Carmen.
”

“I've got it on CD. Besides, this is more important, don't you think?”

“It's fascinating as hell, I'll give you that much,” said Jory. He frowned, set his empty drink glass down next to his feet. “Okay, let's go back to the first event. The engagement party. That's when everything seemed to kick into high gear.”

“Right,” said Theodosia. “That's when things came to
our
attention. Drayton's and mine. And Haley's and Delaine's, too, I guess. Then we found out that other valuables had been stolen previously.” Theodosia took a final sip of her white wine. “Camille's wedding ring was appraised at something like sixty or seventy thousand dollars.” She shrugged. “I don't know the value of the other items that have been stolen, but I'd say our cat burglar has been making quite a haul.”

“Only the insurance companies know for sure,” said Jory. “But let's see what kind of case we can build against Cooper Hobcaw. Do you remember seeing him after the ceiling crashed in at the Lady Goodwood?”

“Yes,” replied Theodosia. “And he was absolutely soaked to the bone. Dripping all over the carpet. But he'd ostensibly run out to flag down the ambulance.”

“So that's circumstantial evidence,” said Jory. “And we know Cooper Hobcaw likes his nightly jaunts through the historic district. But we don't have proof as to whether he's casing homes or just stretching his legs.”

Theodosia snuggled against Jory's shoulder. It was comforting knowing he was securely on her side.

“And this waiter . . .” Jory began. “The one that's here tonight.”

“Graham Carmody,” said Theodosia.

“He's a real wild card. Turns up like a bad penny.” Jory Davis rubbed a hand through his curly hair. “Did you get a good look at those computer printouts you lifted?”

“Pages and pages of Internet auction bids.”

“And all on the sale of antiques and jewelry,” mused Jory. “I'd say that's fairly incriminating.” He thought for a minute. “Let me run a check on this Graham Carmody, see what turns up. You never know, he could have an arrest record.”

“What about Cooper Hobcaw?” asked Theodosia.

“We won't find anything there. If he had a record, he wouldn't be doing the kind of lawyering he is.”

“There's one person we really haven't discussed,” said Theodosia.

“The woman from the Heritage Society?”

“Right,” said Theodosia. “Claire Kitridge.”

“Doesn't feel right,” said Jory.

“Doesn't to me, either,” agreed Theodosia. “Why would Claire swipe Delaine's watch then plant it in her own desk? That hardly seems logical.” On the other hand, Theodosia thought to herself, what was overtly illogical was often discounted by investigators. They often assumed criminals would act in a certain pattern or mode. So Claire could be dumb like a fox.

“Anyway,” said Theodosia, “I get the feeling that any one of our suspects had the talent and wherewithal to snatch Delaine's watch and plant it in Claire Kitridge's desk. And the access,” she added.

Jory nodded. “They're all clever enough, that's for sure.”

“So what's next?” asked Theodosia.

“Not sure,” said Jory.

Theodosia gazed up into the night sky. The moon was almost as round and orange as a wheel of cheddar. “If I had to put money on one of them,” she mused, “I think I'd pick Graham Carmody.”

“Why so?” asked Jory.

“Because of his familiarity with the layout at the Heritage Society. He's worked there several times as a waiter. Knows the kitchen and back hallways and such. Plus people don't usually give waiters a second glance. Especially when they're busy partying and schmoozing it up.”

As the moon continued to rise, full and round in the night sky, they talked back and forth, tossing around various theories. Finally, people began spilling out of the concert hall.

“It's over?” said Theodosia. “We missed the entire second half?”

“Looks that way,” said Jory.

Good heavens,
she thought.
And we aren't any closer to finding an answer. But at least I feel better having talked it all over with Jory.

“Isn't that your Aunt Libby over there?” asked Jory. “With her friend?”

Theodosia peered at the spill of people pouring down the steps. “Yup, that's her.”

“Want to go say hi?”

Theodosia smoothed her skirt and stood up, took Jory's hand firmly in her own. Together they crossed the plaza toward the oncoming rush of concert goers.

HALEY CAST AN
appraising eye at the yellow froth that bubbled in the top pan of her double boiler. It looked good, she decided, was sticking together nicely. Grabbing a wire whisk, she added the last of the sugar and lemon zest, then continued to whisk the mixture as it cooked. Finally, when her concoction began to thicken, she removed the pan from the stove and began to add soft fresh cream butter, feeding it in a little at a time.

“My goodness, Haley,” marveled Drayton as he stepped into the kitchen, “it smells absolutely divine in here. What magic are you whipping up this morning?”

She held up the pan for him to see. “Lemon curd. And it
does
smell wonderful, doesn't it?”

“You're making
real
lemon curd?” he asked in amazement.

“Sure. It's a snap, really. Just four simple ingredients. Eggs, lemon, sugar, butter.”

“Yes, but you have to know exactly what to
do
with the ingredients. And it's not just proportions, the cooking times are quite exacting, too. And then there's the double boiler thing.”