“So it’s speculating on the value of foreign currency,” said Theodosia.

“I’m impressed,” said Leah Shalimar, “that you grasped the basic concept so readily. Believe me, it took me a while to understand the nuances.”

“Not having the best, uh, geopolitical understanding of the world’s currency markets,” said Theodosia, “I think I’d probably be pretty awful at this.”

“Ah,” said Leah, holding up a finger. “The beauty of our FOREX product is that you don’t need to be particularly knowledgeable in this area. We work through a wonderful company called Sun Commonwealth Trust. They’re the FCM, or futures commission merchant, who administers the plan.”

“So Loveday and Luxor is basically brokering their product,” said Theodosia.

Leah nodded. “In a way. And we feel extremely fortunate to be affiliated with Sun Commonwealth. As FCMs go they have a stellar reputation.”

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“Really,” said Theodosia.

“They garnered a sidebar in Futures magazine not too long ago,” Leah said knowingly.

“Ah,” said Theodosia, who’d never read Futures magazine. It was as far from her daily realm as a gossip tabloid.

“So what I’m going to do,” said Leah, reaching into her caramel-colored leather handbag, “is leave one of our brochures with you.” She placed a small four-color brochure on the table and slid it toward Theodosia. On the cover was a montage photo of various foreign currency and gold coins.

Leah’s business card was stapled to the top of the brochure.

“Read through it,” urged Leah. “At your leisure, of course.

Then we can get together and I’ll answer any questions you might have.” She favored Theodosia with a bright smile, a salesperson’s smile.

“Great,” said Theodosia, slipping the little brochure into her apron pocket and knowing this type of investment was way too rich for her blood. She gazed across the table at Leah, who was looking very pleased with her little pitch.

“Can I ask you a question?” said Theodosia.

“Shoot,” said Leah. She reached down, picked up her scone and took a dainty bite.

“Do you think Fayne Hamilton was in love with Mark Congdon?”

Leah stopped chewing and lifted her head to stare at Theodosia. “What a funny question,” she said. “Impertinent, but a little juicy, too.”

Theodosia sat there, letting Leah have her fun. Finally, the woman answered.

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coworkers.” Leah shrugged. “Offices are kind of a breeding ground for that kind of familiarity. Everyone works close, you’re together almost every day . . .”

“But do you think she was in love with him?” asked Theodosia, knowing that people caught in the throes of passion, or perceived passion, will sometimes go to extremes.

Driven by sheer emotion, they often made unwise decisions.

“Was she in love,” said Leah, drawing out the last word.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Maybe.

Probably.”

Theodosia decided to finish out her day by going through some of the tea and tableware catalogs in her office. Dream-ing over the new Wedgwood Bloomers plates that featured a giant, hand-painted rose, picking out a few tea novelty items. She was going to order some rock sugar as well as some green-tea anemones. The anemones were spring-picked tea leaves that had been bundled together, tied with string, and flattened into a rosette. They were basically display teas—you put an anemone in a glass teapot and watched it bloom. A couple of customers had requested anemones, so she was going to order a few. See if other people were charmed by them, too.

Then there was the silver samovar she had her eye on. An elegant, convenient way to heat water, brew tea, and then serve it as well. This one was an updated version of the classic Russian tea samovar and was in the four-hundred-dollar range. A little steep, but they could certainly use it when catering events.

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busy pouring tea and serving the last course of fruit parfait, she picked up the phone herself.

The man on the line identified himself as John Darnell, the fire marshal for the Charleston Fire Department. Theodosia had known that sooner or later he’d get around to her, wanting to ask questions about what she’d seen or done the day of the Featherbed House fire.

Darnell wasted no time with his line of questioning.

“I understand you were one of the first people on the scene,” he said, sounding conversational and rather low-key.

“That’s right,” replied Theodosia.

“Did you happen to see anyone on or near the property?

Anyone who was lingering, or driving by, or maybe just seemed a little out of place?”

Theodosia hesitated. “Is this a criminal investigation?”

“This is an investigation,” responded John Darnell. “Did you see someone, Miss Browning?” he prompted. His tone had suddenly turned a touch more official.

“There was one young woman,” replied Theodosia. “I noticed her walking away from the Featherbed House just as I was driving toward it.”

“You personally know this woman?” asked Darnell. “Or you can describe her?”

Theodosia took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “Her name is Fayne Hamilton. And she actually works at the same company where Mark Congdon worked.”

“Mark Congdon, the owner of the property,” said the fire marshal. Now his voice was neutral, flat. But there was the sound of papers rustling in the background and Theodosia could tell Darnell was checking through reports as he chatted with her on the phone.

“Mark Congdon, the homicide victim,” said John Darnell.

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“That’s right,” said Theodosia. She felt bad about siccing the fire marshal on Fayne Hamilton. But what could she do?

The girl had been seen in the vicinity. And Theodosia did have her own suspicions as well.

“Can you think of anyone else you might have seen that day?” asked Darnell.

Theodosia thought about Harlan Noble standing in the crowd, watching the fire with his dark, hooded eyes. He’d been coveting Mark’s orchids earlier, had even tried to purchase them. Would Harlan destroy them if he couldn’t get his hands on them? Theodosia thought about Leah Shalimar, too. Now heading up the division that Mark would have headed up. And she thought about Teddy Vickers, who was suddenly aspiring to be the new owner of the Featherbed House.

So many suspects, she thought to herself. So many questions.

But the fire marshal still had a few surprising questions of his own.

“Miss Browning, how long have you been personally acquainted with Angie Congdon?”

Theodosia thought for a second. “Maybe three, three and a half years.”

“Do you know if there have been any recent problems at the Featherbed House?”

“Problems?” said Theodosia, wondering just where this line of questioning was headed. “I doubt they had any more problems than any other small business,” she finally replied.

The fire marshal paused slightly, as if gathering his thoughts. “Do you know if there were any problems between Mrs. Congdon and her husband?”

Time stood still for Theodosia.

“You’re asking about Angie?” said a stunned Theodosia.

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“And your questions are leading to doubts about her character?”

John Darnell cleared his throat. “Look at it from our point of view, ma’am. In a complex situation such as this, we have to take a hard look at everyone.”

It had been a long day and everyone was exhausted. Drayton and Charlie sat sprawled on chairs in the tea room. Miss Dimple was gamely clearing away dirty dishes. Haley rattled pots and pans in the kitchen. But it wasn’t her usual

“let’s finish this up and get to night class” rattle. She seemed like she was done in, too.

“You look tired, Drayton,” said Theodosia. “You, too, Charlie.” Drayton was far from being a young man and Charlie wasn’t yet used to flying around the tea shop all day, staying on her feet.

“I am tired,” agreed Drayton. He glanced sideways at Charlie. “We both are.”

Charlie nodded in agreement, seemingly too exhausted to utter a single word.

“Then you two scoot on home,” said Theodosia. “I’ll finish up here.”

“Thanks,” said Charlie. She pulled herself to her feet, un-did her apron. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Drayton waved.

“Well, you’ve certainly mellowed,” commented Theodosia.

“I’m like fine wine,” said Drayton. “The older I get, the mellower my flavor.”

“I’d say you were more like cheese,” said Haley, ducking through the curtains with a tray of freshly washed cups and saucers. “The older you get, the sharper you get.”

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Drayton pursed his lips and arched a single eyebrow.

“You see what I have to put up with?” he said to Theodosia.

Theodosia fixed him with a quirky grin. “Haley does have a point.”

Drayton exhaled and shook his head, as if to clear it.

“What?” said Theodosia. “Surely you didn’t take our little comments to heart?”

“No,” said Drayton slowly. “It’s just that I’ve been contemplating something all day long. Running it through my mind. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a very foolish one.”

“Something to do with Mark’s funeral?” asked Theodosia. She realized that Drayton had been jumpy ever since the service this morning.

“No,” said Drayton. Then he stopped and thought for a moment. “Well, it’s slightly related. What I’ve been noodling about in my head all afternoon is the notion of a quick collecting trip tomorrow morning.”

“A collecting trip,” repeated Theodosia. She wasn’t quite sure where this was headed. Or exactly what Drayton intended to collect.

“You know,” said Drayton. “Drive up to those swamps above Edgefield, see if I can find a monkey-face orchid to replace the one that was destroyed in the fire.”

This grabbed Haley’s attention. “What?” she squawked.

“Are you serious?”

Drayton swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I know it sounds slightly farfetched. But if I found a monkey-face orchid, I could enter it in the Orchid Lights show on Saturday.” He dropped his voice. “In honor of Mark.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” said Theodosia. It was just like Drayton to come up with that kind of thoughtful tribute.

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“The thing of it is,” said Drayton unhappily, “I’m going to need a canoe. Do you know anyone who has a canoe?”

“I can take care of that,” said Theodosia, thinking of Parker Scully. He was an outdoor type of guy and she was almost positive he owned a canoe. Besides, Parker had invited her to drop by Solstice tonight, to taste test some new drinks with him. If she called him up now, he could probably have the canoe waiting for her.

But Haley was still incredulous. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “You want to go paddling around in some snake-infested swamp looking for a rare flower? That’s like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Your chances are slim to none.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, Drayton, don’t do it. It’s way too crazy an idea.”

“Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part,” said Drayton. “Still, I’m determined to give it a try.”

“I’ll go with you,” offered Theodosia. “I think it’s actually a fine idea.”

“Wha . . .” began Haley.

Theodosia gazed at her earnestly. “It’s Drayton’s way of helping put things a little bit right.”

“But who’s going to mind the tea shop?” demanded Haley. “Friday’s always our busiest day.”

“Charlie will be here to help,” replied Drayton.

“You mean you actually trust her?” asked Haley.

Drayton looked pained. “Well . . . yes. And of course we can always ask Miss Dimple.”

“I suppose,” said Haley.

“Ask Miss Dimple what?” said Miss Dimple as she emerged from the back, looking like a plump senior citi-zen elf.

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“To help out again tomorrow,” said Haley. She was still incredulous that Theodosia and Drayton were just going to take off in hope of finding a rare orchid. “Can you?”

Miss Dimple grinned from ear to ear. “Honey, I’d love to,” she said. “You know this is like a second home to me.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Theodosia. “Tomorrow we search the tropical wetlands of South Carolina for rare plants.”

“Lots of luck,” said Haley, shaking her head. “Because you’re sure going to need it.”

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“Don’t you ever work?” Theodosia asked Parker Scully. They were sitting in the bar, a dark Mediterranean-themed room just off the main dining room of Solstice. She was comfortably perched on a black leather upholstered bar stool. Parker stood behind the bar, playing bartender. Thelonious Monk’s

“North of the Sunset,” a cool, laid-back tune, purred over the sound system.

“Are you kidding?” said Parker. “I’m here all the time. I practically sleep here.”

“But what do you actually do?” Theodosia asked, playfully.

“I run things, ma’am. Just like you do at your place.”

“But I don’t have a staff of thirty people like you do.”

Parker’s right hand toyed with a small glass bowl of mixed nuts that sat on the counter. “Yes, lucky me. I do have an executive chef, a manager, and a bartender to over-see the really tough things, don’t I?”

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“Exactly my point,” said Theodosia. “So what do you handle?”

He leaned forward until he was just a few inches away from her. “I handle the customers.”

Theodosia could feel energy coursing between them. It felt good, electric almost.

“Lately, however, I’ve been working on a very secret project,” Parker told her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’ll bet,” said Theodosia.

“No, it’s true,” said Parker. “I’ve been trying to develop a signature drink. You know how Pusser’s Landing has the Painkiller and Andalucia has their sangria?”

“Yes . . .” said Theodosia slowly.

“Well, Solstice needs one, too.”

“I suppose,” she allowed.

“Hey,” said Parker. “Even your tea shop has signature blends, right?”

Theodosia nodded. It was true. Customers were always asking for their Lemon Mint blend or their famous Lamp-lighter blend. And during the holidays their Berry Red blend pretty much flew off the shelves.

“So how are you coming with this signature drink?”

Theodosia asked.

Parker gave a small shrug. “Please understand, there’s a serious amount of specialized research and development involved. In fact, I expect there’ll probably be at least six more months of grueling experimentation.”

“Okay, smarty,” said Theodosia, “then how are you coming with your drink ideas for Saturday night?” Parker Scully had offered to serve a special cocktail for Orchid Lights. He’d mentioned a few ideas to her, but nothing was carved in stone yet.

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“Ah, that’s where you come in,” said Parker, reaching overhead for a pair of glasses. “I’ve actually got three drinks in mind, but I obviously need to winnow it down. Do a little focus-group testing.” He grabbed a silver cocktail shaker, dipped it into a bin of crushed ice. Then he reached for a bottle of dark rum, grabbed two more bottles, and started pouring. He snapped the top on the shaker, gave everything a quick, efficient shake, then poured out his concoction into stemmed glasses.

“This is called a Black Orchid,” he told Theodosia. “Cu-raçao, rum, and grenadine.” He pushed a glass toward her.

“Try it.”

Theodosia took a sip. It was icy and tasty and just a little bit strong. “Nice,” she told him. “I really like the sweet undertones.”

Parker held up a hand. “We’re not finished. You still have to see what’s stashed behind door number two and door number three.”

Theodosia sat there, amused, as Parker turned his back to her and fussed at the back bar. There was the pop of a champagne cork and then, seconds later, a lovely pink drink was set in front of her.

“I could get used to this,” she told him.

Parker looked her straight in the eyes. “So could I.”

Slightly flustered, Theodosia gazed down at her drink.

“What do you call this one?”

“This, my dear, is a Strawberry Shangri-la. I know it sounds dreadfully exotic, but it’s basically a scoop of strawberry sherbet with champagne poured over it.”

Theodosia tried Parker’s iced concoction. It was, of course, incredibly delicious.

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“Careful,” warned Parker, “don’t sip too much at once.

You’ll get a brain freeze.”

“You mean like a Mr. Misty headache?” said Theodosia, laughing. “Like I got as a kid when I slurped too much ice cream or shaved ice?”

“Yup,” said Parker. “But you like the drink. Right?”

“It’s fantastic. But I’m pretty sure Drayton is planning to serve something called an ice angel. Which is basically iced tea with gelato.”

“Okay,” said Parker. “So this might be a little too similar.”

“Afraid so,” said Theodosia. She took another sip. “Even though it’s really quite wonderful.”

“Okay,” said Parker. “On this last one I’m pulling out all the stops.” He busied himself, whipping up another drink.

“This is my final offering, a Toasted Almond and Cream.

Which is basically Kahlua, Irish Cream, Grand Marnier, and a splash of milk.” He raised a single eyebrow as Theodosia lifted her glass to taste it.

“Excellent,” she told him, “but your first one gets my vote.”

“The Black Orchid,” said Parker. “You’re sure you’re not just swayed by the name?”

Theodosia pushed back a mass of curly auburn hair and smiled at him. “No,” she said, “it’s not just the name.”

Parker brought out a bottle of wine then, a Rancho Sisquoc Pinot Noir, and a plate of tapas from the kitchen.

They sat together at the bar, shoulders touching, talking quietly, until Toby Crisp, Parker’s executive chef, interrupted them.

“Going to take off now, boss,” said Toby.

“And you want me to move my car,” said Parker, easing off his bar stool.

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“I better get going, too,” Theodosia announced. She didn’t really want to leave, but she’d promised Drayton they’d get an early start tomorrow. After all, they were planning to drive almost as far as the Sumter National Forest.

“We have to load that canoe,” Parker reminded her.

“Thanks for zipping home to get it,” Theodosia told Parker as she followed him out into the alley behind Solstice.

“No problem,” he told her. “It’s just been sitting in my garage gathering dust. Glad you want to toss it in the water.

Although from what you tell me, it’s sounds like you’re just going to do some gentle paddling.”

Parker reached up, unfastened a couple of lines on top of the canoe, then hefted the silver aluminum canoe onto his shoulders. Then, almost effortlessly, he flipped it onto the roof rack of Theodosia’s Jeep. Together they stretched bungee cords around the canoe’s thwarts then fastened them to the metal roof rack to hold everything in place.

“Be careful,” Parker told her when they finished. “Don’t take any chances tomorrow. From what I’ve heard, that’s pretty wild territory you’re venturing into.”

Theodosia smiled up at him. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Just gentle paddling. Nothing tricky.”

Parker stared at her, a crooked smile on his boyish face.

“My dear Theodosia, you strike me as someone who’s always smack-dab in the middle of the fray.”

“Not always,” said Theodosia. Just lately.

Parker put his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Okay then, you’re a magnet for trouble. Well, maybe not a magnet. Maybe trouble just kind of finds you. Like a heat-seeking missile.”

Theodosia laughed. Parker wasn’t all that far off. “How’s the cat?” she asked him.

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Parker gave a wry smile. “I visited Tiger Lily at the Riverbanks Zoo last week. She’s almost eighty pounds now.”

“Kind of big for a house cat,” grinned Theodosia.

“Hey, you know me,” said Parker. “Everything’s gotta be larger than life.”

Theodosia was still grinning when he leaned down and kissed her.

When she was just a couple of blocks from home, Theodosia suddenly remembered the little box of junk she’d stuck in the back of the Jeep. It was the stuff Bobby Wayne had remarked on earlier today. Stuff that included the little ceramic elephant. And the plane ticket, too.

Theodosia was especially curious about the fact that Mark or Fayne might have bought a pair of elephants. Had it been some silly little shared joke between them? Or had the little ceramic elephant been a gift from Angie? Just knowing that answer would go a long way in clearing up the mystery of whether Mark had been involved with Fayne Hamilton.

Pulling in front of the Bogard Inn, Theodosia sat in her Jeep and listened to the engine tick down. Should she go in?

Should she bother Angie on what had to have been a thoroughly terrible day?

Theodosia gazed at the Bogard Inn, where lamps seemed to burn in every window and old-fashioned lanterns lit the way up the winding walk. The inn itself was built in the ro-coco revival style and featured four large pillars in front and a fanciful assortment of scroll, shell, and foliage motifs adorning the windows and roofline.

Yeah, I am going to go in.

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Following the curving walk, stepping from one puddle of light to another, the question of the ceramic elephant burned in Theodosia’s mind.

Okay, I’m just going to ask her outright. Hand her the junk, then ask about the elephant.

The young man standing behind the front desk greeted her with a smile. His horn-rimmed glasses and navy blazer gave him a slightly studious, schoolboy look. “Checking in?” he asked, eyeing the box in her arms.

Theodosia waved him off. “I came to see one of your guests,” she told him. “Angie Congdon.”

“Oh, sure,” said the young man. “I’ll ring her room.” His fingers punched in numbers as he looked back over at her.

“Who shall I say is here?”

“Tell her it’s Theodosia.”

The young man smiled at her and nodded. “Mrs. Congdon?” he said into the phone. “This is Jeremy from down-stairs. There’s a Miss Theodosia here to see you?” Jeremy listened for a few moments, then hung up. “Someone will be right down,” he told her.

“Thank you, Jeremy.”

“No problem.” He stood behind the desk, looking at sixes and sevens. Then he finally said, “We’ve got a big party checking in tonight and I’m hoping they show up before I get off at twelve.”

“Otherwise, what?” asked Theodosia.

“Wake up the owners?” said Jeremy. His smile morphed into a slightly frazzled look. “Except I’ll probably end up staying. Be a nice guy about it.” He glanced over at the stairway that curved down into the lobby. “Here comes your friend now, I think.”

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was descending the stairs looked like a slightly fuzzy Xerox copy of Angie Congdon. But as the woman crossed the lobby, her heels clacking loudly, Theodosia realized this was Angie’s sister. A woman who was a couple of years older than Angie, had a few gray hairs, was perhaps a little bit thinner.

She was also angry. Extremely angry.

“What on earth do you want now?” asked the sister in a voice that grated like gravel. Her eyes blazed, her mouth was pulled back in a snarl.

“Excuse me,” said Theodosia, confused. “You’re Angie’s sister, Gwen?”

“Gwyn,” snapped the woman. “And you really don’t have any business showing up here!”

Theodosia was racking her brain, trying to figure out why Angie’s sister was so spitting mad at her. “Uh . . . perhaps you have me confused with someone else?” Theodosia ventured. With Delaine? Did Delaine cause some sort of problem?

“You’re Theodosia, right?” spat out Gwyn. “Then you’re the one who advised the fire marshal to investigate Angie!”

“I did no such thing,” protested Theodosia. Did I? No, of course not. I just answered a few of his questions. Truthfully at that.

“As if my sister doesn’t have enough problems, now she’s under investigation for insurance fraud!” said Gwyn, her face contorting into a hard mask of anger. “And it looks like you’re the one pointing the finger!”

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It was still dark when Theodosia stopped in front of Drayton’s home and tooted her horn. His small house, also located in Charleston’s historic district, had been built and occupied by a prominent Civil War doctor. Today the tidy wooden structure remained weathered, old fashioned, and slightly elegant. Not unlike Drayton himself.

“You’re wearing a jacket to go canoeing in a swamp?”

Theodosia asked Drayton as he clambered into her Jeep. She chuckled to herself. “Seems a little dressy.”

“This is a bush jacket,” said Drayton, a trifle defensively.

“One I ordered from L.L.Bean. Two-ply cotton duck with cargo pockets and a lined game pouch. Supposed to be water repellant, too.”

“Well,” said Theodosia, glancing at him again as she pulled away from the curb. “I’ll have to admit it exudes a certain bwana-type charm.”

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“How did it go with Parker last night?” asked Drayton as they spun across the newly finished Cooper River Bridge.

“Hmm?” said Theodosia, her cheeks suddenly turning a bright shade of pink. “Oh, good. Fine.”

“I didn’t mean your personal relationship,” said Drayton. “I was referring to the drink choices. For Saturday night’s Orchid Lights. You did get around to selecting one, didn’t you?”

“Oh, that,” said Theodosia. She’d been replaying the tape of last evening’s encounter with Angie’s sister in her mind and had almost blanked out the part with Parker and his drink choices. “We settled on a yummy cocktail called a Black Orchid.”

“Sounds apropos,” said Drayton, stretching out his legs and leaning back. “Sophisticated name, probably very appealing to our patrons.” He tried to stifle a yawn. “Goodness, it’s early.”

“Crank your seat back and take a nap,” suggested Theodosia. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“You don’t mind?” asked Drayton. He’d already slid his billed hat down over his eyes while one hand fiddled with the seat mechanism.

“Doesn’t bother me at all,” said Theodosia. “Gives me time to think.”

Two and a half hours later, the thin layer of cloud cover had burned off and sunlight dappled the road ahead of them. An hour earlier they’d passed through Edgefield, a town known for its pottery and peach harvest. Now they were nearing the town of Carmel, just outside Hickory Knob State Park on the Georgia–South Carolina border. They’d just topped a D r a g o n w e l l D e a d

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ridge and were descending toward the Savannah River and the thousands of acres of dams, waterways, lakes, and swamps that seemed to string together and were often referred to as South Carolina’s “freshwater coast.”

As glorious as the scenery was, Theodosia found herself staring intently into her rearview mirror, snatching a glance whenever she could.

“What?” asked Drayton drowsily. He’d been awake for a few minutes and had just seen Theodosia glance into her rearview mirror for about the fifth time.

“There was a car back there that I thought was following us,” she told him.

“Are you serious?” said Drayton. He squirmed about in his seat, anxious to check the road behind them. “What color?”

“Um . . . white. Cream.”

“I don’t see a thing.”

“Neither do I anymore,” said Theodosia. “I guess it must have turned off.”

“You’re just being paranoid,” said Drayton. “In light of everything that’s happened.”

“I’ll get over it,” replied Theodosia, deciding that some time today she had to tell Drayton about the ceramic elephant, the fire marshal’s probing questions, and the outrage expressed by Angie’s sister, Gwyn. But not right now. Not when they were almost at their destination and about to em-bark on a swamp journey.

“You know where we’re going?” asked Theodosia. “I mean precisely?”

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Draper, one of the Orchid Society members, gave me ex-plicit directions. Said this was one of his premier collecting spots.”

“And this is on private property?” asked Theodosia. “So it’s perfectly legal?”

“Oh, absolutely,” replied Drayton.

“I take it you just recently got the map from your friend?” asked Theodosia.

“Oh no,” replied Drayton. “It’s been maybe two . . .

three years.”

Theodosia’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “So it might not be such an all-fired hot spot anymore,” she ventured. “Things could have changed depend-ing on local conditions. Dry spells . . . or wet spells?”

“I suppose,” said Drayton. “Still, this is supposed to be the best area.”

“Where are we going?” asked Theodosia. “Give me a landmark.”

“We should be passing Blazetree Corners.”

“That was a half mile back.”

“Okay,” said Drayton. He studied his map again, glanced out the side window, looked suddenly startled. “Oh, goodness me, here’s our turn! Hang a right! We’re just coming up on County Road Ten.”

Cranking the wheel hard, Theodosia made the turn, and took the Jeep down a jouncing, gravel road.

“Exciting,” said Drayton, hanging on for dear life.

“Isn’t it,” said Theodosia, praying her shock absorbers would hold out.

*

*

*

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Another twelve miles of rough road brought them to a small farm. According to Drayton’s map, this was supposed to be their start point.

“Since this is private land,” said Drayton, climbing out of the Jeep, “I have to go clear it with the owner. That was Tommy’s advice anyway.”

“Okay,” said Theodosia. Squinting, she watched Drayton approach a small white clapboard house that was badly in need of paint. A barn stood behind it, but Theodosia could spot no animals nor see any planted fields. If this was some kind of farm, she had no clue what they actually raised.

The good news, however, was that there was a small, me-andering stream some forty yards away from where she was parked. The land sloped gently down, with a minimum of underbrush, so she figured she could drive her Jeep right down. Then, all they had to do was slide the canoe off the roof and toss it in the water.

Drayton came hustling back, looking pleased with himself. “I paid the landowner twenty dollars to let us launch the canoe and another thirty for any plants we might collect.”

“It sounds like a deal,” said Theodosia.

“I thought so, too,” said Drayton. “But the fellow, a Mr.

Avery Walker, seemed to think we wouldn’t find many plants. That he pretty much got the better of us.”

“In that case,” said Theodosia unfastening the bungee cords. “We’ll just have to prove him wrong.

They leveraged the canoe off the Jeep and into the water.

A skim of green parted as the canoe sluiced through. Drag-onflies buzzed about pleasantly.

“You jump in first,” Theodosia told Drayton. “You can be the bow man while I take the stern.” She climbed onto the 172

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back end of the canoe, stabilizing the craft for Drayton.

“Stay low.”

“You realize I haven’t been in a canoe since summer camp,” said Drayton, as he clambered toward his end. “And I’m not about to tell you when that was.” He eased himself down tentatively, then picked up a paddle and stared at it, as though trying to figure out which end to use.

“Paddling a canoe is a lot like riding a bike,” Theodosia told Drayton as she tossed in his collecting baskets, then pushed off from the grassy bank. “You never forget the basics.”

“But the consequences are significantly different,” said Dayton. “If you fall off a bike you get a scraped knee or, at worst, a banged-up elbow. Fall out of a canoe and you drown.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Theodosia assured him.

They paddled along, Drayton splashing away happily in the bow of the canoe.

“Feather the paddle,” Theodosia advised him. “Like this.” She held the flat blade of the paddle perpendicular to the water to make it more aerodynamic.

Drayton turned to watch her execute a few strokes, then caught on instantly. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Less wind resistance.”

As they continued to paddle along, the stream widened out considerably. Now it was more of a pond punctuated with stands of reeds. Carolina wrens flitted about, stands of tupelo and gum lined the banks. The occasional heron skimmed down to grab a shimmering little bream for lunch.

“What if we should run into an alligator?” asked Drayton.

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“I think gator habitats are a lot farther south than this,”

mused Theodosia. “Down closer to Savannah where the water’s considerably warmer.”

“And snakes?” asked Drayton.

Theodosia stared straight ahead. “Let’s not get into that.”

“Oh, oh,” said Drayton, as they rounded a bend and dozens of little inlets and tertiary streams came into view.

“Now what?”

“This time I did bring a compass,” said Theodosia. “Plus you’ve got your map.”

“That was just to get us to the launch site,” said Drayton.

“No X marks the spot for exotic orchids?”

“Sorry, no,” said Drayton. They paddled some more. “So what do you think, just keep going straight?”

“For now,” replied Theodosia. “Depending on what kind of plant life we encounter.”

“Or don’t,” said Drayton.

But as the sun rose higher and stands of bog rose began to appear, luck was with them. And it wasn’t long before Drayton’s keen eyes spotted bright blooms through draperies of green vegetation.

“Can we edge in closer to the bank?” he asked. “I’m awfully sure that’s a Showy Orchis.”

Theodosia maneuvered the canoe in closer. The water had again narrowed to a stream with a fairly strong current. It made paddling easy, but pulling over a little trickier.

“Yes,” came Drayton’s excited voice. “It’s definitely a Showy Orchis.”

That’s good?” asked Theodosia as she drove the canoe into the muddy bank where the bow made a dull thud and then stuck fast.

“A fairly common variety,” said Drayton. “But still a 174

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beauty.” He stepped carefully from the canoe, then leaned down and grasped the bow, pulling it up onto the bank a bit more so Theodosia could hop out without getting her feet wet.

“And you’re going to collect it?” asked Theodosia. Drayton was tromping around, looking extremely pleased.

“Oh, absolutely. If only to display in the tea shop.”

Theodosia’s eyes searched the area for more orchids. It was damp and shady here, with stalks of puttyroot, too.

Probably conducive, she decided, to native plant life. “Look at all this moss,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” At her feet were large lumps of bright green moss.

“Cushion moss,” said Drayton. “Technically Leucobryum.”

Loosening a clump with her hand, she scooped it up and hefted it gently. “It’s like a big, fuzzy Christmas tree orna-ment.”

“Very whimsical,” agreed Drayton. “We should definitely collect some of the moss.”

“Can’t you just see these moss goobers as centerpieces at the tea shop?” asked Theodosia, still charmed by the balls of moss. “Four or five in a wicker basket, maybe surrounding a small bouquet of violets?”

“Or tucked into pots with some of my Japanese bonsai,”

said Drayton. “To lend the feeling of a Zen garden.”

“What a great place,” declared Theodosia. “Your friend with the map was right on. Hey, can I use one of your collecting baskets?” Theodosia had already grabbed one and had it half filled with moss.

“Feel free,” said Drayton, plunging his trowel into the soil for about the fourth time. “While I try to disengage this rather large root ball from the soil.”

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Straining, Drayton bent into his task again. “Tough,” he said.

“Want me to help?”

Drayton wiped at his face. “Maybe grab that other trowel and give me a hand.”

“Sure,” said Theodosia. “No problem.”

But as they both bent forward, a loud pop split the air.

Drayton’s head popped up like a startled gopher. “Huh?

What?”

“Get down!” hissed Theodosia, clawing frantically at his sleeve. She knew there was only one thing in the whole world that made a loud, instantly identifiable report like that.

“What’s wrong?” asked Drayton, still trying to straighten up for a look around.

“Get down, get down!” hissed Theodosia. “I think someone just took a shot at us!”

“They took a . . . what?” exclaimed Drayton. “Good heavens, is it hunting season?”

“C’mon,” urged Theodosia, grabbing wildly for collecting baskets and equipment. “Back into the canoe!”

The canoe lurched wildly from side to side as Theodosia scrambled in first, hurling her daypack and baskets into the center. Drayton got his feet soaked as he pushed off fast then hefted himself in, shoving his paddle into the sandy bottom of the stream.

Settled onto her seat, trying to stay low, Theodosia struggled to swing the canoe around. She knew if she could get them out of the area, maybe slip down one of the smaller tributary streams, that would afford them some cover.

“What now?” asked Drayton, fear evident in his voice.

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headed them away from the bank. “Paddle now and paddle hard!”

Another shot zinged over their heads as the two of them dug in, paddling like crazy, trying to put some distance between themselves and the gunman.

“Holy smokes!” gasped Drayton. He was leaning low, his strokes coming frantically. And already breathing hard.

Theodosia dug deeper, worried at Drayton’s ability to maintain this frantic pace. Drayton wasn’t a young man and Theodosia had no idea how heart-healthy he was.

As they splashed frantically downstream, Theodosia caught sight of a faster-moving, burbling stream that split off to the left. They could veer off into that channel, she decided, or take their chances and keep heading down the main stream.

“Which way?” screamed Drayton.

Theodosia snuck a quick glance over her shoulder. The right river bank was flatter and a lot more open, certainly more conducive for a gunman to run alongside and track them. But if they took the left stream, they’d be plunged into dense undergrowth which would, hopefully, slow their pursuer and afford them some cover.

“Head for that left fork,” Theodosia shouted at Drayton.

“Switch your paddle over to the right side and dig in like crazy.” She drove her own paddle deep into the current, using it as a rudder to execute a sharp turn.

Then they were moving along, caught up in the current, hopefully being carried away from the gunman.

Drayton ventured a quick look back at Theodosia. His face was drawn and tense, filled with bewilderment. “Was someone shooting at us?” he gasped.

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Theodosia shook her head to indicate she had no idea what was going on. Things had gone from benign to bedlam in a matter of seconds. They’d been digging up an orchid, taking care with the root ball, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. And suddenly they were under siege.

The entire scenario was utterly bizarre.

“Keep paddling,” Theodosia encouraged Drayton. But she could see from the set of his shoulders that he was flag-ging now, and she knew it was up to her to keep them moving forward.

For several minutes Theodosia was only aware of her own ragged breathing and the burning sensation between her shoulder blades as she dug her paddle, feathered it, dug and feathered again, then switched sides and repeated her motions.

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Drayton was leaning forward now, breathing heavily, his paddle resting across the gunnels of the canoe. He lifted his head slowly, seemed to spot something up ahead, then called out to her, “There appear to be some rapids ahead!”

“Good,” Theodosia muttered as they tucked right into the current and their speed increased dramatically. She knew hitting a little white water was definitely a lucky break. The fast-moving stream would carry them along swiftly. So they’d hopefully be out of range of whoever had been shooting at them.

Clunk!

The right side of the canoe slammed into a rock. Wobbling slightly, they caromed away and promptly slammed into an even larger rock on the opposite side.

Using her paddle as rudder, Theodosia bent hard into the task, trying to steer them around rocks and boulders as the riverbank flashed by. The little stream that had started out as their savior was rapidly turning into a swiftly moving river that carried them helplessly along.

If only I could maneuver us toward the bank, she thought.

We’ve made enough distance that we should be safe now.

But no matter what technique she tried, Theodosia wasn’t able to head them over to the bank. They were caught in the middle and moving too swiftly.

“What are we going to do now?” cried Drayton. He’d picked up his paddle again and was dipping it helplessly.

“Will we be stopping soon?”

“Just hang on,” said Theodosia gamely. She knew Drayton was terrified, could read it on his face and see it in the way he’d stiffened his shoulders. “We’ll be okay,” she yelled at him.

She in no way reassured him.

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“This feels like a scene out of Deliverance!” Drayton cried, twisting in his seat to glance back at her again.

“I hope not,” prayed Theodosia. Sweat streamed into her eyes and she took a quick moment to wipe it away. When she again glanced at the river ahead, Theodosia couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Just a thin, blue line.

Swirling rapids around them, a thin, blue line ahead, and then . . . nothing!

“Waterfall!” came Drayton’s sudden, terrified cry. But it was far too late to do anything about it. Too late to fight harder for shelter on the rocky banks. The canoe was held fast by the current and heading directly toward that fast-approaching, terrifying edge. An edge that appeared to have nothing beyond it!

“Hang on!” screamed Theodosia as they slipped closer to the top of the waterfall. “Brace yourself with your legs!”

The canoe seemed to hesitate for a moment on the edge of what appeared to be a twenty foot vertical shoot. Then slowly, inexorably, the bow of the canoe tilted out over the falls, and they pitched forward with a jolt. There was a loud whooshing sound and then they were caught up in the mad rush of their downward plunge.

“Hang on!” Theodosia screamed again as they plum-meted headlong down a steep curtain of water, gaining momentum as they dropped. Water drummed on her head and poured down the back of her camp shirt. A loud roar filled her ears. Once, Theodosia had gone on the White Water Falls ride at Carowinds park over near Rock Hill. This plunge almost replicated that terrifying experience, except there was no underwater track to keep them headed straight, no friendly employee to offer a helping hand at the 180

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end of the ride. This was a horrible, excruciating freefall into a swirling cauldron of water below.

As the bow of the canoe sliced into the whirlpool’s roil-ing spume, the canoe began to spin. Theodosia could see Drayton clutching the gunnels, his knuckles white with fear. Then slowly, inexorably, Drayton pitched overboard and disappeared into a terrible swirl of white foam.

“Oh no,” moaned Theodosia. Knowing Drayton could barely swim a stroke, she drew a deep breath and, without hesitation, dove in after him.

It was like being inside a washing machine. Currents and eddies pulled at her from every direction. Spun her around, tumbled and tugged her, and slammed her hard against underwater rocks and boulders.

Theodosia floundered gracelessly in the pool, grabbing, kicking, coming up for a quick gasp of air, then diving down repeatedly.

Where was Drayton?

Heartsick, Theodosia searched underwater for him, fighting the current, fearing the worst. She was almost ready to give up when one flailing hand suddenly brushed against fabric.

Drayton?

She pinched hard, pretty sure she’d grabbed on to his jacket, then extended her other arm out and found more fabric. Pulling Drayton toward her, she wrapped both arms about him and began to kick. Kicked desperately until her legs began to feel like jelly. And just when she was about to despair, just when she didn’t have another molecule of air left inside her lungs, their heads popped above water.

Theodosia gasped for a breath of air, then yelled, “Kick!”

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Now they were both kicking like mad and, amazingly, moving away from the pocket of foam and swirling water into slightly more calm waters. Theodosia wrapped her left arm around Drayton’s shoulders and paddled frantically with her right arm. At the same time she managed a tired but fairly decent scissors kick with her legs.

Finally, tiredly, painfully, they pulled themselves out of the river and up onto a series of flat, dry rocks.

“You okay?” Theodosia gasped. The back of Dayton’s jacket was still twisted in her hands. She had to force herself to release him.

Drayton nodded his head even as he tried to scuttle farther up onto the flat rocks. His breathing was shallow and he seemed dangerously close to hyperventilating. “I . . .

thought . . .” One hand pawed at the air as he struggled to catch his breath. “. . . I thought I was a goner.”

Theodosia flopped over onto her back, stared up at sunlight and green foliage so bright it almost made her nauseous. “I thought we were both goners,” she finally managed.

“Someone was shooting at us?” he said. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” said Theodosia.

“It felt like that last shot parted my hair,” said Drayton.

He coughed, patted himself nervously as if to make sure he was still in one piece.

Theodosia sat up and untucked her sodden blouse, then tied it loosely at her waist. “I think someone did follow us,”

she told him. “And that those shots were fired as a threat.”

“What kind of threat?” asked Drayton as he pulled off a shoe, dumped out a stream of water.

“Warning us not to snoop. To mind our own business.”

“You mean because of our investigation into the Mark Congdon thing,” said Drayton.

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“Gotta be,” said Theodosia. “And because we’ve been skeptical about the fire, too.”

“But we’re not even close,” wailed Drayton. “Sure, we’ve got suppositions and suspects, but nothing concrete.”

“I’m guessing,” said Theodosia, “that we’ve got more pieces than we think we do.” She quickly told Drayton about the fire marshal’s direct line of questioning and how Angie’s sister had come after her last night like a rabid dog.

Had left her standing in the lobby of the Bogard Inn feeling stupid and guilty and still clutching Mark’s box of junk.

“The fact remains,” said Drayton, after he’d listened to all Theodosia had said, “we didn’t cause any of those events to happen. We’re only peripherally involved. Bystanders, really.”

“Somehow we’ve touched on something, an important clue,” said Theodosia. “We just haven’t been able to put two and two together.” She shook her head, frustrated, still shaken from their escape and headlong plunge, feeling more than a little angry. “I don’t know . . .”

They sat for a few minutes, pondering their harrowing escape from the river, wringing out clothes, examining their various bumps and bruises. Then Drayton pulled himself into a seated position. “Where’s the canoe?” he asked in a funny, high-pitched voice.

Theodosia waved an arm. “Gone. Probably still shooting down the river like a runaway bobsled.” The image of Parker’s silver canoe sluicing through the rapids all by itself, the notion that they were finally safe after being shot at, then plunging down a twenty-foot waterfall, caused her to choke out a strangled laugh.

Drayton wobbled his head toward her. “You can’t seriously see humor in any of this, can you?”

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Theodosia lifted her shoulders and rotated them, trying to loosen the knot of tension in the back of her neck. “Look at it this way,” she said. “You’ve been hankering for a little break.”

“A break in my routine,” Drayton shot back somewhat crossly. “Not my neck.” He stood up, dripping water. “You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“This jacket is definitely not waterproof.”

Amazingly enough, they located the canoe some fifty yards down stream. It had hung up on a fallen tree and remained securely wedged there.

“We’re in luck,” announced Theodosia. “We’ve also got paddles, baskets, your hat, and a plastic thermos of tea.

Everything’s a little bedraggled but still functional, I guess.”

“But how on earth are we going to get out of here?”

asked Drayton. He gazed upstream at the pounding waterfall. It looked majestic, but lethal. “We certainly can’t go back the same way we came.”

Theodosia’s brain was finally beginning to fire again on all eight cylinders. “First we’ll wade in and get the canoe and stuff,” she suggested. “We’re already wet so what’s another dunking? We can probably just kind of walk it across the river to this bank. See . . . the stream isn’t that deep here and the current slows way down.”

“Then what?” said Drayton. “I hope you don’t expect us to carry the canoe out of here. Or make a portage, as they say in voyageur-speak. It could be miles back to where we started.”

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Clambering up the rocks and onto solid ground, Theodosia pushed through clumps of horse nettle and ventured a few yards into the woods.

“Whoa,” said Drayton, scrambling after her. “Kindly wait for me.”

He found her, hands on hips, studying the ground.

“We’re in luck,” she told him.

Drayton cocked an eyebrow. “We could use some.”

“There was a road here at one time. See?” Theodosia pointed at two muddy ruts that were still faintly visible through the high grass. “All we have to do is follow this trail out, find the Jeep, then drive back here and pick up the canoe.”

“Oh, that’s all, is it?” said Drayton. “You make it sound like a wonderful romp in the park. Pardon me while I fetch my umbrella and picnic hamper.”

Theodosia turned toward Drayton with sympathetic eyes. “Tell you what, why don’t you hold down the fort right here. I’ll jog back and try to locate the Jeep. Then I’ll drive back here and pick up you and the canoe.”

“Not on your life,” said Drayton, squaring his shoulders.

“After all we’ve been through today, we’re sticking together!”

After the dousing they’d experienced, it felt almost pleasant to wander along the old trail with the sun shining down on their backs. Birds twittered in the trees, the scenery was nothing if not spectacular, and their clothes and lightweight baskets dried out with every step they took.

“Nobody would believe what we’ve just been through,”

said Drayton. “A veritable comedy of errors.” He thought D r a g o n w e l l D e a d

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for a moment. “Or maybe a tragedy of errors, if there is such a thing.”

“Whatever you choose to call it,” said Theodosia. “None of this was any fault of our own.” Then she reconsidered her words. “Almost any fault,” she added.

“Yipes!” exclaimed Drayton, suddenly jumping back and grabbing her arm in a viselike grip.

“What?”

“Snake,” he said in a low voice.

Theodosia stood stock-still for a few seconds, then finally worked up the courage to peer down at the ground. “Uh . . .

where?”

No quick motions for Drayton; he kept his arms clamped tight against his body. “Right where that tall grass is part-ing slightly,” he told her in hushed tones.

“Did you see any markings?” Theodosia asked nervously.

She hadn’t seen the creature, but that didn’t mean the snake wasn’t nearby, ready to pounce or coil or whatever it was snakes got in their head to do.

“There were brownish bands. Yes, I’m quite sure they were a chestnut-olive shade,” said Drayton. “Or maybe dun-colored. Or umber.”

“Easy, Drayton,” said Theodosia in a low voice. “We’re trying to identify a snake, not pick a paint sample.”

Drayton nodded tightly. “Right. Of course.” He was obviously nervous and his teeth were just this side of chattering.

“What about the nose?” asked Theodosia. “Pointy or blunt-nosed?”

“What’s the difference again?”

“Pointy is nonvenomous and . . .”

“Blunt-nosed is the bad guy,” finished Drayton.

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“Yeah, that’s it.”

Drayton turned slightly to face her. “While we’ve been standing here like frightened ninnies, pondering its coloration and physiognomy, Mr. Snake has slithered off on his merry way. Leaving us to wonder just what his intentions might have been.”

“Whew,” said Theodosia. She made a broad gesture of wiping her brow, like a cartoon character would. “Freaky.”

“Terrifying,” agreed Drayton.

They continued their trudge down the trail. What had been woods and a little bit of meadowland had now turned more forested and swampy.

“Getting boggy,” said Theodosia as her shoes squished unpleasantly in the mud.

“I hope we don’t lose this trail,” worried Drayton.

“As long as we keep the sun at our back we should be okay,” replied Theodosia as frogs and katydids chirped at them, unseen.

“Do you have your trusty compass?”

“Uh . . . no,” responded Theodosia. “I think it flew out of my shirt pocket when we went through that final spin cy-cle.” She knew she was lucky to have the clothes on her back. And luckier still that she’d left her car keys behind, tucked under the floor mat of her Jeep.

“Good heavens,” exclaimed Drayton. He stopped, took a hesitant step, frowned, then halted again.

Nervous about the possibility of another snake sighting, Theodosia glanced about, wondering what had suddenly caught Drayton’s eye.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Drayton.

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glance about tiredly. “No snakes in sight,” she told him.

“But I do see mud, tupelo trees, slimy water, more slimy water, and, if I’m not mistaken, maybe a modicum of quick-sand to top things off and make us really feel welcome.”

“No,” said Drayton, his voice suddenly trembling with excitement. “Over there. Look!”

Theodosia’s eyes followed Drayton’s finger as he pointed toward a stand of straggly willow saplings. And there, growing out of a little copse of green was a pure-white flower.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

Drayton nodded tightly. The rare Platanthera integrilabia.

The monkey-face orchid.”

“Well, I’ll be,” said Theodosia.

“Pass me the collecting basket, quick,” said Drayton.

“I’ve got to hurry,” he mumbled as he stumbled rapidly toward it.

“It’s not going to walk away,” laughed Theodosia.

“It better not, after all we’ve been through,” said Drayton. “Do we still have a few balls of that moss to help hold the moisture in?”

“Talk about a lucky save,” said Theodosia. She watched as Drayton gently freed the little orchid, then placed it in a basket and packed moss around it.

Fifteen minutes later the sketchy trail they’d been following turned into a bona fide path.

“Look,” exclaimed Drayton, putting a hand up to his brow, “if my old eyes don’t deceive me, that’s the farmyard we started from.”

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“And there’s my Jeep,” said Theodosia, spotting her little red vehicle hunkered down next to the stream where she’d left it. She was glad to see nothing had happened to it.

“And there’s Mr. Avery Walker,” added Drayton. “Think we should mention something to him about the gunshots?

Or stop and make a report to the police or sheriff?”

“I’m not sure exactly what we’d report,” said Theodosia.

“We never actually saw anyone, so it would be tough to give any sort of meaningful description.”

They walked up to Mr. Walker, who peered at them curiously from under a battered straw hat.

“We have returned,” Drayton announced tiredly but cheerily. “And with a rather fine orchid at that.”

Avery Walker slid his straw hat off his head and gaped at them with pale blue eyes that conveyed shocked surprise.

“My lordy,” he said. “You poor folks look like you’ve been lost in these woods for a week!”

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“Must have been a fun outing,” said Haley when Theodosia walked in the back door of the Indigo Tea Shop mid-afternoon. “Because you look really good.”

“I do?” said a surprised Theodosia. After she dropped Drayton at his home, she’d hustled herself upstairs, jumped in the shower, washed her hair, changed clothes, and tried her best to undo some of the damage that had been done earlier. It hadn’t been easy.

“Your complexion is glowing and you kind of look like you came from a spa,” said Haley.

“A whirlpool treatment maybe?” asked Theodosia, a little smile playing about her mouth. “And a mud scrub?”

“Yeah,” said Haley, still studying her. “Something like that. Anyway, it looks like spending time outdoors agrees with you. Maybe you and Drayton should go orchid collecting more often.”

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“Maybe so,” said Theodosia, knowing she probably wouldn’t be venturing into that part of South Carolina again. At least not without a band of Eagle Scouts and an armed guard at her side.

“So where is Drayton?” asked Haley. “You did bring him back, didn’t you?”

“He’ll be along shortly,” said Theodosia, grabbing for an apron. “He’s taking care of the plants he collected.”

Haley’s eyebrows shot up. “Did he find the one? The mysterious elusive orchid?”

Theodosia nodded. “Amazingly, yes. And a really lovely specimen at that. But tell me, how did things go here? How are things going?”

“Oof,” said Haley, scrunching up her face. “Lunch was a real crush. Practically standing room only. Thank goodness Charlie and Miss Dimple were here to help out. Charlie handled the tea brewing like an old pro and we had Miss Dimple scurrying around like crazy. Now things have finally settled down to a dull roar with the usual gang of Friday afternoon tourists out front. Most of them have been tromping around the historic district since early morning, doing the sightseeing thing, so they’re ready for a little tea shop pick-me-up.”

“Do we have enough food left?” asked Theodosia.

“Barely,” said Haley. “Which is why I have batches of blue-berry scones and banana-walnut muffins in the oven now.”

“I’ll dash out front and see what I can do to help,” said Theodosia, glancing in the small mirror by the door, thinking to herself that she did look rather fresh and alive. It was amazing what a twenty-foot drop and a soak in the river could do for one’s complexion.

“Oh, and Delaine and Bobby Wayne are out there, too,”

added Haley as she darted back into her kitchen.

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“I’ll go say hi,” said Theodosia, pushing her way through the green velvet curtain.

But with every table filled to capacity, Theodosia had to plunge right into the fray. She delivered refills of Assam and Nilgiri tea, as well as the last of the cream scones and cran-apple muffins. And she placated waiting customers with news that more fresh-baked goodies were on the way.

When the rest of Haley’s baked goods finally came out of the oven, when everything seemed under control, when every customer was sipping tea, Theodosia made it over to the table where Delaine and Bobby Wayne were seated.

“Where have you been?” was the first question that popped out of Delaine’s mouth. “You’re usually not such an absentee owner. Especially on Friday.”

Theodosia brushed off her friend’s question. “Drayton and I had some business to attend to.”

“Bobby Wayne and I have been frantically busy ourselves,” said Delaine. She reached down and picked up a shiny black tote bag. “See this? We’ve been running around, collecting last minute donations for tomorrow night’s silent auction.” She set the bag back down, sighed mightily.

“Celerie Stuart was supposed to take care of all this, but she ran into trouble with the decorations, so she begged me to finish up.” Delaine smiled sweetly at Bobby Wayne, who was busy buttering a scone. “I tried to handle everything myself, but I was going absolutely bonkers, so I finally picked up the phone and asked Bobby Wayne here to lend a hand. Which he did, dear gentleman that he is.”

“No problem, my sweet,” Bobby Wayne told her, even though his mouth was full.

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muffins. “Here are those muffins you asked for, Bobby Wayne.”

“Thanks, honey,” he said.

Haley lingered at their table. “Did you guys collect a lot of good stuff for the silent auction?”

That was all the prompting Delaine needed. She reached into one of her tote bags and hauled out what she deemed the

“special” pieces. Which, in Delaine-speak, meant jewelry.

“Brooke over at Heart’s Desire donated one of her hand-tooled silver bracelets. See?” Delaine dangled a shiny charm bracelet from her fingers. “Strung with her Charleston charms—tiny trolley, palmetto leaf, an oyster shell. And see, she added some new ones. A little wrought-iron gate and a magnolia.”

“I just adore her charm bracelets,” said Haley.

“And Van Stern Jewelry donated this necklace.” Delaine pulled out a chunky gold chain with a bright green stone dangling from it.”

“What’s the stone?” asked Bobby Wayne, squinting at it.

“A peridot?”

“Lemon citrine,” Delaine told him.

“So what else?” asked Haley. “What about the businesses around here?”

“The Chowder Hound donated a hundred-dollar gift cer-tificate,” Delaine told her. “And Hattie Boatwright at Floradora is donating a Think Pink bouquet of gerbera daisies and Anna roses. See, here’s a photograph of it. Nice, no?”

“Nice, yes,” said Theodosia. “But I thought you pre-ferred Fig and Vine.”

Delaine gave a careless shrug. “We always welcome donations,” she said. “No matter where they come from.”

“You’ve done a lot of work on this,” said Theodosia. De-D r a g o n w e l l D e a d

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laine could be a pain sometimes, but she was a hardworking volunteer.

Delaine rolled her eyes in a gesture of supreme exaspera-tion. “I was hoping some of the Orchid Society people would pitch in and garner donations, too. After all, they’re supposed to be an equal partner in Orchid Lights. But so far not one of them has lifted their little pinky. The only thing they’re focused on is the orchid show itself.”

“I suppose they’re not accustomed to staging fund-raisers,” said Theodosia. “After all, they’re more of a social club, while the Heritage Society is a nonprofit organization, used to hitting people up for contributions.”

“Still,” said Delaine, “the orchid people could be a lot more cooperative.” She took a delicate sip of tea, looked around, suddenly threw up one hand and waved wildly at Drayton. “Drayton!” she gushed. “There you are!”

Drayton came scurrying over to their table, looking none the worse for wear. “Nice to see you,” he told Delaine. Then directed a solemn nod toward Bobby Wayne. “You, too, Bobby Wayne.”

Bobby Wayne nodded pleasantly as his silver knife cut into another of Haley’s muffins.

“I’m doing the final round of collecting for the silent auction,” Delaine told Drayton.

“I trust our fine neighbors up and down Church Street have been more than generous,” he replied.

“Some have, some haven’t,” Delaine said cryptically.

“Your friend Harlan Noble was grudging at best.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to characterize Harlan as my friend,” said Drayton.

Theodosia’s ears perked up. “You asked Harlan Noble for a donation?”

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“Yes,” said Delaine, rolling her eyes. “But all he gave us was an old dog-eared copy of some book on Civil War history. Not terribly appealing. Certainly not to me, anyway.

I’m not even sure we should include his meager contribution in tomorrow’s silent auction.”

“You stopped by Harlan’s shop this morning?” asked Theodosia. She wondered if Harlan Noble had somehow found time to drive north, take a potshot at them, then whip back to Charleston. He seemed like a mild-mannered fellow, but you never really knew about people.

“No, we just saw Mr. Noble maybe . . .” Delaine narrowed her eyes, thinking. “. . . something like forty minutes ago.

That was the first place we hit together, right, Bobby Wayne?”

Bobby Wayne nodded as he chewed.

Delaine leaned forward in her chair, a conspiratorial look suddenly spreading across her heart-shaped face. “But even if Harlan Noble isn’t the most generous donor, we did pick up some rather juicy gossip.” Now Delaine’s eyes positively gleamed.

Theodosia and Drayton stared at Delaine, well aware she was bursting to share her news with them. They didn’t have to wait long.

“It’s about Angie,” said Delaine, flashing a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

“Angie Congdon?” said Theodosia. Now what was going on?

“It seems that Angie is under investigation for insurance fraud!” Delaine delivered this shocker of a line with wide-eyed wonderment.

“That can’t be so,” piped up Drayton, even though Theodosia had mentioned to him earlier today that the fire marshal had asked pointed questions concerning Angie.

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“Are you serious?” blurted out Theodosia. So she really is being investigated? No wonder Gwyn was so upset last night.

“Doesn’t that just take the cake!” crowed Delaine.

“This is all a mistake,” said Theodosia. She didn’t for one minute believe Angie was guilty of anything.

“I don’t think so,” said Delaine, reveling in her bearer-of-bad-news status. “Tell them, Bobby Wayne.” She sat back in her chair with a satisfied look on her face, happy to pass the gossip baton to Bobby Wayne.

Bobby Wayne blotted his lips with a napkin and turned serious eyes on Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley. “Apparently it is true.”

“Explain, please,” said Drayton, motioning with his fingers.

Now Bobby Wayne looked thoughtful. Regretful, almost. “Well, there was a one-point-five-million-dollar life insurance policy on Mark.”

“Really?” said Drayton, doing a slight double take.

“That much?”

“Sure,” said Bobby Wayne. “And the Featherbed House was worth far more than that,” he continued. “Even though it did sustain fire damage, a prime property located near the Battery is still worth several million dollars in today’s real estate market.” Bobby Wayne put both hands flat on the table, looking grim now. “So you add together life insurance as well as property, content, and business insurance and you probably end up with a sizeable pile of money.”

“How sizeable?” asked Drayton.

Bobby Wayne thought for a moment. “Maybe six, seven million dollars that Angie will come into.”

“That much?” exclaimed Delaine. Now she sounded almost envious.

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“Oh, easy,” said Bobby Wayne. “Maybe more.”

“The thing of it is,” said Delaine, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, “now the authorities are looking hard at Angie for Mark’s death!”

“That is so wrong!” exclaimed Theodosia.

“I won’t even consider the fact that Angie Congdon might have murdered her own husband then torched the Featherbed House,” said Drayton. “That scenario makes no sense whatsoever.”

“I completely agree with you,” said Theodosia. “Angie would be systematically destroying everything that was important to her. The husband she loved and everything she worked so hard to create.”

“Still,” said Delaine, happy to interject a sour note. “People have been known to do exactly that.”

Now Bobby Wayne looked unhappy. “They have, indeed,” he said.

“And you heard all this from Harlan Noble?” asked Theodosia. Perhaps he was just full of sour grapes.

“And other people, too,” confirmed Delaine. “People all over the historic district are whispering.”

“Poor Angie,” said Drayton. “Her reputation will be in shreds.”

“To say nothing of her life,” murmured Theodosia.

A few minutes later, when Bobby Wayne took off, Delaine’s tote bags clutched in both hands, Theodosia accompanied him to the door.

“Have you talked to Angie today?” she asked him.

“No, but I’m planning to go see her,” said Bobby Wayne.

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“Mark was like family to me and I can’t stand to see Angie bear the brunt of this preposterous investigation.” Bobby Wayne stared earnestly at Theodosia. “You know she’s completely innocent and so do I.”

“Agreed,” said Theodosia.

“So we have to help her get through this,” said Bobby Wayne.

“If she’ll let us,” said Theodosia, thinking back to last night and the wrath of Angie’s sister, Gwyn.

“I’ll talk to Angie,” said Bobby Wayne. “Get her the best lawyer I can find. Really straighten things out.”

“Bobby Wayne,” said Theodosia, as he pushed open the door, “a couple days ago, you said there’d been a sort of competition between Mark and Leah to head your FOREX division. Tell me, if Mark hadn’t been killed, would Leah have been your first choice?”

Bobby Wayne chewed at his lip thoughtfully. He knew darn well what Theodosia was asking. “No, probably not,”

he finally responded.

Delaine was waving at Theodosia to come join her again. So Theodosia grabbed a fresh pot of tea and headed back to Delaine’s table.

“Drayton was just telling me about your new summer tea blend,” she said. That was the thing about Delaine. She had the ability to jump from nasty gossip to tea shop news in a split second.

“You’re privy to one of his big secrets then,” said Theodosia. “Because Dayton hasn’t even told me about it yet.”

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rather novel house blend I want to call Starry Night. I’m blending a mixture of Chinese and Indian black tea and flavoring it with star anise and wild cherry bark.”

“To die for,” said Delaine.

“Good heavens, let’s hope not,” replied Drayton as he slid his chair back, jumped up, and headed for the counter.

Delaine watched Theodosia refill her teacup, then turned a coy smile on her. “I have something for you,” she said.

“If it’s another tidbit of gossip, I don’t think I want to hear it,” said Theodosia. She was still disturbed that Delaine seemed to derive subtle pleasure from talking about Angie Congdon’s misfortune.

“No, silly,” said Delaine. “It’s the perfect dress for you.

For tomorrow night.”

“I have a dress,” said Theodosia. She was planning to wear a simple cream-colored sheath and maybe add a wrap if the evening turned chilly.

“This is better,” Delaine said knowingly. “Fine Chinese silk dyed to a wonderful shade of apple green. Enormously complimentary, of course, to your auburn hair. And the dress itself is very romantic and ruffled.” Delaine took a sip of tea and pursed her lips. “Somewhere between Laura Ashley and Monique Lhuillier.”

“I’m not sure I’m the romantic, ruffled type,” commented Theodosia. In fact, her own personal style seemed to have evolved into simplicity and comfort. Colorful, slinky silk T-shirts, tailored capri slacks, lower-heeled shoes that let her fly about the tea room relatively unencumbered.

Kind of a modern-day Audrey Hepburn. With the addition of exceptional amounts of auburn hair, of course.

“The romantic look was made for you,” pressed Delaine.

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“Case in point, you own an adorable little tea shop that people flock to. And you’re a southern hostess with a warm, caring sensibility. Ergo, this dress will be perfect!”

Theodosia still wasn’t convinced. “Ruffles,” she said.

“I’m just not feeling the ruffle thing.”

“Nonsense,” said Delaine. “The dress is utterly divine.”

“You promise I won’t look like something out of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?”

Delaine’s brows knit together as she peered at Theodosia.

“We’re talking romantic, Theo, not spooky Southern Gothic.”

She drummed her perfectly manicured fingertips on the table-top. “Tell you what, why don’t you come over this afternoon and try it on. I’ve got my assistant, Janine, holding it for you in the back room.”

“No way can I make it today,” Theodosia told her. In fact, I’d rather not come at all.

“Tomorrow then,” said Delaine. “Come tomorrow morning.”

“I promised Timothy I’d do that on-air segment at Channel Eight,” said Theodosia. “Kind of a final push for Orchid Lights.”

“Then drop by afterward,” insisted Delaine. “Of course,”

she said, leaning sideways and casting a critical eye toward Theodosia’s khaki slacks and comfortable loafers as though they were fashion roadkill, “we’ll have to find you some decent shoes as well. I’m thinking perhaps a pair of four-inch stilettos that show a little toe cleavage.”

“How about a comfortable pair of two-inch mules?”

asked Theodosia. “And forget trying to make my toes look sexy. I’ll probably be on my feet all evening. Helping Drayton set up, then serving tea at the event . . .”

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“You’re no fun at all,” complained Delaine. “You never want to go all-out glitz or glam. If I had to depend on you for a customer, Cotton Duck would be plum out of business!”

“I’ll be there.” Theodosia sighed. “Tomorrow.”

“Try to get there by eleven, dear, will you?” said Delaine with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got that marvelous woman, Leah Shalimar, coming in to talk about investing.”

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“What did you do to it?” asked Parker Scully as he ran a hand over the giant dents in the hull of his canoe. “Beat it with a baseball bat? Take it over a fifty-foot waterfall?”

“No, no, nothing that disastrous,” Theodosia assured him even as she felt a tiny twinge of guilt bubble up inside her.

“Well, it’s pretty banged up.”

“I know,” said Theodosia. “And I feel just awful about all the wear and tear. Drayton and I hit a few patches of white-water and, of course, there were rocks, too. I guess my navi-gating skills weren’t as sharp as I thought they were. So, again, I apologize. I’ll be happy to replace the canoe or pay to have the dents pounded out. Whatever you’d prefer.”

“No no,” said Parker, still looking supremely puzzled.

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woman and a somewhat older gentleman could put it through such a tough workout.”

“Have you ever canoed the rivers up near Hickory Knob?” asked Theodosia.

Parker Scully shook his head. “No,” he said, almost cautiously.

“They’re tricky. One could almost say treacherous.”

“Uh-huh,” said Parker. He wanted to believe her, but wasn’t quite buying it.

“I understand kayakers train there,” said Theodosia. “For serious competitions.”

“Serious competitions,” repeated Parker. His eyes narrowed as he studied her carefully. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing,” said Theodosia, hoping she looked a lot more innocent than she felt.

“Something happened,” said Parker Scully. “Something you don’t want me to know about.”

Theodosia flapped a hand helplessly. They were standing in Parker Scully’s back alley, just outside his garage. She was anxious to help unload his canoe and be on her way. If Parker kept up this line of questioning, she’d for sure break down and tell him exactly what happened. That someone had taken a shot at her and Drayton. That they’d headed down the wrong fork and gone headlong over a waterfall.

Then Parker would want to call in the police about the shooter and her own investigation might be . . . well, not ruined, but possibly derailed. Just when everything was at its most twisted and tangled, and she was struggling to un-ravel it.

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worry about her safety and ask her to quietly extricate herself. And that was the last thing Theodosia wanted to do right now.

Pop. Theodosia loosened a bungee cord and let it snap against the back window of her Jeep.

“Careful,” said Parker. “Those things ricochet like crazy.”

He moved in to help. “Here, let me . . . I’ll lift it down.”

Theodosia retreated to a safe distance, watching him unload the canoe, hoping he was distracted enough to drop his line of questioning.

She followed Parker into his garage as he carried the canoe, stooping to go through the doorway. “Watch out!” she told him as he hefted it up onto two metal struts that stuck out from the wall. “Be careful of your fishing stuff.”

Parker slid the canoe onto the rack and peered at Theodosia in the dim light of the garage. “You want to come in?

I have to be at Solstice in an hour or so, but there’s time for a quick drink.”

Of course Theodosia wanted to join him. But she also didn’t want Parker to start asking his probing questions again. Better wait, she decided. There were a few things she had to check out first. Then there’d be time, plenty of time, for the two of them.

The next order of business was Earl Grey. Theodosia had contemplated taking the old boy along this morning. Now she was thankful she’d left him at home. It would have been tricky enough to have a squirming, curious dog in the canoe, and a terrible disaster if he’d been swept over the falls with them. Unthinkable, really.

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leggings, and running shoes. Then she snapped a lead onto Earl Grey’s collar and the two of them took off. Loping gently down Church Street, cutting over at Tradd, then hitting Meeting Street.

At this time of night Charleston’s historic district was a sight to behold. Enormous three- and four-story mansions were bathed pink and purple from the sun’s final rays.

Lights twinkled from tall windows, wide verandas beckoned. One could imagine baked oysters and soft-shelled crab being served on gleaming silver trays, sparking crystal, and the gentle pop of wine corks.

When they hit the broad vista of White Point Gardens, Theodosia and Earl Grey pounded past the lineup of antique Civil War cannons. Hugging the shoreline, they reveled in the salty air that rode the insistent Atlantic breeze. Underfoot, bits of flotsam mingled with rough sand and broken shells.

They passed the Bogard Inn where Angie and her relatives were holed up. Then slowed their pace as they came upon the burned-out hull of the Featherbed House. Poking jaggedly into the night sky, the remnants of the old B and B

looked eerie. Spooky almost.

As Theodosia reached front and center of the Featherbed House, she came to a stop. Stared up at it, wondered if it would ever be brought back to its former grandeur. Her thoughts were interrupted by . . .

Swish, swish.

Theodosia stared at her dog as he stared back at her.

What’s that weird sound? she wondered.

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pieces of plywood were nailed where doors and windows had once been. So there was no way anyone could be inside.

Theodosia and Earl Grey ducked under a tangled flutter of black-and-yellow police tape, then stepped gingerly around the side of the Featherbed House, staying on the sidewalk as best they could, but mindful of the charred tim-bers and debris that were scattered about. Theodosia supposed it wouldn’t be long before workers in huge dump trucks showed up to cart everything away. Then Angie would be faced with a really tough decision—rebuild or tear the whole thing down.

Swish, swish.

That sound. There it was again. Theodosia and Earl Grey rounded the house, heading toward the backyard. Finally as they drew closer, Theodosia could make out a single figure laboring away in the dim light.

Teddy Vickers was using a kitchen broom to clear away debris from the back patio.

Theodosia’s first inclination was to laugh. Teddy looked so strange and the scene was so incongruous. Trying to clean up a major disaster using just a simple broom!

Once she got over her initial surprise, Theodosia began to wonder exactly what Teddy was doing here. Sure, Teddy had been an assistant manager. But that was over now, wasn’t it?

“Teddy,” Theodosia called out. Her voice sounded hollow and low, dampened by the fog that was starting to roll in.

Teddy jumped as though someone had touched him with an electric wire. He straightened up spasmodically, his head jerking left, then right, until he finally spotted Theodosia standing in the shadows, Earl Grey at her side.

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“What are you doing here?” Teddy called out, sounding a trifle unnerved.

“A better question might be, what are you doing here?”

replied Theodosia.

“I work here,” answered Teddy as he continued sweeping.

“Are you planning to open for business in the near future?” Theodosia asked him. “Because things do seem a trifle iffy right now.” She stepped closer and gazed around. The patio that had once been so gorgeous, had served as a model

“Charleston garden,” lay in utter ruin. Flowers and shrub-bery were a sodden mess. Part of the roof had collapsed on top of the gazebo. A sooty scum of ashes floated atop the small fish pond. Theodosia wondered briefly if the charming little goldfish that had darted about so joyfully in the pond had perished. Decided they probably had. The thought of those tiny lives lost saddened her heart.

Teddy pointedly ignored Theodosia’s words.

“Does Angie know you’re here?” asked Theodosia. She glanced toward the carriage house, where lights shone from inside. “Are you living here?” she asked.

Teddy stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom, staring at her now. “Somebody has to keep watch,” he said in a flat tone. “You never know what could happen. Anyone could just walk in.”

But Theodosia wasn’t particularly impressed by Teddy’s sudden show of loyalty. “Why,” she asked him, “did you make Angie an offer to buy this place?”

Teddy continued to stare at her. “Because I love the Featherbed House. Because I don’t for one minute believe it’s finished.”

“You think it can be rebuilt,” said Theodosia.

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“Read your history,” snapped Teddy. “Anything can be rebuilt. Look at London after World War II. Or Dresden.”

“Your history lesson notwithstanding,” said Theodosia, knowing a flimsy smoke screen when she saw one, “please tell me why you want to take this on?”

Teddy stood there for a while, contemplating his answer.

Finally, he spoke slowly. “I know some investors,” Teddy told her. “Real estate people who’d put up money to rebuild this place.”

Sparks ignited inside Theodosia’s brain. Finally, finally they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Rebuild this place as the Featherbed House?” she asked him. “Or something else?”

Now Teddy looked more than a little uncomfortable.

“Some real estate people approached you, didn’t they?”

said Theodosia, filling in the blanks herself. “Probably condo or hotel people. And asked you to be their go-between.”

“What if they did?” said Teddy. “There’s no law against it.”

“What about Angie?” asked Theodosia, trying to appeal to his better side. “Think of her. She’s upset over Mark’s death and shell-shocked from this fire. That puts her in an extremely vulnerable position.”

Earl Grey strained forward on his leash, muzzle tipped up, and Teddy retreated a step.

“I didn’t mean any harm,” he told Theodosia. “They said they’d pay me a commission.”

“And the forty-eight-hour deadline?” asked Theodosia.

“What’s that all about?”

Teddy Vickers shrugged, looking sheepish now. “I only said it to add impetus to the offer. To hopefully move Angie along in her thought process.”

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Theodosia couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Teddy!” she admonished. “Angie has no thought process right now. She’s completely shut down emotionally and in-tellectually. This has all been way too much for her.”

“I suppose,” he said grudgingly.

“You were her assistant,” sputtered Theodosia. “She trusted you.”

Teddy shifted sullenly from one foot to the other. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do much right, either,” said Theodosia. She shot him a thunderous look. “Teddy Vickers, swear to me you had nothing to do with this fire!”

Her words served to shake him up. “I swear,” Teddy muttered. “I’d never pull anything like that. Arson’s a serious crime.”

“It certainly is,” said Theodosia, as anger suddenly flooded her. She’d tried to remain calm, but now her emotions were taking over. “Do you know that the fire marshal has been questioning Angie? That there’s a serious criminal investigation going on?”

“What?” squawked Teddy. “I thought the fire started because of faulty wiring.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Theodosia. “And rest assured that the fire department will dig deep and look at all the angles. I also imagine that sooner or later—probably sooner—they’ll get around to questioning you.”

“I already talked to them,” Teddy told her. “Right after the fire.”

“I’m quite positive they’ll be talking with you again,”

said Theodosia.

“Because you’ll make sure of it, won’t you?” said Teddy.

He sounded bitter, defeated.

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Theodosia tugged on Earl Grey’s leash and the dog turned toward her, eager to get moving again. “Count on it,” she told Teddy.

Theodosia was still furious with Teddy Vickers when she arrived home. She decided that he’d basically betrayed Angie.

Not by doing anything illegal, but because he’d betrayed her trust. Angie had hired Teddy and given him a lot of responsibility. Now Teddy was repaying her by attempting to profit on her terrible misfortune.

Feeling unsettled by her conversation with Teddy and ap-prehensive about appearing on television tomorrow, Theodosia stomped into her kitchen and put her tea kettle on.

She’d brew a cup of jasmine tea. That sweet, flavorful elixir always served to soothe her nerves.

Carrying her tea into the bedroom, Theodosia hoped that somewhere in her overstuffed walk-in closet she’d discover the perfect outfit to wear for tomorrow’s TV appearance.

She also prayed she could dash in to Channel 8, do a fast forty-five-second pitch on Orchid Lights, and remind view-ers that tickets were still available. Then she’d get the heck out of there with a minimum of fanfare. Head off to Delaine’s.

Delaine’s. Thud.

Somehow, the notion of trying on a romantic, flouncy dress did little to cheer her. It was the idea of ruffles, she decided. Ruffles were great on christening gowns, prom dresses, and some wedding gowns. And relatively cute when tastefully adorning silk blouses or a full skirt you might wear to a garden party.

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dog and cat collars, and, probably . . . that dress. The mysterious dress that awaited her at Cotton Duck.

Plopping down on her bed, Theodosia tilted her head left, then right, detecting a few sore spots on her back. She’d definitely banged a shoulder in her headlong plunge this morning. And put a strain on her lower back with all the frantic swimming and diving. She wondered how Drayton was faring this evening. Decided he’d probably retired early with a steaming cup of rosehip tea, his calming tonic of choice.

Theodosia clasped her fingers together at the base of her neck, massaging with her thumbs. She tried to hit the pressure points that might relieve those nagging aches. Sliding her hands upward, she massaged the back of her head with her fingertips and instantly felt better. She closed her eyes, working her fingers up over her occipital ridge to the top of her skull.

Better now. Much better with the old magic fingers massage.

As feelings of relaxation seeped through her, Theodosia’s eyes gradually fluttered open and she found herself gazing at the top of her dresser. It was a little messy, just like the top of her desk, with its collection of perfume bottles, a Baccarat crystal Labrador, and a little ceramic Buddha that had multiple strands of colored beads wound around it.

Then Theodosia’s eyes landed on the box she’d brought back from the Bogard Inn last night. The box she’d been going to deliver to Angie.

Little ceramic elephant, iPod, and that ticket.

As she eased herself down onto her bed, she thought to herself, Ticket. I’ve just got to ask someone about that ticket.

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Constance Brucato, the producer for Windows on Charleston, was waiting impatiently for Theodosia when she arrived in the Channel 8 lobby.

Dark haired, broad shouldered, always slightly out of breath, Constance’s only greeting was “Hurry up!” as she motioned impatiently for Theodosia to follow her. When Theodosia complied, Constance turned and hurried down a long white corridor hung with trendy pieces of art. Stopping at a door marked Edit Room, Constance knocked softly, then pushed her way into a dimly lit control room.

“What, no hair and makeup?” quipped Theodosia. “No green room?”

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monitors flickered and two men slouched over a huge panel of buttons. “But we’ve got a brand-new show host.”

Theodosia, who was usually at the Indigo Tea Shop by eight-thirty, rarely had time to catch Windows on Charleston, which aired at ten. She shook her head, offered a rueful smile. “Sorry,” she told Constance. “Haven’t seen it lately.”

“Well, our new host, hostess really, is a wonderful woman,” trilled Constance. “Tons of personality. Hand-picked by our general manger.”

Theodosia peered at Constance. She’d spent time in marketing, she knew a sell job when she heard one.

“Here’s the other thing,” began Constance. “We had to change the format a touch.” She tapped her pen nervously against her clipboard. “We have another guest that’s going to appear with you.”

“Really,” said Theodosia. “Because I was under the impression I’d be going on alone. Just to give a quick reminder about tonight’s Orchid Lights.”

“That may have been the case a few days ago,” said Constance. “But we’ve reshuffled things.” She shrugged. “That’s the nature of television. Always in flux.”

“So who . . . ?” began Theodosia.

But Constance was on the move again. “This way,” she said sharply, pushing her way through another set of double doors and leading Theodosia directly into a dimly lit studio.

“Excellent,” muttered Constance. “He’s setting up now.”

Theodosia peered across the studio, but cameras and set components blocked her view. “Who is?” she asked, picking her way carefully through thick black cables that snaked underfoot. She could see a small table packed with orchids, lit overhead by a row of extremely bright lights. Curious now, Theodosia moved a few steps forward, easing herself D r a g o n w e l l D e a d

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around a large TV monitor. Then her tentative smile turned to sudden dismay as she recognized the second guest.

“Harlan Noble?” Theodosia reached a hand out and squeezed Constance’s plump arm. “I’m appearing with Harlan Noble?”

“Yes,” said Constance, shaking herself free of Theodosia.

“He very graciously agreed to bring in some of his most prized orchids.”

“And you want us to go on . . . together?” Theodosia’s normally well-modulated voice had turned into a protesting squawk.

“My executive producer had strong feelings about this,”

said Constance. “Showing actual orchids versus just talking about them in the abstract.”

“I can understand that,” said Theodosia. “And I think putting Harlan Noble’s orchids on camera is a wonderful idea. So why not let Mr. Noble go on alone and present his collection?”

“No, no, no,” protested Constance Brucato. “That’s not the way we visualized the segment.” She held up a fistful of six-by-eight-inch cards and riffled them in Theodosia’s face.

“I’ve already written out cards for Abby Davis, the host of Windows on Charleston. Abby’s very meticulous about pre-production, so I’m not about to burden her with any devia-tion in the plan. Besides, if I changed anything now, she’d kill me!”

Apprehension building, Theodosia waited off camera while Harlan Noble fussed with his orchids. He looked just as hostile as he always looked. And Theodosia couldn’t seem to shake the image of Harlan Noble, standing in a crowd of 214

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gawkers, watching the Featherbed House burn. Especially since it had come on the heels of Harlan trying to purchase Mark’s collection and being turned down by Angie.

This is silly, Theodosia told herself. I’m acting like a frightened school kid. When what I really should do is go talk to him.

Theodosia edged closer to the table. “Your orchids look lovely,” she told Harlan.

He looked up at her as though he had no earthly idea Theodosia had been standing there. “You think so?” he asked. “I’m dreadfully nervous about these hot lights.” He glanced upward. “But the producer promised they’d only be on for ten minutes at most.”

“Orchids don’t like heat?” asked Theodosia. “I always thought they were hothouse plants.”

Harlan Noble gave a quick frown. “That’s what everyone thinks. But these are mostly native varieties. Used to a little more shade and a subtropical climate versus tropical.”

“So most of these were collected locally?” asked Theodosia.

“All of them,” replied Harlan. He moved a Spider orchid, replaced it with a Northern Green orchid.

“Interesting,” said Theodosia. “I take it you have a few favorite haunts where you go to collect?”

Harlan Noble straightened up, then seemed to really look at Theodosia for the first time. “I’m originally from a little town called Plum Branch,” he told her, his dark eyes boring into her. “Best collecting in the state.”

“Aha,” said Theodosia, the hair on the back of her neck suddenly standing on end. “Up near Sumter National Forest.” She wasn’t about to tell Harlan she’d passed that way yesterday. Then again, he might already know that.

“So you really know that area,” said Theodosia.

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“I know it very well,” responded Harlan Noble. “Very well, indeed.”

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait much longer. Abby Davis, the show’s new host, strode across the studio. Attired in a slim-fitting pink suit, Abby had a cap of dark spiky hair and a no-nonsense look about her. Oohing and aahing over Harlan’s orchids, she greeted him first. Then she approached Theodosia, cards in hand. “You’re Theodosia,” she said. “I’m Abby Davis. Host of the show.”

Theodosia smiled warmly at Abby. There was something familiar about this woman. Or maybe it was her name. Had she heard it before? Before today? “Your name sounds awfully familiar,” said Theodosia. “Perhaps we’ve met before?”

Abby’s brown eyes carried a hint of merriment mingled with challenge. “You think so?”

“Pardon me?” said Theodosia, slightly puzzled. Why, she wondered, is this woman coming on so strangely? She thought for a moment. Unless she’s . . . oh no, she can’t be. Please don’t let her be . . .

“You’re . . .” began Theodosia.

Abby Davis leaned forward, dark eyes glittering, her face pulled into a hard smile. “I’m Jory Davis’s cousin. And, yes, we have met before.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Theodosia. Her response sounded lame, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she should say to the cousin of her ex-boyfriend. She filled in the conversation gap by adding, “I understand you’ve recently joined the station. Congratulations.”

“Yes,” said Abby. “I just moved back from Tampa.”

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“Where you were also an on-air personality?” asked Theodosia, trying her best to keep the momentum going.

“At the top-rated station,” purred Abby. “And you, I’m sure, are still doing your little tea shop thing.”

“Not so little,” said Theodosia. No way was she going to stand there and let Abby pick at her. “The Indigo Tea Shop is thriving, the catering business is developing nicely, and I created a line of T-Bath products.” There, she thought, I may not be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but I am an entrepreneur who’s growing and nurturing a small business.

“Good for you,” said Abby in a bored tone. She spun on her heels, gesturing for Constance to join them. “Let’s lay this down,” said Abby. “I don’t have all day.”

Then they were all crowded around a small table overflowing with pots of orchids. Abby stood in the middle with Theodosia on one side, Harlan on the other. The lights burned bright and hot as Abby chatted breezily, dimpled prettily for the camera, and asked the exact right questions so Harlan could talk about the enticing orchids on display at tonight’s Orchid Lights show and Theodosia could make her pitch that tickets were still available.

The cameras moved in close to pan the orchids several times, and then it was over. The klieg lights dimmed, the cameras with their giant eyes rolled back on soundless, rubber wheels, and a production assistant rushed in to unclip Theodosia’s microphone.

Abby stood a few steps away, reviewing her cards for the next segment as a woman from the makeup department twirled a fat brush in a compact and dabbed powder across Abby’s cheeks. All the while Abby completely ignored everything that was going on around her. The makeup lady.

Harlan packing up his orchids. And Theodosia.

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“Miss Davis,” Theodosia said, mustering a strong, no-nonsense tone. It was the same tone she’d used years ago when she’d had to rein in impossibly pushy clients.

Abby Davis looked up. Surprise widened her eyes.

“If this segment hadn’t been a promotional pitch for the Heritage Society,” said Theodosia, “I want you to know I would have walked out. You’ve been nothing but rude to me.”

“You broke Jory’s heart,” spat out Abby.

“Jory moved to New York!” said Theodosia, surprised by the emotion that resonated in her own voice.

“He asked you to go along,” said Abby.

“And leave everything behind, yes,” replied Theodosia.

“Family, friends, and my business. It was a hard decision to make and sometimes I still wonder if it was the right one.”

And with that, Theodosia turned and walked off the set.

22

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“Theo do sia!” Delaine’s shrill voice greeted her. “I see you finally showed up.”

Theodosia stared across racks of gossamer silk tops, cropped pants, cotton sweaters, and long skirts. “I told you I had to do an appearance at Channel Eight this morning.”

“And how did it go?” asked Delaine, hastening toward her on four-inch stilettos, a saffron scarf trailing behind her.

“Fine,” said Theodosia. “Great.” Well, not great. Pretty darn terrible if you want to know the truth. But you probably don’t.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Delaine, giving Theodosia a succession of air kisses and enveloping her in a soft cloud of lilac perfume. “Things have been absolutely frantic here. In the last couple days we’ve literally blown through our entire inventory of embroidered T-shirts and our Sea Island cotton sweaters are simply flying off the shelves.”

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“So business is good,” said Theodosia. “You should be delirious.” She picked up a silver sandal from a display. It was feather light with a wedge heel of smooth cork.

“All I am is exhausted,” said Delaine, clasping a hand to her chest. “Between ordering inventory, handling sales, and making plans for a buying trip, I just can’t seem to keep up.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Theodosia. Usually Delaine thrived on chaos.

Janine, Delaine’s longtime assistant suddenly appeared.

“She was out with Bobby Wayne again last night, that’s the problem.” Janine’s face, perpetually red from juggling a gazillion things while trailing around after Delaine, carried a knowing look.

“You were?” Theodosia said with a surprised look on her face. “Another date?” It would appear the two of them were getting very close indeed.

“Just one of our romantic little dinners,” confided Delaine. “We drove over to Summerville. There’s a lovely little bistro there called the Bluebird Grill, located just on the edge of Old Town. The herb-crusted sea scallops are to die for.”

“That’s your second date this week,” remarked Theodosia.

“Third,” corrected Delaine. She whirled about, suddenly shouted, “Janine,” at the top of her lungs.

Janine popped her head up from behind a display of long evening gowns.

“The dress,” Delaine hissed. “Bring out Theodosia’s dress.”

“It’s not my dress yet,” said Theodosia. She browsed through a rack of silk tops, found two or three that were really adorable.

“Ta-da!” said Delaine, as a green froth of ruffles and frills suddenly materialized.

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For some reason, the dress reminded Theodosia of the wall of green in her old nemesis, the hedge maze. “Good heavens,” she exclaimed. “That really is apple green.”

“Like it?” asked Delaine. Her head nodded in the affirmative, willing Theodosia to say yes.

“And it certainly is . . . ruffled,” said Theodosia, neatly dodging the question.

“Ruffles connote romance,” said Delaine, holding the dress up against Theodosia. “And, lord knows, you could certainly use a little romance in your life.”

“Does she like it?” Janine called from the back counter.

“She adores it!” yelled back Delaine.

“Actually,” said Theodosia, turning to finger one of the fluttery silk tops that had caught her eye. “Something like this would probably be more practical.”

Delaine’s nostrils flared. “Might be apropos for a garden party,” she sniffed. “But it certainly won’t make a strong statement like this dress.”

“No, it won’t,” admitted Theodosia. “But to tell you the truth, with all I have to do tonight, pouring tea, handing out tea sandwiches, helping Drayton serve his ice angels, this dress might not really get showcased properly.”

Delaine paused, trying to mentally assess just how serious Theodosia was.

“This dress is beautiful,” continued Theodosia, “but I worry about the ruffles on the sleeves. I’d hate to drag them through the lobster salad and lemon gelato.

“That would be a disaster,” allowed Delaine.

“I’d be heartsick if it was ruined with just one wearing,”

said Theodosia.

Reluctantly, Delaine pulled the dress back toward her.

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“You make a good point,” she said slowly. “Hmm. The fluttery tops, huh? You think one of those would work?”

“I think so,” said Theodosia. “And you do have some really cute ones.” She sorted through the rack. “In your expert opinion which one do you think might work best? Color-wise, I mean.”

Delaine debated for a couple seconds, then reached forward and snatched up two of the tops. “I like the copper-colored one and the sea-green one. But I’d wear oodles of turquoise beads with the copper, and gold jewelry with the green. Good statement gold.”

“Not silver?” asked Theodosia.

“No,” said Delaine. “Gold is dressier and will give it more of an edge.”

“So let’s try them on,” said Theodosia.

“Okaaay,” said Delaine, still finding it difficult to give up on the green dress. “I suppose.”

“Oh, now that’s awfully cute,” said Janine when Theodosia emerged from the fitting room a few minutes later.

“Not bad,” said Delaine. “I do like that copper color against her hair.”

“I love it,” said Theodosia, posing in front of the three-way mirror. “Do you think I should try the green top, too?”

Delaine studied her carefully, then shook her head. “No, that top’s really perfect. Do you have a stash of turquoise beads to put with it?”

“Maybe one strand.”

“Janine!” screamed Delaine at full volume. “Turquoise beads!”

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Janine came panting up, carrying multiple strands of turquoise beads.

Delaine stepped back while Janine proceeded to decorate Theodosia like a Christmas tree.

“Enough?” asked Janine.

“One more strand,” declared Delaine. “Now take a look, Theo. Tell me what you think.”

Theodosia turned back toward the mirror to study her image and decided she was delighted with the look Delaine had grudgingly helped orchestrate. The silk top and beads managed to convey dressy, comfortable, and bohemian chic all at the same time.

But Delaine wasn’t quite finished. “Earrings,” she declared. “Those coin-shaped pearl earrings we got in last week.”

The pearl earrings were the finishing touch. Just a final dash of shimmer to polish the look.

“And you’re to wear this with flowing cream slacks,” admonished Delaine. “And cream or bronze sandals. Remember, the higher the heel the better. Let’s get you up there with the really tall girls.”

“Will do,” promised Theodosia, delighted to have escaped the snares of the frilly green dress.

“Look who’s here!” called out an exuberant voice. “Two of my favorite female entrepreneurs!”

Both Theodosia and Delaine turned toward the front of the shop where Leah Shalimar was speeding toward them.

Wearing one of her trademark elegant suits, she clutched a large, leather portfolio. A giant grin animated Leah’s face.

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“Leah!” shrilled Delaine. “Lovely to see you!” She scam-pered to meet her and they exchanged air kisses, missing each other by a mile.

“Hi, Leah,” called Theodosia, still posing in front of the three-way mirror.

“Aren’t you the adorable one,” said Leah, favoring Theodosia with a wide smile. “New outfit? Must mean you have a hot date.”

“No, no,” Delaine explained hastily. “That’s her working outfit. Theo’s serving tea and sandwiches at Orchid Lights tonight. Which I hope you’ve made plans to attend.”

“Haven’t even thought about it,” said Leah. “I’ve been busy, busy, busy, and never quite got around to buying a ticket.”

“There are still tickets left,” said Theodosia. “If you’re interested.”

“It’s a benefit for the Heritage Society?” Leah asked politely. “What’s the program exactly?”

“An orchid show, refreshments on the patio, and a silent auction,” piped up Delaine. “With most of the proceeds benefiting the Heritage Society.”

“That’s right,” said Leah. “Drayton did mention he was planning to exhibit some orchids. He’s still doing that?”

“As far as I know,” said Theodosia.

“Maybe I’ll show up after all,” said Leah. She glanced pointedly at Delaine. “Is now good for you? There’s a small amount of paperwork you need to fill out, so maybe we should go in your office. It’s probably the easiest.”

“Good idea,” said Delaine. Her head spun around. “Janine? Can you finish up here with Theodosia?”

“Of course,” said Janine, who always seemed to be juggling six things at once.

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“I take it you’re going to be doing some investing,”

Theodosia said to Delaine.

“Thanks to Leah’s good advice,” said Delaine. She giggled. “And a few choice words from Bobby Wayne.”

“He’s a charmer,” said Leah. “And so darned smart.”

“This is the FOREX product you mentioned to me?”

Theodosia asked as Leah unzipped her portfolio and leafed through a sheaf of papers.

Leah nodded happily. “The one administered by Sun Commonwealth Trust,” she said.

“And they’re located where again?” asked Theodosia.

“The Bahamas,” said Leah.

“Anything else you need, Theo, Janine will help you,”

called Delaine as she and Leah disappeared into her office and shut the door behind them.

Theodosia sat in her Jeep outside Cotton Duck, thinking about Leah Shalimar. All things considered, she had actually grown to like Leah, she really had. Leah seemed smart and convivial and fairly sharp. And she’d worked hard to make it in a sector that was traditionally dominated by men.

Still . . . Mark Congdon’s death had allowed Leah to leapfrog to the top of the heap. Had put Leah square in charge of Loveday and Luxor’s new FOREX division.

So the question remained . . . had Leah somehow engi-neered this move? Theodosia let that question wash over her once again.

Could Leah have been supremely jealous of Mark Congdon? Could Leah have caused his death?

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and solicitous toward Angie and still seemed to be a booster for Leah. Certainly trusted her to head his department, even if she hadn’t been his first choice.

So that doesn’t go anywhere, thought Theodosia.

Okay, then what does?

Theodosia reached down, stuck her key in the ignition.

What about someone at that company in the Bahamas? Would they know anything? Would they have had dealings with Mark Congdon?

She figured they had to. After all, she’d found a ticket to Nassau stuck among Mark’s things.

Would they know anything? Anything at all? Did they even know that Mark was dead?

Theodosia slowly removed the key from the ignition.

She had no idea if she could call outside the continental U.S. using her cell phone, had never attempted to do so before. But you never really knew about something until you gave it the old one-two. After slight deliberation, Theodosia pulled her cell phone from her handbag and leafed through her phone directory. Did she still have Tidwell’s cell phone number? Yes, there it was, penciled in under the Ts.

Theodosia’s index finger tapped the top of her phone for a moment. Then, she finally made up her mind and punched in the digits.

Tidwell’s cell phone rang eight times before a prere-corded, tinny-sounding Tidwell voice erupted in her ear.

As you can no doubt ascertain, I’m currently unavailable to respond to your call. Since this probably won’t stop you from bothering me, kindly leave your message when you hear the mechanical beep.

It was, Theodosia thought, a decidedly odd and Tidwell-esque message. But she plunged ahead and left her own message anyway.

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“Detective Tidwell? It’s Theodosia again. Browning.

Sorry to bother you, but if you have any time at all, could you possibly check on a company by the name of Sun Commonwealth Trust? It’s a FOREX company headquartered in the Bahamas. Oh, uh, FOREX means foreign exchange currency, in case you didn’t know. Anyway, Mark Congdon had a ticket to the Bahamas, to Nassau. So could you possibly find out if he had a meeting scheduled? You could, uh, tell them you’re investigating his death or something. So, uh, okay. Thanks so much. Bye.”

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“I really like the moss you guys brought back from your collecting trip,” said Haley. “It’s so cute and cuddly-looking.”

She was sitting at one of the tables in the Indigo Tea Shop, wearing plastic food-service gloves and arranging her homemade truffles on several three-tiered serving trays.

“You better bag those trays in plastic when you’re finished,” Drayton advised her. “You don’t want your chocolates to get all dried out and crumbly.” He was standing at the table next to her, studying his newly potted orchid.

He’d arranged the monkey-face orchid in an oxblood-red Chinese pot and snugged a small piece of moss next to it.

“Don’t worry,” Haley told him. “They’ll be bagged and tagged and ready to go.” She straightened up, studied his orchid. “When do you have to get your orchid over to the Heritage Society?”

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“Everything’s going over together,” Drayton told her.

“Food, tea, truffles, and my orchid. We’ll load it all into Theo’s Jeep.”

“Think it’ll all fit?” asked Haley.

“It has to,” said Drayton. “We’ve got so much to do, there really isn’t time to make two trips.”

Haley nodded her head toward the front counter, where Theodosia and Charlie were packing up an order of scones and tea to go. “Is Charlie coming along?”

“Not tonight,” said Drayton. “I told her we didn’t need her.”

“Did she want to come along and help?” asked Haley.

“Don’t know,” said Drayton. “I never asked.”

“Drayton,” said Haley in a scolding tone. “What’s with you, anyway?”

“What?” asked Drayton, still focused on his orchid.

“Be nice,” said Haley.

“I’m always a gentleman,” Drayton assured her.

“Yeah, right,” said Haley. She looked over toward Theodosia, made a motion for her to please come over.

Theodosia, who was juggling orders and trying to answer all the various and sundry business questions that Charlie kept firing at her, nodded toward Haley, even managed a few steps in her direction. But when the telephone on the front counter shrilled, Theodosia reversed course and grabbed for it.

“Indigo Tea Shop,” said Theodosia. She tried to sound cordial, keep the tension out of her voice. They didn’t have a lot of customers to take care of this afternoon, but for some reason phone orders kept pouring in left and right.

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“Miss Browning?” came a man’s voice.

“Yes?” said Theodosia, thinking he sounded familiar.

Someone from the neighborhood?

“This is John Darnell, the fire marshal . . .”

“Oh yes,” chimed in Theodosia, suddenly on full alert.

“Sheriff Billings asked me to call you. I’m not usually in the habit of doing this, especially in the middle of an investigation, but it seems we have some exceptionally good news.”

“Okay . . .” said Theodosia.

“You are, of course, acquainted with one of the prime suspects, a Miss Fayne Hamilton?”

“Yes,” said Theodosia.

“After obtaining a search warrant, investigators discovered a significant amount of dimethyl ketone, 2-propanone in Miss Hamilton’s garage. In layman’s terms, acetone. Definitely a fire accelerant.”

“Dear lord,” breathed Theodosia. She turned her back to Charlie, lowered her voice. “Do you think it might have been used to start the fire at the Featherbed House?”

“Again, our investigation is still in the preliminary stages,” said Darnell. “We need to do gas chromatographic testing, but it would appear to be the same type of liquid ketone detected at the scene.”

Theodosia put a hand to her chest, stunned. All she could think was, Poor Fayne. Poor misguided girl. This one stupid, im-pulsive act has probably changed the course of her life forever.

Theodosia cleared her throat. “Is she in custody?”

“She is.”

Theodosia’s voice still cracked as she asked her next ques -

tion. “Will Sheriff Billings be questioning Fayne in the death of Mark Congdon?”

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There were a few moments of silence at the other end of the line and then John Darnell said, “My understanding is he will be speaking to her at length about that particular homicide.”

Theodosia let out a long sigh. So there it was. The conclusion to what had been a terrible, tragic week. “Have you spoken with Angie Congdon yet?” Theodosia asked as an afterthought.

“I’ll be doing that in person very shortly,” said Darnell.

Theodosia thanked the fire marshal, then hung up the phone and gazed around the tea shop. Tea kettles were blowing insistent little puffs of steam into the air, teapots released perfumed scents of oolong and chamomile, golden sunlight filtered through the leaded windows. It looked like any other day at the Indigo Tea Shop, but it suddenly felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from Theodosia’s shoulders. The madness, the investigation, the pointing of fingers and nasty suspicions were finally, mercifully over. Now they could all get on with the business of coming to grips with what happened and work through the healing process. Tomorrow, Theodosia decided, she’d go talk to Angie Congdon. Sit with her. Offer more condolences. And, perhaps even more important, offer her friendship and help in whatever way possible.

Hurrying over to where Drayton and Haley were confab-bing, Theodosia immediately broke the news to them.

“Wow!” exclaimed Haley. “That’s great.”

“Great?” scoffed Drayton. “Are you serious?”

“I mean it’s great to finally know,” amended Haley. “Before, we were all so tense and suspicious. Especially when it came to Leah Shalimar and Harlan Noble.”

“And don’t forget Teddy Vickers,” added Theodosia.

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“We didn’t exactly have charitable thoughts concerning him, either.”

Haley shrugged. “Teddy is an opportunist, as you pointed out.”

Drayton was slowly coming around to Haley’s way of thinking. “I suppose you’re right. This is for the best. Now we know that all our previous suspects are in the clear.”

“And we can focus on tonight,” said Haley. “On Orchid Lights.” She suddenly looked a little discombobulated. “I’ve got tons to do in the kitchen yet.”

Theodosia readily agreed. “There is a lot to do.”

“Too much,” said Drayton. His eyes slowly traveled back to his monkey-face orchid on the table.

Theodosia picked up on Drayton’s unease. “You’re fretting about something else,” she said. “What is it?”

He pointed to the monkey-face orchid in the Chinese pot. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I told him it looks real nice,” piped up Haley.

“See?” said Drayton, throwing up his hands. “She thinks it looks nice.”

“And it’s rare,” said Haley. “It’s got that going for it.”

Theodosia tilted her head sideways and raised her brows. She didn’t quite see what was causing Drayton so much distress.

Drayton plunged ahead, hoping to enlighten her. “I was hoping for spectacular,” he said, his words coming out overly loud and a bit theatrical. “So what do you think?

Have I hopefully veered toward spectacular? With the orchid itself. And my arrangement?”

Theodosia studied Drayton’s arrangement. The little orchid looked very lovely in its new pot. But was it a total showstopper? That was the big question, wasn’t it?

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“It’s exotic-looking,” admitted Theodosia. “And very beautiful.”

Drayton was beyond nervous now. “All orchids are exotic and beautiful. But do you think this one is good enough to take home a blue ribbon?”

“After what we went through,” said Theodosia, “I certainly think you deserve one. But . . .”

“But what?” prompted Drayton.

“I’m no judge of orchids,” said Theodosia. “I barely know a Phalaenopsis from a bog rose. All I know is what you’ve taught me. And it’s been, what one might call, a crash course. But tonight you’re going to be judged by experienced orchid experts. It’s going to be their call as to which one is a prizewinner or not.”

“Oh dear,” murmured Drayton, turning his full attention to the monkey-face orchid again. “And I so wanted to win a ribbon for Mark.”

“You’re doing this in his memory,” Theodosia reminded him. “That’s a win-win situation right there.”

Charlie had suddenly joined them. “Drayton?” she said.

“You have a phone call. A Mr. Timothy Neville?”

Drayton snatched up his orchid. “Now I suppose there’s an event crisis, too,” he said.

“Why don’t you take the call in my office?” suggested Theodosia.

“Thank you, I will,” said Drayton as he threaded his way across the floor of the tea room.

“What’s the deal with Drayton?” asked Charlie. She seemed calm, unmoved by his hysteria.

“He’s just being Drayton,” laughed Haley.

“He’s worried about his orchid,” Theodosia told Charlie.

“Thinks the display isn’t showy enough.”

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“Really,” said Charlie, studying Drayton’s arrangement.

“Not showy enough, huh?”

“Charlie,” said Theodosia. “Could you do me a really big favor?”

“Sure thing,” said Charlie.

“Could you put together a tea basket for tonight’s silent auction?”

“You haven’t done that yet?” asked Haley.

Theodosia shook her head. “Not yet.”

“No problem,” said Charlie. “So you want me to just arrange a few things in a basket? Like tins of tea, a jar of jam, cup and saucer, things like that?”

“Perfect,” said Theodosia. “You’re a very quick study.”

“Not perfect,” said Haley. “We’re clean out of baskets.”

“What about those woven grapevine baskets that have been sitting in my back office for months?” asked Theodosia.

“Gone,” said Haley. “Dusted off and sold this past week when the contingent from Goose Creek stopped by.”

“Really?” said Theodosia. “Okay then, maybe . . .”

“Why don’t I just run out and get a basket,” volunteered Charlie. “It’s no big deal.”

“Can you really?” asked Theodosia. “Gee, that’d be great.”

Charlie was already slipping her apron over her head. “Be back in ten minutes,” she promised.

Theodosia and Haley turned their attention to Haley’s truffle trays.

“At any rate, these are all done,” declared Haley.

“They’re gorgeous,” said Theodosia. Indeed, Haley had whipped up coconut-ginger truffles as well as raspberry-chocolate truffles and white chocolate–almond truffles.

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tonight, I’m going to sprinkle edible flowers among the chocolates,” said Haley.

“Edible orchids?” asked Theodosia.

“Not quite,” said Haley, slipping plastic bags over her three-tiered trays and using a twist tie to fasten them securely at the bottom. “I’m going to put these in the back of your Jeep, okay?”

“No problem, doors are unlocked.”

“When I come back I’m going to tackle the tea sandwiches,” said Haley.

“I’ll help,” said Theodosia. “How many different kinds are you planning to do?”

“Probably three,” answered Haley.

“Okay. We’ll let Drayton tend to the few remaining customers.”

“I heard that,” said Drayton, coming back into the tea room.

“Everything okay with Timothy?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton rolled his eyes. “Arthur Roumillat and his Orchid Society members want to wait until the very last minute to set up.”

“I suppose they’re worried about their plants,” said Theodosia.

“I can just see them circling the block,” complained Drayton. “Waiting for the last possible moment to come swooping in.”

Theodosia was starting to get a little worried herself. The patio at the Heritage Society wasn’t all that spacious. And they had to set up their tea table, which she still wasn’t certain was going to be one table or two tables put together.

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ice angels to contend with. Plus there were circular glass tables for guests to sit at. “It’s going to be chaos,” ventured Theodosia.

“What isn’t chaos these days.” Drayton sighed.

When the front door flew open ten minutes later, Theodosia knew things were not only going to be difficult, they were probably going to get contentious, too.

“What are you doing here?” an unhappy Drayton asked their new arrival.

Bill Glass ran a hand over his dark, slicked-back hair and glanced around the tea shop. “Jeez,” were his first words.

“This place looks like a hurricane just hit.”

“We’re dreadfully busy,” snapped Drayton. “Now what is it you require?”

Glass aimed one of his Nikons at the table where tea sandwiches were being stacked and packed. “Just a few quick photos. You know, document the whole event.”

“I was under the impression you were retained to photograph the actual orchid show,” said Theodosia. “The events at the Heritage Society.”

“Nothing like getting a few candid shots,” said Glass as he slid over toward the table where cellophane-wrapped sandwiches were being packed in wicker baskets.

“Stop right there,” ordered Drayton. “Do not help yourself to one morsel of food. That’s an order.”

“C’mon,” wheedled Glass. “You’ve got enough food here to feed an army.”

Theodosia hustled over to Bill Glass. “You can help yourself to tea and sandwiches tonight,” she told him. “With the rest of the guests.”

Glass raised his camera and clicked off a quick sequence of shots in her face, causing Theodosia to blink.

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“You’re no fun, tea lady,” he told her. “Why such a party pooper?”

“Is that who I think it is?” called Haley’s strident voice.

She came barreling out from behind the velvet curtains and rushed right up to Bill Glass. “Stop it,” she told him, smacking his outstretched hand like she was reprimanding a willful schoolchild.

“Yow!” yelped Glass, pulling back his hand and laughing at the same time. “Aren’t you a little spitfire.”

Hands on hips now, Haley peered at Bill Glass. “Get lost, Glass,” she told him. “It’s bad enough you were hired to photograph Orchid Lights. We don’t need you poking around here, too.”

“Behind-the-scene shots,” he told her, though his explanation sounded lame.

“Go bug somebody else,” Haley told him. “Go annoy the Orchid Society. Or the staff at the Heritage Society.” She fluttered her fingers, then turned her back on him to indicate the issue was closed.

It hadn’t been that long ago that Bill Glass had tried to entice Haley with big plans to publish her recipes. But the publishing contract he’d delivered to her had been hope-lessly in his favor and Theodosia’s admonition to revise it had apparently fallen on deaf ears. So at the moment, Bill Glass was persona non gratis with Haley.

Charlie suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Drayton,”

she said. “Can you step outside with me for a minute?”

“Who’s that?” asked Glass, raising his camera.

“Leave her alone,” said Theodosia, shooing him away like he was an annoying, persistent hornet.

“What?” Drayton asked Charlie. “You mean in back?”

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Between Charlie’s beckoning to him and Bill Glass stalking the tea room, Drayton seemed like he was caught off balance.

“Outside,” repeated Charlie. “Just for a minute.”

“Whatever for?” asked Drayton.

Charlie’s shoulders sagged. “Drayton.” She sighed. “Indulge me, will you?”

Bill Glass turned toward Theodosia as Drayton left the room. “You people are just as crazy as ever,” he chided.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” she told him.

Bill Glass followed her over to the counter. “I’m really just killing time until the event starts,” he told her.

“No kidding,” said Theodosia, busying herself. She knew she’d need sugar bowls, silver tongs, stir sticks, and a couple of tea strainers for tonight. And what else? There had to be a million other things.

“I’m not a bad guy,” Glass told her.

“That remains to be seen.” Theodosia leaned down, grabbed a six-pack of votive light candles. She figured they’d look perfect flickering on the tables once it got dark. Or should she bring the candelabra? Yes, that was even better.

“What do you hear about the fire at the Featherbed House?” Glass asked her.

Theodosia straightened up and stared at Glass. “Just that it’s a tragedy for Angie as well as the historic district.” She gazed at him suspiciously. “Why? You fishing around for a front-page story for next week’s Shooting Star?”

Glass shrugged. “Maybe. I already ran a short piece on the fire yesterday. But if you’ve got any new insight I’m all ears.”

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Glass about Fayne Hamilton. He could read about that in tomorrow’s Post and Courier with the rest of Charleston.

“Yeah,” said Glass, fiddling with his camera. “Too bad about all that.”

Theodosia grabbed a blue-and-white teapot and poured out a cup of black tea heavily scented with jasmine. She shoved it across the counter toward Glass, hoping a few sips might settle him down. “Compliments of the house,” she told him.

Bill Glass eyed the tea suspiciously, then picked up the cup and took a judicious sip. Surprisingly, it seemed to meet with his approval. “Good,” he told her. “Tasty.”

“I thought you might like it.”

Glass leaned forward, getting ready to fix Theodosia with one of his trademark aw-shucks smiles, when his head suddenly swiveled right and he looked past her.

“What the . . . ?” said Glass, fumbling for his camera.

Curious, Theodosia also followed his gaze. And saw a grinning Charlie standing alongside a beaming Drayton. A beaming Dayton who was balancing a gigantic bell jar in his arms.

Then Theodosia realized what had taken place.

Drayton and Charlie had repotted the monkey-face orchid. The tall stalk with the white helmet-shaped flowers suddenly looked very dramatic and spooky in its new environment. Nestled at the base of the orchid were giant balls of moss that lent an overall effect of an orchid still growing in a natural, pristine forest.

Theodosia chuckled as Bill Glass clicked away. She figured Glass might just have found his dramatic cover shot for the next issue of Shooting Star.

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“This is a disaster,” muttered Haley as she elbowed her way through the crowd, trying to keep her truffle trays level.

Theodosia, who’d already staked out their meager position on the Heritage Society’s patio, had to agree. “Just ferry everything to the table first,” she advised. “Then we’ll figure out the logistics of setting up.”

“The table?” asked Drayton, in a thunderous tone.

“We’re talking singular?”

“Afraid so,” said Theodosia, pushing a puff of auburn hair back over her shoulder. Her hair looked lovely, her makeup was soft and glowing, her outfit was very boho chic.

But the evening was starting off on a precarious note. “The Orchid Society set up four more tables than planned,” she told Drayton, “so we’ve all got to do a little scrunching.”

“Typical,” said Drayton with a sniff.

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“So where’s Parker going to have his drink table?” asked Haley.

“Right over there,” said Theodosia, indicating an empty table. “Just down from us.”

“Where does that leave me with my ice angels ?” asked Drayton.

“Right here,” said Theodosia.

“No way can we arrange everything on one table,” fretted Drayton. “Tea, tea sandwiches, truffles, and my ice angels.

What silly idiot gave our other table away, anyhow?”

“Yoo-hoo, Drayton, Theodosia!” called Delaine Dish as she scuttled across the patio, looking fetching in a diaphanous pink cocktail dress. “Can you people slide your table down just a smidge? I told Mr. Roumillat that his orchid people could have a tad more room.”

“Three guesses who gave our other table away,” muttered Haley. “And the first two don’t count.”

Drayton spun on his heels to face Delaine, launching into a rebuttal speech as if it were a college debate. “My dear Miss Dish, we’re not about to slide this table one single millimeter in longitude or latitude. In fact we shall not be deterred in any way from serving an array of splendid, first-class refreshments.

Drayton’s words slowed Delaine down for a few scant seconds. Then she leaned in close and fixed everyone with a peculiar bright-eyed gaze. “Did you hear about Fayne Hamilton?” she asked. “She’s been arrested.” Taking a deep breath she went on. “Arrested! Can you believe it?” Delaine looked almost delirious at the news. “It goes to show you just never know what lurks in people’s hearts and minds.”

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“You never do,” agreed Theodosia, hoping the news of Fayne’s arrest wouldn’t dominate the event tonight. “And I believe the correct terminology is taken into custody,” corrected Theodosia. “Versus being arrested.”

“There’s a difference?” asked Delaine.

“It’s slight, but there is a difference,” replied Theodosia.

“As you might guess, Bobby Wayne is beside himself,”

confided Delaine. She clearly did not want to drop the subject. “He’s hoping Loveday and Luxor can keep a tight lid on this. That there isn’t too much fallout.”

“My hope is that Angie’s name is promptly cleared,” said Theodosia.

“Oh, that, too, honey,” agreed Delaine. “It’s just that an investment firm doesn’t want to be connected to any sort of scandal.”

“Is Bobby Wayne here tonight?” asked Drayton. He was growing a little bored with Delaine’s fixation on Fayne Hamilton.

“On his way,” said Delaine. “He’s obviously a little spooked by that Fayne character.” She gave a little shiver, then glanced around. “I sure do wish we could slide these tables closer.”

“I don’t see how,” said Theodosia. Tables were already jammed together everywhere, orchid club members were elbowing each other for display space, and early arriving guests were standing around, watching the chaos.

“We’re not sardines,” muttered Drayton.

“We just need to make things fit,” insisted Delaine. “The guests that are coming tonight have extremely high expectations. We’re talking about society people. The upper crust.”

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“You know what the upper crust really is?” laughed Drayton. “A lot of crumbs held together by dough.”

“Love it,” chortled Haley. She elbowed Theodosia. “Isn’t Drayton a card.”

“He’s a hoot,” agreed Theodosia as she began arranging tiny lobster salad sandwiches on a footed glass dish.

But Delaine was not one bit amused. “You people,” she said, her long pink earrings swaying as she spoke, “could show a little more respect for our donors!”

“Good heavens,” exclaimed Drayton, as Charlie struggled toward their table, hauling an aluminum cooler. “You should have waited and let me help with that. Besides getting my orchid out of Theo’s Jeep, I was planning on making a couple more trips.”

“No big deal,” said Charlie. “I’m just happy to be here.”

“We’re delighted to have you,” said Theodosia. She was thrilled that Drayton now seemed to view Charlie as a real asset to their team. “And you look so cute, too.” Haley had taken Charlie across the alley and outfitted her in a black silk T-shirt, long gauzy skirt, and cute tie belt.

“Thanks to my stylist here,” laughed Charlie. While she wasn’t wearing formal attire, she certainly looked dressy enough.

“You know the program?” Haley asked her. “Drayton explained it to you on the way over?”

“Pretty much,” said Charlie. “He wants me to be in charge of ice angels tonight.”

“Making them or serving them?” asked Haley.

“Both, I think,” responded Charlie.

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“So what flavor of gelato did he finally settle on?” asked Haley, kicking the cooler with her toe. “And what kind of tea?”

“You two are talking about me like I’m not here,” said Drayton.

“Get over it,” quipped Haley.

“It’s a really good combo,” said Charlie. “Lemon gelato topped with jasmine tea. The exact recipe being two small scoops of gelato and about a quarter cup of tea.”

Haley dug around under the table. “You’re using these little clear plastic glasses?” she asked, pulling out a package.

Drayton made a face. “It just isn’t possible to use nice glassware.”

“Then what about spoons?” asked Haley, always a stickler for order and planning.

“We’re not using spoons,” said Drayton. “Charlie’s just going to pop colored straws into the glasses so people can walk around sipping them.”

“Kind of like snow cones,” said Haley. “Outdoorsy and fun.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Drayton. “Our ice angels are far more elegant.”

Just when Theodosia was about to give up hope, Parker Scully finally showed up. He struggled in, muscling a large cardboard box that clanked noisily.

“What have you got in there?” Haley asked him.

Parker dropped the box on his table with a thud, then proceeded to pull out liquor bottles and arrange them on his table. “Rum, curaçao, and grenadine,” he told her.

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“I thought grenadine was a soldier,” said Haley.

“You’re thinking of a grenadier,” laughed Parker. “Grenadine is a liqueur.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that your first name is the same as my last name?” asked Haley.

“Parker was my mother’s maiden name.”

“Whoa. Maybe we’re related.”

Parker gazed at her deadpan. “Heaven help me.”

“Do you need help?” Theodosia asked him.

“Already got some,” said Parker. “I ran into your assistant in the parking lot. She’s giving me a hand.”

The words weren’t out of Parker’s mouth when Charlie showed up hefting another cardboard box.

“Now whatcha got?” asked Haley.

“Glasses, swizzle sticks, stuff like that,” said Parker, taking the box from Charlie.

“You need ice?” asked Haley.

“On its way,” said Parker. “I made arrangements with the same vendor that delivers ice to my restaurant.”

“Why didn’t we think of that?” said Haley.

“Good question,” replied Theodosia. “Hey, where did Drayton dash off to?”

“He’s registering his orchid,” said Charlie. “See?” She pointed across the patio to a small registration table where Drayton was bent over, scribbling away.

“This oughta be good,” smiled Haley. “Suffice it to say, Drayton’s entry is a bit nontraditional.”

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floated in the reflecting pool, and guests in elegant evening attire strolled from table to orchid-laden table, admiring the gorgeous plants on view. Overhead, the Charleston sky was a piece of dark blue denim embedded with stars.

“Everything looks so gorgeous and romantic,” commented Haley, pulling her butter-yellow pashmina closer around her shoulders.

“Perfect,” murmured Theodosia. What had seemed destined for disaster thirty minutes earlier had suddenly morphed into absolute elegance. Cream-colored tapers in a brass candelabra lit their tea table. Serving trays filled with lobster salad, cucumber cream cheese, and chicken chutney tea sandwiches looked most enticing. Haley’s three-tiered truffle trays were now strewn with edible flowers. To save space, they’d moved Charlie and the ice angel setup over to Parker Scully’s table. That way guests could have their choice of either the alcoholic Black Orchid cocktail or Drayton’s non-alcoholic but still delicious tea and gelato mixture.

Haley nudged Theodosia. “Here comes Drayton. Bet he shook things up with that bell jar and moss arrangement.”

Drayton’s heels hit the flagstones like castanets as he approached.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he began, eyes rolling upward.

“What now?” asked Haley.

“Harlan Noble is protesting my entry.”

“Because . . . why?” asked Theodosia.

“He says it’s completely nontraditional.”

“Hey, that’s what I just said,” said Haley, happily.

“But your entry is still an orchid,” reasoned Theodosia.

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as though you broke convention with an American Orchid Society–sanctioned show or some sort of international orchid event.”

Drayton grabbed Theodosia by the hand and pulled her along. “Then kindly come and tell that to the people at the registration table!”

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It was almost fun, Theodosia decided. All she had to do was mention Timothy Neville’s name and she had the instant ability to strike fear in the hearts of almost every volunteer.

Obviously, the Orchid Society members had heard about Timothy’s famously hot temper and decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep Drayton out of the judging. In fact, they probably figured it was the lesser of two evils. Harlan Noble might glower and fuss, but Timothy would completely blow his cork.

So Drayton’s orchid was in. Thank goodness!

And Drayton was breathing easier now, acting almost ebullient.

“Let’s go inside and check out the silent auction,” he said to Theodosia. “See how that’s going.”

“Only for a couple minutes,” replied Theodosia. “We don’t want to leave Haley and Charlie short-handed.”

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“They’ll be fine,” expounded Drayton, smiling broadly now, waving to friends and Heritage Society regulars that they passed.

“Two minutes,” Theodosia told him as they made their way down the wood-paneled corridor to what the Heritage Society called the gallery room.

“Oh, this is going very well,” exclaimed Drayton. A pleasant hum filled the room as at least fifty people actively perused the various auction items and jotted their bids on the bidding sheets.

At the first table, they ran into Delaine and Bobby Wayne Loveday. Delaine looked like she was ready to party all night; Bobby Wayne looked drawn and subdued.

Theodosia reached out and clasped a hand on one of Bobby Wayne’s forearms. “Sorry to hear about Fayne,” she said in a low whisper.

Bobby Wayne’s eyes met hers and he shook his head.

“Shocking,” he murmured back. “Almost unspeakable.”

“Such a sad child,” added Delaine. “So misguided.” She picked up a pen, thought for a moment, then scratched out her bid. “I certainly hope nobody else bids on this Hilton Head trip. I would simply adore spending a long weekend there.”

“I’m kind of interested in the fighter jet ride,” Theodosia told her.

“Goodness,” said Delaine, fanning herself. “Way too much excitement for me!”

At Bobby Wayne’s urging, he and Delaine followed Theodosia and Drayton back to their tea table.

“I haven’t had a bite to eat all day,” Bobby Wayne told them.

“You like lobster salad sandwiches?” Drayton asked.

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Bobby Wayne touched a hand to his chest as his eyes fluttered. “Be still my heart.” He laughed.

Drayton took a small plate, stacked up a half dozen sandwiches for Bobby Wayne. Usually judicious in doling out tea sandwiches, Drayton was obviously feeling a certain amount of sympathy for Bobby Wayne. After all, there was sure to be some fallout for his company.

“You’re a lifesaver,” said Bobby Wayne, popping one of the tasty morsels into his mouth.

Delaine raised one quivering eyebrow. “Good?” she asked him.

Bobby Wayne rolled his eyes appreciatively and nodded.

“I bet you’d enjoy one of these chicken salad and chutney sandwiches, too,” said Haley.

In answer Bobby Wayne held out his plate.

Delaine’s eyebrows rose a little higher. “Perhaps we could also get a refreshing drink,” she suggested.

“Sure,” agreed Bobby Wayne.

Haley suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. “You know what?” she exclaimed to Theodosia. “I forgot to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” asked Theodosia.

“Burt Tidwell called you back. I took the phone call just as we were leaving the tea shop. But in all the fuss and furor of getting everything transported and set up, I forgot to tell you.”

Delaine stared at Haley as though she’d just committed an indiscretion. “You’re referring to that boorish detective?”

she asked.

“I guess you must have called him about something?”

continued Haley. “Because he said he was getting back to you. From the Bahamas?”

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Maybe Tidwell did check on that Bahamian company for me, thought Theodosia. She gave a casual flip of her hand. “Not to worry,” she told Haley. “I’ll call Tidwell back tomorrow.”

Then, feeling good about things, Theodosia added, “I’ll tell him the case has already been solved. That his services weren’t needed after all.”

“Hah.” Haley laughed. “That’ll just about kill him. Tidwell thinks he’s smarter than Sherlock Holmes, Kojak, and the whole CSI team put together!”

Delaine plucked at Bobby Wayne’s sleeve, trying to get him away from the table. “I do believe Timothy Neville is going to make a short speech now,” she said in a somewhat strained voice.

“Oh, I don’t want to miss that,” said Drayton.

“What’s the big deal?” asked Haley, who had always been a little fearful of Timothy.

“He’s going to talk about the partnership with the Orchid Society,” said Drayton. “It’s one of Timothy’s new ini-tiatives for the Heritage Society. Partnering with other arts organizations or like-minded groups. He’s even put out feel-ers for partnering with the Arts Board on the next Charleston Film Festival.”

“Thinking outside the box,” murmured Theodosia.

“That’s a good thing, huh?” said Haley.

“A very good thing,” smiled Theodosia. “Whether you’re in business, running a nonprofit organization, or just navi-gating your life.”

Drayton and Delaine began drifting toward the far side of the patio.

“You go, too,” Theodosia urged Haley. “Scoot.”

“You can handle things okay?”

“No problem. Besides, Parker and Charlie are nearby.”

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“Okay,” said Haley, moving off to join the group.

Theodosia heard the PA system click on, was aware of a spatter of appreciative applause from the crowd. Then she turned her attention to her tea table. They’d been hit with a spurt of guests earlier and she wanted to replenish things.

Bending over, she grabbed another tray of sandwiches, plucked a brass tea strainer and a tea thermometer from a wicker basket.

“Theodosia.”

Theodosia looked up to see Bobby Wayne staring at her, looking a little bit excited and slightly jittery.

“Theodosia,” Bobby Wayne whispered again. “Don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Just come see the ring I bought for Delaine.”

Bobby Wayne’s words suddenly struck a chord with Theodosia. “Ring?” she said.

Bobby Wayne managed a nervous smile. “Yeah. It’s an . . . an engagement ring!”

A wide smile spread across Theodosia’s face. “Are you serious? You’re going to ask Delaine to marry you?” This was news! Major news!

Bobby Wayne gave a tight, gleeful nod. “She’s the one. I know it in my heart.”

Theodosia scurried out from behind the table, sliding the tea strainer into the pocket of her slacks. “Show me, Bobby Wayne.”

Bobby Wayne made a furtive gesture. “Come over here.

Don’t let her see us, though. It’s gotta be a surprise.”

Theodosia stepped off the patio, following in Bobby Wayne’s footsteps. They rounded a giant magnolia bush and were suddenly in shadows. “Nobody saw us,” promised Theodosia. “Don’t worry.”

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“I’ve got it stashed in my car.”

Theodosia followed Bobby Wayne another twenty feet to the edge of the parking lot.

“What I need is a woman’s opinion on this,” said Bobby Wayne. He reached into his jacket pocket, fumbled for his keys. “Delaine’s got such impeccable taste, I don’t want to screw up and give her anything that could be construed as too gaudy or even old-fashioned.” Bobby Wayne popped open the trunk and reached into the darkness. When he withdrew his hand, a purple velvet ring box rested in the center of his palm.

“I’m sure she’ll love anything you get her,” said Theodosia, plucking the box from his hand. Oh boy, will she ever.

“Open it,” prompted Bobby Wayne.

Curiosity aglow in her eyes, Theodosia opened the box slowly.

It was empty.

In a single heartbeat, Theodosia’s curiosity winked out and stunned bewilderment rushed in to take its place.

“Bobby Wa—” Theodosia began just as she caught the blur of a giant shovel swinging toward her head. Inhaling sharply, she had time to move perhaps an inch before the enormous piece of galvanized metal connected solidly against the side of her skull. Absorbing the bone-jarring thwack, feeling every molar rattle, Theodosia was briefly cognizant that she’d sustained a terrible, crippling blow.

And then she was falling. Falling softly into oblivion.

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There was a whoosh and a dull roar in Theodosia’s ears that she couldn’t quite place. And a wickedly painful throbbing in her head.

Oh no, she thought, as she entered a sort of limbo stage of wakefulness. How much did I have to drink last night?

Trying to will away the pain, feeling completely discombobulated, Theodosia pulled her knees up to her chest and rolled over. It had to be a bad dream.

Or maybe I didn’t drink too much last night, maybe I just came down with the flu.

Clearly, this was a morning to sleep in. To let Drayton and Haley open the tea shop. She’d call in later, let them know how sick she was. Because Theodosia knew she was sick. Too sick to even crawl out of bed and manage a glass of water and an aspirin. Rolling sideways, she searched above her head for a pillow.

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And her elbow connected with something sharp.

“Ouch,” she groaned. What the . . . ? She brought her arm down, reached out, and touched a hunk of metal.

She pulled back. Something wasn’t right.

“Wait a minute,” Theodosia mumbled to herself.

“Where am I?”

She opened her eyes to total darkness.

Lifting her head ever so slightly, Theodosia was almost overcome with nausea. Piercing, stabbing pain exploded inside her head. Her shoulders were stiff and sore, and she couldn’t seem to straighten her legs. Impassively, almost too sick to care, she wondered why that would be.

As seconds ticked by, Theodosia also became aware of movement. The surface she was laying on seemed to vibrate.

That strange whooshing sound still resonated in her ears.

Then slowly, painfully, it started to come back to her.

I was at the orchid show . . . and Bobby Wayne wanted to show me a ring . . . and then, dear lord, the skunk clobbered me with something. What?

Theodosia reached a hand up to where sticky dampness matted her hair. Gently felt a painful bump on the side of her head. It throbbed hard and hot. Then she reached her hand out cautiously, eventually connecting with the sharp metal edge she’d touched a few seconds ago. Her fingers traveled slowly, exploring that flat plane, touching briefly on some plastic bottles just beyond.

“He hit me with a shovel,” she moaned to herself. “And threw me in the trunk of his car!”

Paralyzing fear grabbed hold of Theodosia and held her in its grasp. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

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couldn’t afford the luxury of panic. She had to formulate a plan. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in a tight spot, but she knew she had to think hard, had to push through the pain and fear, no matter what.

Got to get out of here, got to get out, was her mantra.

Theodosia’s head was pounding and spinning wildly now, her respiration felt shallow and labored. Her agonizing, viselike headache seemed to be getting worse.

She knew there was something in that dark trunk that was prickling her eyes and making it harder and harder to breathe. Something that carried a sickly sweet familiar smell like . . . what? She gave a hesitant sniff. Gasoline?

Or acetone.

Like a drowning person who’s suddenly been thrown a life preserver, Theodosia grasped on to that single thought.

Acetone. The same compound the art directors at my old ad agency used to peel layouts and storyboards off pieces of foam core.

The same stuff that was found in Fayne Hamilton’s garage and al-legedly used as a fire accelerant.

And on the heels of that realization . . .

Bobby Wayne set Fayne Hamilton up for Mark’s murder.

Because Bobby Wayne killed Mark Congdon.

And Bobby Wayne set fire to the Featherbed House.

Theodosia knew she was in terrible trouble. Knew she had to find a way out. But how? What could she use to free herself?

Her mind spun back to the shovel. If she could punch out a taillight, or wield it as a weapon against Bobby Wayne once he opened the trunk . . . if he opened the trunk.

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again and she thought, Why did Bobby Wayne hit me with a shovel? Why a shovel?

The answer, when it finally came, rushed at her like a pack of snarling wolves.

Because shovels are for digging graves.

Theodosia lost track of time. Curled up in the dark, nausea increasing by the minute, she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Wasn’t even sure how long ago it was that she’d woken up.

And then, suddenly, she felt an imperceptible shift as Bobby Wayne’s car slowed down. She was jounced and thrown off balance, causing more twinges to erupt in her head, as he negotiated a turn. Then they were bumping along over an uneven surface. She steeled herself, knowing she’d have only one chance to make her stand.

Theodosia wrapped her hands tightly around the handle of the shovel as they rocked to a stop.

She waited, hunched in the darkness, poised to attack.

But when the trunk was finally sprung open and cool night air rushed in to greet her, Bobby Wayne Loveday was standing a good ten feet back from the car, a snub-nosed revolver clutched in his hand.

“Get out,” he told her.

Cramped muscles protesting, Theodosia gingerly began to uncoil herself and put one foot on grassy ground.

“Drop the shovel.”

She touched the business end of the shovel to the ground, then released it. It fell forward and hit the earth with a loud clang.

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“Get over here,” ordered Bobby Wayne.

Mustering her courage, Theodosia climbed the rest of the way out of the trunk and peered at Bobby Wayne through the darkness. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

That seemed to confound him.

“Taking care of loose ends,” he finally replied. The gun moved slightly in his hands. “Now get over here.”

Standing upright, inhaling fresh air, Theodosia finally gained the presence of mind to look around. And was stunned at what she saw. A silver penny of a moon shone down, illuminating the ancient tumbledown rice mill at Carthage Place Plantation.

Theodosia’s first thought was, Back to the scene of the crime.

What did Bobby Wayne mean to do? Drag her kicking and screaming into the nightshade garden and force black nightshade and poison rhubarb down her throat?

But no, he had stealthily circled around her, was fumbling one-handed in the trunk of the car.

Fumbling for what? Theodosia wondered.

Bobby Wayne pulled out the bottle of acetone.

The acetone. Whoa.

“You don’t want to do that, Bobby Wayne.” Theodosia’s voice came across far more forceful than she felt.

“Get inside,” he barked. He walked briskly up to her, emboldened by the gun in his hand. “Turn. Walk.”

Theodosia complied. She turned slowly and walked the ten steps to the rickety door of the rice mill.

“Inside, girlie,” muttered Bobby Wayne.

That single order, phrased the way it was, incensed Theodosia. Finally helped clear her head and shoved back the pinpricks of fear. Strengthened her resolve.

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Walking through the front door into the dilapidated mill, Theodosia was forced to duck her head. Inside, the ceiling was almost as low. Huge fallen beams were spilled everywhere like Lincoln Logs. Rotting leather belts hung from the ceiling. In the low light Theodosia could see the hulking remnants of the rice mill’s giant gears.

Theodosia remembered this old rice mill at Carthage Place Plantation was dry as tinder. The old wood was ancient, well over a hundred years old. One small spark and it would surely explode in a giant, roaring, conflagration.

“Keep moving,” said Bobby Wayne.

Stepping carefully, aware the floor was completely rotted through in several places, Theodosia picked her way farther into the old mill.

“Good enough,” growled Bobby Wayne.

Theodosia’s back rubbed up against a wooden beam as thick as a man’s torso.

“This is such a bad idea,” Theodosia told him.

Bobby Wayne stared at her in the darkness. “I think this is one of my better ideas, actually.” He sounded calm and rational, unlike his mad-dog, frothing-at-the-mouth inner self.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” spat out Theodosia. “The police will come . . .”

“The police will be looking at other suspects,” chortled Bobby Wayne. “Leah Shalimar and Harlan Noble. They’ll go looking for them. Because I know how to set a trail.”

“Like the one you set to Fayne Hamilton’s back door?”

said Theodosia.

The lower half of Bobby Wayne’s face split open in a mirthless grin. “That was good, wasn’t it. I’m good.”

“No, you’re probably insane,” replied Theodosia.

“And you’re really quite boring,” snapped Bobby Wayne.

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He held out his bottle of acetone, sloshed the sickly sweet–smelling liquid all around.

Theodosia lifted her hands from her sides. One of them found its way to a rough railing and she gripped it tight.

Her heart was hammering away inside her chest and she wasn’t sure what to do. She had to make a stand. But rushing Bobby Wayne when he had a gun pointed at her chest.

Not smart.

Bobby Wayne sloshed more of the fire accelerant around.

The intensity on his face made him look scared, happy, and giddy all at the same time.

“Why don’t you just walk away from this,” began Theodosia. “Leave the country. Today. Right now. After all, people are going to find out that your FOREX scheme is a fraud.” Is it a fraud? she wondered. It has to be. That’s why he panicked when he found out Tidwell called from the Bahamas.

That’s why he killed Mark and burned down the Featherbed House.

But Bobby Wayne was not to be deterred, was surely not to be reasoned with.

“Fire is better,” he told her. “Fire is . . .” He gazed at her and his eyes seemed to gleam. “. . . cleansing.” Digging into his jacket pocket, Bobby Wayne pulled out a lighter, flicked it on, watched the flame jump high.

Somewhere, in the back of her brain, Theodosia remembered Delaine talking about how she and Bobby Wayne had smoked cigars together. Theodosia wondered if this was the same lighter Bobby Wayne had used to light those cigars.

Back pressed tight against the rough-hewn beam, Theodosia clutched the railing like a lifeline and also wondered if she’d get out of this alive.

Holding the lighter above his head, Bobby Wayne’s 260

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pudgy face looked almost satanic in the dancing light of the flame. “Bye-bye,” he called as he pitched the lighter toward her.

Flames immediately shot upward, illuminating the back end of the rice mill where she was crouched. As light flickered and bloomed, Theodosia spotted a gaping hole in the floor just to her left. And did the only thing she could do.

Slipped under the railing and tumbled downward.

Plunging down into that dark hole, Theodosia prayed for a soft landing.

And whatever was in that basement, old gunny sacks, moldering pile of rice husks, manure from animals that had once been housed there, it did provide a slightly soft landing spot for Theodosia.

But it didn’t afford a moment’s respite.

Intense flames hissed and danced just ten feet above her, causing her cheeks to burn. Tiny sparks floated down and Theodosia feared her hair might catch fire. Worst of all, Theodosia could hear Bobby Wayne’s voice calling to her,

“You can’t get away!” But his voice sounded far away, like he was probably outside by now.

Down in the bowels of the rice mill, Theodosia’s head whipped left to right, looking for an exit, any place that would lead her out of what would soon become a roaring inferno.

And as flames above grew in intensity, crackling and licking at the ancient roof above, Theodosia suddenly spotted an exit out of this maw of hell.

A tunnel. Approximately three feet high, three feet wide, constructed entirely of brick.

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A tunnel? She could barely believe her eyes!

Taking a deep breath, Theodosia dove into that dark crawl space just as the floor above collapsed and flames licked at her heels.

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Skittering along on her hands and knees, Theodosia found herself inches deep in mud and slime. Thick, musty cobwebs brushed at her face.

A tunnel, a tunnel, Theodosia kept telling herself. Yes, now I remember the quickie history lesson Drayton gave me. Rice was pounded in the mill, and fire to run the steam engine was generated in the nearby chimney. And those two components were connected by a tunnel! A tunnel exactly like the one I’m crawling through!

She breathed a silent thank-you to Drayton. An even big-ger thank-you to the highly inventive rice producers of the Carolinas.

And Theodosia kept crawling in the pitch black. Struggling along, wondering how far the tunnel extended, hoping it wasn’t blocked at the other end.

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When her fingertips finally hit a pile of broken bricks, she had a few bad moments fumbling around in the dark.

But luck was with Theodosia, and when she inched upward and tilted her head back she saw giant streams of smoke and, in between, the faint glimmer of stars overhead!

The brick chimney, which had once soared twenty-five feet into the sky, had crumbled to a mere stub over the years. And now Theodosia was struggling to slowly pull herself up, trying to extricate herself from its archaeological remains. Clawing at broken brick and stone, she pushed and squirmed. Her silk top was in shreds, she had lost both sandals. But, finally, like a wary gopher emerging from its den, Theodosia pushed her head up slowly.

And saw . . . the old rice mill still burning. But no Bobby Wayne.

Is he gone? Did Bobby Wayne take off?

Theodosia swiveled her head around, mindful of the pain that filled her head. No, there was Bobby Wayne’s car, parked right where he’d left it. So now the question remained. Where was Bobby Wayne?

What now? Out of the frying pan into the fire?

No, Theodosia decided. That isn’t going to happen.

But Theodosia found herself confronted with a new set of problems. First was orientation. She wasn’t sure which direction would lead her to the main plantation house. And second, would her legs even carry her?

She was exhausted, hurt, and unnerved. Did she even have the strength and inner reserves to attempt a getaway?

Theodosia knew she had to try.

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Wobbling slightly, she pulled herself upright and crept along behind the back of the burning building. She knew if she could keep the burning rice mill directly between her and Bobby Wayne’s car, she’d have a better chance of remaining undetected. Plus, sooner or later, someone would see this fire and call it in. Then fire engines would come racing out and Bobby Wayne would be forced to flee, to make his getaway.

When Theodosia felt confident she was in the right spot, she began backing away carefully. But the ground was uneven, causing her to stumble and fall a number of times.

And every time she fell, her head throbbed more.

Fearing she’d suffered a concussion, worrying that she didn’t have much strength left, Theodosia turned and tried to pick up the pace.

She knew she was wheezing badly, was having difficulty maintaining focus.

If she could just make it to that grove of tamaracks up ahead . . .

Theodosia pressed on, feet sinking in mud, willing herself to keep going.

When she reached the shelter of the tamarack grove, she turned.

And saw Bobby Wayne, backlit by the fire, searching for her.

No!

Spinning in frustration, Theodosia broke into a wobbly dog trot. If she could just put some distance between the two of them!

Plunging into a thicket of horse nettle, Theodosia turned an ankle, fought to maintain her balance, and cartwheeled down a hill.

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That’s when she heard Bobby Wayne’s voice, calling after her.

“You’re not going to get away!”

Clambering to her feet, Theodosia forced herself to keep going. Dodging trees, she was hobbling down an incline now, so the going was slightly easier. Then mud squished between her toes and she found herself ankle deep in water, then suddenly almost waist deep in a soggy morass.

She’d somehow stumbled into the water bog garden!

No shelter here, she told herself. Just a big, dangerous trap.

Struggling to pull herself out of the bog, Theodosia grasped at swamp grass and reeds, shredding water lily blooms as she fought to free herself. She felt guilty at pulling the blooms apart, destroying these protected plants, but she knew she had to do anything she could to get herself back on solid ground.

Her feet churned through silt that seemed to have no bottom, then finally hit mud. She kept pumping her legs, felt the mud start to turn slightly more solid. Then she was out of the bog and limping up a hill on the opposite side of the bog.

Splashing sounds behind her told Theodosia that Bobby Wayne had hit the far edge of the water bog garden, too.

Dear lord, he’s so close behind me.

She dug deep into her reserves and managed an ungainly sprint up the grassy hillside.

“I see you!” crowed Bobby Wayne. “I see you.”

As Theodosia reached the crest of the hill, her breath coming in shallow wheezes now, a loud boom filled the air and a bullet seemed to whiz by her head. She flung herself down, aware of a sharp jab at her left hip. Then she was up and running again, scared out of her mind. Dodging left, Theodosia was suddenly confronted by . . .

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The hedge maze.

Without hesitation, Theodosia staggered toward it.

Elaborate curlicues of wrought iron arched over the entrance, scrolling out words that Theodosia hadn’t noticed a week ago: Take Heed This Wyld Tangle.

Ducking through the archway, Theodosia ran straight ahead, zigged left, then zagged right. Hoping this might be her salvation.

Can I get lost in here? she wondered. Can I outwit Bobby Wayne? Hide from him then circle back and sneak out? Got to hope I can. Got to try.

But her overwrought mind kept skittering from one thought to another and Theodosia knew she was just seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.

She slowed her steps, trying to consciously slow her mind as well.

Easy, easy, she told herself. What can I do? How can I stop him?

Her mind seemed like it was spinning off in a million different directions at once. She suddenly flashed back to a week ago, when she and Drayton had been caught in here.

When they’d . . .

Theodosia came to a dead stop and forced herself to concentrate. She stared up at the sky, noted that a film of clouds had slipped in. Taking a deep breath, she thought harder.

Seconds ticked by. A thin line etched itself between her brows as she patted the left pocket of her slacks, then reached in and pulled out her tea strainer.

Theodosia spun on her bare heels and headed back toward the entrance to the maze.

*

*

*

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It didn’t take more than ten seconds to find what she was looking for. The old grate, sunk into the ground.

Dropping to her knees, Theodosia labored to work one end of the tea strainer into the sod and under the edge of the grate.

At first it didn’t want to go. The earth was packed hard, had probably been that way for some time. Years maybe.

Gritting her teeth, Theodosia bent forward, put her entire body into it. Her shoulders ached, her fingers went numb.

But slowly, the edge of the tea strainer slid under the grate.

Can I really pry this up? she wondered. The answer came roaring back at her. I have to try.

She could hear Bobby Wayne stumbling up the hill, not fifty feet away from her. His angry muttered curses filled the air. Theodosia knew that this time he wouldn’t miss. This time he’d shoot to kill.

She’d dug halfway around the grate now and had pressed her fingers underneath, hoping to gain leverage. Straining harder, Theodosia focused every ounce of strength she had on her task. And was rewarded when one corner of the old grate lifted upward.

Got to work faster, Theodosia told herself as she heard Bobby Wayne’s footsteps crunch gravel just outside the hedge maze, felt the moon slip beneath the clouds.

She had one end of the grate up now, was laboring to leverage it higher. And then it was starting to heave up out of the soil, the black depths of the old cistern yawning at her.

“There you are,” said Bobby Wayne, his voice dripping with menace. “Wait until I get my hands around your throat. I’m going to . . .”

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“What?” barked out Theodosia. She was standing no more than ten feet away from him. She could just make out his faint outline in the dark. “You’re going to what?”

“Snap your neck like a wishbone,” snarled Bobby Wayne.

Theodosia stared at Bobby Wayne, praying the moon stayed behind the clouds. Praying he wouldn’t see where he was walking. “Then let’s get to it,” she dared him in a low, mocking tone.

With an angry, strangled scream, Bobby Wayne rushed at her full tilt. Theodosia could make out the twisted anger on his face, put up a hand as if to ward him off. And then, suddenly, there was a mad skittering of shoe leather against earth and a strangled cry as Bobby Wayne plunged down into the cistern.

A dull slosh sounded. Followed by an abrupt silence.

Theodosia blinked, almost not believing her trap had worked. One minute Bobby Wayne had been a hideous, menacing crazy man, rushing to wrap his fingers around her neck, the next second he’d dropped out of sight. It was like Bobby Wayne had suddenly jumped on an express elevator and dropped straight to the subbasement.

Theodosia’s brain wasn’t so quick to believe her eyes.

Did the trap work? she asked herself. Did he really fall in?

She crept over to the side of the cistern, dropped to her knees, and peered down tentatively.

Bobby Wayne was down there all right, like a tiger who’d fallen through one of those bamboo jungle traps.

Only there were no pointed spikes at the bottom of this pit.

Only muddy, stinking water.

Bobby Wayne suddenly broke his stunned silence. Began thrashing around wildly, screaming his fool head off.

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“Get me outa here!” he shrilled. “You hear me, woman?

I’m talkin’ to you!”

Theodosia’s head spun dizzily. She felt a brief moment of triumph, but she also felt like she was going to faint.

“I know you’re up there!” screamed Bobby Wayne. “I can see you!”

Theodosia pushed back from the edge as a rotten egg smell wafted up to her. With all the willpower she could muster, she forced herself to get back on her feet. She scanned the ground around her, finally found what she was looking for. A good-sized pebble.

With a flick of the wrist, Theodosia tossed the pebble into the cistern. Then she waited until she heard a faint splash.

Good, she decided. The darned thing’s deep enough to contain Bobby Wayne until I get some help.

No ghostly arms would reach up to grab hold of her legs.

“What was that?” Bobby Wayne called suddenly, his voice rising in hysteria. “What was that you threw in here?

What are you doing?”

Theodosia sighed heavily as she stepped carefully across the gaping hole in the ground.

“Don’t leave me!” Bobby Wayne’s voice drifted up from below, almost drowned out by the shrill of sirens as fire engines rushed toward Carthage Place.

Theodosia wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quiet her shaking. “Shut up, Bobby Wayne,” she called over her shoulder.

Then she trudged slowly across the rolling lawn, damp with evening dew, toward the twinkling lights of Miss Maybelle Chase’s plantation house.

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Miss Maybelle Chase turned out to be a real peach. She wrapped Theodosia in a warm blanket and gave her a pair of cozy terry-cloth slippers to wear. Then she got on the phone and called Sheriff Billings, and located Drayton at the Heritage Society.

One of the firemen who’d come screaming up in a rescue squad, had gently led Theodosia into the kitchen where he’d applied antiseptic to her head wound and put a clean white bandage on it. He’d checked her blood pressure, pronounced it okay.

When she came limping back into Miss Maybelle’s antique-filled parlor, Theodosia was surprised to see Sheriff Billings, Drayton, Haley, and Parker peering at her nervously.

And of course they all shouted questions at once.

“Are you hurt?” asked Haley.

“Do you need anything?” Drayton wanted to know.

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“How did you get away?” asked Sheriff Billings.

“Sweetheart,” moaned Parker Scully.

Theodosia had a few questions of her own.

“Where’s Bobby Wayne?” she demanded of the sheriff.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Sheriff Billings. “My deputies pulled him out of that cistern and carted him off to jail.”

“He tried to kill me,” said Theodosia. Her knees were still shaking.

“We know that, ma’am,” said Sheriff Billings. “Do you feel well enough to tell us exactly what happened?”

“Shouldn’t she go to the hospital first?” asked Drayton.

“Get a CAT scan or something?”

“Absolutely she should,” agreed Parker.

“Wait a minute,” said a still subdued Theodosia. “How did you guys even know I was missing?”

Drayton gave a slight chuckle. “Bill Glass saw you slip away with Bobby Wayne. He assumed you two were roman-tically involved.”

Theodosia rolled her eyes. “I think Glass is the one in need of a CAT scan.”

“Then Delaine started hunting around for Bobby Wayne,” said Haley. “Acting more and more crazy when she couldn’t find him.”

“Which is when we all got worried,” added Parker.

“And then when Miss Maybelle called the Heritage Society,” said Drayton. “Well . . . we weren’t sure what was going on!”

Theodosia held up a hand. “Please, I’d like to tell you all about the night I’ve had.”

She explained how Bobby Wayne had lured her with his story about the ring. Told how she’d been hit with a shovel 272

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and tossed in his trunk. How she’d escaped the fire and crawled through the tunnel. How she’d ended up in the hedge maze.

They were astounded to say the least.

“You’re so brave,” said Haley, clutching for her hand.

“Amazing story,” whispered Drayton while Parker fixed her with an admiring stare.

Sheriff Billings just shook his head.

“Does Delaine know about Bobby Wayne?” asked Theodosia.

“I’ll be speaking with her personally,” said Sheriff Billings.

“It’s just going to kill her,” said Haley. “Being hood-winked like that.”

“But think what Bobby Wayne did to Theodosia,” sputtered Drayton. “Besides, he wasn’t really going to ask Delaine to marry him. That was just a ruse to get Theodosia off by herself.”

“From what you’ve told me,” said Sheriff Billings address-ing Theodosia, “I’m fairly certain Bobby Wayne planted that fire accelerant in Fayne Hamilton’s garage. To, you know, implicate her in the fire and supposedly the murder.”

“Because Fayne was in love with Mark,” mused Theodosia.

“Probably more like infatuated,” said Drayton.

“But when Bobby Wayne found out that you’d called Detective Tidwell about the Bahamian company, he obviously panicked,” said Haley.

“Right,” said Parker. “Because there probably isn’t any such company.”

“But Mark was going there . . .” protested Theodosia.

“He’d bought a plane ticket.”

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“I just got off the phone with Tidwell no more than ten minutes ago,” said Sheriff Billings. “If Mark had actually gone to the Bahamas, he would have found a big fat nothing. According to Tidwell there are no Bahamian futures commission merchants.”

“So Bobby Wayne was in a panic because of my call to Tidwell,” said Theodosia, gazing at Sheriff Billings. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“Step away.” He laughed. “By doing so, you forced Bobby Wayne’s hand so to speak. Smoked him out.”

Drayton shook his head. “Bobby Wayne probably figured that since Harlan Noble and Leah Shalimar were suspects—

and both docents at Carthage Place—he could implicate them by bringing you out here and dumping your body.”

Theodosia thought for a moment. “But Harlan Noble was at the orchid show.”

“Not for long,” said Drayton. “Harlan stormed out in protest over my entry.”

“Really?” said Theodosia.

“And Leah wasn’t there at all,” added Haley. “So probably Bobby Wayne figured that since both of them were suspects, either one could have kidnapped and dragged you out here.”

“Okay,” said Theodosia, still digesting all this. “Did Leah Shalimar know about the bogus company in the Bahamas?”

“Doubtful,” said Sheriff Billings.

“Leah knew sales,” said Drayton. “She told me herself that she’d sold Jaguars and Mercedes and before that time-share condos. She bragged that she could sell ice to Eskimos.

My guess is, you tell Leah to sell, she’ll sell. But no way is she a financial genius.”

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“But Mark Congdon was,” said Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Sheriff Billings. “Mark knew his business.

Which is why he was suspicious. And had probably launched his own investigation. He must have suspected that Bobby Wayne was involved in something nefarious.”

“But Bobby Wayne got to him first,” said Theodosia.

“Killed him and then burned down the Featherbed House.”

“He must have thought Mark Congdon had serious evidence on him,” said Sheriff Billings. He sighed, fingered the brim of his Smokey Bear hat. “If there’s any upside to this at all, it’s that your friend is in the clear and she’ll soon have a pile of insurance money to help her rebuild.”

“Still,” said Drayton, “a very sad state of affairs.” He stared at Theodosia with sorrowful eyes.

“Drayton,” said Theodosia suddenly. She pulled herself upright, put a hand to her head. “I forgot all about Orchid Lights. Did your monkey-face orchid win a blue ribbon?”

Drayton crossed his arms, tucked in his chin, and shook his head solemnly.

“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” began Theodosia.

Then Drayton’s hand dipped inside his jacket pocket and he withdrew a bright purple ribbon that fluttered from a giant purple rosette.

“Drayton!” squealed Theodosia.

A grin split his lined face as he handed the ribbon to Theodosia. “A purple ribbon,” he told her. “Judge’s Special Award of Merit.”

“I knew it,” said Theodosia, grinning at him.

“It was the moss goobers, as you so aptly named them,”

said Drayton. “And that marvelous bell jar Charlie came up with. The judges said they were bowled over by the creativ-ity of the display.”

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“There’s that thinking outside the box thing,” quipped Haley. “Or is it thinking inside the jar?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Theodosia told Drayton.

“We better get you to an emergency room,” broke in Parker, looking more than a little concerned. “Get your poor head X-rayed, CAT scanned, and stitched if need be.”

“I really am feeling a lot better,” said Theodosia. And she was. Surrounded by dear friends, her ordeal over, she felt warm, secure, and much loved.

“Parker is quite correct,” said Drayton. “It’s off to the hospital for you.”

There was the familiar clatter and rattle of china, and then everyone turned as Miss Maybelle set an elaborate tea tray down on the low table in front of them.

“Leaving already?” she asked. “And I just made tea.”

“Tea.” Theodosia sighed. Just the idea of sipping fresh-brewed tea went a long way to soothe her jangled nerves.

Drayton glanced about nervously. “Is there time?”

Placing one of Miss Maybelle’s needlepoint pillows behind her head, Theodosia leaned back against the couch and said, “There’s always time for tea.”

F A V O R I T E R E C I P E S F R O M

The Indigo Tea Shop

Sweet Potato Scones

1 cup all-purpose flour

1⁄2 tsp salt

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp sugar

1 cup mashed cooked sweet potatoes

3 Tbsp melted butter

1–2 Tbsp milk

SIFT flour, salt, and baking powder into a medium bowl, stir in sugar. In a separate bowl, mix sweet potatoes and 2 Tbsp.

butter, then add in dry ingredients. Mix to form a soft dough, adding milk as necessary. Place on floured surface and roll out or pat with hands to form a round that’s about 278

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1⁄2-inch thick. Using a 2-inch cookie cutter, cut out scones, then place on greased cookie sheet. Brush tops with remaining 1 Tbsp. of melted butter. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes or until light brown. Serve warm with butter and honey.

Lavender Egg Salad

8 hard-boiled eggs, peeled

2 Tbsp minced green onion

11⁄2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard

1⁄3 cup mayonnaise

1⁄4 tsp salt

2 cups iceberg lettuce, finely shredded 8 slices chewy bread

CHOP eggs. Stir in onion, mustard, mayonnaise, and salt.

Chill mixture. To prepare sandwiches, butter bread, then spread egg salad on 4 slices of the bread. Gently pile on shredded lettuce, then top with remaining bread slices. Using a sharp knife, carefully trim crusts and cut into quarters or finger sandwiches. Keep covered with plastic wrap until ready to serve. Note: this egg salad can also be served in croissants.

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Hot ’n’ Cheesy Crab Casserole

1 lb crab meat

11⁄2 cups white sauce

2 eggs, separated and beaten

1⁄4 cup green pepper, chopped and lightly sautéed 1⁄4 cup onion, chopped and lightly sautéed 1⁄2 tsp Tabasco sauce

1⁄4 cup shredded Cheddar or Jack cheese Salt and pepper to taste

ADD beaten egg yolks to white sauce and stir. Mix in crab meat, green pepper, onion, Tabasco sauce, and dash of salt and pepper. Gently fold in beaten egg whites, pour into baking dish, and top with shredded cheese. Bake for 20 minutes in 375-degree oven until golden brown. Yields 4 servings.

Strawberry Slush Tea

2 cups brewed black tea, chilled

11⁄2 cups frozen strawberries

1 (6-ounce) can frozen lemonade concentrate 1⁄4 cup powdered sugar

1 cup ice cubes

PLACE brewed tea, frozen strawberries, lemonade concentrate, powdered sugar, and ice cubes in a blender. Mix until smooth and slushy. Pour into champagne flutes and serve.

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Profiteroles

1 cup milk

1⁄2 cup butter

1 cup all-purpose flour

4 large eggs

IN heavy saucepan, bring milk and butter to a boil. While boiling, add flour all at once and stir rapidly until mixture forms a ball. Remove from heat and beat in eggs thoroughly, one at a time. Place heaping teaspoons of dough on a greased cookie sheet, two inches apart. Bake for 20 minutes at 425 degrees, then reduce heat to 350 degrees and continue baking 10 to 15 minutes, until puffs are well risen and dry. When cool, gently pull off the top and add your favorite filling. Curried chicken salad is great for luncheons, chocolate ice cream is perfect for dessert!

Mini Pecan Muffins

2⁄3 cup melted butter

2 large eggs

1 cup brown sugar

1⁄2 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup chopped pecans

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MIX butter and eggs together well. In separate bowl, mix brown sugar, flour, and pecans. Add the dry mix to the butter and egg mix and beat well. Grease and flour mini muffin tins, then pour batter into tins until about two-thirds full.

Bake at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes.

Lemon Jumble Cookies

6 Tbsp butter

1⁄2 cup sugar

Grated rind and juice from lemon

1 egg, beaten

3 cups self-rising flour

1–2 Tbsp milk

CREAM butter, then add sugar and grated lemon rind. Mix well and stir in strained lemon juice and beaten egg. Sift the flour and stir in lightly, adding milk as needed to keep dough stiff. Turn dough onto floured board and divide into small pieces. Roll each piece out gently with your hands and form into an S shape. Transfer to greased baking sheet and bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes.

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Bacon and Red Pepper Quiche

8 slices bacon

1⁄2 cup chopped onion

1⁄2 cup chopped red pepper

6 eggs

1 cup half-and-half

1⁄2 cup sour cream

Salt and pepper to taste

SAUTÉ bacon, onion, and red pepper. In separate bowl, beat eggs with half-and-half, sour cream, and salt and pepper.

Pour half of this mixture into a greased 9-inch pie plate.

Drain the bacon/onion/red pepper mixture and spread on top. Pour remaining egg mixture over top. Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes.

Haley’s No-Cook Peanut Butter Truffles 1⁄4 cup powdered sugar

1⁄2 cup sweetened condensed milk

1 cup creamy peanut butter

6 oz mini semisweet chocolate morsels 1⁄3 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

COMBINE powdered sugar, condensed milk, and peanut butter in mixing bowl. Stir until well blended. Stir in mini chocolate chips, then chill until firm. Gently shape into R e c i p e s

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small balls and roll in chopped walnuts or pecans. Chill until firm. Serves one. (Just kidding!) Key Lime Scones

21⁄2 cups all-purpose flour

2 Tbsp brown sugar

1 Tbsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

1 stick butter

1 cup milk

1 large egg

Finely grated zest from 3 or 4 key limes WHISK together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Cut in the butter with a fork until crumbly. In a separate bowl combine milk, egg, and key lime zest. Add to the flour mixture and stir with fork until dough is blended yet sticky.

Place dough on generously floured board and divide into two balls. Gently flatten each ball until it is about five inches in diameter, then cut into wedges. Place wedges on ungreased cookie sheet, then brush lightly with milk and sprinkle with sugar. Bake at 425 degrees for about 20 minutes.

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The Last Straw Cheese Straws

1⁄2 cup butter

1 8-oz package shredded cheese

1 cup all-purpose flour

1⁄4 tsp salt

1⁄8 tsp cayenne pepper

COMBINE cheese and butter in mixing bowl. Blend in flour, salt, and cayenne pepper. Form the mixture into 3 or 4 balls, then roll out each ball until dough is thin. Cut into strips and place on greased baking sheet. Bake at 425 degrees for about ten minutes or until golden brown. (Note: These are a perfect companion to soups and chowders!) Black Orchid Cocktail

1 part blue curaçao liqueur

1 part dark rum

1 dash grenadine syrup

POUR into cocktail shaker over ice, shake well, strain, and serve.

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Drayton’s Spine-Tingling Ice Angels BREW a pot of jasmine or rose hips tea and chill in refrigerator. Fill martini or parfait glasses with a scoop of raspberry or lemon gelato, then pour the chilled tea over it.

T E A T I M E T I P S

from Laura Childs

Victorian Tea

Lay out your best china as well as a few choice antique pieces atop a lace tablecloth. Serve Earl Grey or an elegant Darjeeling, maraschino cherry scones with Devonshire cream, shortbread, and roast beef and white cheddar tea sandwiches. Floral nosegays at each place setting and a candelabra in the center of the table add elegance. Invite your guests to wear ruffles, Victorian hats, gloves, and cameos.

An invitation using Victorian paper dolls or a fancy, scrolled cardboard frame from a scrapbook store would be perfection.

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Blue-and-White Tea

In the eighteenth century, Chinese sailing ships and British clipper ships transported literally thousands of tons of Chinese blue-and-white ceramics to Europe and the Americas.

The influence of these beautiful dishes remains with us today and these blue-and-white plates, teapots, and tea ware look stunning set against crisp white tablecloths. When your table looks this good, you don’t need to get tricky.

Serve cucumber and mint butter tea sandwiches, smoked salmon with cream cheese, raisin and apple scones, and Yunnan or Lapsang souchong tea.

Cottage Tea

Choose a cozy spot in the garden or sunroom and create a relaxed cottage atmosphere. Spread a quilt on the table, fill an old watering can with flowers, and use your vintage ceramic pitchers and mugs. Serve scones in wicker baskets, turn a clay pot upside down and top it with a plate of chicken chutney tea sandwiches. Serve a malty Assam and perhaps a vanilla-flavored tea. Old jars, tins, and one-of-a-kind teacups complete the picture.

Tea Blending Party

Buy a selection of loose teas, then visit your local herb store for dried chamomile, lavender, lemon verbena, rose petals, hibiscus, and cinnamon. Purchase small cotton muslin bags or tea sacks of unbleached mesh paper and allow your guests T e a T i m e T i p s

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to concoct their own blends of tea. When it comes to serving food, simplify things by using three-tiered trays. And remember, cakes, shortbreads, and sweets go on top, scones in the middle, and savories (appetizers and small tea sandwiches) belong on the bottom tier.

Spa Tea

Fresh flowers, aromatherapy candles, and relaxation music set the mood. Drape fluffy towels over your chairs and place plump pillows underfoot. Then invite your friends in for a spa tea. Serve Egyptian chamomile and lemon herbal teas, fruit juices, bottled water, fruit kabobs, and shrimp salad tea sandwiches. Favors might include small loofahs, soaps, lip balms, and mini bottles of lotion. If you can hire a pro-fessional or coax a friend or relative to give shoulder or hand massages, so much the better.

Bird Lover’s Tea

Ancient Chinese scholars used to carry their birds with them to the local teahouse in extravagantly woven bamboo cages.

While they wrote poetry and sipped delicate teas, their birds would merrily chirp away. You, too, can have a Bird Lover’s Tea. If you sit outside, place your table near a bird bath or feeder. For an inside tea, decorate your table with small birds and woven nests from a craft store, tiny bird houses, or ceramic birds. Use table napkins or dishes with bird motifs and serve your tea (a nice oolong or plum tea, perhaps?) in a traditional clay YiXing teapot. To celebrate 290

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the joys of tea and friendship, try your hand at writing a poem similar to this Sung dynasty poem by Tu Hsiao-Shan: One winter night

A friend dropped in.

We drank not wine but tea.

The kettle hissed,

The charcoal glowed,

A bright moon shone outside.

The moon itself

Was nothing special—

But, ah, the plum-tree blossom!