4

Theodosia had been reaching for a tin of Japanese green tea. She stopped, mid-reach, still balancing on her tiptoes and said, “What?” Had she heard Drayton correctly? The Heritage Society was going to put a priceless treasure on display? “You’re putting a Fabergé egg on display?” she asked, her voice rising in alarm. She didn’t know what the going price of jeweled eggs was these days, but she figured they weren’t cheaper by the dozen and probably sold for a pretty penny. Especially since there weren’t many reigning czars around anymore to wave their scepter and commission one.

“A genuine Fabergé egg?” Tidwell asked. Now he seemed startled by Drayton’s announcement as well.

Drayton looked suddenly proud of the Heritage Society’s big coup. “Oh yes. We managed to obtain an honest-to-goodness Peter the Great egg on loan from Virginia’s Thuringer Museum.”

“When is it supposed to arrive?” Theodosia asked.

“We’re expecting it any day now,” Drayton said.

“And what is the egg’s value?” Tidwell asked.

Drayton fidgeted with his bow tie. “Oh, I don’t know exactly.”

“I’ll bet you could make a good guesstimate,” Theodosia said. “Come on, stun us with a ballpark figure.”

Drayton looked around quickly, as if fearing he might be overheard. “By recent auction estimates, this particular Fabergé egg is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty to thirty million dollars.”

Theodosia’s eyes went wide. “It’s worth millions? Dear Lord. That must be some fancy egg.”

“And some fancy neighborhood,” Tidwell said.

“Well, yes,” Drayton said. “The egg is practically priceless. So you can see why I might be worried.”

Theodosia thought for a moment and decided they’d probably have ample security guards. “You know, you probably shouldn’t sweat it.”

Tidwell shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, he definitely should.”

“What?” Theodosia said. “Seriously?” Now she put herself smack-dab in Tidwell’s face. “But you’re the one who’s hard at work on this Heart’s Desire mess, and the FBI has also been called in. I was assuming the robbery would be solved in a matter of days. That the jewels would all be returned to their rightful owners, and the robbers apprehended and cooling their heels in a nice dank jail cell.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Tidwell said.

Theodosia was sticking to her guns. “Well, it should.”

“How does it work?” Drayton asked.

Tidwell grimaced. “Unfortunately, there are hundreds of major jewel heists that are never solved.”

“Never?” Theodosia squeaked. This didn’t sound good.

“Gems and jewelry,” Tidwell said, “diamonds in particular, are the most concentrated form of wealth. They’re small, portable, and easy to convert into cash. They’re the one form of currency that’s pretty much accepted anywhere in the world. From Zaire to Zagreb. Moscow to Monaco.”

“You’re talking as if we’re all playing parts in some grand caper movie,” Drayton said. “To Catch a Thief with Cary Grant. Where jewels are stolen and everybody sits around on the Riviera drinking cappuccinos.”

“I wish that were the case,” Tidwell told him. “Unfortunately, in the U.S. alone, the jewelry industry loses more than one hundred million dollars a year to theft.”

Theodosia poured a little more tea into Tidwell’s cup. “Tell us about the FBI being called in for the Heart’s Desire robbery. How will they help? What exactly are they expected to do?”

“Probably gum up the works,” Tidwell said. He took a sip of tea, put his cup down, and then used a napkin to blot his lips. “They’re not known for their skill or keen insight when it comes to actual field investigations.”

“But you were an agent once,” Theodosia said pointedly. “You were one of their best investigators.” Tidwell had been an FBI agent, years ago, before he’d quit the agency and come to Charleston to head their Robbery-Homicide Division.

Tidwell reached for a second scone, sliced it in half, then twiddled his silver knife. “I worked many cases, yes. But I was always butting heads with useless bureaucrats. When I pushed to question witnesses and do field research that might lead to actual clues, they preferred to do wiretaps, amass information, and do a data dump.” He snorted. “They wanted to write a report.” He said the word report as if he was referring to camel dung. “A lot of good that does.”

“So what now?” Drayton asked. He sounded a little frustrated. “Now what do we do?”

Tidwell gave a tight grimace. “I’d keep a close watch on that jeweled egg of yours.”

•   •   •

“Did you hear any of what we were talking about out there?” Theodosia asked Haley. She was in the kitchen, leaning up against the butcher-block table, enjoying the aroma of fresh-baked scones and muffins, and watching Haley stir a big pot of corn chowder.

“I kind of did,” Haley said. “Drayton said something about a Fabergé egg? What’s that all about?”

“The Heritage Society borrowed it for their Rare Antiquities Show. A Peter the Great egg.”

“Peter the Great from Russia?”

“That would be the place. And apparently this egg is the real deal.”

Haley twiddled her wooden spoon and gave the counter a tippety-tap. “I’d say the timing on that fancy egg is seriously wrong. Can they hold off on displaying it?”

“Drayton tells me it’s the key piece in their show. All their big-buck donors are coming Saturday night just to get a peek at it.”

“What if somebody else shows up to take a peek at it?” Haley asked. “Like the same clowns who showed up at Brooke’s shop last night?”

“Then we’ve got a huge problem.”

“We? No, no.” Haley looked startled. “Just leave me out of this, please. I’ve had enough robbery to last me a lifetime.”

Theodosia realized that Haley was still deeply shaken by the robbery. And, of course, Kaitlin’s death. “Yes, of course we will. Apologies if I upset you. Especially since I just came in to get today’s luncheon menu.”

“Whew.” Haley looked relieved. “Hopefully we’re back to our regular routine, then. Okay.” She dug out a three-by-five-inch index card from her apron pocket and handed it to Theodosia. “Here you go.”

Theodosia studied the card. “So lemon scones and your corn chowder as a starter.”

“Yup. And a choice of three entrées today,” Haley said. “Individual chicken potpies, zucchini quiche, and three kinds of tea sandwiches with either chicken salad filling, tomato slices with Cheddar cheese, or strawberry cream cheese. For dessert we’ve got toffee bars and chocolate brownie tortes.”

“It all sounds perfect.”

“With the cooler weather moving in, it’s fun to come up with some heartier offerings.” Haley smiled. “Heart-healthy ones, too.”

“Atta girl.”

•   •   •

Lunch was busier than Theodosia thought it would be. She greeted customers, poured tea, and took orders. And with the cooler temperatures moving in, customers did want heartier lunches. She brought out bowl after bowl of corn chowder and was beginning to fear that they’d run out of chicken potpies. But, somehow, through Haley’s magic, they still managed to have a few left.

When one fifteen rolled around, Theodosia found herself with a slight break in the action. So she grabbed a carton of scone mixes from her office in back and carried it out to the tea room so she could restock her shelves.

Theodosia prided herself on her little retail area. There were two antique highboys chock-full of tea strainers, tea towels, DuBose Bees Honey, and shiny blue bags of Indigo Tea Shop tea. This time of year, Drayton’s proprietary blends included Cranberry Razzle-Dazzle, Black Tea Orange, and Autumn Magic, which was a blend of white tea, apple bits, and black currants.

Her own line of T-Bath products lined the bottom two shelves. Her Chamomile Calming Lotion was by far the biggest seller, but they also sold lots of jars of White Tea Feet Treat as well as their T-Bath Bombs.

When everything looked perfect and organized, Theodosia glanced around the tea shop and smiled. The little shingled carriage house that she had freshened, decorated, and cozied up was her pride and joy. The tea-stained wooden floor lent rustic charm, while the candles, bone china, and fancy linens imbued it with a Victorian feel. Oh, and there were the decorated grapevine wreaths and swags hanging on the walls, too. Wild vines she’d collected and dried at Cane Hill, her aunt Libby’s plantation, then laced with velvet ribbons and hung with delicate floral teacups. So the whole shop projected a kind of rustic-Victorian-boho vibe, if there really was such a thing.

“Theodosia?” Drayton was calling to her, so she ambled over to the front counter, where he was chatting with a newly arrived guest. A man who was dressed almost on a par with Drayton. That is, a tweed jacket, pocket square, tailored slacks, and horn-rimmed glasses. But no bow tie, just a regular tie.

“Theo,” Drayton said. “I’d like you to meet Lionel Rinicker.”

Theodosia shook hands with a smiling Rinicker and said, “But I kind of know who you are already. You’re on the board of directors with Drayton. At the Heritage Society.”

Rinicker, who was six feet tall and thin bordering on storklike, beamed down at her. “That’s right. And I have to say I’m loving it, even though I’m relatively new to Charleston.”

“Lionel moved here six months ago,” Drayton said.

“And you’re already on the board,” Theodosia said. “That’s very impressive. Drayton and his merry band must think quite highly of you.” She decided that Lionel Rinicker did look rather cultured and urbane.

“Lionel and I have very similar tastes in art,” Drayton said. “In fact, he used to teach art history when he lived in Bous.”

“And that city is where?” Theodosia asked. She gave him a rueful gaze. “Sorry, geography was never my strong suit.”

“It’s in Luxembourg,” Rinicker said. “The southern part of the country. Though I’m afraid Luxembourg itself is only some nine hundred and ninety-eight square miles in total.”

“And you were born there?” Theodosia asked. She’d never met a Luxembourger before. If that’s what they were called.

“No, no,” Rinicker said. “I’m not a native. I was born in Hollenburg, Austria, just outside of Vienna. I moved to Luxembourg some years ago so I could teach at the university just across the German border. The University of Trier.”

“Wow,” Theodosia said. “You’re a regular citizen of the world.”

“Hardly,” Rinicker said as Drayton began to steer him toward an empty table.

“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said. “I’m standing here gabbing away and you’ve come to eat lunch.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I bring you? Did Drayton show you our menu?”

“Why don’t you bring him a cup of chowder, a scone, and a chicken potpie,” Drayton said. “If there are any potpies left.”

“Of course, there’s one left,” Theodosia told Rinicker. “And I’m pretty sure it’s got your name on it.”

He chuckled. “Lovely.”

•   •   •

Theodosia cleared two tables, rang up tabs for departing guests, and handled a half-dozen take-out orders. Then, when everything seemed fairly copacetic, she plopped into the chair across from Lionel Rinicker. He was just finishing the last bits of his scone.

A smile lit his face. He seemed charmed to have her company.

“I’m curious,” Theodosia said. “How did you pick Charleston?”

Rinicker rested his chin in his palm and looked thoughtful. “I think it was more a case of Charleston picking me. I came through here on a visit, not intending to stay. But there’s something about this place that intrigued me.” Now his eyes glowed with excitement. “It’s very thrilling to live on a peninsula with the Atlantic Ocean pounding in at you and two rivers on either side. And then, of course, I was completely enchanted by the architecture.”

“Some of it is very European,” Theodosia said.

“It definitely is,” Rinicker agreed. “But the larger homes carry such a distinct Southern flavor. I mean, who else but a Southern architect would take Italianate architecture and smatter on a few grand balconies and balustrades? It’s absolutely charming! And then, of course, you add in Charleston’s hidden walkways, churches, tumbledown graveyards, and the music, art, and theater scene, and it’s all just very exciting and romantic.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “As you might have guessed, I’m a romantic at heart.”

Theodosia hated to break his mood, but she decided she had to bring up last night’s robbery since it might impact the Heritage Society. “You know about the robbery that happened last night at Heart’s Desire? And that the police have now officially ruled the young woman’s death a homicide?”

Rinicker spoke in hushed tones. “Yes, I read about it in the newspaper this morning—it was the lead story. It must have been awful. And I’m to understand that the owner of Heart’s Desire is a good friend of yours?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Drayton told me you were there. That you witnessed the entire spectacle?”

“I feel like I saw bits and parts of it,” Theodosia said. “The robbery was all very erratic and confusing.” Actually, as she thought back over it, the SUV crash, the robbery, and the ensuing getaway had all felt like they’d happened in slow motion. What probably took sixty seconds seemed to have stretched into several minutes. Very disconcerting.

“Drayton mentioned that he’s worried about extra security for the Rare Antiquities Show,” Rinicker said. “Particularly when it comes to the Fabergé egg.”

“I think everyone at the Heritage Society should be worried,” Theodosia said.

“Well, I haven’t spoken to Timothy Neville yet, so I don’t know what his plans are. Or if they’ve changed at all.” Timothy Neville was the octogenarian executive director of the Heritage Society. He’d ruled the organization with an iron fist for decades and wasn’t about to relinquish one iota of control now. If anything, his gnarled fingers would grip a little tighter.

“I spoke earlier with Detective Tidwell,” Theodosia said. “He heads the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department—and he’s offered to send over some extra police officers.”

“That’s very generous of him,” Rinicker said. “I think that would make us all rest a lot easier.”

“I’m assuming the Heritage Society will hire extra security?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure what the plans are. But if Timothy agrees, we can for sure contact our security agency and double up on guards.”

“I think that would be a smart idea,” Theodosia said. “When is the Fabergé egg supposed to arrive?”

“We’re expecting it any day now,” Rinicker said. “It’s supposedly being driven here in a Brink’s truck. So it should be perfectly safe en route.”

Theodosia smiled. The only thing that trickled through her brain was a memory of an old black-and-white movie that she’d watched a couple of weeks before—The Great Brink’s Robbery. Millions stolen, the largest robbery in U.S. history at that time. Holy cats. She hoped there wouldn’t be a sequel—The Great Brink’s Fabergé Egg Robbery.