24

It was the perfect evening. An inky black sky lit with a random scatter of twinkling stars. The breeze off the Atlantic carrying a hint of salt and sea brine. Temperature still hovering in the low sixties. And twenty-five dancers, all clad in black leotards with tiny lights running up and down their arms and legs, dancing and leaping to a blast of rock music. The Lumiere Festival was well under way, and Theodosia and Drayton were standing on the front steps of the Charleston Library Society, watching the dazzling presentation that was taking place on King Street.

“Those young ladies certainly know how to twirl,” Drayton remarked.

“They’re little sprites,” Theodosia said. She figured she’d get fall-down dizzy if she ever tried that sort of manic gyration. Still, it was great fun to watch. “And did you see what’s happening down the street at the Gibbes Museum?”

Drayton nodded. “The images they’re projecting on the outside of the building remind me of an underground movie from the sixties. Still, I think it’s rather clever that they chose slides from their own collection. It’s almost like . . .”

“Art for the people?”

“Something like that, yes. Though I suppose putting it that way sounds a bit condescending.”

“Just a bit,” Theodosia said. “But the supersized paintings and sculptures might help bring a few more folks through their doors, which is always a good thing.”

“You see,” Drayton said, “that’s where the Heritage Society differs.”

“How’s that?”

“We really don’t want any more people flocking through our doors.”

Theodosia stared at Drayton, who managed to keep a straight face for all of five seconds. Then she punched him in the arm and said, “Let’s see what else is going on.”

Turns out, there was a lot to be dazzled by. Searchlights arced in the sky, more light shows splashed against fine old buildings, and LED installations buzzed and hummed all around them. There was even an interactive light tube on the front lawn of the historic Reese-Parker home.

“I had no idea that light had become such a highly regarded artistic medium,” Drayton said. “I guess I have to catch up with the times.”

“You’re out tonight,” Theodosia said. “That’s a good start.”

They’d wandered down King Street and turned onto Archdale. Here, magnificent Georgian, Italianate, and Victorian-style homes, all deemed “architecturally significant,” by those who made such decisions, sat cheek to elegant jowl. All privately owned and rarely seen by the public, these homes were a vision in grandeur and sumptuous luxury and served as time capsules for Charleston’s history, taste, and décor.

“You see that sign up ahead?” Theodosia pointed.

Drayton peered ahead through darkness that was punctuated by glowing streetlamps. “Yes, it says ‘Fire Garden.’ What on earth is a Fire Garden?”

“I’d say we’re about to find out.”

They picked their way through throngs of strolling people and stopped in front of a large redbrick mansion that featured tall white columns, a wide veranda, and was surrounded by a genuine Philip Simmons wrought-iron fence.

“This is the Rosewalk Inn,” Drayton said. He cocked an eye at Theodosia. “Did you bring me here to spy?”

“You said you wanted to attend the Lumiere Festival. I’m just obliging you.”

“I have to admit, I’m a little curious about their Fire Garden installation.”

“So am I. Let’s go in.”

Tyrone Chandler, the manager, greeted them on the enormous front veranda. He was an African American man in his late fifties, quite distinguished-looking with his salt-and-pepper hair and infectious smile. Tonight he wore an elegant camel hair jacket with a white shirt and charcoal-gray slacks.

“Drayton, is that really you?” Chandler asked. He stuck out a hand as Drayton greeted him. “And Theodosia, too.” He chuckled merrily. “Have you come to see our Fire Garden?”

“We’re trying to figure out what a Fire Garden is,” Drayton said.

“It’s an idea that Marcella came up with,” Chandler told them. Marcella Soliere was the owner of the Rosewalk Inn. “She saw something like it in Perugia when she was traveling through Italy last summer. Couldn’t wait to re-create one here.”

“We’re intrigued,” Theodosia told him as they were ushered into the inn.

“Just head straight through the breakfast room,” Chandler said. “And then step out the sliding doors and onto the patio. The Fire Garden is just beyond our rose garden.”

“Thank you,” Theodosia said.

•   •   •

The Rosewalk Inn was named for the multitude of rosebushes that graced its back garden. Though most of the floribundas, polyanthas, and English roses were no longer in bloom, there were a few pink Chinese roses standing tall.

“Mr. Chandler must have grown these in a hothouse,” Drayton said. “Then transplanted them here especially for tonight.” His eyes traveled down the rosebush to study the area around the roots. “Yes, that’s exactly what that sly fox did.”

“Can’t put anything past you, Drayton,” Theodosia said. Then her eyes caught sight of what had to be the Fire Garden and she said, “Oh my, take a look at this.”

Theodosia and Drayton stepped past the expanse of rosebushes and onto the back patio. A huge circle of enormous rocks, à la Stonehenge, had been arranged in the middle. Inside were concentric circles of rocks that stepped up to form a large rock pyramid in the middle. Every one of the rocks had an enormous flaming candle on top of it.

“This looks like an image straight out of Dante’s Inferno,” Drayton said, though he was clearly intrigued.

“It’s a gorgeous display,” Theodosia said. “It really is a Fire Garden.” Flames danced and licked atop red, yellow, and orange candles that dripped rivulets of wax down the stones. But the arrangement didn’t look one bit hokey. It looked almost . . . sacrificial.

“There’s a bar over there,” Drayton said, gazing across the dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs where guests were camped out. “Should we grab a table and have ourselves a cocktail?” He gestured toward the bar. “Or maybe a glass of wine?”

“Chardonnay, if they’ve got it. Or anything dry.”

Drayton sped away. “Coming right up.”

Spotting a table that was unoccupied, Theodosia hurried to grab it. Just as she pulled out a chair, someone clamped a hand on the chair adjacent to her. She glanced up quickly, surprised to see the two FBI agents who’d been practically haunting her shop.

“Hello,” she said. “I was wondering when I’d see you two again.”

Agent Zimmer nodded politely to her while Hurley actually smiled.

“Still working the case?” Theodosia asked, even though she pretty much knew the answer. Of course they were. They were jackhammering away like crazy.

“Absolutely we are,” Zimmer said.

“That’s good to know,” Theodosia said. She glanced around. Drayton was still standing at the bar ordering glasses of wine, and nobody else had taken notice of the two agents, even though they were dressed like a couple of G-men in a made-for-TV movie. “I assume you’re here because you’ve been talking to Professor Shepley? Interviewing him because he crashed the Heart’s Desire event?”

“You knew he was staying here?” Zimmer asked. “At this particular inn?”

Theodosia smiled demurely.

“If you had knowledge that he was staying here, that means you’ve been meddling,” Hurley said.

“She sees him as a suspect,” Zimmer said.

“I don’t really know if he is or isn’t,” Theodosia said. “I’d have to defer to your judgment on that.”

Zimmer exchanged a knowing glance with Hurley and then said, “We’ve done a careful assessment of Shepley and don’t believe he poses any immediate threat.”

“That’s good to know,” Theodosia said just as Drayton arrived with two glasses of wine.

“Gentlemen, if I had known . . .” Drayton indicated the wineglasses he held in his hands.

Zimmer put up a hand as the two of them backed away. “No, no. Thanks for the offer, but we have to get going.”

“Nice to see you again,” Theodosia called after them as she and Drayton sat down.

“What were they doing here?” Drayton asked as he slid a glass of wine in front of her. “Oh, and it’s Chablis rather than Chardonnay, if that’s all right with you.”

“Just fine. And it seems our FBI friends have cleared Professor Shepley of any wrongdoing. If their story can be believed.”

Drayton frowned. “Shepley? I just ran into him at the bar. He was ordering a Dubonnet.”

“He’s here?” Theodosia spun around in her chair. “Where?” Her eyes searched what had turned into a sizable crowd on the patio. “Oh, I see him.”

“We should probably leave the man in peace,” Drayton said.

At which point Theodosia jumped up and waved at him wildly. “Professor Shepley,” she cried. “Over here. Come on over here.”

Shepley noticed her waving and visibly flinched. Then, head down, he all but reluctantly strolled toward their table. The three of them exchanged somewhat formal greetings, and then Shepley didn’t waste any time mincing words.

“I’m leaving Charleston,” he told them. “Driving back to Savannah first thing tomorrow.”

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Theodosia said. “I take it your research here is finished?”

“Not at all,” Shepley said. “But I no longer feel welcome.”

Theodosia felt a flicker of guilt. Had she contributed to driving Shepley out? Probably. She’d sicced both Tidwell and the FBI on him and it had probably unnerved the man to no end. Yes, she felt guilty, but a little relieved, too. Her list of suspects was gradually being whittled down.

“I hope your research was at least successful,” Drayton said diplomatically.

“Yes . . . well . . .” Shepley edged away from their table. “That remains to be seen.” He held up a hand. “Good night.”

“You drove him out,” Drayton said in a low voice. He sounded mildly accusatory.

“I didn’t mean to,” Theodosia said as they watched him retreat. “I was only trying to help Brooke.”

“You were well-intentioned. But”—Drayton stared after Shepley—“I think you scared the pants off the old boy.”

•   •   •

They sat at their table for a while, enjoying the evening and the buzz of activity going on around them.

“Are we going to view any other light installations?” Drayton asked.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Theodosia said. “But if you want to . . .”

Drayton raised a hand. “No, I think it’s been a fine evening. Let’s just leave it at that.” He looked around. “Though I would like to ask Mr. Chandler a question about his Chinese roses.”

“Go,” Theodosia urged, picking up her glass. “Go ask him.” She’d already spotted Grace Dawson across the patio and had decided to go over and say hi. Grace was looking very sporty tonight, in black leggings and a supple black leather jacket. Theodosia decided that if she had to attach a name to Grace’s distinct style, it would be sport couture.

“If you don’t mind,” Drayton said, starting to get up. “I mean, I don’t want to leave you sitting here.”

“You’re not,” Theodosia said, getting up from her chair, too. “In fact, I’ve got people to see and questions to ask.” She strolled past the bar, sipping her glass of Chablis (it really was quite nice, very buttery and light), and strolled over to where Grace was standing. Coming up behind her, Theodosia said, “Where are your beautiful dogs tonight?”

Grace spun around, caught sight of Theodosia, and smiled broadly. “I would have loved to bring them, but I was afraid they’d jump out of their skin with all the lights popping and strobing.”

“Probably would.”

“Lovely to see you again,” Grace said. “But I have a bone to pick with you.”

Theodosia took a step back. “Uh-oh, what’s that?”

“You’ve got me positively hooked on tea and scones.”

“That was my plan,” Theodosia laughed. “To turn you into one of my regulars so we can see you again and again.”

“And make me gain five pounds!” Grace exclaimed. “I swear, I’ll probably have to do an extra hour of Pilates to compensate for all the sugar I imbibed this week. Or go on a low-carb diet.”

“Like Delaine,” Theodosia said.

Grace’s eyes lit up. “Say, I ran into Delaine this morning.”

“She told me.”

Grace looked surprised. “How did you . . . ? Ah, you were at the spa, too?”

“Don’t I wish,” Theodosia said. “No, Delaine popped in for a late lunch and mentioned that she’d run into you there.”

“That Delaine is such a little jitterbug. Running all over town, her fingers stuck in all sorts of different pies. You know, she’s been putting pressure on me to join the board of directors of one of her animal rescue groups. Apparently she’s a big wheel in two or three different ones?”

“Probably because she’s such a successful fund-raiser,” Theodosia said. “I think Delaine single-handedly raised something like a million dollars just to get Madison’s House Small Animal Rescue built.”

Grace let loose a low whistle. “Very impressive. I take it Delaine’s a confirmed dog lover?”

Theodosia shook her head. “Delaine thinks all critters are wonderful, but she’s seriously into cats. She thinks cats are smarter and way more esoteric.”

“Cats are great,” Grace laughed. “Even Sultan and Satin love cats.”

“Sure they do,” Theodosia said in a tone that implied No, they don’t; the two women laughing together at her little joke.

“You know what?” Grace said. “We should all get together for a spa day sometime. Really do the works—nails, hair, massages, sea scrubs, you name it.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“We could invite Sabrina Andros along, too.” When Theodosia fixed Grace with a quizzical look, she explained. “I also bumped into Sabrina this morning while I was getting my mani-pedi. I understand she’s a regular there.” Grace dropped her voice. “Please don’t ever tell Sabrina I said this, but I think she was getting her roots done.”

“She stopped by for tea a couple of days ago,” Theodosia said. “Along with her husband, Luke.”

“The yacht guy,” Grace said. “I hear he’s doing a gangbuster business. Sabrina mentioned that he received a call from some big muckety-muck bank president in Rio de Janeiro who’s hot to buy a custom yacht. So Luke is cruising one of his yachts down there tomorrow night.”

“Is Sabrina going along?” Theodosia asked.

Grace waved at someone sitting across the patio. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She waved again. “Probably.” Then she pulled away. “Excuse me, my assistant is looking positively frantic. He probably has six calls holding and a couple of last-minute invitations.” And she was gone. Poof.

Theodosia pondered this new information about Sabrina and Luke Andros. Tomorrow night, for all intents and purposes, they would be leaving the country. Sailing into international waters.

Snapping her head around, Theodosia quickly located Drayton. He was standing near the makeshift bar, talking to Teddy Vickers, the man who managed the Featherbed House just down the block. Well, she would just have to interrupt him.

“Theo,” Drayton began when he saw her. “Teddy was just telling me that . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said to Drayton. “But we have to go. Like . . . now.”

•   •   •

“What was so all-fired important that we had to leave poor Teddy standing there like that?” Drayton asked as Theodosia propelled him across the patio and into the Rosewalk Inn. She glanced around hurriedly, looking for a private spot to talk, and then yanked him into a side parlor. Painted a soft robin’s-egg blue and decorated with a rag rug, the room featured some loosely rendered watercolor paintings as well as a pale-blue love seat with needlepoint cushions.

“Sabrina and Luke Andros are sailing to South America tomorrow night,” Theodosia told him a little breathlessly.

“What?” Drayton’s reaction was one of stunned surprise. He grabbed one of the cushions and gave it a squeeze.

Theodosia slowly related everything Grace had revealed to her.

“Are they leaving before or after the Rare Antiquities Show?” Drayton asked.

Theodosia shook her head. “I have no idea, but that’s a very good question.”

Drayton looked thoughtful. “Well, the timing matters.”

“It certainly does. But just how are we supposed to find out their exact departure time? I don’t expect it’s noted in any maritime log.”

“Maybe,” Drayton said, looking thoughtful. “Maybe we should just go and ask them? Not flat out, but in a kind of casual way?”

“Huh,” Theodosia said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Drayton beetled his brows together. “Because I did.”

“So maybe Sabrina and Luke are over at the yacht club right now,” Theodosia said, warming to the idea even more. “Getting ready to . . .” She broke off her words. “You know what, Drayton? Asking them point-blank is kind of in-your-face, but it’s also a smart way to put them on alert.”

“Exactly,” Drayton said. “We let Sabrina and Luke know that we know they’re planning to leave town.”

Theodosia nodded. “If they’re guilty, they’ll figure we’re keeping an eye on them.”

•   •   •

Theodosia had left her Jeep parked nearby, so it was a simple matter of hopping in and driving over to the Charleston Yacht Club.

“Not so much going on over here,” Drayton observed as they drove along.

“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “The yachts are all supposed to be lit up.”

“Well, I don’t see . . .” Drayton did a sudden double take as they spun around a corner and the harbor came into view. “Oh my, you’re right. The boats are all lit up.” He smiled, a smile so heartfelt and genuine that Theodosia knew he was utterly charmed. “Look at them, just gliding back and forth across Charleston Harbor. Like pirate ships sailing off to Neverland.”

About three dozen sailboats had been lit, stem to stern, with multiple strings of white lights. And, just as Drayton had said, they appeared to glide gracefully across the surface of the gilded moonlit water.

“Now all we have to do is find Sabrina and Luke Andros,” Theodosia said, turning into the parking lot at the Charleston Yacht Club.

But that was going to be a piece of cake. Because the very last pier, where two enormous yachts tugged at their moorings, was lit up like a Christmas tree. And so were the yachts.

“Two yachts,” Theodosia said. “He’s brought another one in.”

“It would appear there’s a party going on,” Drayton said as music and the hum of many voices floated toward them. “And judging from all the people on deck, it looks like Gold Coast Yachts is having a fairly large shindig. Do you think it’s a going-away party? Or should I say anchors aweigh?”

“This will make it even easier for us,” Theodosia said. “It means we can waltz in, hop on a boat, mingle with the crowd, and ask our innocent little question.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

But the best-laid plans often went awry. Or at least were met with serious obstacles. Because halfway down the pier, Theodosia and Drayton were stopped in their tracks by a very burly man in an ill-fitting navy-blue blazer.

“Sorry,” the man told them as he crossed his arms and blocked their way. “But this is a private party.”

Theodosia offered him a winning smile. “We know. We’re good friends of Sabrina and Luke.”

The security man touched a hand to the velvet rope that stretched across the pier, blocking their passage. “In that case, you folks probably have an invitation?”

“Not exactly,” Theodosia said.

“Are your names on the guest list?”

“We just thought we’d drop in and say a quick hello,” Theodosia said.

“Or a quick good-bye,” Drayton added with a hopeful note. “Since we know that Sabrina and Luke are leaving tomorrow.”

“For South America,” Theodosia said.

The behemoth simply shook his head. “Sorry,” he growled. “If you’re not on the list, I can’t let you by.”

“Really?” Theodosia said in a slightly wheedling tone.

“I don’t make the rules,” the security guard said.

“Sheesh,” Theodosia said. They turned and headed slowly back down the dock. “I’m disappointed. And what’s with that velvet-rope crap?”

“Pretentious,” Drayton said. “Just like the old Studio 54.”

Theodosia turned to look at him sharply. “What do you know about that place?”

Drayton gave a shrug. “I wasn’t always so buttoned-up. And I did reside in New York for a time.”

Theodosia grinned. “Well . . . Drayton.”