“You’re sure?”
“Let me noodle this around and get back to you, okay?”
Fox gazed at her, a sudden eagerness in his facial expression and body language.
“Or maybe we could go out for a drink sometime,” Fox added.
Or maybe not.
Theodosia smiled. Better not to react at all, to simply ignore his quasi-invitation.
“Okay, then,” Fox said. “Where would I find you if I wanted to get together and talk?”
“At the Indigo Tea Shop over on Church Street.”
Fox threw back his head and laughed, as if caught in the throes of an amusing story. “I love it. Such a quaint business for a modern woman.”
“Who says I’m a modern woman?”
“Honey,” Fox said, “have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re a knockout.”
* * *
* * *
Theodosia dropped Drayton off at his home, then drove the few blocks to her own place, relieved to be done with this day. She parked her Jeep in the back alley and walked through the gate into her small backyard where a magnolia tree swayed in the light breeze and a tiny fishpond burbled. Her key ring jangled as she let herself into her house and . . .
Earl Grey hit her like a cannonball.
Woof.
“Nice to see you, too,” Theodosia said. Though practically doubled over, she reached out to grab her dog’s sweet muzzle and plant a kiss. Earl Grey, not to be outdone, kissed her back, oodles of exuberant doggy kisses that left her happy and giggling. Because that was the thing about pets. You have a tough day, you come home, and they make it all better.
Theodosia let Earl Grey into the backyard where he ran around, sniffing for bunnies or any other critter that may have left its scent. For her, the sweet Charleston air served as a gentle balm. A subtle blend of magnolias, camellias, and salty sea air that soothed and relaxed.
“You know what?”
Earl Grey, a dalmatian and Labrador mix (a Dalbrador), lifted his head and gazed at her with warm brown eyes.
“We should take a spin around the block.”
So they did. Down the alley, past a couple of pocket gardens, turning left at a Charleston single house at the end of the block, then back around. Not many cars out tonight, not a single jogger or dog walker. As they came back down the alley from the other end, Theodosia noted that the much larger house next door to her—the Granville Mansion—was still empty. A previous renter, a true crime writer, had vacated the place a few months ago, and she assumed the mansion’s owner must still be in London on business.
Back home in her small Queen Anne–style cottage with its thatched roof and curls of ivy up the walls, Theodosia and Earl Grey retired to their upstairs suite. When Theodosia had first moved in, she’d converted the entire upstairs into a bedroom / bathroom / walk-in closet master suite (aka her sweet retreat), with the bonus of a cozy reading area tucked in the side tower room. Baroque mirrors, Laura Ashely wallpaper, Stickley lamps, and a four-poster bed gave the place a girly-glam feel. And her mother’s antique vanity with its round mirror and myriad side drawers was the perfect spot for doing her hair, putting on makeup, and stashing jewelry and collectibles. Right now, the top of the vanity held a scatter of earrings and bottles of Opium by Yves Saint Laurent and Eternity by Calvin Klein. A large white bowl held a Majolica tile bracelet, a Kendra Scott bracelet, strings of pearls, gold chains, and carved wooden bangles. Two candles—one a Jo Malone and another a Tom Ford—stood ready to improve the mood even more.
They were both tucked in, all cozy like, when the phone rang. Theodosia in her queen-sized bed, Earl Grey on his overpriced dog bed, his head and shoulders snuggled up against the built-in bolster.
“Hello,” Theodosia said in a drowsy tone, knowing it was Riley.
“What were you up to tonight?” he asked. “Or did you hang around home reading InStyle or, better yet, Guns and Ammo? Ever since I took you to the shooting range that time . . .”
“I’m afraid it was nothing that exciting. I went to a fashion show.”
“Fashion show? Uh-oh, I thought you weren’t going to get involved in all that.”
“My involvement went as far as making cordial conversation with one of the Lemon Squeeze partners and sitting in the second row.”
“No snooping? No asking of questions?”
“Well . . .”
“Just as I suspected,” Riley said.
“So tell me,” Theodosia said, anxious to change the subject, “what are you up to tonight?”
“Would you believe I’m slouched in the front seat of a way-too-compact car that’s rendered my knees completely numb while parked a half block from a craft brewery?”
“Getting up your nerve to go in and have a beer?”
“Don’t I wish. No, I’m on what a TV writer would call a stakeout.”
“What do you call it?” There was amusement in Theodosia’s voice.
“Tedious.”
“But it must be important.”
“Ah, it has to do with this drug thing we’re working on. We got word from the DEA that a bunch of Florida lowlifes are supposedly bringing in drugs from South America so they can do a deal with our local criminal element.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Theodosia said, meaning it.
Riley just sounded bored. “Tell me about it,” he yawned.
8
“I’ve been thinking about Simon Nardwell,” Theodosia announced as she hurriedly polished a dozen silver spoons. It was Tuesday morning at the Indigo Tea Shop and morning tea was firmly underway. The aromas of fresh-baked cinnamon scones and apple tea bread perfumed the air and mingled with Drayton’s steaming pots of English breakfast and Darjeeling tea.
“What about Simon Nardwell?” Drayton said. He shoved a yellow teapot across the counter and said, “This one’s for table five, but it needs to steep another two minutes.”
“Just the fact that Nardwell owns a gun shop is fairly strange, don’t you think?”
Drayton touched a hand to a bright yellow bow tie that matched his teapot perfectly. “I’d have to say it doesn’t bode well.”
“I’m thinking about paying Nardwell a visit.” Theodosia glanced around at the almost-full tea shop. “That’s if we don’t get frantically busy and Miss Dimple shows up on time.”
“She is on time.”
“Hmm?”
“Guess who just walked through the front door.”