“After I talked to the sheriff Sunday evening, her sister, Delaine, also called me with a few more details. I could hardly believe my ears.” Nardwell’s brows pinched together, and his mouth turned down in an unhappy frown. Theodosia wasn’t sure if he was upset about Nadine’s death or unhappy that she’d brought up the subject and reopened his wounds.
“I’m sure Nadine’s death came as a terrible shock to you.”
“When a tragedy hits you out of the blue like this it kind of turns your world upside down.”
“You must have cared for Nadine very much,” Theodosia said.
“We genuinely enjoyed our time together even though we didn’t date all that long.”
“What’s all that long?” Theodosia asked.
“A month . . . no, it was probably more like two months.” Nardwell shook his head. “Nadine was . . . a lovely and spirited lady. I actually think that if we’d had more time together, our relationship might have blossomed.” Now he pulled a white hankie from his jacket pocket and wiped a tear from his eye. “If only we’d had more time.”
Theodosia couldn’t decide if Nardwell was a terrific actor or if he was genuinely upset. Maybe both.
But Nardwell did appear lost in a kind of hazy sadness, so she allowed him a few moments to recover.
Then Nardwell gazed at her with a questioning look and said, “Your interest in Nadine’s murder is what?”
“You’re acquainted with Nadine’s daughter, Bettina.”
A slight bob of his head. “We’ve met.”
“She asked me to get involved.”
“Involved how?” Then a sort of understanding dawned on Nardwell’s face. “Oh, you’re investigating the murder? Working with the police?”
“More like nosing around and asking a few questions. As a private citizen, of course.”
“Ah. Well, then, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“Excuse me?” Theodosia wasn’t sure what he was referring to.
“I just meant that Nadine’s death—her murder—sounds like a genuine mystery. I mean . . . who shoots a person in the back of the head like that?” A note of hysteria edged into Nardwell’s voice. “If you ask me, it’s almost like a gangland killing.”
“Interesting,” Theodosia said. She hadn’t looked at it that way. Maybe Nadine hadn’t been an innocent bystander after all. Maybe she’d been involved in something unsavory. Scandal, bribery . . . a cocaine deal?
“Delaine told me that the sheriff didn’t have any suspects as yet. Or clues for that matter,” Nardwell said.
“I don’t think Sheriff Burney has settled on any specific suspect yet, but I do believe he has fairly good instincts.”
“That was my impression as well,” Nardwell said.
Theodosia decided to address the elephant in the room.
“You have a remarkable collection of firearms,” she said.
“I’ve been collecting and selling antique firearms for as long as I can remember. Almost thirty years.” Nardwell’s jaw tightened as he focused a hard gaze on Theodosia. “This isn’t a social call, is it? Or a visit to extend your condolences.” His tone was suddenly crisp and to the point. “You’re interested in me because Nadine was shot to death and because I have a gun collection.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well, kindly erase it if you will. When I spoke with Sheriff Burney, he told me that Nadine was probably shot with a 9mm pistol.” Nardwell spread his arms wide. “As you can see, my firearms are all of an antique nature. Nothing as modern as that.”
“Right,” Theodosia said. She decided to drop the bombshell. “You do know there were narcotics involved, don’t you?”
“What!” Nardwell looked genuinely shocked. “You’re not serious.”
“Traces of cocaine were discovered in an adjacent room.”
“That’s . . . bizarre!” Nardwell cried. “Nadine would never . . .” He choked on his words, waved a hand in front of his face, recovered, and said, “Nadine was murdered at a fashion event, and I understand those types of people are known to use drugs. They have a reputation, you know.”
“Actually, I plan to question Nadine’s partners,” Theodosia said.
“Well, for sure talk to Harvey Bateman. He’s what you’d call the senior partner, the money man.”
“You’re saying Bateman’s the major investor in Lemon Squeeze Couture? I thought Marvin Chauvet was.”
Nardwell ticked a finger in her direction. “According to Nadine it was Bateman.”
“Did Nadine share much information with you about Lemon Squeeze Couture?”
“Early on she showed me a few sketches, some fabric samples, things like that.”
“How about marketing plans?” Theodosia asked.
“She might have mentioned something.” Nardwell shrugged. “Maybe online sales? A website?”
“Anything else you can think of?”
Nardwell lifted a hand to his head and ran it through his sparse hair. “I seem to remember something about a blog she was planning to write. Style updates, that sort of thing.”
“As far as you know, Nadine was all in on this, right? As a business partner and fashion influencer?”
“She said it was the best opportunity she’d ever had. I know she once dabbled in real estate and had worked in a few retail shops in New York, but Lemon Squeeze Couture really seemed to capture her interest. I remember taking her to dinner one night early on and she was all excited about working with the two partners. She called them angels who brought serious venture capital to the table.”
“By any chance were you also an investor?”
“Me?” First Nardwell looked stunned, then his expression switched to amusement. “Hardly. I know zilch about the fashion industry. Besides . . .” He reached down to lovingly stroke a pistol. “All my money’s tied up in antique weapons.”
Theodosia gazed at his extensive collection. “And they’re popular? There are still serious collectors out there?”
“The interest seems to be growing. Every day I receive inquiries from all across the country. From all over the world.”
“That’s wonderful,” Theodosia said. “I mean that your business is so prosperous.”
Nardwell gazed at her, as if knowing there were more questions.