Theodosia was ready to oblige him.
“Getting back to the drugs. Do you know if Nadine used drugs, was ever involved with drugs?”
“Are you asking me if she took drugs?”
“Did she?”
“Maybe an aspirin now and then if she . . .” Nardwell stopped. “But of course you’re asking about drug-drugs. Hard drugs.” He seemed confused.
“More like using illegal drugs.” Theodosia wondered if his confusion was genuine or conveniently faked.
Nardwell’s eyes moved back and forth rapidly, like a Kit-Cat Klock that had lost its spring. “Oh no, I doubt that Nadine would ever get involved in something like that!” He looked horrified.
A knock sounded at the front door and they both turned to look. It was the FedEx guy standing outside holding a couple of packages.
“One minute,” Nardwell said as he reached beneath the counter and hit a buzzer.
There was a loud BRIIING and then the FedEx guy pushed open the door.
“Fred,” Nardwell said. “Looks like you’ve got some deliveries for me.”
“Two packages,” Fred said. “One you need to sign for.”
Nardwell fumbled for his glasses as Fred set the two packages on the counter.
Theodosia slid forward and gave them a casual glance.
One package had a return address that said Hamburg, Germany. The other package was from San Lorenzo, Ecuador.
“And I’ve got one to go out. Two-day delivery is fine.” Nardwell slid his package to Fred as Theodosia craned her neck. It was addressed to someone in Miami.
Once Nardwell had done his business and the FedEx guy was out the door, Theodosia said, “Okay, thanks for your time. If you can think of anything else . . .” Theodosia dug in her wallet and handed him one of her business cards.
Nardwell studied it. “The Indigo Tea Shop, I’ve heard of that.”
“Stop by sometime and we’ll set you up with a pot of tea and a scone.”
“That sounds lovely. Let me give you one of my cards, too.”
Theodosia took his card and said, “Okay, thanks again.” She was halfway to the front door when Nardwell held up a hand and waved to her.
“There is something I just remembered,” he said.
Theodosia turned and slowly walked back to him. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know how important it is . . .”
“At this point anything could be of help,” Theodosia said.
“It has to do with finances. Nadine mentioned to me that Lemon Squeeze Couture was taking out key partner insurance on the various players. So with her passing—her death—I’m assuming the two remaining partners will receive a fairly serious cash payout.”
“How serious a payout?”
“That I don’t know. But it might be interesting to find out, don’t you think?”
Theodosia did indeed.
11
The afternoon was warm and sunny with cerulean blue skies that seemed to stretch all the way up to the troposphere. Theodosia rolled down her window as she drove along, enjoying the fine spring weather. This part of Charleston, known as the French Quarter, was a romantic neighborhood filled with historic churches, town houses, art galleries, and shops. There were new restaurants, too, many serving the low-country cuisine that was starting to catch on all over the country.
Turning onto King Street, Theodosia drove past Keelhaul Seafood Bar, the Barsteller Inn, and Slippery Grounds Coffee before she saw the sign up ahead for Chauvet’s Smartwear. She slowed down as an idea popped into her head.
Should I stop in? Hmm, and do what? Ask Marvin Chauvet a few probing questions? Maybe under the guise of talking about Friday’s catering gig? Sure, I’ll do that if I can find a parking spot nearby.
Theodosia found a spot. She fed a quarter into the meter and strolled toward the front door. As she passed the display windows, she peered at sleek black lacquer mannequins that were all dressed conservatively but expensively.
Inside was more of the same. Elegant, expensive clothing and accessories for both men and women. In fact, the place fairly reeked of money and class. A plush green carpet (the color of money?) fairly tickled underfoot. Heart pine paneling covered the walls, and small sitting areas featured cushy furniture. Everywhere were racks of beautiful women’s clothing and antique armoires stuffed with sweaters, scarves, and lingerie. There was a jewelry counter and a display of hand-tooled Italian leather bags. A few steps up on the mezzanine was the men’s department. More displays of clothing—jackets, tuxedos, leather jackets, and casual wear for golf, tennis, and sailing. It was clubby and exclusive-looking with antique golf clubs, fly rods, and tennis rackets hung on the walls. Theodosia noticed that the decor included several tasty oil paintings done in dark tones and rich with crackle glaze.
A friendly-looking saleswoman in a killer camel skirt suit greeted her immediately.
“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” The saleswoman was attractive and mid-thirties, with blond hair pulled back in a low chignon. Oliver Peoples glasses highlighted her lovely oval face, and her feet were shod in butter-soft caramel-colored stilettos. She looked sleek and serious, like a classy librarian.
Theodosia smiled. “Actually, I just stopped by to speak with the owner.”
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Chauvet is in a meeting right now.”
Theodosia was slightly taken aback. “Excuse me, I thought Marvin Chauvet was the owner.”
“Yes, well, he is the husband.” The saleswoman’s bright smile suddenly tightened.
“But Marvin Chauvet has offices here?”
“Not at the moment.”
Theodosia glanced around. “Somehow I was assuming that his Lemon Squeeze Couture line was headquartered here.”
“I’m afraid that’s a separate entity, quite distinct from this business.”
“Really.” Theodosia stood there, considering what to do next. “So the businesses are separate,” she said, almost as an aside to herself.
“They are indeed,” the saleswoman said. “But I can give you Mr. Chauvet’s phone number if you’d like.”
“Please. That would be terrific.”
The saleswoman went behind a counter and scribbled a number on the back of a business card. She came back out, handed the card to Theodosia, and smiled. She obviously approved of Theodosia’s sea green silk T-shirt, linen blazer, Rag & Bone jeans, and Tod’s loafers.
“I jotted Mr. Chauvet’s number on the back of my card.” She paused. “I’m Bernice Waverly. If I can ever help you with anything—wardrobe curating, styling for a special event—be sure to let me know.”