Whose dead body? was the first thought that streaked like lightning through Theodosia’s brain. Then she bonked into hyperdrive and thought, Oh, dear Lord, I recognize that bright yellow dress. It’s Nadine!
Theodosia drew a sharp breath even as she put a hand to her mouth. She blinked, swallowed hard, then pulled it together. Let the shock subside a little.
What just happened here? Well, she was no forensic expert, but as she stared at Nadine with a mixture of horror and curiosity, she saw what looked like a small black hole, jagged and ringed with blood, at the back of the poor woman’s head. Really more at the base of her skull. And even though Theodosia knew in her heart there wasn’t much hope, that Nadine had pretty much left the building, she bent down anyway and, with a shaking hand, gently touched two fingers to one side of Nadine’s neck.
Nothing. No throb of pulse. No hint of warmth in the carotid artery. No chance of resuscitation.
Theodosia backed away from Nadine’s body but left the cooler door wide open. And wondered what to do next.
Well, she knew what should be done. She had to alert the authorities. And then try to put the entire luncheon and fashion show on hold.
Not gonna be easy.
But she had to do it anyway.
Yes, go, Theodosia told herself. Do it now!
Flying out the back door, phone in hand, she had the bad luck of running smack-dab into Delaine. Actually crashed into her, her left shoulder jamming hard against Delaine’s shoulder, giving them both a hard shaking up.
“Ouch,” a grumpy Delaine cried. “What’s your problem?”
“Don’t go in there!” Theodosia warned.
Delaine gazed at her with suspicion. “Why not?”
“Because there’s a . . . a problem.” Theodosia was already tip-tapping 911 into her cell phone.
Delaine wiggled her nose and frowned. “What’s that you’re doing there? Three digits? Did you just punch in an emergency number?”
Theodosia didn’t have time to answer because the dispatcher was suddenly on the line saying, “911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s been a death,” Theodosia said. Then her words tumbled out in one long stream. “At the Orchard House Inn on Bohicket Road. We need help, law enforcement, and whoever else you can send. Immediately.”
“A death?” Delaine said. “What are you talking about? Who died?”
Theodosia paid her no mind as she listened carefully to the dispatcher’s words, fought to comprehend them.
“You’ll radio Sheriff Burney? . . . Yes, thank you, we’ll watch for him,” Theodosia said. “And could you maybe send the county coroner as well?” She was breathless and jumpy as she tried to focus on the dispatcher’s questions, then said, “No, I don’t know the exact cause, but it looks like a gunshot. . . . Yes, that does seem fairly suspicious. So it could have been . . . murder?”
“Murder!” Delaine screamed.
Theodosia listened to the calm voice of the dispatcher for another half minute, then said, “I don’t know,” and “We’ll try.” And then, “Got it, nobody’s to leave the premises.”
Delaine reached a hand out and gripped Theodosia’s arm as she hung up.
“What’s going on?” Delaine demanded. “You said death—maybe a murder. Who’s been murdered?”
“Delaine,” Theodosia said, “you need to take a deep breath and hang on. Try to stay strong.”
Delaine looked suddenly petulant. “You’re not making any sense at all. What are you blathering about?”
“The murder victim? I’m afraid it’s your sister, Nadine.”
Delaine’s face blanched white, overriding multiple layers of bronzer and blusher. Her forehead puckered, she made a soft mewling sound, and she said, “You’re joking, right? Theo, please tell me you’re joking!”
“I wish I were.”
“No, it can’t be. That would . . . uh . . .” Delaine suddenly stopped mid-sentence, as if she’d been flash frozen or her internal engine had seized. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground.
* * *
* * *
So. Theodosia made the dreaded announcement that the fashion show was on hold. Delaine was eventually revived. And Bettina, Nadine’s daughter, was informed, as gently as possible, about the death of her mother.
A few minutes later, Sheriff Clay Burney, his two deputies, and an ambulance with two EMTs came screaming onto the scene.
Tall and lean with short silvered hair and a craggy face, Sheriff Burney had been county sheriff for more than twenty-seven years and had seen his share of accidents, killings, and death.
“Did you move her?” were his first words to Theodosia.
“No,” she said as the EMTs went crashing past them. They immediately fell to their knees and futilely checked Nadine’s airway, breathing, and pulse.
“When you found her, did you know she was dead?” Sheriff Burney asked.
“Pretty much,” Theodosia said.
“Okay then,” Sheriff Burney said as he glanced at his two deputies. “Seth, Roscoe, you boys stay here and secure the scene while I go out and talk to this group of people.”
“Got it, Sheriff,” Seth said. Seth was languid with shaggy blond hair like a surfer dude. Roscoe had a crew cut and looked as if he’d just escaped from the marines.
If Theodosia’s somewhat cryptic announcement of the fashion show’s cancellation had been met with disappointment, Sheriff Burney’s words were met with outright hostility from the crowd.
“A situation? What kind of situation?” one woman demanded.
“Why are we all being detained?” another shouted.
This from one of the partners: “Tell us what happened!”
Once Sheriff Burney elaborated on the circumstances as delicately as possible, the guests fell silent. His announcement of Nadine’s murder cast a terrible pall over the group. Many of them dabbed at their eyes; some glanced about fearfully as if some kind of rogue militia might be planning to storm the place.
Delaine sat at a table and sniffled, while Harv and Marv, the two managing partners, skulked about and whispered to each other, and the models lazed around and smoked.
Theodosia spent her time trying to soothe Bettina’s tears over her mother’s death and explaining the bizarre turn of events to Andrea Wilts, the owner of the Orchard House Inn.
Ten minutes later a shiny black Crime Scene van showed up with two men who immediately donned white Tyvek suits. One of the men shook hands with Sheriff Burney and said, “Once we finish here, we’ll transport the victim to the Charleston Medical Examiner’s office. Per our contractual arrangement with them.” Then they all three disappeared inside the inn.