“The old ‘hell hath no fury’ argument.” Drayton cocked his head to one side. “It’s a possibility.”
“And then there’s Mark Devlin.”
“The designer, a man who looks down his nose at his employers and believes he should be the one in charge. Wants to be the big kahuna.”
“But you find that dynamic in almost every company,” Theodosia said. “There’s always one jerk who thinks he’s da bomb.”
They chuckled as their waitperson set their starters in front of them.
Drayton picked up his knife and fork, took a bite of fried okra and said, “The wild card in all this is the young intern.”
“Julie Eiden.”
“The girl Nadine was so cruel to.” Drayton took another bite and said, “This is all rather complicated. There are lots of little permutations here and there, reasons why someone would want to be rid of Nadine, but nothing major stands out.”
“And there’s a dope deal to figure in as well,” Theodosia said as she took a spoonful of she-crab soup. “It’s kind of like disarming a bomb. You snip the wrong wire and it all explodes.”
“Heaven forbid,” Drayton said.
When they finished their starters, when the rest of their dinner arrived, they made a point of not talking about murder or mayhem or angry people. Tried to enjoy this lovely respite where faint murmurs of conversation drifted in like distant radio signals, where crystal glasses clinked softly and thousands of white twinkle lights strung on the facade of Poogan’s Porch sparkled like fireflies in the night.
A perfect evening. Almost.
* * *
* * *
The drive out Maybank Highway was almost relaxing. They crossed any number of bridges, then zoomed through rolling hills and fields where many of the old rice and indigo plantations had been replaced by new plantation-style homes. Farther out, the Maybank Highway became a two-lane ribbon as they drove through pine forests and swampland, and passed in sight of the Charleston Tea Plantation. It was dark out here with fewer homes and farms. In places where the narrow road dipped, ground fog swirled in their headlights, adding a spooky, mournful touch.
When Theodosia knew she was getting close, she drove with one eye on the road and one on her iPhone.
“Okay, keep a look out now. Pretty soon we need to make a right turn onto Katy Hill Road.”
“We just passed Bear Bluff Road a mile back,” Drayton said.
“Then we have a ways to go yet.”
“Nice out here,” Drayton said. “Open space and room to breathe.” He settled back against the seat. “Don’t get me wrong—I love Charleston. It’s the best city in the entire world.”
“Better than Amsterdam? Better than Shanghai?” Drayton had worked in both cities in the tea industry and always spoke fondly of them.
“Oh my, yes,” he said. “Charleston is home. What was it Robert Frost said about going home?”
“Don’t quote me on this, but I think it was something like ‘Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.’ ”
“That’s precisely how I feel about Charleston. It has a warm, welcoming feeling as well as a pulse to it. Yes, we sometimes move slowly, but gracefully so. And there are still a few hidebound traditions, but all in all, we’re getting more flexible.”
“Don’t forget manners,” Theodosia pointed out. “We’re known for our manners.”
“Which will never go out of style, and thank goodness for that. Say, I think this might be our turn up ahead.”
Theodosia put her foot on the brake and coasted along. “Can you read the sign? What’s it say?”
Drayton squinted at a metal sign that was canted on top of a tall pole. “Katy Hill Road.”
“Bingo.” Theodosia slowed down and made a right turn.
“Now what?”
“Now we have to find Turnbull Road,” she said. “And then 1120 Turnbull Road.”
They drove along slowly, tires hissing against the blacktop.
“It’s very agricultural out here,” Drayton said. “Lots of corn.”
“Here we go,” Theodosia said. “Here’s Turnbull.” They hung another right and found themselves on a dirt road. They bumped along for a mile, then two miles, with not a single house in sight.
“This is the back of nowhere,” Drayton said.
“Feels like it, anyway.”
“Wait, there’s something ahead.”
“A mailbox,” Theodosia said.
It was a dinged-up metal mailbox with peeling numbers. But they were the exact numbers they were looking for.
“Looks like somebody took a potshot at it,” Drayton said. “Some good old boys out making mischief.”
Theodosia turned down a narrow driveway shadowed by tall, dark pine trees, listening to gravel crunch beneath her tires.
“Sure is dark out here,” Drayton said.
“And lonely,” Theodosia said.
“No lights on anywhere. But I do see an outline of a house up ahead.”
When they finally rolled to a stop, Theodosia said, “No car. I don’t think Fox is here yet.”
“Or maybe he’s come and gone.”
“Unlikely,” Theodosia said. “In my experience, TV shoots always run late.”
“If and when he shows up, he’s not going to be happy.”
“Too bad. Those are the breaks.”
Drayton looked around. “So we just cool our heels and wait for him?”
Theodosia reached over and grabbed a flashlight from the glove box. “Well, we could get out and take a look around. See what’s so special about this place that puts it on a location shoot list.”
“That’s a thing? A location shoot list?”
“It is.”
They climbed out of the Jeep and stood under a sweep of live oak.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Drayton asked.
“What’s wrong, are you getting cold feet?”
“Truth be told, I am. A little.”
“When Bettina first approached us, you were all gung ho about jumping in to investigate.”
“That’s me, an expert panel of one,” Drayton said.
“C’mon,” Theodosia said. “Let’s at least take a look at this house.”