Shades of Earl Grey

“Strange, isn’t it?” said Drayton. “I suddenly feel like I’ve been dumped into a vintage Alfred Hitchcock film. Twists and turns everywhere.”

Theodosia nodded her agreement. “Drayton, you just said a mouthful.”

Chapter 12

From the first day she’d found Earl Grey in her back alley, a shivering, whimpering puppy that some heartless person had abandoned, Theodosia had struggled with his food.

At first, the poor dog had been so starved he gobbled anything and everything she put in front of him, barely pausing to take a breath. She’d fed him a standard dog food with a teaspoon of olive oil poured over it, in hopes of improving his coat. But as Earl Grey had gotten older and started to feel more secure, came to realize he was much loved, and had finally found a permanent home, the dog had become a trifle picky. From gourmand to gourmet.

And so Theodosia began to experiment. Adding cooked vegetables to Earl Grey’s food and occasionally boosting his protein intake by giving him a raw turkey neck.

That had seemed to do the trick. The coat that Drayton continued to insist was salt and pepper but Theodosia saw as dappled gray had grown lush and thick, Earl Grey had added muscle tone in his chest area, too, but still remained properly lean so you could gently feel a faint outline of his ribs.

Tonight, Theodosia stirred a mixture of yogurt and steamed broccoli into Earl Grey’s food, then heated up a carton of gumbo for herself that she’d pulled from her freezer that morning. Duck and sausage gumbo was a staple all across the South, and no one made it better than her Aunt Libby, who lived out in the low-country. Aunt Libby had prepared gallons of the hearty stew earlier this fall and had given Theodosia at least a dozen cartons. Suffused with smoked sausage, tender breast of duck, okra, rice, celery, onion, hot peppers, herbs, and spices, the gumbo was an aromatic, heartwarming dinner. Especially since Theodosia had grabbed one of Haley’s blackberry scones to go along with it.

“What do you think the calorie content of that was?” she asked Earl Grey, who had fixed her with a baleful look as she finished her dinner. “Yes, I know,” she told him. “You dined on low-fat yogurt and florets of broccoli while I sated myself with a high-fat, high-carb dinner. Life isn’t fair, is it?”

Earl Grey sighed loudly, as if to say, You’re the one who said it, not me.

“Only one thing to do, big guy,” she told him. “Go for a run.”

Ah, the magic word. Run. Although walk, jog, and out were big-time favorites in Earl Grey’s lexicon, the word run seemed to evoke the most joy. For Earl Grey was instantly on his feet and pacing wildly as Theodosia dumped dirty dishes into the sink. He added a low whine to his repertoire as she changed into her running gear, and strained mightily as Theodosia struggled to clip the leash onto the overjoyed dog’s collar.

Then they were down the steps and out the door into the dark night.

The historic district on this October night was a thing of beauty. The atmosphere, heavy and redolent with mist, lent a soft focus to everything. Lights became shimmery, hard edges obscured.

After a fast walk down their alley, Theodosia and Earl Grey picked up the pace. They settled into a good rhythm as they cut across the interior of the peninsula on Broad Street, covering a good eight or nine blocks. Popping out near the Coast Guard station, Theodosia could make out the faint silhouette of bobbing sailboats and towering masts at the Charleston Yacht Club far off to her right.

Jogging down Murray, Theodosia and Earl Grey rounded the tip of the peninsula. For some reason it seemed darker out here. And lonelier. Fog, not just mist, but real cottony, wispy fog, was rolling in now from the Atlantic. Across the parkway, houses and lights that had merely looked soft focus before were suddenly being swallowed up in a wall of gray.

Passing near the Featherbed House, a bed-and-breakfast run by Angie and Mark Congdon, four squat orange pumpkins glowed like beacons from the front steps. Tiny candles flickered inside their carved grins, broadcasting a sinister welcome.

Halloween, thought Theodosia. It’s only a few days away.

Theodosia and Earl Grey slowed their pace, Theodosia deciding, at the last minute, to head down the Congdons’ private alley. It was a narrow cobblestone lane that wound past their garage then connected up with another walkway. That walkway would bring her, in a roundabout manner, back to Tradd Street. It sounded complicated, but wasn’t. The historic district was a maze of alleys, walkways, and connecting paths, the result of old carriage drives, servants’ entrances, and tradesmen’s lanes. Once you had it figured out, you were set.

As Theodosia slipped slowly past the Featherbed House with its second-story bridge that connected the main house with two rooms over the carriage house, Earl Grey gave a low growl. He strained at his leash, jerking Theodosia toward a nearby tree. Then the dog gazed sharply upward on full alert.

What is up there? Theodosia wondered. She hesitated, then approached the tree cautiously. It was an enormous old tree, a live oak, draped in banners of gray-green Spanish moss. It was the kind of tree that was easy to climb. Which meant anything could be up there. Squirrel, possum, porcupine, person.

Earl Grey gave a quick sniff at the base as though to once again confirm his suspicions, then rose up on his hind feet and planted his front paws on the base of the gnarled trunk.

Still curious as to what exactly had caught the old boy’s attention, she peered up the gnarled base, expecting to see... what?

Glinting green eyes peered back at her.

A cat! There was a cat up the tree! Probably one of the old tabbies that lived at the Featherbed House. Angie was a soft touch for strays and always joked about how a network of hobo cats had put the word out on her. Psst! Come to the Featherbed House for a little R and R. No kitty ever gets turned away.

Theodosia whistled softly and Earl Grey turned his attention back to her. They continued down the alley past the carriage house and turned right where the alley connected with the back drive of another home, the Ebenezer Stagg House, an Italianate mansion that had once been a private boys’ school. The two of them picked their way carefully on glistening cobblestones, taking care where they stepped. The fog really had them surrounded now, London style, and the only thing that kept Theodosia moving forward at a fairly good clip was her firsthand knowledge of these old alleyways.

As they passed behind the Stagg House, Theodosia could hear footsteps coming from the right. She stopped in her tracks and Earl Grey sat down, a move they’d both practiced during obedience training. But the person, whoever it was, crossed right in front of them without noticing them, and headed down a different alley, an alley that angled back toward King Street.

Who was that? she wondered. Who else is out creeping around in this fog? Was it Cooper Hobcaw on one of his jogs? Maybe. But this man, and she was pretty sure it was a man, hadn’t been jogging. Even though the alley he’d gone down was a nice, even pavement that had been fairly well lit with glowing lamps.

An uneasy feeling began to steal over Theodosia and she shivered under her layers of sweatshirts. Cooper Hob-caw had joked that he went out jogging every night in the historic district. Does he just prefer the historic district? she wondered. Does he drop in on Delaine every night?

Or is he up to something else? That last thought stunned her. Does Cooper Hobcaw have another reason for prowling the historic district at night? Could Cooper Hobcaw be casing the area?

Theodosia couldn’t get home fast enough.

She reeled Earl Grey in close to her and kept to the middle of the pathways until she came upon the familiar lights and sights of Church Street.

So, of course, the phone was ringing as she climbed the back stairway.