Shades of Earl Grey

Society’s Treasures Show,” Delaine prattled on.

“That starts this weekend?” asked Haley.

“The members-only part is this Saturday evening,” explained Drayton, who currently served on the board of directors of the Heritage Society as parliamentarian. “Then the grand opening for the public will be the following weekend.”

“Of course,” said Delaine, “the wedding ring is not quite as showy as some of the pieces in the European Jewel Collection, but it’s a quality piece, just the same.” The European Jewel Collection was a special traveling show that was being brought in to augment the Heritage Society’s own pieces.

“It was a lovely and generous gesture on the part of Camille and Captain Buchanan to allow their ring to be displayed,” said Drayton.

“Oh, Coop, over here!” chirped Delaine. She waved at a tall, lanky man, beckoning him to come join their foursome. “You-all know Cooper Hobcaw, don’t you?” she asked.

“Hello, Mr. Hobcaw,” said Theodosia, shaking hands with the silver-haired, hawk-nosed Hobcaw.

“Coop. Just Coop,” he told her. Glancing at Drayton and Haley, Cooper Hobcaw nodded hello.

Cooper Hobcaw was a senior partner at Hobcaw McCormick and one of Charleston’s premier criminal attorneys. He was smart and tough and wily and had a reputation for playing hardball. Last year he’d defended an accused murderer and had succeeded in getting him acquitted. That had made Cooper Hobcaw slightly unpopular among Charleston’s more politically correct set and had greatly rankled Burt Tidwell, the homicide detective who was an on-again off-again friend of Theodosia’s.

But a person shouldn’t be defined by what they do, decided Theodosia. Cooper Hobcaw had been squiring Delaine around for quite a few months now, and Delaine seemed completely and utterly charmed by him.

“Would you like another drink, honey?” Cooper Hob-caw asked Delaine solicitously.

“Please,” she said, handing over her empty glass. “But this time . . . maybe a cosmopolitan?”

“Ladies?” Hobcaw threw a questioning glance at Theodosia and Haley, who both shook their heads. Their champagne glasses were still half-full.

“I’ll come with you,” offered Drayton.

“No, no, please. Allow me,” said Cooper Hobcaw. “You stay with the ladies and keep them amused. I’ll bring you a... what is it you’ve got there? Bourbon?”

“Right,” nodded Drayton.

“Good man,” said Hobcaw with a crooked grin. “I can’t stand that bubbly stuff either.”

“Okay,” said Haley after Cooper Hobcaw had moved off, “tell me which one is Camille Cantroux. There are so many pretty girls here, I don’t know one from the other.”

“Over there,” said Theodosia. “Standing by the baby grand piano. With the short blond hair.” She indicated a young woman in a champagne-colored slip dress whose tones just happened to perfectly match her short-cropped and ever-so-slightly-spiked hair.

“The one who’s about a size two?” said Haley. “My, she is pretty, isn’t she.”

“Camille’s adorable,” gushed Delaine, who was fairly ga-ga over her young niece.

“Did you help pick out her wedding gown?” asked Drayton, who had finally assumed an if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em attitude about the wedding discussion.

“Of course,” said Delaine. “But being that Camille is so tiny, I suggested breaking from traditional style. Instead of her being overpowered by a big flouncy dress and flowing veil that would make her look like a human wedding cake, I found the most adorable little French creation. It has a bodice with just the tiniest bit of rouching, and a tulle ballerina skirt. Très elegant—but, of course, not in white.”

“Not in white?” said Drayton. “Then what...?”

“Ivory,” said Delaine, as though she’d single-handedly invented the color. “Ivory is so much more elegant than white. White has become awfully” she paused, searching for the word “passé.”

“I’m particularly fond of ecru myself,” said Haley. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t entirely rule out alabaster . . .” Haley suddenly stopped short as a deafening crash echoed through the room. At the exact same moment, a flash of lightning strobed in the tall, cathedral-style windows that lined one end of the ballroom, illuminating the night sky.

Startled, Theodosia took a step backward and turned toward the nearest waiter, fully expecting to see an entire tray of champagne glasses dumped on the floor. But no, the waiter was still clutching his tray, looking around in alarm.

The string quartet had stopped mid-note and the musicians were also glancing about with nervous looks. A strange hush had fallen over the room as the guests milled about, mumbling quietly and looking profoundly unsettled.

As if on cue, a second crash suddenly rocked the room. This time, the noise was louder still. And there was no mistaking the direction from which it came.

Camille Cantroux broke from the crowd and ran to the double doors that led to the Garden Room, where the sit-down dinner was supposed to take place. Grabbing the ornate door handles, Camille tugged at the doors, struggling to pull them open. The heavy doors seemed to resist for a moment, then they suddenly flew open, revealing the interior of the Garden Room.

But instead of elegant linen-draped tables alight with blazing candles, the Garden Room was a disaster! Half of the roof had seemingly collapsed. Rain poured in from above, drenching tablecloths, place settings, floral arrangements, and gifts. Sheets of glass mingled with smaller, dangerously pointed shards. Twisted metal struts, once part of the roof, poked up from the rubble.

And underneath it all lay Captain Corey Buchanan.

Camille’s voice rose in a shrill scream. “Corey! Corey!” she cried as she ran to him and threw herself down on the floor, ignoring the shattered glass and jagged metal.

Facedown, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll, poor Corey Buchanan lay motionless. Camille plucked frantically at the back of his damp uniform as blood gushed from Captain Buchanan’s head and rain poured down from above. Desperate, needing to do something, Camille struggled to work her arms under and around Captain Buchanan, ignoring the debris that tore at her, wanting only to cradle her fiancé’s bloody head in her arms.

Following directly on Camille’s heels, Theodosia had raced across the room, covering the short distance in a heartbeat. She’d hesitated in the doorway for a split second, taking in the roof with its gaping hole, the wreckage of glass strewn everywhere, and the one enormous shard of glass that had imbedded itself deep in the back of Captain Buchanan’s neck, right near the top of his spine.

And Theodosia knew in her heart there was no hope.

Kneeling gingerly to avoid the needle-like slivers of glass and pointed metal, Theodosia gently placed her index and middle fingers against Corey Buchanan’s neck. Hoping against hope, she held her breath and prayed. But there was no pulse, no sign of life in this poor boy.

Captain Corey Buchanan, eldest son and proud warrior of the Savannah, Georgia Buchanans, would never again serve his country as a United States Marine, would never walk with pride down the church aisle in his dress white uniform. Now the only service poor Captain Buchanan would take part in would be his own funeral.

Wailing in helpless despair, Camille rocked her dead fiancé back and forth in her arms. “Now who’ll place the wedding ring on my finger?” she sobbed.

Theodosia turned her gaze to the black velvet ring box that was perched atop the silver card receiver she’d brought over earlier. Captain Buchanan had obviously slipped in the back door with the intention of putting the ring on display. But the velvet box sat empty. There was no ring to be seen.

Chapter 2

From a scene that seemed to unfold in slow motion, activity suddenly accelerated with warp speed. Police and paramedics arrived to load Captain Corey Buchanan onto a gurney and hustle him out to a waiting ambulance.