Dragonwell Dead

mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, then leaned forward in her chair, looking to all the world like she had a nice, juicy piece of gossip to deliver. “Especially since rumors about Mark’s death are spreading like wildfire.”

“Are they really?” asked Theodosia. Her front teeth worried her bottom lip.

Delaine gave a smug smile, then lifted her teacup and took a delicate sip. “Nobody is buying that heart attack story anymore,” she finally said.

Theodosia tapped her fingertips against her silver tray and pondered Delaine’s statement.

Delaine, supremely pleased by the response she’d elicited, arched her eyebrows and lifted her chin. “Maybe you should call your friend Detective Tidwell,” she prompted. “He could help you sort this out.”

“Tidwell’s not her friend,” said Drayton in a dry tone as he approached Delaine’s table. “Not exactly, anyway.”

“I’m afraid Dorchester County’s not within Detective Tidwell’s jurisdiction,” replied Theodosia. Burt Tidwell was the rather brash and brilliant detective who headed the Robbery-Homicide Division of the Charleston Police Department. He would, of course, be the perfect investigator to ferret out and question certain prime suspects in this case. But Carthage Place Plantation was located at least thirty miles outside of Charleston proper. So definitely not Tidwell’s jurisdiction.

“Just a thought,” murmured Delaine. “I mention it only in passing. Oh, Drayton,” she called as he started to move off. “So kind of you to help make arrangements for Mark’s funeral tomorrow. Although I hear you tapped Floradora for flowers when Fig and Vine is really the hot new florist. In fact, they created the most amazing centerpiece for one of Marianne Petigru’s recent dinner parties. Giant spider mums with Japanese irises and miniature callas.”

“A funeral is a far cry from a dinner party,” said Drayton in a slightly disapproving tone.

Delaine picked up a linen napkin and dabbed gently at her lips. “Perhaps,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “but they’re still both important social events.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, Theodosia found time to slip into her back office and call Sheriff Billings. When she told him about the nightshade garden at Carthage Place Plantation, he was completely blown away.

“I never even heard of such a thing,” he said. “ ’Course, me and Mrs. Billings aren’t into gardening and plants and such. I’d rather watch NASCAR races and she’s a die-hard quilter. No green thumbs in our household.”

“Well, there’s an absolute cornucopia of poison growing out there,” said Theodosia, trying to keep a shrill note from her voice and barely succeeding.

“I’ll for sure roust the crime scene guys and get them out to Carthage Place,” Sheriff Billings assured her. “Take samples of all those plants.” He hesitated for a moment. “Heck, maybe we’ll even find a match to that nonspecific toxin the docs came up with.”

“A match,” repeated Theodosia. Yes, that could happen.

“And if we get real lucky,” continued Sheriff Billings, we might even find a three-way match. Mr. Congdon’s blood and tissue samples with one of those plants out there, and whatever residue that’s found on that broken glass you brought in. Then we’d have it nailed.”

“Not completely,” said Theodosia. “You still have to figure out who the perpetrator is.”

“Well . . . yeah,” said Sheriff Billings, backing off somewhat. “There is that.”

“There are . . . uh . . . a couple people you should maybe check out,” said Theodosia. “What you might call persons of interest.”

“And who might they be?” asked Sheriff Billings.

“A woman named Leah Shalimar. She’s a vice president at Loveday and Luxor . . .”

“Same firm as Mark Congdon,” grunted Sheriff Billings.

“She’s also a garden docent at Carthage Place,” said Theodosia.

“I already talked to this Miss Shalimar once already,” said Sheriff Billings. “ ’Course, that was just a cursory meeting at Loveday and Luxor. It’s routine to talk to people who worked with the deceased. Of course, if this lady really knew her way around those gardens . . . then she warrants checking out a second time. Who’s the second one?”

“Harlan Noble,” said Theodosia. “He’s a docent, too.

Plus he got into a sort of bidding war against Mark Congdon. Over an orchid.”

“And I take it he lost?”

“That’s right.”

“Sore loser, huh? Yeah, we can run a check on him. Couldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” said Theodosia. “And if you could get in touch with the various researchers who’ve been making use of those plants, maybe they can tell you something, too.”

“Miz Browning . . .”

“Yes?” said Theodosia.

“Thank you. You’ve done some real smart police work on this.”

“I appreciate that, Sheriff Billings. If you could sort of keep me in the loop, I’d be grateful.”

“Count on it,” said Sheriff Billings.

Well, thought Theodosia as she hung up the phone. There’s certainly a difference between Sheriff Billings and Burt Tidwell. One’s polite, one isn’t. One thanks me, the other tries to ignore me.

“Uh . . . Miss Theodosia?” called an uncertain voice.

Theodosia looked up from her desk to find a young woman staring at her. It took her a moment to figure out just who she was.

“Haley wanted me to come in and say hi,” said the young woman, who was short, olive skinned, and had massive amounts of wavy, dark hair, almost as much hair as Theodosia had. “And I’m supposed to tell you that Haley wants everybody to get together for a quick meeting.”

“You’re our new intern,” said Theodosia, suddenly springing up. “Welcome aboard.” She closed the gap between them and stuck out her hand. “It’s Charlotte Lynch, right?”

The young woman grasped her hand tentatively. “Yes, but call me Charlie, please. Everybody does.”

“Charlie it is, then,” said Theodosia. “Have you met Drayton yet? Did Haley introduce you?”

A panic-stricken look came across Charlie’s face. “Yes,” she said, her voice suddenly low and hoarse. “I sure have.”

11

“I beefed up our luncheon menu today,” announced Haley, “since we’ve got special guests coming in.”

“All our guests are special,” snapped Drayton. He was leery of Leah Shalimar ever since he’d found out she was a garden docent. And was undoubtedly feeling jumpy about Charlie’s presence, too.

Haley rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She’d called Theodosia and Drayton into the kitchen to go over the menu, even though Drayton remained, as Haley would say, “in a mood.” Charlie was out front, prowling the tables with teapots in hand.

“What have you got?” asked Theodosia. Now that Leah Shalimar seemed to be on the docket as a potential suspect, she, too, wished the woman wasn’t coming in today.

“We’ll start with chilled strawberry soup,” said Haley, “accompanied by sliced pear and Stilton cheese tea sandwiches. Then an entree of pan-seared salmon with white asparagus and butter sauce.”

“What about dessert?” demanded an impatient Drayton. Whenever they had a larger group coming in Drayton seemed to get more than a little unnerved.

“Dessert scones,” said Haley. “Chocolate chip scones with Devonshire cream and black raspberry jam. Oh, and I’ll probably do a batch of lemon jumble cookies, too.”

“Lovely,” said Theodosia. “I’m sure all our guests will be delighted.”

“That’s right,” said Drayton. “The operative word here is all.”

The bell over the front door tinkled and Drayton pulled back the green curtain to take a peek. He turned back