“Sort of.”
“Okay then. As far as the other stuff goes, we’re still waiting for lab results. You know, residue from the broken glass, tissue cultures from the victim.”
Theodosia grimaced at the sheriff’s rather clinical assessment.
“I assume you’ve been in touch with the fire marshal here in Charleston,” she said.
“We’ve spoken a couple times,” Sheriff Billings told her. “It does seem like a bit of a coincidence that Mrs. Congdon’s husband was murdered and then her house or inn or whatever you’d call it suddenly burned down.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences?” asked Theodosia.
Sheriff Billings gave a rueful grunt. “No, ma’am, not that kind.”
But she found Sheriff Billings’s next words rather dis-heartening.
“To tell you the truth, Miss Browning,” he said slowly. “I’m a bit flummoxed by this case. In fact, I’ve been thinking about calling in SLED.” The South Carolina Law Enforcement Division was a statewide agency that could be called in to assist with investigations.
“Really?” said Theodosia. She knew SLED was good, but she also knew that precious time would be lost if this happened. It would take days for Sheriff Billings and probably the fire marshal to get these new investigators up to speed. In the mean time, strange things seemed to be happening to Angie at warp speed.
Theodosia said her good-byes, then hung up the phone. She was still troubled by the fact that not much was happening. Where she’d once thought the wheels of justice were finally turning, now they seemed slightly derailed.
If only Burt Tidwell were investigating.
Burt Tidwell was the one detective, the only detective, that she truly trusted. He was tenacious, brilliant, and mad-dening. He’d helped her out before and had the keen ability to bull his way right into the heart of a thorny investigation. To make things happen. Fast.
Theodosia sat in her office chair and stared across at the montage of photos and memorabilia on her wall. An old photo of her and her dad on his sailboat. Framed exotic tea labels. An award she and Earl Grey had received for their work with Big Paws, the Charleston service dog organization. A framed copy of one of Haley’s scone recipes that had appeared in the
She thought about Angie and the terrible heartbreak her friend had experienced, was still going through. She thought about Mark, all excited about jumping back into the commodities game. Then his life coming to a screeching, grue-some halt as he lay convulsing in front of his wife and friends.
And the deep down, inner part of Theodosia, the part that despised bullies, rooted for underdogs, and believed that old-fashioned justice ought to prevail, quivered with outrage.
So Theodosia pulled herself together and did the most logical thing she could think of. She phoned Burt Tidwell at his office.
Unfortunately, the detective was not in residence.
“He’s bone fishing down in Abaco,” his assistant told her.
“At Marvle Cay. Said he’s not to be disturbed.”
“Where’s Abaco?” asked Theodosia.
“Bahamas.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Lord willing,” his assistant said, “he’ll do us all a favor and stay out of the office for another week. Two would be even better.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “Thanks anyway.” She dug into her red leather address book where she’d stuck Tidwell’s business card. Scanning his card, she squinted at his cell phone number, hesitated for a few seconds, wondering if she could make a cell phone connection in the Bahamas. Then she punched in the number, deciding it was worth a shot.
Tidwell answered on the fourth ring. “Tidwell.”
“Detective Tidwell, this is Theodosia. Sorry to disturb you but . . .”
“Theodosia who?” came Burt Tidwell’s gruff reply.
“Theodosia Browning,” she said. “You know, from the tea shop?”
“Who gave you this number?” he demanded.
Theodosia frowned. He was playing cat and mouse with her. One of his favorite games. “You did,” she told him.
“Did you call my office first?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And they told you I was in the Bahamas bone fishing?” he asked.
“Well . . . yes,” replied Theodosia. “And I’m really sorry to disturb you, but . . .”
“Fish aren’t biting worth a darn,” complained Tidwell. “Stupid things are swimming all around me. I can see their
“A lot of that going around,” said Theodosia. She hesitated as she heard more loud splashing sounds, then a disgusted mutter. She conjured a mental image of Burt Tidwell. Oversized, bobbling head, slightly protruding eyes. A big man, looking almost like a cross between a grizzly bear and a walrus. She wondered if Tidwell was suited up in rubber waders or just sloshing around in an old T-shirt and baggy Bermuda shorts. Either costume would be a strange sight to behold.
“So what did you want?” asked Tidwell. “Now that you’ve interrupted my vacation and completely obliterated my concentration.”
“There’s been a disturbing incident,” Theodosia told him. “Mark Congdon, a friend of mine, collapsed and died last Sunday at Carthage Place Plantation. Initially the doctors thought he’d suffered a heart attack, now the medical report says he died from a nonspecific toxin.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” growled Tidwell. “I only handle homicides in Charleston proper.”
“I realize that,” said Theodosia. “It’s just that I thought perhaps—”
Tidwell cut her off. “Who’s heading the investigation?”
“Sheriff Ernest Billings.”
Tidwell snorted. “I was part of a golf foursome with Billings once. Something called the Law Enforcement Officers Golf Scramble. Out at Shadowmoss. Man plays a terrible short game and cheats like a fiend.”
Theodosia fervently wished they could get back on track.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” she told him.
“Oh, mother of pearl!” Tidwell let out an excited whoop. “I actually snagged one of the buggers!” There were more excited mutterings, then a loud splash and a muffled burbling.
“Detective Tidwell?” Theodosia asked tentatively. She wondered if he’d been pulled underwater and was drowning.
Then there was more burbling and another Tidwell whoop. And then a faint
Theodosia could almost picture Burt Tidwell reeling in his trophy-sized fish while his cell phone slipped through blue waters, finally settling on the sandy bottom of the Caribbean.
15
Theodosia was pondering the whole dilemma. Thinking about how Angie Congdon had asked for her help. Feeling bad that she hadn’t really been able to provide any. And was interrupted when Delaine and Bobby Wayne stuck their heads in her office to say good-bye.
“We’re taking off now,” said Delaine, giving a casual wave. “Oh, can we maybe slip out your back door? When we got here, Church Street was all parked up, so I had Bobby Wayne pull around back. I knew you had two reserved
