Dragonwell Dead

“Might not be any seats left,” said Theodosia when they got close to the auction stage. The bidding was in full swing and the auctioneer, a tall, lanky man in a pristine white suit, was stirring up the crowd that was seated on folding chairs and benches, as well as all the people who milled about clutching their bidding numbers.

“Look, Drayton’s waving at us,” said Angie. “I think he might have saved a couple places.”

“You ladies go up front with Drayton,” urged Mark Congdon. “I want to get a closer look at the orchids on display. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on a few more for my collection and this could be my chance.”

“Hurry up,” called Drayton as he motioned Theodosia, Delaine, and Angie to come forward and grab a seat.

“How’s it going?” asked Theodosia, sliding in next to him.

“I’ve already bought a Dracula bella and a Debutante, one of the Odontonia hybrids. Don’t really need the little beauties, but they’re always a delight to have.”

“Typical orchid fanatic,” Angie said with a laugh.

“Mark’s the same way. Always on the lookout for the next exotic flower.”

“I take it he’s got quite a collection?” asked Delaine.

“Let’s just say there are more than fifty.” Angie laughed again.

“Oh, good heavens,” said Drayton, dropping his voice in awe. “Do you see what’s coming up next?”

“What?” asked Delaine, squinting at the stage. “What?”

“A monkey-face orchid,” said Drayton. “Technically a Platanthera integrilabia.”

“That’s rare?” asked Theodosia. She knew nothing about orchids except that she enjoyed looking at them.

“Extremely rare,” replied Drayton. He was jittery now, waiting for the auctioneer in the white suit to start the bidding again.

“This will go high?” asked Delaine, sounding slightly bored.

“Let’s hope not,” said Drayton, fidgeting in his seat. “Oh, how I’d love to get this one and enter it in next Saturday’s Orchid Lights show. If I repotted the monkey-face in my Chinese oxblood pot, there might be a chance to earn a blue ribbon!”

The auctioneer’s assistant placed the elegant monkey-face orchid on the podium for all to see. Instantly a buzz ran through the crowd. These were South Carolina plant lovers and they knew their stuff.

“We shall start the bidding at two hundred,” announced the auctioneer.

“Dollars?” asked a stunned Delaine.

Drayton’s bidding number shot up.

“Do I have two-fifty?” asked the auctioneer, imperiously surveying the crowd.

Five rows back another sign was raised.

“Three hundred?” asked the auctioneer. His sharp, darting eyes surveyed the crowd. “It’s got best of show written all over it.”

Drayton hesitated for a mere moment, then his sign went up again. “See,” he whispered to Theodosia. “Best of show.”

An intense murmuring rose in the audience. This was a very rare plant and the bidding was likely to become increasingly heated.

“Do I have three-fifty?” asked the auctioneer. His sharp eyes sought out the bidders at the back of the crowd, then he bobbed his head, pleased. He obviously had three-fifty.

Both Theodosia and Angie swiveled in their seats to see who else was bidding.

“Oh, good heavens,” whispered Angie. “Mark’s bidding against Drayton.”

Theodosia nudged Drayton with her elbow. “Did you hear that?” she asked. “Mark’s bidding, too.”

“Are you serious?” said Drayton. “Mark is? Well, then . . .”

He hesitated for a moment, then set his sign down in his lap.

“That settles it,” he said, pursing his lips. “I don’t want to bid against Mark. Let him have the orchid.”

“Do I hear four hundred?” asked the auctioneer, a sly, encouraging note in his voice.

There was a pause, then the auctioneer gave a brisk nod.

“Yes, indeed, I have four hundred.”

“Someone else is bidding,” whispered Theodosia.

“Who?” asked Drayton.

Now Theodosia and Drayton both swiveled in their seats to see if they could determine who was bidding against Mark Congdon.

“Rats,” muttered Drayton, catching sight of the other bidder who’d entered the fray. “It’s Harlan Noble.”

“The rare-book dealer?” asked Theodosia.

“The very one,” said Drayton. “Let’s hope Mark brought his checkbook.”

But in the end, it turned out that Mark Congdon was high bidder. With a rather breathtaking final bid of nine hundred dollars.

“Hmm,” said Delaine, as they all rose at the break.

“That’s a big pile of money for such a dinky little flower.”

“But well worth it,” Drayton assured her.

“I thought for sure you’d hang in there, Drayton,” said a flat voice at his elbow.

“Mr. Noble,” said Drayton, turning to look at the man who’d just spoken to him. “One could say the same about you.”

“Unfortunately not,” said Harlan Noble. And this time he sounded upset.

“I didn’t realize you were an orchid hobbyist,” said Theodosia, looking at the tall, dark-eyed, slightly beak- nosed man. She only knew Harlan Noble enough to say a distantly polite hello to him. He was a member of the Heritage Society and he might have come into the Indigo Tea Shop a year or so ago, but that was it. All she really knew about him was he owned a rare-book shop over on King Street and he specialized in Southern writers and Civil War literature.

“Orchids aren’t just a hobby,” said Harlan Noble, seeming to spit out his words in anger. “Like ship models or mum-mified butterflies. Orchids happen to be my absolute passion!” And with that he bolted off into the crowd.

“Well,” said a slightly stunned Angie, “I guess it’s no secret how Mr. Noble feels. I just hope he’s not too put out with Mark.”

“Somehow,” said Theodosia, “I get the feeling Harlan Noble’s more than a little put out.”

Mark Congdon, on the other hand, was beaming from ear to ear.

“Look at this,” he crowed, holding up his orchid for everyone to see. “An actual monkey-face orchid. You could spend years paddling through the swamps and bogs of South Carolina and never stumble across one of these babies.”

“It’s really that rare?” asked Delaine, looking askance at the pure-white helmet-shaped orchid with delicate lip petals. “Look at Mark’s plant,” she told Bobby Wayne as he rejoined her. “Hopefully, he’ll be able to keep it going.”

“Mark’s a whiz at orchid cultivation,” Angie assured everyone. “I once watched him bring a half dozen pots of bog buttons back from the dead.”

“Bog buttons,” said Drayton, “now that’s something. You must be good.”

“Are you sorry you didn’t keep bidding on the orchid?”

asked Theodosia quietly as they headed back toward the sweet tea stand. Drayton had his two orchids tucked safely in a cardboard box, but seemed to be in a pensive mood.

“Yes and no,” said Drayton. “The older I get, the less things I want or need. I suppose that’s called divesting one’s self.”

“Please don’t sound so morbid,” said Theodosia. “You’re still in your prime.”

“Relatively,” shrugged Drayton.

“Glasses of sweet tea all around?” asked Delaine, slipping back behind the booth and looking, for all the world, like she enjoyed being there. Of course, Bobby Wayne was still smiling and following her every move and Delaine was relishing each delicious second of his attention.