Dragonwell Dead

“And Van Stern Jewelry donated this necklace.” Delaine pulled out a chunky gold chain with a bright green stone dangling from it.”

“What’s the stone?” asked Bobby Wayne, squinting at it. “A peridot?”

“Lemon citrine,” Delaine told him.

“So what else?” asked Haley. “What about the businesses around here?”

“The Chowder Hound donated a hundred-dollar gift certificate,” Delaine told her. “And Hattie Boatwright at Floradora is donating a Think Pink bouquet of gerbera daisies and Anna roses. See, here’s a photograph of it. Nice, no?”

“Nice, yes,” said Theodosia. “But I thought you preferred Fig and Vine.”

Delaine gave a careless shrug. “We always welcome donations,” she said. “No matter where they come from.”

“You’ve done a lot of work on this,” said Theodosia. Delaine could be a pain sometimes, but she was a hardworking volunteer.

Delaine rolled her eyes in a gesture of supreme exasperation. “I was hoping some of the Orchid Society people would pitch in and garner donations, too. After all, they’re supposed to be an equal partner in Orchid Lights. But so far not one of them has lifted their little pinky. The only thing they’re focused on is the orchid show itself.”

“I suppose they’re not accustomed to staging fund-raisers,” said Theodosia. “After all, they’re more of a social club, while the Heritage Society is a nonprofit organization, used to hitting people up for contributions.”

“Still,” said Delaine, “the orchid people could be a lot more cooperative.” She took a delicate sip of tea, looked around, suddenly threw up one hand and waved wildly at Drayton. “Drayton!” she gushed. “There you are!”

Drayton came scurrying over to their table, looking none the worse for wear. “Nice to see you,” he told Delaine. Then directed a solemn nod toward Bobby Wayne. “You, too, Bobby Wayne.”

Bobby Wayne nodded pleasantly as his silver knife cut into another of Haley’s muffins.

“I’m doing the final round of collecting for the silent auction,” Delaine told Drayton.

“I trust our fine neighbors up and down Church Street have been more than generous,” he replied.

“Some have, some haven’t,” Delaine said cryptically. “Your friend Harlan Noble was grudging at best.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to characterize Harlan as my friend,” said Drayton.

Theodosia’s ears perked up. “You asked Harlan Noble for a donation?”

“Yes,” said Delaine, rolling her eyes. “But all he gave us was an old dog-eared copy of some book on Civil War history. Not terribly appealing. Certainly not to me, anyway. I’m not even sure we should include his meager contribution in tomorrow’s silent auction.”

“You stopped by Harlan’s shop this morning?” asked Theodosia. She wondered if Harlan Noble had somehow found time to drive north, take a potshot at them, then whip back to Charleston. He seemed like a mild-mannered fellow, but you never really knew about people.

“No, we just saw Mr. Noble maybe . . .” Delaine narrowed her eyes, thinking. “. . . something like forty minutes ago. That was the first place we hit together, right, Bobby Wayne?”

Bobby Wayne nodded as he chewed.

Delaine leaned forward in her chair, a conspiratorial look suddenly spreading across her heart-shaped face. “But even if Harlan Noble isn’t the most generous donor, we did pick up some rather juicy gossip.” Now Delaine’s eyes positively gleamed.

Theodosia and Drayton stared at Delaine, well aware she was bursting to share her news with them. They didn’t have to wait long.

“It’s about Angie,” said Delaine, flashing a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

“Angie Congdon?” said Theodosia. Now what was going on?

“It seems that Angie is under investigation for insurance fraud!” Delaine delivered this shocker of a line with wide-eyed wonderment.

“That can’t be so,” piped up Drayton, even though Theodosia had mentioned to him earlier today that the fire marshal had asked pointed questions concerning Angie.

“Are you serious?” blurted out Theodosia. So she really is being investigated? No wonder Gwyn was so upset last night.

“Doesn’t that just take the cake!” crowed Delaine.

“This is all a mistake,” said Theodosia. She didn’t for one minute believe Angie was guilty of anything.

“I don’t think so,” said Delaine, reveling in her bearer-of-bad-news status. “Tell them, Bobby Wayne.” She sat back in her chair with a satisfied look on her face, happy to pass the gossip baton to Bobby Wayne.

Bobby Wayne blotted his lips with a napkin and turned serious eyes on Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley. “Apparently it is true.”

“Explain, please,” said Drayton, motioning with his fingers.

Now Bobby Wayne looked thoughtful. Regretful, almost. “Well, there was a one-point-five-million-dollar life insurance policy on Mark.”

“Really?” said Drayton, doing a slight double take. “That much?”

“Sure,” said Bobby Wayne. “And the Featherbed House was worth far more than that,” he continued. “Even though it did sustain fire damage, a prime property located near the Battery is still worth several million dollars in today’s real estate market.” Bobby Wayne put both hands flat on the table, looking grim now. “So you add together life insurance as well as property, content, and business insurance and you probably end up with a sizeable pile of money.”

“How sizeable?” asked Drayton.

Bobby Wayne thought for a moment. “Maybe six, seven million dollars that Angie will come into.”

“That much?” exclaimed Delaine. Now she sounded almost envious.

“Oh, easy,” said Bobby Wayne. “Maybe more.”

“The thing of it is,” said Delaine, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, “now the authorities are looking hard at Angie for Mark’s death!”

“That is so wrong!” exclaimed Theodosia.

“I won’t even consider the fact that Angie Congdon might have murdered her own husband then torched the Featherbed House,” said Drayton. “That scenario makes no sense whatsoever.”

“I completely agree with you,” said Theodosia. “Angie would be systematically destroying everything that was important to her. The husband she loved and everything she worked so hard to create.”

“Still,” said Delaine, happy to interject a sour note. “People have been known to do exactly that.”

Now Bobby Wayne looked unhappy. “They have, indeed,” he said.

“And you heard all this from Harlan Noble?” asked Theodosia. Perhaps he was just full of sour grapes.

“And other people, too,” confirmed Delaine. “People all over the historic district are whispering.”

“Poor Angie,” said Drayton. “Her reputation will be in shreds.”

“To say nothing of her life,” murmured Theodosia.

A few minutes later, when Bobby Wayne took off, Delaine’s tote bags clutched in both hands, Theodosia accompanied him to the door.

“Have you talked to Angie today?” she asked him.

“No, but I’m planning to go see her,” said Bobby Wayne. “Mark was like family to me and I can’t stand to see Angie bear the brunt of this preposterous investigation.” Bobby Wayne stared earnestly at Theodosia. “You know she’s completely innocent and so do I.”

“Agreed,” said Theodosia.

“So we have to help her get through this,” said Bobby Wayne.

“If she’ll let us,” said Theodosia, thinking back to last night and the wrath of Angie’s sister, Gwyn.

“I’ll talk to Angie,” said Bobby Wayne. “Get her the best lawyer I can find. Really straighten things out.”

“Bobby Wayne,” said Theodosia, as he pushed open the door, “a couple days ago, you said there’d been a sort of competition between Mark and Leah to head your FOREX division. Tell me, if Mark hadn’t been killed, would Leah have been your first choice?”