Dragonwell Dead

Apprehension building, Theodosia waited off camera while Harlan Noble fussed with his orchids. He looked just as hostile as he always looked. And Theodosia couldn’t seem to shake the image of Harlan Noble, standing in a crowd of gawkers, watching the Featherbed House burn. Especially since it had come on the heels of Harlan trying to purchase Mark’s collection and being turned down by Angie.

This is silly, Theodosia told herself. I’m acting like a frightened school kid. When what I really should do is go talk to him.

Theodosia edged closer to the table. “Your orchids look lovely,” she told Harlan.

He looked up at her as though he had no earthly idea Theodosia had been standing there. “You think so?” he asked. “I’m dreadfully nervous about these hot lights.” He glanced upward. “But the producer promised they’d only be on for ten minutes at most.”

“Orchids don’t like heat?” asked Theodosia. “I always thought they were hothouse plants.”

Harlan Noble gave a quick frown. “That’s what everyone thinks. But these are mostly native varieties. Used to a little more shade and a subtropical climate versus tropical.”

“So most of these were collected locally?” asked Theodosia.

“All of them,” replied Harlan. He moved a Spider orchid, replaced it with a Northern Green orchid.

“Interesting,” said Theodosia. “I take it you have a few favorite haunts where you go to collect?”

Harlan Noble straightened up, then seemed to really look at Theodosia for the first time. “I’m originally from a little town called Plum Branch,” he told her, his dark eyes boring into her. “Best collecting in the state.”

“Aha,” said Theodosia, the hair on the back of her neck suddenly standing on end. “Up near Sumter National Forest.” She wasn’t about to tell Harlan she’d passed that way yesterday. Then again, he might already know that.

“So you really know that area,” said Theodosia.

“I know it very well,” responded Harlan Noble. “Very well, indeed.”

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait much longer. Abby Davis, the show’s new host, strode across the studio. Attired in a slim-fitting pink suit, Abby had a cap of dark spiky hair and a no-nonsense look about her. Oohing and aahing over Harlan’s orchids, she greeted him first. Then she approached Theodosia, cards in hand. “You’re Theodosia,” she said. “I’m Abby Davis. Host of the show.”

Theodosia smiled warmly at Abby. There was something familiar about this woman. Or maybe it was her name. Had she heard it before? Before today? “Your name sounds awfully familiar,” said Theodosia. “Perhaps we’ve met before?”

Abby’s brown eyes carried a hint of merriment mingled with challenge. “You think so?”

“Pardon me?” said Theodosia, slightly puzzled. Why, she wondered, is this woman coming on so strangely? She thought for a moment. Unless she’s . . . oh no, she can’t be. Please don’t let her be . . .

“You’re . . .” began Theodosia.

Abby Davis leaned forward, dark eyes glittering, her face pulled into a hard smile. “I’m Jory Davis’s cousin. And, yes, we have met before.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Theodosia. Her response sounded lame, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she should say to the cousin of her ex-boyfriend. She filled in the conversation gap by adding, “I understand you’ve recently joined the station. Congratulations.”

“Yes,” said Abby. “I just moved back from Tampa.”

“Where you were also an on-air personality?” asked Theodosia, trying her best to keep the momentum going.

“At the top-rated station,” purred Abby. “And you, I’m sure, are still doing your little tea shop thing.”

“Not so little,” said Theodosia. No way was she going to stand there and let Abby pick at her. “The Indigo Tea Shop is thriving, the catering business is developing nicely, and I created a line of T-Bath products.” There, she thought, I may not be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but I am an entrepreneur who’s growing and nurturing a small business.

“Good for you,” said Abby in a bored tone. She spun on her heels, gesturing for Constance to join them. “Let’s lay this down,” said Abby. “I don’t have all day.”

Then they were all crowded around a small table overflowing with pots of orchids. Abby stood in the middle with Theodosia on one side, Harlan on the other. The lights burned bright and hot as Abby chatted breezily, dimpled prettily for the camera, and asked the exact right questions so Harlan could talk about the enticing orchids on display at tonight’s Orchid Lights show and Theodosia could make her pitch that tickets were still available.

The cameras moved in close to pan the orchids several times, and then it was over. The klieg lights dimmed, the cameras with their giant eyes rolled back on soundless, rubber wheels, and a production assistant rushed in to unclip Theodosia’s microphone.

Abby stood a few steps away, reviewing her cards for the next segment as a woman from the makeup department twirled a fat brush in a compact and dabbed powder across Abby’s cheeks. All the while Abby completely ignored everything that was going on around her. The makeup lady. Harlan packing up his orchids. And Theodosia.

“Miss Davis,” Theodosia said, mustering a strong, no-nonsense tone. It was the same tone she’d used years ago when she’d had to rein in impossibly pushy clients.

Abby Davis looked up. Surprise widened her eyes.

“If this segment hadn’t been a promotional pitch for the Heritage Society,” said Theodosia, “I want you to know I would have walked out. You’ve been nothing but rude to me.”

“You broke Jory’s heart,” spat out Abby.

“Jory moved to New York!” said Theodosia, surprised by the emotion that resonated in her own voice.

“He asked you to go along,” said Abby.

“And leave everything behind, yes,” replied Theodosia. “Family, friends, and my business. It was a hard decision to make and sometimes I still wonder if it was the right one.” And with that, Theodosia turned and walked off the set.

22

“Theodosia!” Delaine’s shrill voice greeted her. “I see you finally showed up.”

Theodosia stared across racks of gossamer silk tops, cropped pants, cotton sweaters, and long skirts. “I told you I had to do an appearance at Channel Eight this morning.”

“And how did it go?” asked Delaine, hastening toward her on four-inch stilettos, a saffron scarf trailing behind her.

“Fine,” said Theodosia. “Great.” Well, not great. Pretty darn terrible if you want to know the truth. But you probably don’t.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Delaine, giving Theodosia a succession of air kisses and enveloping her in a soft cloud of lilac perfume. “Things have been absolutely frantic here. In the last couple days we’ve literally blown through our entire inventory of embroidered T-shirts and our Sea Island cotton sweaters are simply flying off the shelves.”

“So business is good,” said Theodosia. “You should be delirious.” She picked up a silver sandal from a display. It was feather light with a wedge heel of smooth cork.

“All I am is exhausted,” said Delaine, clasping a hand to her chest. “Between ordering inventory, handling sales, and making plans for a buying trip, I just can’t seem to keep up.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Theodosia. Usually Delaine thrived on chaos.

Janine, Delaine’s longtime assistant suddenly appeared. “She was out with Bobby Wayne again last night, that’s the problem.” Janine’s face, perpetually red from juggling a gazillion things while trailing around after Delaine, carried a knowing look.