Dragonwell Dead

navigating your life.”

Drayton and Delaine began drifting toward the far side of the patio.

“You go, too,” Theodosia urged Haley. “Scoot.”

“You can handle things okay?”

“No problem. Besides, Parker and Charlie are nearby.”

“Okay,” said Haley, moving off to join the group.

Theodosia heard the PA system click on, was aware of a spatter of appreciative applause from the crowd. Then she turned her attention to her tea table. They’d been hit with a spurt of guests earlier and she wanted to replenish things.

Bending over, she grabbed another tray of sandwiches, plucked a brass tea strainer and a tea thermometer from a wicker basket.

“Theodosia.”

Theodosia looked up to see Bobby Wayne staring at her, looking a little bit excited and slightly jittery.

“Theodosia,” Bobby Wayne whispered again. “Don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Just come see the ring I bought for Delaine.”

Bobby Wayne’s words suddenly struck a chord with Theodosia. “Ring?” she said.

Bobby Wayne managed a nervous smile. “Yeah. It’s an . . . an engagement ring!”

A wide smile spread across Theodosia’s face. “Are you serious? You’re going to ask Delaine to marry you?” This was news! Major news!

Bobby Wayne gave a tight, gleeful nod. “She’s the one. I know it in my heart.”

Theodosia scurried out from behind the table, sliding the tea strainer into the pocket of her slacks. “Show me, Bobby Wayne.”

Bobby Wayne made a furtive gesture. “Come over here. Don’t let her see us, though. It’s gotta be a surprise.”

Theodosia stepped off the patio, following in Bobby Wayne’s footsteps. They rounded a giant magnolia bush and were suddenly in shadows. “Nobody saw us,” promised Theodosia. “Don’t worry.”

“I’ve got it stashed in my car.”

Theodosia followed Bobby Wayne another twenty feet to the edge of the parking lot.

“What I need is a woman’s opinion on this,” said Bobby Wayne. He reached into his jacket pocket, fumbled for his keys. “Delaine’s got such impeccable taste, I don’t want to screw up and give her anything that could be construed as too gaudy or even old-fashioned.” Bobby Wayne popped open the trunk and reached into the darkness. When he withdrew his hand, a purple velvet ring box rested in the center of his palm.

“I’m sure she’ll love anything you get her,” said Theodosia, plucking the box from his hand. Oh boy, will she ever.

“Open it,” prompted Bobby Wayne.

Curiosity aglow in her eyes, Theodosia opened the box slowly.

It was empty.

In a single heartbeat, Theodosia’s curiosity winked out and stunned bewilderment rushed in to take its place.

“Bobby Wa—” Theodosia began just as she caught the blur of a giant shovel swinging toward her head. Inhaling sharply, she had time to move perhaps an inch before the enormous piece of galvanized metal connected solidly against the side of her skull. Absorbing the bone-jarring thwack, feeling every molar rattle, Theodosia was briefly cognizant that she’d sustained a terrible, crippling blow. And then she was falling. Falling softly into oblivion.

26

There was a whoosh and a dull roar in Theodosia’s ears that she couldn’t quite place. And a wickedly painful throbbing in her head.

Oh no, she thought, as she entered a sort of limbo stage of wakefulness. How much did I have to drink last night?

Trying to will away the pain, feeling completely discombobulated, Theodosia pulled her knees up to her chest and rolled over. It had to be a bad dream.

Or maybe I didn’t drink too much last night, maybe I just came down with the flu.

Clearly, this was a morning to sleep in. To let Drayton and Haley open the tea shop. She’d call in later, let them know how sick she was. Because Theodosia knew she was sick. Too sick to even crawl out of bed and manage a glass of water and an aspirin. Rolling sideways, she searched above her head for a pillow.

And her elbow connected with something sharp.

“Ouch,” she groaned. What the . . . ? She brought her arm down, reached out, and touched a hunk of metal.

She pulled back. Something wasn’t right.

“Wait a minute,” Theodosia mumbled to herself. “Where am I?”

She opened her eyes to total darkness.

Lifting her head ever so slightly, Theodosia was almost overcome with nausea. Piercing, stabbing pain exploded inside her head. Her shoulders were stiff and sore, and she couldn’t seem to straighten her legs. Impassively, almost too sick to care, she wondered why that would be.

As seconds ticked by, Theodosia also became aware of movement. The surface she was laying on seemed to vibrate.

That strange whooshing sound still resonated in her ears.

Then slowly, painfully, it started to come back to her.

I was at the orchid show . . . and Bobby Wayne wanted to show me a ring . . . and then, dear lord, the skunk clobbered me with something. What?

Theodosia reached a hand up to where sticky dampness matted her hair. Gently felt a painful bump on the side of her head. It throbbed hard and hot. Then she reached her hand out cautiously, eventually connecting with the sharp metal edge she’d touched a few seconds ago. Her fingers traveled slowly, exploring that flat plane, touching briefly on some plastic bottles just beyond.

“He hit me with a shovel,” she moaned to herself. “And threw me in the trunk of his car!”

Paralyzing fear grabbed hold of Theodosia and held her in its grasp. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

Balling up her fists, she fought to regain control of her emotions. Tried to force herself to think rationally, knew she couldn’t afford the luxury of panic. She had to formulate a plan. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in a tight spot, but she knew she had to think hard, had to push through the pain and fear, no matter what.

Got to get out of here, got to get out, was her mantra.

Theodosia’s head was pounding and spinning wildly now, her respiration felt shallow and labored. Her agonizing, viselike headache seemed to be getting worse.

She knew there was something in that dark trunk that was prickling her eyes and making it harder and harder to breathe. Something that carried a sickly sweet familiar smell like . . . what? She gave a hesitant sniff. Gasoline?

Or acetone.

Like a drowning person who’s suddenly been thrown a life preserver, Theodosia grasped on to that single thought.

Acetone. The same compound the art directors at my old ad agency used to peel layouts and storyboards off pieces of foam core. The same stuff that was found in Fayne Hamilton’s garage and al-legedly used as a fire accelerant.

And on the heels of that realization . . .