Dragonwell Dead

“For the intern,” said Haley, holding her ground. This wasn’t the first go-round she’d had with Drayton; it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Drayton shook his head, as if scolding an unruly child. “I simply don’t require any assistance whatsoever.”

“Sure you do,” said Haley. “Of course, you do. Half the time you’re running around here completely frizzle- frazzled.”

“Frizzle-frazzled?” Drayton lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips. His face took on a slight resemblance to a thunder-cloud. “Although I have no idea what that means, I take serious umbrage to the fact that it’s probably an accusation of sorts.”

“Okay then,” said Haley, deciding to reverse gears and try another approach. “You’re overworked. You’re a real champ, but you’ve got way too much to do.”

“Haley’s right, you know,” said Theodosia, who’d been thoroughly enjoying herself watching this somewhat bizarre exchange. It was like watching an unscripted soap opera. Or an episode of reality TV. Everyday dramas and events that got blown out of proportion.

“I beg to differ. Haley is wrong about my needing an intern,” declared Drayton in an ominous tone. “Quite wrong.”

5

“You’re late,” called Parker Scully. He lifted one arm in a wave and flashed a welcoming smile at Theodosia as she hurried up the sidewalk toward the main door of the Heritage Society. Earl Grey trotted beside her, tethered by his red leather leash. “Is it your fault?” he asked gazing down at Earl Grey.

Earl Grey turned liquid brown eyes on Parker. The dog had picked up a crinkly yellow fast-food wrapper during his walk along the Battery and was now reluctant to relinquish his treasure.

“I almost ran out of time,” said Theodosia with a laugh. “Between taking care of business, walking his majesty here, and grabbing my notes for Orchid Lights.” She held up the sheaf of papers that was clutched in her hand. “Correction. Make that grabbing my disorganized notes.”

“And solving a murder mystery?” asked Parker. His bright blue eyes twinkled, he reached up a hand and casually ran it through a tousle of blond hair.

“Huh?” said Theodosia. She’d talked to Parker on the phone Sunday evening and relayed to him all the events of that utterly horrible day. But she hadn’t breathed a word to him about a murder. Or even a mystery. Come to think of it, Mark Congdon’s death hadn’t yet taken on the status of murder mystery at that time.

“How did you know about . . . uh . . . that?” Theodosia asked.

“Drayton blabbed,” said Parker, grinning. “I called your shop a little while ago hoping to get you and your Mr. Conneley picked up the phone. I asked how your friend Angie was doing and one thing just sort of led to another.”

“You’ll keep it under your hat, won’t you?” asked Theodosia. “Everything’s kind of in flux right now. We don’t even know if there is a . . .” She glanced around nervously.

“. . . a toxicology issue.”

“You secret’s safe with me,” Parker assured her. “But what I’m really curious about is, why are you such a light-ning rod for this stuff? I mean, somebody in this town drops dead and you’re Johnny on the case.”

“That’s so not true,” protested Theodosia.

Parker Scully peered at her. They’d been seeing each other on again and off again for a while now, so he could push the boundaries a little. But Parker chose to retreat. “Okay, I amend my statement. Not everyone warrants your getting involved.”

“That’s right,” Theodosia told him.

“However,” continued Parker, “from what I’ve seen, your investigative skills are rather impressive.”

“Oh . . . not really,” hedged Theodosia, anxious to change the subject as they pushed their way through the doors and hurried down the main hallway.

“Yes, they—” began Parker, but Theodosia interrupted him.

“I’m not exactly prepared for this meeting,” she said in a loud whisper. “Drayton kind of pulled me in at the last minute.”

“You’ll be fine,” Parker assured her as they rounded a corner and headed down another lengthy corridor lined with fine oil paintings. “Besides, with Timothy Neville at the helm the Heritage Society runs like a finely tuned Swiss watch. Probably all we’ll have to do this Saturday evening is show up and serve refreshments.”

Easier said than done, thought Theodosia.

“Theodosia?” called a high, papery voice. “Is that you?”

“Hello, Timothy,” said Theodosia as she and Parker swung around the doorway into the cypress-paneled board-room. “I brought Earl Grey along, hope you don’t mind.”

Timothy Neville waved a gnarled hand. “No problem. As long as he doesn’t try to usurp my position or lodge an opposing vote. But he does have to come over and give a proper hello.”

Theodosia unsnapped Earl Grey’s leash and the dog padded over to greet Timothy. While most of Charleston, including the board members, employees of the Heritage Society, and donors, were deeply intimidated by Timothy Neville, Earl Grey viewed Timothy as his buddy. To him Timothy Neville wasn’t a prominent member of Charleston society whose Huguenot ancestors had helped settle Charleston. Or a domineering old codger who lived in a splendid mansion over on Archdale Street and played first violin in the Charleston Symphony. No, to Earl Grey Timothy Neville was a guy’s guy who pulled his ears, gave him hearty pats, and occasionally produced a liver- flavored dog cookie from the pocket of his elegant pleated trousers.

“Ah,” said Timothy, removing the lump of soggy, yellow paper from Earl Grey’s mouth. “What do we have here? A treasure map? Long lost documents, perhaps?”

Earl Grey settled down happily at Timothy’s feet as Theodosia and Parker took their seats at the oval table alongside Drayton. Another half dozen volunteers also sat at the table, talking among themselves.

Timothy wasted no time in calling the meeting to order.

“Good evening and thank you all for coming this evening,” intoned Timothy. “I’ve invited Arthur Roumillat, president of the Charleston Orchid Society to join us. As you well know, his fine organization is partnering with ours to present Orchid Lights.”

There was a smattering of applause from everyone seated.

“Yes, yes,” said Timothy holding up a hand. “But remember that the main reason for this event is fund- raising. While other museums and nonprofit organizations are struggling, the Heritage Society fully intends to thrive.”

Timothy favored the group with a thin smile. He wanted to make it crystal clear that under his leadership the Heritage Society was vigorous and highly viable.

“Which means,” continued Timothy, “that our two groups will be running concurrent events. During the same time members of the Orchid Society are exhibiting prize specimens on our patio, the Heritage Society will be holding a silent auction in our great hall. Of course, there will also be music, refreshments, drinks, and entertainment. Hopefully, by causing a sort of ebb and flow of members and patrons between our two organizations we’ll achieve a critical new level of synergy.”

“And raise needed funds,” added Drayton.

“Raise funds,” echoed Timothy. “Absolutely.” He slipped into his seat as Arthur Roumillat stood to address the group. Arthur gave a ten-minute overview of how the orchid show would be presented and how many Orchid Society members would be attending.

Overall, Theodosia thought the pairing of the two groups was a particularly brilliant maneuver on Timothy’s part. It was a way to expose donors and patrons of the Orchid Society to the Heritage Society. And it gave longtime Heritage Society members a fun evening that included an outdoor show featuring one of nature’s most coveted floral species. She also perceived both events as upscale entertainment that would bring out the cream of Charleston society.

“And the entire outdoor patio will be awash with orchids,” finished Arthur Roumillat with an expansive