But she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit idly by, feeling scared and impotent. If some sick individual had threatened an innocent dog with poison, what would they do to a person?
Of course, she already knew that answer. They’d already done it once before. To Hughes Barron.
Chapter 36
Now, her body refreshed and spirits slightly buoyed by the sun peeping over the trees, Theodosia gazed contentedly at the golden woods and fields spread out around her. Birds chirped dozens of melodies and darted about. Some even fluttered hopefully just above Aunt Libby’s head as she poured thistle and cracked corn into large ceramic dishes set on the lawn.
Earl Grey, deliriously glad to be running off his leash where there were such interesting places to explore and things to sniff, circled around Libby exuberantly.
Now that the weather had turned cooler, Libby had switched to high-oil-content sunflower seeds. She claimed that migratory birds would soon be arriving exhausted from their long flight from the north and needed extra oil to restore their energy.
Theodosia wondered what it would take to restore
Then, just on the off chance that she was being watched or even followed, she’d circled through the historic district a few times, scanning her rearview mirror for any suspicious cars. She spent another fifty minutes driving and, upon arrival, giving a careful explanation to Aunt Libby so she wouldn’t be thrown into hysterics.
But Libby hadn’t gone into hysterics. She had listened with a sort of dead calm to Theodosia’s disclosure of her sleuthing efforts following the death of Hughes Barron, as well as her explanation as to exactly why she’d brought her companion animal out to the plantation.
Libby had stretched a hand out to Earl Grey and patted him on the head. “It will do him good to spend time on the plantation,” she’d said. “Let him stretch his legs and chase critters in the woods. He can be a country dog for a while.”
Now Theodosia had to figure out her next move, and it had to be a careful one. Judging from the note last night, someone had been angered by her snooping around. Somehow, some way, she had rattled the cage of Hughes Barron’s murderer.
It was a terrifying thought, one that chilled her to the marrow. At the same time, it also gave her an odd feeling of pride at the success of her own amateur sleuthing efforts.
“Breakfast’s served.” Margaret Rose Reese, Libby’s live-in housekeeper, set a yawning platter of food down on the small pine table that sat outside on the porch.
“My goodness, Margaret Rose, breakfast’s ready so soon?” said Libby as she climbed the stairs to the porch. Dressed in a tobacco-colored suede jacket, khaki slacks, and old felt hat, she looked like a seasoned plantation owner, even though she no longer grew her own crops.
Margaret Rose was a white-haired, rail-thin woman who seemed to have the metabolism of a gerbil. Between Libby and Margaret Rose, Theodosia didn’t know which one exuded more nervous energy. In fact, if that energy were to be harnessed, it could probably generate enough power to keep the lights burning in the entire state of South Carolina.
“I swear,” said Libby, pulling off her leather gloves and sitting down to the table laden with orange juice, tea, fresh fruit, croissants, and a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs. “The older you get, Margaret Rose, the earlier you get up. Pretty soon you’ll have us eating breakfast at four A.M.”
Margaret Rose grinned. She had been with Libby for almost fifteen years. In fact, Libby had hired her right after Theodosia went off to college and Margaret Rose’s former employer, the Reverend Earl Dilworth, passed away.
Theodosia had always suspected Libby’s reasons for hiring Margaret Rose were twofold. First, Margaret Rose didn’t really have a place to go after old Reverend Dilworth died, and Libby was too kindhearted to see her left at odds and ends. Second, Libby finally realized how lonely she was, rattling around in that huge old house by herself.
True, Libby had two neighbors, good friends, who leased much of her land for growing crops and spent time around the house and old barn (now the equipment shed) on an almost daily basis. But that wasn’t the same. The house would still have been empty.
“You’re driving back to Charleston this morning?” asked Libby as she helped herself to juice, coffee, and a small serving of scrambled eggs.
Theodosia nodded.
“You know that Leyland Hartwell at your father’s old law firm would be delighted to assist you in any way,” said Libby.
She was trying not to show her deep-seated worry, but concern shone in her eyes.
“I’ve already spoken with Leyland,” said Theodosia. “He helped me obtain some information I needed. He and another lawyer, Jory Davis.”
Theodosia wondered if she shouldn’t perhaps call Jory Davis and see if he could give her a referral on a good private security company. It might not be a bad idea to have someone keep an eye on the tea shop as well as Haley and Bethany’s apartment across the alley. She decided she’d better include Drayton’s house, too. His place was so old, over 160 years, that a clever person could easily pick one of the ancient locks or pry open one of the rattly windows. And, because any restoration Drayton had done had been to make it as historically accurate as possible, she knew there was no way he’d ever install a security system.
Their breakfasts eaten, Theodosia and Libby watched as an unsuspecting woodchuck lumbered out of the woods to go facedown in a platter of seeds. Then, abruptly startled by a playful, pouncing Earl Grey, the woodchuck was forced to beat a hasty retreat and hole up in a hollow log. Nonplused, Earl Grey circled the woodchuck’s temporary hideout with a mournful but proprietary air.
“Walk with me for a while, dear,” invited Libby, and the two descended the wooden steps and slowly crossed the broad carpet of lawn.
“So peaceful,” murmured Theodosia as they wandered past the small family cemetery surrounded by a low, slightly tumbledown rock wall. In one corner of the family plot was a grape arbor with decorative urns underneath. The grapes from the thick twining vines had long since been carried away by grackles, and dry, papery leaves rustled in the gentle wind. An enormous live oak, that sentinel of the South, rose from another corner and spread its canopy over the small area.
“It’s comforting to know our family is still nearby,” said Libby. “Oh, look.” She stuck her gloved hand into a large, dark green clump of foliage and pulled out a cluster of white blossoms that resembled delicate butterfly wings. Smiling, she held out the branch to Theodosia.
“Ginger lily,” murmured Theodosia. It was a tropical plant that had long ago been brought over from Asia to grace Southern gardens. It was also one of the few plants that flowered in the autumn. Theodosia accepted the blossoms, inhaling the delicate fragrance so reminiscent of gardenias.
“Just a moment,” she whispered, and slipped through the archway into the small cemetery to lay the blossoms on the simple marble tablet that marked her mother’s grave.
Libby smiled her approval.
Circling around the pond with its shoreline of cattails and waving golden grasses, past the old barn that decades ago had held prize cattle and fine Thoroughbred horses, they came to a cluster of small, dilapidated wood- frame buildings. The elements had long since erased any evidence of paint, and now the wood had weathered silver. Red-brick chimneys had begun to crumble.
These were the outbuildings that long ago had been slave quarters.
