Gunpowder Green

Chapter 33

Flaming torches illuminated Timothy’s backyard garden, although it was completely deserted at the moment. Beginning life as a classical Charleston courtyard garden, it had, over the years, veered toward an Asian-inspired garden. Now indigenous flowering trees and shrubs rubbed shoulders with thickets of bamboo, stands of lady fern, and Korean moss. The long, rectangular pond was overgrown with Asian water plants. Along the paths, stone lion- dogs and Buddhas stood guard.

Cool breezes swept through the garden as Theodosia stepped hurriedly down a stone walkway. In a far, dim corner, a small waterfall splashed noisily. Arriving at the back wall, Theodosia put a hand on the ancient wooden gate that led to the alley. Pushing outward, the old metal hinges creaked in protest. And in that same instant, Theodosia heard something else, too: light footsteps in front of her.

She hesitated, then turned to peer into the darkness.

A silver moon slid out from behind a bank of clouds and cast faint light on the man standing ten feet in front of her.

Theodosia put a hand to her chest. “Giovanni, you frightened me.”

“I meant to,” he said.

Theodosia caught her breath. Giovanni’s voice was cold and menacing. He was no longer playing the role of the charming and witty antique dealer. Her eyes went immediately to the pistol Giovanni had clutched in his hand. It was the same pistol Timothy had just presented in the music room. Theodosia decided that Giovanni must have waited until everyone had left, then snatched it from the wooden box that looked so eerily like a miniature coffin.

“You think you’re so smart,” Giovanni snarled at her. “Why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”

“And let you get away with murder, Giovanni?” Theodosia faced him with as much bravado as she dared. “Killing your own cousin. What a coward you turned out to be.”

“Second cousin,” corrected Giovanni. He waved the pistol menacingly at her. “But what does it matter how we were related? The fact is, Oliver signed his own death warrant by staunchly refusing to give me any help at all.”

“Help with what?” asked Theodosia, determined to draw him out.

“Money,” sneered Giovanni. “I needed money. Some very nasty men were demanding immediate payment of a debt. But Oliver, righteous citizen and uptight businessman, wouldn’t give it to me. Wouldn’t even lend it to me. Said I was incapable of managing my finances.”

“What did you need the money for?” she asked him, knowing full well that greed was a motivator that often outweighed a pressing need for money.

“What does it matter?” Giovanni said petulantly. “The shop, gambling debts... Anyway, my problems are almost behind me now.”

“And you think you’ll get control of Oliver’s money by wooing Doe,” said Theodosia. Keep him talking, she told herself. Drayton has to come looking for me.

“Doe has the mind of a child,” said Giovanni scornfully. But she listens to me, she trusts me. It won’t be long before I’m calling the shots.”

“You think you can make her fall in love with you? Marry you?”

Giovanni shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“She’s not that much of a child,” said Theodosia.

“Shut up!” he said with a harsh bark. All pretense of Giovanni’s carefully cultured voice had long since been abandoned.

“What have you got in mind?” Theodosia goaded Giovanni. “Another accident? Another exploding pistol?” Fury shone brightly in her eyes; her cheeks blazed high with color.

“Not necessarily,” said Giovanni, and suddenly his voice was smooth and hard as ice. “I’m sure this pistol will fire quite nicely all on its own. We have our host, Timothy Neville, to thank for that. Quite the expert when it comes to weapons.” Giovanni’s eyes darted about the dark garden, but only golden koi peeped at them from the pond. The woman had been stalling for time, Giovanni decided, and he knew he’d better bring this to a rapid conclusion.

“Unlatch that gate.” He gestured with the pistol. “You and I are going to take a little stroll down to Charleston Harbor. The water’s awfully chilly this time of year but . . .” He chuckled nastily. “...You won’t be in any condition to notice.”

Theodosia faced him square on. “I don’t think so,” she told him.

Her obstinance infuriated him. “You foolish, snooping woman,” he hissed. “Very well, have it your way. You hear them in there?” He gestured toward Timothy’s house. “No one’s going to come to your rescue. Everyone is having a merry old time, sipping champagne and whispering about your silly soil samples. I’m sure they all think you’re quite mad. Especially when they find out you were sneaking about at night, snooping in people’s gardens. No wonder you met with such an unfortunate accident.”

Theodosia stared at him. Giovanni had become so enraged he was spitting like a cat, and his eyes were pulled into narrow slits like an evil Kabuki mask.

Oh dear, Theodosia suddenly thought to herself as her heart began to pound a timpani solo inside her chest. Did I push him too hard? I hope he—

Giovanni’s finger tightened about the trigger.

“Giovanni . . .” said Theodosia, extending a hand.

Giovanni Loard squeezed the trigger, flinching slightly as a loud whomp echoed in the courtyard. At the same instant, Theodosia’s hands flew up in surprise, and she uttered a tiny cry of dismay.

“You fool!” Timothy Neville’s voice rang sharply across the garden, bouncing like shards of glass on cobblestones.

Startled, Giovanni whirled to find the grim face of Timothy Neville staring at him from above the barrel of a pistol, a sleek contemporary pistol that looked far more menacing than the one Giovanni held in his hand.

“Miss Browning?” Timothy called. “Still in one piece?” He looked past Giovanni, but his gun never wavered. It remained pointed squarely at Giovanni’s heart.

Giovanni snapped his head around toward Theodosia. “What?” he gasped, amazed to find her still standing.

“You’re a pitiful excuse for a man,” said Timothy, his upper lip curled in disgust.

Giovanni was thoroughly stunned that his shot had been without effect. “It was supposed to be loaded,” he stammered. “You said—”

“Assuming you are still in one piece, Miss Browning, would you care to enlighten the recalcitrant Mr. Loard?”

Theodosia lifted her chin in triumph. Her eyes bore into Giovanni, and her hair flowed out around her like a vengeful wraith.

“We created a special type of ammunition,” she told him. “Gunpowder green.”

“That’s right,” added Timothy. “We figured once our killer knew that soil samples were being tested, it was only a matter of time before he, or she, erupted into a full-blown panic and attempted something foolish.” Timothy smiled with smug satisfaction. “Witness your own folly just now.”

Giovanni Loard’s face was black with fury. “You put what in the pistol?” he bellowed.

“Gunpowder green,” said Theodosia. “Actually a rather pungent and flavorful Chinese tea. But then, what would you know?” Her eyes blazed like a huntress who’d just claimed her prize. “You yourself admitted you were unable to distinguish between Chinese and Japanese blends. We simply assumed your inadequacies ran to gunpowder, as well.”

“And we were correct,” smiled Timothy.

“You pompous old blowhard,” menaced Giovanni. His hands clenched and unclenched, and his eyes sought out the pale skin of Theodosia’s neck.

In a split second, Timothy read the cold, calculating menace on Giovanni’s face.

“You’re not nearly as smart or as quick as you think you are,” Timothy warned him. “Consider the fact that this Ruger is loaded with .22 caliber hollowpoints.” Timothy’s eyes gleamed, almost daring Giovanni to make a