Allure

Miss Delia and I exchange bewildered looks. Did he really come out here to do a soil analysis?

Taneea shifts her hip and crosses her arms. “Um, who cares about her dirt? I thought you were here to talk about her donation.”

I’m not sure whether to be happy or insulted that she and I on the same wavelength.

“Oh, I am.” He finally pulls his attention away from the dirt and stands. “You see, I can’t understand how a wooden box could have stayed so pristine buried in such moist conditions. Surely it would have deteriorated and likely fallen apart after nearly three hundred years.”

A wave of relief floods over me. Finally something I can answer. “That’s because it was encased in a tabby box. I helped uncover it myself.” The words fly from my lips before I can think. Miss Delia’s good eye stabs in my direction. She doesn’t need words to let me know she thinks I’ve made a giant mistake.

His smile broadens as his slick brows arch. “Tabby? I didn’t think that old concrete was used this far inland. Seems much easier to mix oyster shells and sand along the shore.”

My stomach flitters, filled with nerves. Despite Miss Delia’s obvious preference to the contrary, I can’t clam up now. I’ve got to answer his questions so he’ll hit the road and leave us alone. I shrug. “I don’t know about that. All I can say is the box was definitely hidden in a hunk of tabby. But it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that Miss Delia gave it to the King Center, right? I mean, it’s a piece of St. Helena history. Do you think she should have given it to someone else?”

“How about keeping it for herself and fixing this place up?” Taneea casts a disapproving glance at Miss Delia’s house.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Miss…” Claude pauses, expecting me to fill in my last name. But judging by the way Miss Delia’s brows are knit in a stern and not-so-subtle warning, I keep my mouth shut. An awkward moment later, he continues. “The King Center greatly appreciates Miss Whittaker’s bequest. It’s an exquisite addition to the collection.” He sidesteps some spindly heather, weaves through some lavender bushes, then crosses over the juniper. “Our curator has already planned a seafaring exhibit around it.”

“That’s nice to know,” Miss Delia says. “You be sure to let me know when it’s up and running and I’ll try to visit sometime. Now, unless you want to trample the rest of my garden, I think we’re done.”

“It is a lovely plot. Very well stocked. And now that you’ve explained about the tabby concrete, everything seems so clear.” He picks up his briefcase. An ultrawhite smile slides across his face. “Thanks again for your time, Miss Whittaker.” He turns around and steps toward the white picket fence. I sigh, glad to finally be rid of his weird energy. But then he pauses and pivots on his heels. “Oh, there’s one more thing I forgot to ask.” He lifts a slender finger to his chin.

Miss Delia sighs. “What’s that?”

“Do you have any idea why the engraving on the box matches an artifact that was recently stolen from the museum?” His voice is as smooth as a polished stone. Spreading his hands about twelve inches apart, he adds, “It was a knife, about yay big. Made from the same type of wood as the box. Our curator thinks they were made around the same time, too. Perhaps even by the same hand.”

My stomach plummets as I strain to keep my eyes from popping out of my head.

Sucking her teeth, Miss Delia shakes her head. “Can’t say I do.”

“Sounds kind of hinky to me,” Taneea says.

Claude’s eyes flit in Taneea’s direction. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. Though it’s funny that one object would show up so soon after the other went missing.”

Miss Delia shrugs. “Ain’t nothing predicable about the Lowcountry.”

His thin lips bend at the ends. “True enough. Well, I’ve taken enough of your time, ladies. Miss Taneea, I hope you visit the King Center sometime.” He bows slightly, then turns his attention back to Miss Delia. “You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you? In case I have further questions.”

She gestures toward her wheelchair. “Can’t go too far.” She holds his gaze as their eyes lock in some sort of strategic stare-down, neither one wanting to be the first to look away.

An awkward moment later, he gives in. “Good to know. Have a nice afternoon.” He turns on his heels and heads to his car.

Frozen, I watch as he tugs open the door, then slides into the front seat. After he’s pulled out of the yard and rounded the bend in the road, I exhale, purging my lungs of stale air. Sucking for breath, the garden’s sweet scent does nothing to revive me. Instead, a sense of doom encroaches like the incoming tide.

I made a giant mistake all right. Claude wasn’t here for a social call. And he didn’t give a rat’s tail about Miss Delia’s garden. He clearly suspects she was involved in the museum break in, and now, thanks to my blabbering about finding the box in tabby concrete, he knows I’m involved, too.

Chapter Seven

The gray clouds part, revealing the bright sun once again.

Taneea sighs. “He was nice. But now I’m bored. I guess I’ll paint my nails again.” She stomps back up to the house and slams the screen door.

Swallowing hard, I step close to Miss Delia. “What the heck just happened? Who was that guy?”

She shakes his head. “An investigator. He said so himself.”

“Yeah, but he was way weird. And creepy.”

“That he was. But I don’t want you to worry your head over him. So long as you keep out of his sights, you’ll be fine.”

Despite the rising heat, a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, powered by the growing sense of foreboding that’s swirling in my gut. “But he obviously suspects you, and probably me now, of being involved in the museum robbery.”

She swats her hand. “Shh, never you mind about him. Let me handle him. In the meantime, you’ve got clippings to prepare for me.” She points to the basket I left on the porch.

“Okay. Sure.” I pivot on my heels and head up to the house, trying to squelch my worry. But that’s almost like telling an ice cube not to melt in this heat, especially since I know something she doesn’t: we never got rid of the dagger like we planned.

Inside the safety of Miss Delia’s kitchen I fumble with my cell phone, dialing Jack’s number.

He answers on the third ring. “Yo, what up?”

“I need you to guys to come get me,” I whisper in case Taneea is lurking nearby, listening in.

He laughs. “What, Taneea driving you crazy?”

“No. Well, yeah of course, but she’s not the problem. It’s something else. Which is why I need you guys. Now.”

“Are you serious?” He sounds as if I just canceled his date with the prom queen. “We’re about to take off for Hunting Island. I just dropped the dock lines.”

“Tie them back up. Send Cooper over to get me and meet us back at the Big House. Oh, and bring the knife with you.”

“What knife?”

Is he for real? How many pirate daggers do we have lying around the house? I sigh. “The knife. The one we never got around to returning.”

After a long moment of silence it finally hits him. “Oh, that knife.” His voice flattens like a deflated balloon. “Aw man, I really wanted to go sailing.”

“Sorry. Maybe another day.”

“Yeah, maybe. See you soon.” The line goes dead.

Breathing deep, I still my mind to remember all the ingredients for my energy potion. Separating the cuttings I need from those Miss Delia wants for her reserves, I stow mine in a Ziploc bag, then toss them into my messenger bag. There isn’t time to do everything I promised, but I can hang most of the fresh cuttings to dry in the heat on her back porch. Just as I finish, I hear the familiar hum of Cooper’s station wagon. Finally.

Bolting through the house, I pass Taneea slumped on the couch, her hot-pink toes perched on the coffee table. She’s sneering at the thick glass screen on Miss Delia’s ancient television. As much as I’d hate to have to