“Then you must tell me everything about it. Don’t leave out a single, thrilling detail.”
Theodosia ran through her version of the robbery. How the SUV had smashed its way in, how the people had screamed as glass shards exploded, how the masked robbers had dashed about, smashing open all the cases. And finally, how poor Kaitlin had been found dead in the detritus, a dagger of glass embedded in her neck.
Delaine hung on every word, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, her mouth pulling into a rounded O. “That sounds like a hideous way to die. Extremely painful. And you say the robbers stole every single piece of jewelry?”
“Everything that wasn’t locked in the safe in Brooke’s back room.”
“Goodness.” Delaine sat back in her chair. “What a chilling story.”
“It was a pretty bad scene,” Theodosia agreed.
“I’m glad I didn’t attend.” Delaine sighed and picked an invisible piece of lint from her expensive suit. As proprietor of one of the ritziest boutiques in Charleston, Delaine owned a wardrobe that wouldn’t quit. And to Theodosia’s sometime consternation (because she herself veered perilously between a size eight and a size ten), Delaine was also able to squeeze her skinny, carb-obsessed body into all the tiny sample sizes.
“The event started out beautifully,” Theodosia said. She was going to ease her way into questioning Delaine. “Many of Charleston’s most prominent families were guests.”
Delaine took a tiny nibble of her sandwich, managing to avoid the bread. “I should imagine.”
“There were even a few new people there.” Theodosia squinted as if trying to remember. “I ran into a lovely woman. Sabrina Andros? Have you met her yet?”
“Yes, I have,” Delaine said. “I met Sabrina at an opera fund-raiser last month. She and her husband Luke own Gold Coast Yachts.”
“Mmn, sounds fancy.”
“They sell some of the finest yachts available,” Delaine smiled. “Marquis, Princess, Vantage. You know, Vantage is the kind of yacht that Calvin Klein owns.”
“Wow,” Theodosia said. “Then it sounds as if the Androses are rolling in dough.”
Delaine waved a hand. “I’d probably classify them more as nouveau riche. Anyway, they’ve been throwing a lot of money around, supporting various charities, even though they seem to have come out of nowhere. I mean, they don’t exactly have a proper Charleston pedigree.”
“That’s okay,” Theodosia said. “Neither do the dogs at the Four Paws Animal Rescue.”
Delaine practically spasmed in her chair. “You’re so right. And look what adorable creatures they are. Did I tell you about the puppy I saw when I was dropping off a check from our recent fund-raiser? An adorable, sweet little pug. If I thought my darling Siamese kitties would tolerate him, I would have snatched the creature up and carried him home!”
Theodosia half listened to Delaine, then subtly threw in a few questions about some of the other people she’d marked on her list. When Delaine had rambled on about the third person, she suddenly turned suspicious.
“You’re certainly quizzing me a lot,” Delaine said, practically pulling her mouth into a pout.
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia said. “I thought we were just having a conversation.”
“You’ve been probing. Carefully and gently, but you’re up to something, aren’t you?” Delaine narrowed her eyes, catlike. “Theodosia, I know you. You’re definitely up to something.”
6
So much for wringing information out of Delaine, Theodosia decided. Some of it had been proffered freely, most of it had been like pulling teeth.
It was late afternoon and she was back at her desk, jotting a few notes to herself.
“Did you find out what you needed from Delaine?” Drayton asked. He was lounging in the doorway, looking elegant and half-posed, like a retired ballet master.
“Yes and no.”
Drayton gave a thin smile. “Why am I not surprised? Delaine’s like a Chinese puzzle. Layers and riddles and infinite dead ends.”
“She thought I was pumping her for information.”
“That’s because you were,” Drayton said. “She’s not stupid, she’s just snooty.”
“Hey,” Haley said, pushing her way past Drayton. “Am I the only one around here who’s working her little fingers to the bone?”
“You’re the only one, Haley,” Drayton said. “Theodosia and I have been lazing about, stuffing our faces with chocolate bonbons and watching soap operas.”
Haley eyed him warily. “What do you know about soap operas? You only watch the Smithsonian Channel and the History channel. And public television.”
Drayton gave a cryptic smile. “Which broadcasts Downton Abbey?”
“That’s not a soap opera,” Haley said.
“Come on,” Drayton said. “You’ve watched it. The show’s a bit of a potboiler. Or it was, anyway. Admit it.”
“Theo?” Haley asked. “What do you think?”