Theodosia scanned the dramatically masculine office that was crammed with antiques, bronze statues, paintings, and trinkets from every era. She’d always teased Drayton that the Heritage Society looked like an overdone men’s private cigar club, and that was precisely what Timothy’s office looked like. Mahogany built-ins, oversized brown leather chairs, a freestanding globe, and never mind the clichéd drink trolley with its whiskey and bourbon decanters. All that was missing were the smoking jackets and pipe tobacco.
“What’s up?” Timothy asked. His high cheekbones jutted sharply from his simian-looking face and his hooded eyes crackled with intensity. He was big on getting down to business with a minimum of fanfare. Or maybe he figured he just didn’t have that many years left.
Drayton released a long breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the tragedy at Heart’s Desire.”
Timothy leaned back and folded his hands, clearly interested. “Yes, I read all about it in the newspaper and saw the various reports on TV.”
“It was a smash-and-grab,” Theodosia put in. “This crazy gang of thieves drove an SUV right through the window, stole every item of value, and disappeared in about two minutes.” She paused. “I was there. And I want to tell you it was well orchestrated. Choreographed, almost.”
Timothy’s sparse brows shot up. “Indeed.”
Theodosia continued. “We’re worried the same type of robbery might happen at your Rare Antiquities Show this Saturday.”
Timothy’s hand stroked his narrow chin. “Why would you think that?”
“Here’s the thing,” Theodosia said. “Two FBI agents paid us a visit this morning to see if I could identify any of the perpetrators.”
“They showed her a dozen different photos of known international jewel thieves,” Drayton said.
Timothy continued to watch Theodosia carefully with eyes that were keen and bright.
“And what’s problematic,” Theodosia said, “is that there was a photo that may or may not have been an old photo of Lionel Rinicker.”
“What!” he cried. Her words caught Timothy completely off guard. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. Rinicker is a learned historian, not some hooligan who goes about crashing trucks through jewelry store windows.” Now his eyes sought out Drayton’s. “Plus he’s a valuable member of our board of directors.”
“Which brings us to exactly why we’re here,” Theodosia said. “We don’t want to slander the man any more than you do, but what if Rinicker is . . . is some sort of inside man?”
Timothy’s smooth forehead dissolved into wrinkles and he shook his head. He was clearly in disagreement.
“Wait,” Drayton said. He turned to Theodosia. “Tell him about the Pink Panther gang.”
So she did. She told Timothy all about the high-end robberies all over Europe and the Interpol warnings.
Drayton scooted to the edge of his seat. “The gang members who’ve been caught have all managed to engineer daring escapes. Agent Zimmer told us they speak multiple languages and carry various international passports. Which means they could turn up anywhere.”
Timothy steepled his fingers and inclined his head toward them. “Including right here in Charleston.”
“It’s certainly possible,” Theodosia said.
“But . . . Lionel has become your friend, Drayton,” Timothy said in a slightly reproachful voice.
“Yes. That’s why this is so agonizing for me.” Drayton gazed at Timothy. “It has to be for you, too. I mean, you were the one who introduced us.”
“That’s right,” Timothy said. “I first met Lionel Rinicker last spring at an antiques auction. He impressed me with his verve.”
Theodosia leaned forward. “How so?”
“We were both bidding on a Faulkner first edition,” Timothy said. “And I overheard him misquote a famous line. Of course I couldn’t help myself, I had to correct him. And that was that. We started conversing and he bought me a cognac. Despite the fact that he’d botched one of my favorite lines, I found him to be a charming and learned man. Since he’d already settled here in Charleston, one thing led to another, and now he’s on our board of directors.” Timothy’s gaze shifted to Drayton. “You seconded his nomination.”
“I did,” Drayton said, looking almost miserable.
Theodosia decided to step in. “Despite all this good-old-boy camaraderie, I still think it’s critical we keep an eye on Rinicker.”
Timothy mulled this over for a few moments. “I suppose I could go along with that. We watch the man, but we do not move against him in any way. We are respectful of him. Agreed?”
“Yes, of course,” Drayton said. “You know I’m just sick about this.”
Timothy gazed at Theodosia. “Agreed, Theodosia?”
“Sure.” Theodosia wasn’t sick about the situation. Just extremely wary.
Timothy picked up a small bronze bust of Thomas Jefferson and creaked back in his chair. “My goodness, I find this hard to believe. Why, Lionel is even dating one of our rather prominent citizens.”
“Who would that be?” Theodosia asked.
“Grace Dawson,” Timothy said. “You probably know her. She’s that peppy little blond-haired lady who lives in the old Burwick-Howell mansion on Tradd Street. You see her out walking sometimes with those two magnificent Doberman pinschers.”