“He did strike me as a charmer,” Theodosia said.
“And very cultured. He’s lived so many places I’m fairly green with envy. We met at the Coastal Carolina Flea Market, you know. I found a portfolio of sketches I thought might be Norman Rockwell originals and the seller agreed. Just as we were negotiating a price, Lionel came to my rescue. He knew right off they were just prints. Restrikes, I think he called them.”
“So you didn’t lose any money,” Theodosia said.
“And I gained a boyfriend,” Grace said as the Dobermans strained at their leashes.
“You know,” Theodosia said. “My tea master, Drayton Conneley, and Lionel are on the board of directors together at the Heritage Society.”
Grace’s eyes twinkled. “So you’re probably looking forward to the gala Saturday night. For all the Gold Circle members?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Theodosia said.
? ? ?
Theodosia thought about her quick encounter with Grace Dawson as she jogged along. The woman definitely seemed enamored of Lionel Rinicker. So what did that mean? That he was a nice, okay guy, someone to be trusted? Or that he’d managed to pull the wool over Grace’s eyes?
Theodosia dodged down a narrow alley that led between two enormous mansions, and then burst out into White Point Garden. Pounding across the dried grass, the blessed endorphins kicked in. There was nothing like the bliss of a runner’s high at the end of a busy, stressful day.
“What do you think?” she asked Earl Grey. “Do you feel it, too, boy?”
They ran along a narrow ridge where the Atlantic crashed in on shell-strewn sandy shores. Finally, after a good half mile at a blistering pace, Theodosia slowed. Memories of romantic strolls along the shore with Max flitted through her mind. This part of Charleston, the very tip of the peninsula, was the most romantic and spirited. Here you could tumble back in time, surrounded by elegant homes and the whoosh and whisper of the eternal sea.
Earl Grey nudged her hand with a cool, wet nose, bringing Theodosia back into the moment. She was moving at a comfortable jog-walk pace now, ambling along, heading in the direction of the Charleston Yacht Club.
Theodosia had sailed out of the yacht club many times and always felt inspired and uplifted by the bobbing of the boats and the clanking of the halyards against the masts.
So elegant, she told herself as she surveyed the little fleet. All these posh blue-and-white vessels bobbing and nodding to one another, probably exchanging price points and pedigrees.
As she neared the clubhouse, she wondered if anyone was there.
But no, it was too late. All the lights were off and . . .
Her eyes flitted across a sign. An intriguing sign she’d never noticed before. It said: GOLD COAST YACHTS.
She’d almost forgotten about Sabrina and Luke Andros. She of the jewelry debacle and he of the fancy yachts.
Theodosia approached the small building that served as the office for Gold Coast Yachts and peeked in the window. In the dark, all she could make out were a large desk and a few chairs. Colorful posters of megayachts hung on the walls.
She checked her watch and was about to turn for home when a light way out at the end of the far pier caught her eye. She gazed through the mist that was starting to roll in now and saw an enormous one-hundred-and-twenty-foot yacht bobbing majestically.
One of the Gold Coast yachts? Had to be. All the other sailboats here were of the smaller variety. Ensigns and O’Days and a few Hobie Cats.
Curiosity pulled at her, dragging her toward that yacht like a moth to the flame.
And then voices floated across the sea air, muffled by the dampness.
Theodosia pressed a finger to her mouth, warning Earl Grey to be quiet. He turned his doggy gaze toward the boat, as if in complete understanding. And then they both tiptoed along the shoreline in the direction of the far dock. Together they stepped onto it and tread softly along smooth, wooden planks. Earl Grey’s head bobbed sweetly as he seemed to make an effort to keep his toenails from clicking against the boards.
A voice grew steadily louder as they drew nearer the large craft, but Theodosia still couldn’t make out any actual words. Could the voice belong to Luke Andros, the newly arrived, wealthy yacht broker? Was he the one who was doing all the talking?
Theodosia inched closer, straining to understand the murmurs.
Am I investigating now? Yes, I do believe I am.
She stopped at the edge of the dock where the boat bumped up against a dozen plastic fenders. Now it seemed as if there was more than just a single voice. There were four or five people on that boat.
She bent in closer. Could she peer through a porthole? No, that wasn’t going to work. She was down here on the dock and that boat rode awfully high in the water.
Theodosia listened harder. Somebody with a deep voice was talking now.
Who?