She strained to pick up the words, but the incessant wind and lapping of waves made the voices sound like a bad radio signal that faded in and out.
“. . . Four more days and then you guys can take off,” the deep voice instructed.
Four more days? Theodosia straightened up and tried to think. What was going to happen in four more days?
Worrying that she’d overstepped her bounds, that someone would come out on deck and catch her eavesdropping, Theodosia backed up, gave Earl Grey’s leash a tug, and hurried down the pier.
She was halfway back to shore when it hit her. The Rare Antiquities Show was in four days.
11
Theodosia slow-walked the last couple of blocks to her home, settling her pulse and trying to process everything she’d learned tonight. There was a lot to think about. And a lot to worry about, too.
Now, in keeping with the theme of the night—strange encounters—she spotted a familiar burgundy-colored Crown Victoria parked at the curb in front of her house.
Tidwell. What does he want? She sighed. She was about to find out.
When Tidwell saw her approach, the dome light snapped on and he squeezed himself out from behind the wheel. “Good evening,” he called out in his deep baritone.
“Staking out my home, are you, Detective Tidwell?” Theodosia asked. “See anything interesting? Stray cats? The neighborhood raccoons come to ransack my fishpond?”
He shut the car door and met her on the sidewalk. He was wearing slightly baggy pants and what looked like a frayed khaki fishing jacket that barely stretched across his weather balloon of a stomach. “I’m afraid I observed nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Good.” She smiled gratefully and motioned for him to follow her inside. “You might as well come in. I mean, you will anyway, right?”
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Tidwell said.
Theodosia snapped on the light in the small tiled entryway. Then ducked into her living room and turned on a lamp. Warm light flooded the room, showing off the fireplace, parquet floors, and chintz-covered furniture to advantage.
“Cozy,” Tidwell said.
Earl Grey dashed into the kitchen and began to noisily drain his water bowl while Theodosia knelt in front of the fireplace. She added a handful of kindling and a new log, trying to coax the embers back into a robust flame. It seemed to be working. Finally, she dusted her palms together and turned to face Tidwell.
“Are you on or off duty?”
“Interesting question,” he said. “On, I suppose.”
“Then this is an official visit.”
He smiled. “But perhaps we should call it an off-the-record visit.”
“Off the record, then, would you care for a glass of wine?”
Tidwell brightened. “I’d enjoy that very much.”
Theodosia went into the kitchen, grabbed a half bottle of cabernet, and filled two glasses. She carried them back into the living room, to find Tidwell peering at a small, recently purchased oil painting that she’d hung above her fireplace.
“This is lovely,” he said. “Who is the artist?”
“Josiah Singleton.”
“Ah. Early American?”
“Well. Mid-eighteenth century, anyway.” Theodosia handed him his wine and settled into a chintz armchair while Tidwell took a spot on the love seat opposite her. “What brings you by, Detective?”
“The FBI paid you a visit today,” Tidwell said. He took a sip of wine and gazed at her expectantly.
“Yes,” Theodosia said. “They wanted my firsthand witness account from Sunday night.”
“Anything else?”
“They told me they’re on the lookout for one or more European jewel thieves who might have been involved in the robbery at Heart’s Desire.”
“The Pink Panther gang.”
“That’s right.”
“Doubtful,” Tidwell said.
“They showed me a bunch of photos. Drayton and I thought one of the men bore a striking resemblance to Lionel Rinicker.” She paused. “You know who he is?”
“I had much the same discussion with the FBI as you did. With a certain degree of reluctance on their part, they shared that same information with me and key members of my department.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “So you know what I know.”
Tidwell took a gulp of wine. “They’re very hot to point a finger at Mr. Rinicker.”
“And you’re not?”
“There’s simply no concrete evidence against him.”
“Other than the fact that he’s relatively new in town . . .” When Tidwell made a face, Theodosia added, “You know what Charleston is like. You’re considered a newcomer even if your parents were born here. You need to be able to trace your ancestry back to your great-great-grandpappy in order to be considered a dyed-in-the-wool Charlestonian.”
“And then it helps if your ancestors were French Huguenots.”
“That’s always best,” Theodosia said. “But getting back to Rinicker, there’s also the fact that he managed to schmooze a number of influential people in a very short time and make his way onto the board at the Heritage Society.”
“Probably a coincidence,” Tidwell said.