Drayton lifted an eyebrow. “Theo? What about you? I know how much you love opera. Care to be my guest tonight at La Bohème?”
Theodosia cocked her head. “Let’s see now, what were my glamorous evening plans? Slaving over laundry and sorting socks? Maybe cleaning out the vegetable drawer in my fridge?”
Drayton smiled. “Well, if you have something more important on your agenda . . .”
“I’d love to go!” Theodosia said.
“It’s opening night,” Drayton warned. “Black tie. You’ll have to dress.”
“I’ll make the effort,” Theodosia promised. “I can do glam.”
“Long dress?”
“No problem.” Well, she knew it might be a little bit of a problem, since she had to dash off to the TV station in a half hour or so. And if she didn’t get home until late, then she’d have to fuss with hair and makeup and . . .
The bell over the front door da-dinged noisily. Then it da-dinged again even more insistently.
“What on earth?” Drayton said, turning.
Which is when Detective Tidwell blew in like a white squall. His heavy-lidded eyes took in the tea shop and then settled on Theodosia. Without preamble he said, “We need to talk.”
“Certainly,” Theodosia said. She pointed to a table that Haley had just cleared. “Let’s take a seat over there.”
Tidwell settled his bulk into a captain’s chair and clasped his meaty hands together. “We have some important business to deal with.”
Theodosia didn’t like the look in Tidwell’s eyes or the way he said business. His demeanor was about as charming as a hornet. Or maybe he just had low blood sugar.
She held up a hand. “Just a minute. Did you meet with Professor Shepley? Were you able to question the man?”
“Yes, I did,” Tidwell said.
“Well?”
“Not much there, I’m afraid. Shepley claimed he was interested in looking at a necklace that was on display at Heart’s Desire. Something made out of alexandrite?”
“I think that’s the necklace that was plucked out of the case right before my eyes,” Theodosia said.
“When you thought you saw a woman’s hand.”
“Right,” Theodosia said. She let the image play in her mind for a few moments. “But you don’t believe this guy Shepley had any involvement at all with that gang?”
“Not that we can find. And he is a professor, for goodness’ sake.”
“Who hails from Savannah. The same place the black SUV was stolen from.” It sounded suspicious to her. “So do we know what Shepley is doing here in Charleston?”
“He claims to be on sabbatical,” Tidwell said. “Doing research for a new book he’s writing.”
“What’s his specialty?”
“Eighteenth-century Russian literature.”
“And he’s doing research here?” It definitely sounded fishy to Theodosia. Tidwell had obviously decided to blow off Shepley as a noncontender, but Theodosia wasn’t ready to let Shepley off the hook.
“Now,” Tidwell said, “if I could please have your full attention.” He slapped a leather attaché case onto the table, and then reached in and pulled out a stack of papers.
“What have you got?” Theodosia asked. “Some more suspect photographs for me to look at?” She reached over and flipped up the top two sheets. Ah, they weren’t people photos at all. Tidwell had gathered images of a dozen different hammers. Every type of hammer known to man, from the looks of it.
“I had my people research and collect data on hammers,” Tidwell told her. “You said you noticed a particular type of hammer being used during the Heart’s Desire robbery?” He indicated the various images and downloaded pages. “I thought perhaps you might be able to identify one.”
“I can try.”
Tidwell held up the first page in front of her like a first-grade teacher with an oversized flash card. “Tell me if you recognize anything.”
Theodosia concentrated on each image as it flashed by. A couple hammer images were vaguely familiar, a few were downright odd. She touched a finger to one page. “Is that even a hammer?”
Tidwell made a sour face. “I don’t know what the female brain classifies as a hammer, so I brought a wide assortment.”
Theodosia pursed her lips and decided to ignore the gibe. She chose to believe this particular rant was merely part of the gruff-detective persona he’d crafted and not necessarily his actual pinheaded beliefs.
“Anything?” Tidwell asked.
Two more images flashed by. “Nothing yet.” Three more hammers flashed by. “Wait. That last one. What kind was it?”
Tidwell squinted at the photo. “It’s a piton hammer by Petzl. A rock-climbing hammer. Note the stainless steel head that curves to a rather wicked-looking claw. Is that what you saw?”
“It’s close. Very close. Who would sell this sort of thing?”
“There’s only one store in Charleston,” Tidwell said. “Triple Peak over on Maccorkle Avenue, near the university.”
“Do you think they sold one of these lately?”