They finally located a battered pay phone stuck in the middle of a wall of colorful posters in an all-night mom-and-pop grocery store.
Theodosia fed a quarter into the phone and heard an old-fashioned ding. “This has to be the last pay phone in the tricounty area. Maybe in existence.” She gazed at Drayton. “What’s his number?”
“His . . . ? Oh, just a sec.” Drayton pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card. He read Lionel Rinicker’s number to her as she dialed.
“It’s ringing,” Theodosia told him. Anxiety nibbled in the pit of her stomach.
“He’ll pick up,” Drayton said.
But he didn’t. The phone rang and rang until Theodosia was sick of hearing the dull ring at the other end of the line. If Lionel Rinicker was home, he definitely wasn’t picking up.
“He’s not home,” Theodosia said.
“Now what?”
She shifted from one foot to the other, the arches of her feet keenly aware that she’d been dashing all over the place in designer heels. “I don’t know.”
“On the other hand,” Drayton said, “Lionel could be with his lady friend.”
“Grace,” Theodosia said, pouncing at once on the idea. “We need to go check her out. We’ll drive by her home and see if Rinicker’s car is parked outside.” She held up a hand. “Wait, do you know what kind of car he drives?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a BMW.”
? ? ?
It took a good ten minutes for them to get Theodosia’s Jeep out of the parking lot, and then another fifteen minutes to thread their way through heavy traffic and bump their way over to the Historic District. But finally they were cruising down Tradd Street.
Ten o’clock at night and the evening was dark as pitch. Only a few streetlamps glowed pink, giving the neighborhood an eerie, otherworldly feel. A few homes had lights on inside, but mostly it was a quiet Wednesday night. The weather had shifted, and the wind was gusting in from the Atlantic, stripping leaves from trees, whipping a few palmettos into a frenzy.
“That’s Grace Dawson’s home right there,” Theodosia said.
“Where George Burwick used to live,” Drayton said. “Before he died. Such a big place. And quite fancy, too.”
“Take a look around. Do you see Rinicker’s BMW parked on the street anywhere?”
“Not yet.”
They cruised slowly up and down the street. Went around the block and checked the side streets. Came back again and double-checked. There was still no sign of a BMW.
“There are hardly any lights on in Grace’s home,” Theodosia said. “So I’m guessing she either went to bed early or she’s not at home.” Theodosia pulled over to the curb and put her foot on the brake. Sat there, tried to sort out her thoughts, listened to the engine’s hum.
“Maybe the two of them went out together?” Drayton said.
“And maybe Rinicker is sitting at home fat and sassy with his brand-new heirloom necklace.”
“You really have it in for him, don’t you?” Drayton said.
“Not really. He’s just at the top of my list of suspects.”
“A long list. And getting longer.”
Theodosia dug in her clutch and pulled out her phone. “Okay, now we have to call Haley.”
“What? Why?”
“I want you to call her and, if she answers, if she’s home, just ask her some silly question.”
“It’s okay to use your phone?” Drayton asked. “This call isn’t supersecret?”
“No.” Theodosia dialed the number and pushed the phone toward Drayton. “Just try to act normal.”
“But what am I supposed to ask her?” He looked panicked.
“I don’t know. Ask her if you left your hat in the kitchen.”
“Hello?” Drayton stammered into the phone. “Haley?” He hesitated as Theodosia made a hurry-up spinning motion with her hands. “Did I leave my hat in the kitchen? You don’t think so? Oh, you were? Okay, so sorry to have awakened you.” He handed the phone back to Theodosia. “Okay, Haley’s at home. She was sleeping. And she thinks I’m an idiot. So what does any of that prove?”
“We at least know that Haley’s not out with her boyfriend du jour, Billy Grainger.”
Drayton did a double take. “Now you think he was the one who robbed that poor woman tonight and hit her husband on the head?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Theodosia knew the connection was thin, but weren’t all leads fairly tenuous? Wasn’t that the hallmark of a good investigator? You had to be willing to search out every sliver of a lead?
But Drayton wasn’t so keen on pursuing the Grainger angle.
“You think Grainger might be part of the gang that held up Heart’s Desire, don’t you?” he asked. “And it’s all because he rides a motorcycle.”
“I don’t know, Drayton. It’s possible. Grainger would have known all about the jewelry show at Brooke’s because Haley had been tapped to set up the buffet and serve tea. So he could be playing her. She hasn’t known him all that long.”
“Still, wouldn’t you call that circumstantial evidence?”