“About the insurance ransom? Yes,” Theodosia said. “Detective Tidwell was just in here a few minutes ago and spilled the beans to me.”
“I don’t know what to make of all these new developments,” Brooke said. “I mean, the thieves contacting the insurance company? And then that horrible robbery last night? At the opera, no less. Smack-dab in the middle of hundreds of people. I was just reading about it in the Post and Courier. And it’s all people are talking about up and down Church Street.”
“I know,” Theodosia said. “I was there last night.”
Brooke’s eyes widened in surprise. “You were? Really?”
“With Drayton. Our seats were literally thirty feet away from that poor woman whose necklace was stolen.”
“Ripped right off her neck, I heard. And then her poor husband got clobbered for trying to defend her. It’s almost like the Heart’s Desire robbery and Kaitlin’s killing all over again! Oh, Theo, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Brooke,” Theodosia said. “The robbery at the opera was horribly bizarre and daring. And now this ransom situation . . .”
Brooke nodded sadly. “It’s unsettling . . . terrifying.”
“Which pieces of jewelry did the thieves offer to ransom back to the insurance company—do you know?”
Brooke bit her lip. “Some vintage Tiffany and Cartier bracelets, a suite of Tahitian pearls, and some gemstone rings and necklaces. I think they’re trying that tactic because those particular pieces might be more difficult to fence.”
“And the other pieces?”
“Hah,” Brooke said. “The really important pieces, a Van Cleef necklace and earrings set and a spectacular alexandrite necklace, were never even mentioned in the ransom offer.”
“The alexandrite,” Theodosia said slowly. Something had just pinged deep inside her brain. “What can you tell me about that piece?”
“Oh . . . well,” Brooke said, a little flustered by the question. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but alexandrite is an extremely rare gemstone. It was named after Czar Alexander II. And the bluish-purple crystals that characterize the highest quality alexandrite were first discovered in the old emerald mines in Russia’s Ural Mountains.”
Theodosia gave Brooke a slightly crooked gaze. “What do you know about your event crasher, Professor Warren Shepley?”
Brooke shook her head. “Nothing, really. The police haven’t told me a thing. Why do you ask?”
“Shepley’s a professor of Russian literature.”
“What!” Brooke’s face contorted with a mixture of surprise and anger. “You don’t think he was . . . Well, do you think Shepley was at my shop because he was after the alexandrite?” A tear slid down her face. “Do you think he’s the mastermind?”
“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “But I’m going to try and find out.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
But Theodosia did know. Because even as she hugged Brooke again and gently ushered her out the door, a plan was beginning to form in her brain.
“Drayton,” she said, leaning over the counter. “I have to run out for two minutes.”
Panic filled Drayton’s face. “You can’t. You’re not allowed. We’re totally jammed and there’s no way I can . . .”
She held up two fingers. “Two minutes. And I promise, cross my heart, that I’ll be back in a flash.”
Before Drayton could launch a more nuanced protest, Theodosia was out the door and running down Church Street. But she didn’t have to run far. Her destination was just three doors down at the Antiquarian Bookshop. She ripped open the door and dashed inside.
Lois Chamberlain looked up from behind the glass counter that housed a few of her rare books, and a pleasant smile spread across her face. “Hi, Theodosia. You look like you’re in a mad rush.” Lois was a tidy-looking woman in her late fifties, a retired librarian who wore purple half-glasses and plaited her gray hair in a fat braid down her back.
Theodosia touched a hand to her chest. “I am a little crazed, Lois. Listen, I have kind of a strange question for you. Are you acquainted with a man by the name of Professor Warren Shepley? He’s been doing research here in Charleston and I was wondering if perhaps he’s dropped by your shop?”
“That’s weird,” Lois said. She took off her glasses and stared at Theodosia.
“What’s weird?”
“He stopped in here yesterday.”
Theodosia shot a finger at her. “Looking for books on Russian literature, right?”
“Eighteenth century,” Lois fired back.
“So you know him.” Theodosia couldn’t believe her luck. Or karma or serendipity or whatever you wanted to call it.
“It’s more like I know of him,” Lois said. “He poked around in here for an hour or so, then bought a couple of books. One on Peter the Great, another on the poetry of Trediakovsky. He seemed like an okay guy, but a typical academic. A little standoffish, nose poked inside a book, asked just a couple of pertinent questions.”