truly horrific sight that had turned Jordan Knight’s face into a mask of unbearable pain. She swallowed hard and said, “Five minutes, Drayton. Give me five minutes.”
• • •
Drayton lived a
few blocks from Theodosia, also in the heart of Charleston’s historic district, in a quaint, 160-year-old home that had once been owned by a prominent Civil War doctor. While her own home was a classic Queen Anne–style cottage, Drayton’s home was a single-story, gabled roof home with a narrow brick front and elegant dark blue shutters. There was a side piazza, now screened, and a bumpy, cobblestone walk that led around to his rather verdant backyard.
Theodosia gave a perfunctory knock on the front door, waited a few seconds, and then walked around to the back.
Drayton and Jordan Knight were sitting at a black wrought-iron table, talking in low voices, and sipping cups of tea. The patio was modest at best, gray flagstone with pots of bougainvillea, but the rest of the backyard was a veritable jungle. Tall thickets of bamboo, beds of furry green moss, and large twisted
Taihu
rocks set off Drayton’s enormous collection of Japanese bonsai trees to perfection. There were windswept trees that had been tamed and twisted, elegantly pruned junipers and oaks, and even miniature bonsai forests.
When Drayton noticed Theodosia’s arrival, he smiled and said, “There’s a pot of Assam sitting on the kitchen counter if you’d like. It’s organic and from the Kandoli Tea Estate.”
“And Drayton has brandy if you’d like something stronger,” Jordan Knight called to her.
Theodosia walked into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea, and looked around. Drayton’s house never failed to amaze her. It was impeccable in its bachelor simplicity, yet housed a stellar collection of French and English antiques. There were no Pottery Barn look-alikes here, just the real deal. She took a quick peek at what appeared to be two new sterling silver flagons sitting on his Hepplewhite cupboard, then she headed out to join the two men. “What’s going on?” she asked as she sat down at the table. As if she didn’t know.
Jordan Knight gazed at her with a pained expression. His eyes were rimmed in dark circles, tension lines creased his face, and he looked as if he’d slept in his slacks and shirt. “Sheriff Anson hasn’t been able to come up with a single suspect.”
Theodosia crossed her legs, cleared her throat, and said, in what she hoped was a fairly sympathetic tone, “It’s still very early in the investigation.”
“I’m not sure there
is
a viable investigation!” said Drayton, looking more than a little indignant.
“Of course there is,” said Theodosia. “It’s just that . . .” She searched for the right words. “These things take time.” She knew instantly that they
weren’t
the right words and that they sounded empty. Positively vacuous, in fact.
Jordan Knight rested his elbows heavily on the table and leaned in toward her. “Drayton tells me you’re a very clever investigator.”
“I’ve stumbled upon a few answers in the past,” said Theodosia, trying to sound noncommittal. “I got lucky.”
“You got good,” said Drayton. “Which is why I asked you to join us here. And I sincerely do thank you for coming.”
Jordan Knight turned to Theodosia, his face crumpled in pain. “After hearing what Drayton had to say about your rather prodigious skills,” he said, “I was hoping you might lend us your assistance. Perhaps you could work a little of your amateur investigative magic.”
Theodosia shook her head. “It’s not magic.”
“Whatever it is,” said Drayton, lifting a hand. “Call it a knack or a talent or a genius, the fact remains that you’re very good at talking to people, extracting information, and figuring things out. You’re a good judge of character and personal motivations. Which is why we’re hoping you might do us the supreme favor of going back out to Knighthall