Scones & Bones, page 7
At ten minutes to one, their first antique dealer arrived. A man by the name of Stephen Pembroke who ran a military relics store. That pretty much broke the dam. A few minutes later, four more antique dealers shuffled in and took their seats.
Drayton saw to his guests personally, while Theodosia took care of the rest of the customers. A fairly easy task, since most were still sitting happily at their tables, sated from Haley's delicious food and lulled into a heavenly carbohydrate haze.
Drayton, on the other hand, was a whirling dervish of activity. He poured tea, ferried scones, and even sat down for a few minutes at a time, joining in spirited conversation with the dealers.
"What we want to do," said Pembroke, a large man with a florid face who seemed to be a sort of spokesman for the group, "is hold a large antiques expo this September. Possibly at the civic center or municipal auditorium. And I mean reasonably large and highly prestigious, something on the order of the International Fine Art and Antique Dealers Show in New York."
Overhearing his words, Theodosia leaned in to insert her two cents' worth. "I think you have a wonderful idea. It's a great way to draw upscale visitors and highlight the fact that Charleston really is a huge antique center."
Indeed, when it came to antiques, Charleston was the mother lode. Thousands of old families of British and French descent had settled here, bringing with them to the New World many of their finest pieces. As Charleston grew and prospered with its indigo and rice plantations, it also became a thriving center for cabinet and furniture makers, silversmiths, artists, and glassblowers. The large showcase homes that were built demanded equally elegant furniture and finery, so the flurry went on for decades. But as the plantation era gradually faded away, fortunes rose and fell, and older generations handed down their antiquities to successive generations who weren't quite as enamored of such things. And so a huge antique trade sprung up. As attics were emptied, large homes converted into B and Bs, and descendants lost interest in family heirlooms, antiques poured into the marketplace, suddenly making Charleston the go-to hot spot for antique collectors in the know.
"Perhaps," said Drayton, "we might even persuade Theodosia to come out of retirement and handle our advertising.”
“I'd be happy to help," said Theodosia. She was still thrilled about leaving her crushingly stressful marketing job to run the Indigo Tea Shop. And, much to her credit and fortitude, she had never looked back.
"Nice of you," said Pembroke.
Haley suddenly popped out from the kitchen and thrust a tray of bars into Theodosia's hands.
"Thank you," said Theodosia, but Haley had already scurried back into her lair. Theodosia shrugged, slipped her hands around a pair of silver tongs, then placed a pumpkin walnut bar on Pembroke's dessert plate, followed by two large lush strawberries dipped in white chocolate.
As Theodosia worked her way around the table, happily dispensing sweets, she was suddenly aware that the dealers had switched their topic of conversation to the murder at the Heritage Society. And, of course, the missing skull cup.
"The disappearance of the Pruett cup is a real tragedy," said one of the men, an antique dealer Theodosia recognized as Thomas Hassel. He was a tall, pinch-faced man with a tangle of gray hair who wore silver rings on several of his fingers. Hassel was sole proprietor of The Silver Plume, an antique shop that specialized in estate jewelry. Theodosia supposed Hassel was a sort of rival to Brooke Carter Crockett, her friend who owned Heart's Desire just down Church Street.
"You knew about this skull cup?" Theodosia asked him. Hassel looked up at her with a slight amount of surprise in his eyes, then gave a quick nod. "I've heard rumors about skull cups for years-there's more than one, you know. But I always figured the diamond-encrusted skull had been snatched up by some European collector." He emitted a laugh that sounded more like a sharp bark. "Who knew it was languishing in the basement of our own Heritage Society? Collecting dust and dispensing bad karma."
"Why do you say that?" asked Theodosia, moving closer to him and placing an extra pumpkin walnut bar on his plate. "About the bad karma?"
"Oh," said Hassel, his eyes flicking back and forth, "that skull cup has a rather delicious history."
"Tell me," said Theodosia, leaning in. "Start from the beginning."
"Well," said Hassel, "after Blackbeard was defeated by Lieutenant Maynard and the Royal Navy in Ocracoke Inlet, North Carolina, his head was sliced off and suspended from a large oak tree. Eventually, probably out of respect for their clear departed captain, one of Blackbeard's compadres cut the grisly head down and commissioned a local silversmith to turn Blackbeard's skull into an ornate drinking cup. That's when the diamond came into the picture, too. It was supposedly from a huge cache of treasure that Blackbeard's crew had amassed." Hassel now had the rapt attention of everyone at the table. "But get this," he continued, "the diamond used to adorn the skull cup reputedly came from a dagger that had been used by Louis XIV of France."
"Seriously?" said Theodosia. The Sun King? What a story!
"There are several variations on the story," Hassel told her. "But the Louis XIV rumor is the one that seems to carry the most credence. Apparently, the original diamond was as large as eighteen karats, but was split over the years. Broken down into three smaller stones."
"The diamond in the skull cup was ... what?" asked Theodosia, "maybe nine or ten karats?"
"Possibly even twelve," said Hassel.
"So after hearing all the wild legends," said Theodosia, "you finally got a chance to see the skull cup in person." She paused. "I take it you were there Sunday night?"
"I was," Hassel said, nodding.
"And you believe it was the actual skull of Blackbeard?" Theodosia asked.
"Again, it's only rumor," said Pembroke, from across the table.
"Why wouldn't it be real?" Hassel asked, gazing back at him with fiery eyes. "Embedded with the diamond and all. Obviously that's why it was included in the show. It's rumor based on fact. Close enough for jazz, as they say."
A chill ran down Theodosia's spine. "The actual skull of Blackbeard," she murmured. “Along with a diamond owned by the King of France. And now it's all disappeared again. Gone down the rabbit hole."
"For how long, we'll never know," said Hassel. He turned sharp eyes on Theodosia and asked, "What exactly is your interest in the skull cup?"
"Anything that inspires murder," said Theodosia, "is of interest to me."
"Can you believe those antique guys are still blabbing away out there?" asked Haley. Lounging in the doorway of Theodosia's office, she looked vaguely at odds and ends. "They're probably bragging about the size of their andirons or something."
"If they're not gone by the time we close," said Theodosia, "we'll just lock them in."
"Hah!" said Haley, stabbing a finger at her. "Good one.”
“You want me to order another couple of dozen wooden spoons for you?" Theodosia asked, as she thumbed through a restaurant supply catalog. "You seem to like them. You seem to run through them fairly fast." Whatever it was, the soups and chowders Haley concocted or her penchant for endless stirring, she chewed through them relentlessly.
Haley tilted her head thinking. "Sure, why not." She shifted from one foot to the other, then asked, "Can I bring you anything? Sandwich? Cup of tea?"
"Nope."
Haley scrunched up her face. "Think I could leave early?"
"I don't see why not," said Theodosia.
"Drayton can clean up?"
"Or I will."
"You're a dream boss, you know that?" said Haley, as she skipped out the door.
But Theodosia was far from finished. The discussion at lunch concerning the skull cup had only served to ratchet up her interest. And now she was about to indulge in a little investigating that would hopefully yield an answer or two.
Pulling her mobile phone from her bag, Theodosia clicked a couple of buttons and brought up the photo she'd made of the ticket. She studied it. COMPLIMENTARY MEMBERS PASS with a seven-digit number that she figured had to be today's date. Hmm.
Spreading the Post and Courier on her desk, she paged through it until she came to the arts and entertainment section. Maybe, if she could find an event that was happening tonight, an event that required a ticket, she'd be able to put two and two together and ...
Theodosia ran an index finger down the Happenings column, noting that it was divided into "Happening Today" and "Happening This Week."
Because of the big Charleston Food and Wine Festival that kicked off tomorrow, there were tons of listings under "Happening This Week." But only three events were listed under "Happening Today."
Okay, good. Let's see what this ticket might get me admission to.
There was the Ozone Dance Troupe at the Lebeau Theater. A book reading at a local Barnes & Noble. And a concert tonight at the Gibbes Museum of Art.
She took a deep breath as well as a wild guess. Maybe the concert at the museum?
Theodosia tapped a finger against her desk, thinking. Then she slid open her bottom drawer, grabbed the Charleston phone directory, paged through it, and found the museum's general information number.
The phone was immediately answered by a chirpy receptionist. "Hello?"
"I wonder if you could help me," said Theodosia. "I had a pair of tickets for your concert tonight. But, silly me, I've gone and lost one of them. And I'd planned to bring a guest . . .”
“Were they members tickets?" asked the woman.
"The orange-colored tickets?" said Theodosia, winging it now. "That's a members ticket," said the receptionist in a smooth, appeasing tone. "So there shouldn't be a problem. The orange tickets we send out are really just a sort of courtesy. The concert tonight is actually open seating, and I know for a fact there are lots of available seats."
"So I can bring my guest and just show up?" Theodosia asked.
"We'd be delighted to have you," said the receptionist. "We're always happy to entertain a member."
Dashing out into the tea shop, Theodosia found Drayton staring at the detritus of an empty table. Dishes were strewn haphazardly, candles had guttered low, and even the flowers looked droopy.
"What we should do now," he said, "is sell the place. Start fresh."
"No," said Theodosia, "what we're going to do is attend a concert tonight."
Drayton stared at her. "We are?" He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "It's not a rock concert, is it? You and Haley wouldn't run some crazy con on me, would you?"
"That's right, Drayton," said Theodosia, "the Rolling Stones are playing at the Gibbes Museum tonight and they're going to blow the roof off." She paused and smiled. "You know I'd never be that sneaky. I realize that anything besides a string quartet playing a sedate Vivaldi sends you into complete and total apoplexy."
"Then what's the concert?" asked Drayton, still looking hesitant.
"It really is a string quartet," said Theodosia. "That ticket I found in the Heritage Society gallery? I did a quick check and it turns out it's for a concert tonight at the Gibbes Museum of Art. Not only is it a members ticket, but there's no problem in bringing a guest." She paused. “And you're the guest."
Drayton stared at her. "Let me get this straight. You're saying that, theoretically, our killer might have dropped that particular ticket?"
"It's possible."
"Which means," said Drayton, "that our killer could conceivably be there tonight. At the Gibbes Museum." Theodosia nodded. "That's a whole lot of theoreticals, but yes, I suppose he could be."
Drayton was silent for a few moments, and then something behind his hooded gray eyes seemed to click into place and he made up his mind. "Then I think we should go."
"Great." Theodosia picked up a second gray plastic tub and began stacking dirty plates into it. "Did you learn anything more?" she asked. "Talking with the dealers? About the skull cup, I mean?"
"Not really," said Drayton. "The only thing I found slightly disconcerting was how knowledgeable Hassel was."
"That struck me as slightly odd, too," said Theodosia. "I got the feeling that he'd almost ... I don't know ... researched it." She grabbed another plate. "What do you know about Hassel, really?"
"We're just acquaintances." Drayton was carefully lining up spoons with spoons, knives with knives. "Fellow history buffs."
"Do you trust him?" asked Theodosia.
Drayton made a slight grimace. "I don't know him well enough to make that kind of call." He picked up a teacup and placed it in the plastic bin, where it made a tiny clink against a stack of plates. "But I can see you're suspicious. Hassel's keen interest in the skull obviously raised your proverbial hackles."
Theodosia shrugged. "Sort of. It might help if we knew someone who had dealings with him. Like another antique dealer or collector."
"Someone to vouch for him?" asked Drayton. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I guess it is," said Theodosia.
"Nobody comes to mind," said Drayton. "The only thing I really know about Thomas Hassel is that he's not as involved with antiques as he is with jewelry and old silver."
"It just so happens," said Theodosia, "I know someone who's an expert in old silver."
9
Brooke Garter Grockett was hunched over her workbench when Theodosia pushed her way into Heart's Desire. The shop, so elegant with its Oriental carpets, glittering chandeliers, and sparkling glass cases, was filled with tasty diamond, ruby, and pearl jewelry-some of it brand-new, much of it estate pieces.
"Theodosia!" said Brooke, lifting her head. "Thank goodness. I thought it might be that awful Amy Lou Wiggins coming in here to try to sell me her grandmother's emerald necklace again. I keep telling her the stones are really tsavorite, but she doesn't want to believe me."
"Lots of that going around?" asked Theodosia, stepping to the counter.
Brooke spun her task chair around to face Theodosia. She was slim and slightly elfin, with a white cap of hair and a perpetual smile. You have no idea. It’s the economy, you know. Still in the trash can, so everyone's desperate to raise extra cash.”
"I hear you," said Theodosia.
"On a similar note," continued Brooke, "I'm just back from the Palm Beach Jewelry, Art and Antique Show.”
“How was that?" asked Theodosia.
"Heartbreaking," said Brooke. "I can't tell you how many estate pieces were being offered for sale. Trays and trays filled with Cartier, Tiffany, and Bulgari pieces, as well as hundreds of diamond rings and bracelets from Harry Winston, Chopard, and Neil Lane. And you just know many of those pieces were owned by women who'd lost money in those big Wall Street Ponzi and hedge fund debacles."
"They're still feeling fallout from that?" asked Theodosia.
Brooke nodded. "Oh, sure. They lost the big money when the market imploded a couple of years ago, and now they've run through their savings accounts, too. All that's left of consequence are their homes and jewelry."
"Let me guess," said Theodosia, "the jewelry is being sold off in order to maintain the homes."
Brooke nodded. "Property taxes and electric bills just keep coming due. To say nothing of groceries, lawn care, or popping for the occasional face lift."
"See why I opted for a smaller home?" said Theodosia, smiling.
"Honey, me, too. I'm the original cocooner. Give me my little Charleston single house and my dog Toby and I'm happy as a clam, even if I did turn my guest bedroom into a shrine for my ceramic dog collection." She reached for her teacup and took a quick sip. "Want some tea?"
Theodosia shook her head. "I've already hit my quota."
"Thanks to you," said Brooke, "I think I've turned into a complete tea addict."
"There's a twelve-step program for that, you know," said Theodosia.
Brooke looked surprised. "There is?"
"Never be more than twelve steps away from your teakettle," said Theodosia.
"Oh, you!"
Theodosia pointed toward Brooke's workbench, where a number of half-finished charm bracelets lay. "Those pieces are adorable; can I see one?" Brooke was a master at charm bracelets, and her handcrafted charms depicting palmetto trees, churches, oysters, and sailboats were always in big demand. Recently, she'd started crafting South Carolina state symbol charms, too, such as the loggerhead turtle, which was the state reptile; yellow jessamine, the state flower; and Carolina wren, the state bird.
Brooke turned and picked up a half-finished bracelet. It was a silver link bracelet strung with pieces of twisted red coral, white quartz, and pale blue chalcedony. "Something different," she said, handing it to Theodosia.
"Beautiful," said Theodosia, admiring it and thinking it would be a perfect summer accessory. "And so much going on." The bracelet was a perfect mix of warm and cool colors integrated with polished silver.
"It's getting there," said Brooke. "I'm starting to love working with chalcedony. Especially the blue and the pink." She set a tiny silver teaspoon on the counter in front of Theodosia. "How do you like this?" She was grinning as she said it.
Theodosia touched the spoon with her index finger. Brooke had crafted a tiny silver teaspoon with a twisty handle that resembled a living piece of sea coral. "I love it! How soon can I get fifty for the tea shop?"
Brooke reared back. "Fifty? Are you serious?"
"We could sell these," said Theodosia. "My customers, especially the dedicated tea drinkers, would go bonkers for them."
"No kidding," said Brooke, clearly surprised. "I really just made it as a lark." She shook her head. "Fifty. Is that an actual order?"
"Absolutely it is," said Theodosia. "Do you want me to sign something? Issue a purchase order?"
"You're such a buttoned-up businesswoman," said Brooke. "I just scrawl things on Post-it notes. That's my system."
"If it works, that's all that matters," said Theodosia. She leaned forward and stared down into the glass case. A diamond brooch, a strand of Polynesian black pearls, and a contemporary-looking diamond-and-amber necklace sparkled back at her.
