Drayton sidled up to Theodosia. “I have to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Earlier today, I overheard Nadine having a knock-down, drag-out fight with that film director, Eddie Fox.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just that . . .”
Theodosia lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think Fox might have killed her?”
Drayton shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s just a thought. On the other hand, it seems as if everyone associated with this Lemon Squeeze Couture project harbored a secret desire to wring Nadine’s neck. All day I kept hearing whispers of how she was caustic and overbearing, treated everyone so badly.”
Theodosia looked out at the crowd and wondered who could have killed Nadine. Correction, who could have shot Nadine. Someone here must be carrying a concealed weapon, right? Or maybe they’d already ditched it somewhere in the woods. Or nearby Bohicket Creek.
And how long had Nadine been dead?
Theodosia racked her brain. From the time she’d separated Delaine and Nadine until the time she’d discovered Nadine’s body in the cooler had to be nine or ten minutes. A lot could happen in that time. A lot had happened.
Was the killer still on the premises? Was it someone in this crowd that she’d rubbed shoulders with? Or someone who’d snuck in from the outside? It would have been a piece of cake to waltz in here, given the frantic activity of the tea service and film crew. To say nothing of all the guests, models, stylists, and makeup artists. Really, it would have been a snap.
Theodosia gave a reflexive shudder. She let her thoughts wander for a few moments, reached for her phone, then changed her mind. Rethought her idea and then made her call anyway.
“Howdy there.” Pete Riley’s voice was warm and engaging. Clearly, he’d checked his caller ID and knew that it was Theodosia, his girlfriend, sailing buddy, and fellow foodie, on the line.
“You’ll never guess what happened,” Theodosia said.
“Did it rain on your fancy-schmancy tea?”
“Look out your window. Do you see dark clouds?”
“Nope, I’m looking out over Charleston Harbor and the sun does seem to be shining.” A pause. “So what happened? What’s wrong? Your voice sounds funny.”
“You remember Nadine, Delaine’s sister?”
“Met her once. That was enough,” Riley said. “The lady was too high-strung for my sensibilities.”
“Not anymore. Nadine was just murdered.”
“What!” he cried.
3
Pete Riley was a D-2, a detective with the Charleston Police Department’s Robbery and Homicide Division. Theodosia knew the scent of a good murder would make him sit up and take notice.
Theodosia cleared her throat. “I said Nadine . . .”
“No, no, I heard that part just fine. But . . . what? Who?”
“Who,” Theodosia said, slowly drawing out the word. “It could have been someone attending our Limón Tea Party. Or, possibly, one of the folks from the fashion shoot. Or maybe some maniac just wandered in and didn’t like her looks.”
“Unlikely,” Riley said. “Tell me, how was Nadine killed?”
“Don’t quote me on this, but it looks like a small caliber weapon to the back of the head.”
“Huh,” Riley said. “Maybe that’s why they call it a fashion shoot.”
Theodosia wanted to laugh but didn’t. Longed to dispel the horrible ball of anxiety that was slowly building inside her. A ruined tea, a murdered woman, a grieving sister and daughter.
“You’re not helping,” she said.
Riley was suddenly serious. “But I could help. That’s why you called, isn’t it? Do you want me to drive out there and lend a hand?”
Theodosia thought for a few quick moments. Riley didn’t have jurisdiction, but he was clever enough not to step on anybody’s toes. Plus, he was a trained investigator and a darn good shoulder to lean on. Or cry on if necessary.
“That would be great,” Theodosia said finally.
* * *
* * *
Pete Riley was, as always, an oasis of calm. Even in a maelstrom of shock and uncertainty. He arrived some twenty minutes later and swept Theodosia into his arms.
“Thank you for coming,” Theodosia said. She could feel his newly acquired Glock 22 press up against her as she hugged him tight. It made her feel . . . safe.
Pete Riley nodded and kissed the top of her head. He was used to dealing with tragedy, used to investigating homicides and serious crimes. At age thirty-seven, he was one of the up-and-coming detectives on Charleston’s police force, a tall, intense man with an aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and cobalt blue eyes. Theodosia tended to call him Riley instead of Pete, and he called her Theo. It was what worked for them. And had for a couple of years now.
When Theodosia knocked on the kitchen door, Sheriff Burney cracked it open and peered out. The sheriff might have been surprised when Theodosia introduced him to a CPD detective, but he had the good grace not to show it. Even seemed to welcome Riley’s presence.
“Tell me again how you found her?” Sheriff Burney said to Theodosia. They were all crowded into the kitchen now. The sheriff, Pete Riley, Theodosia, the deputies, EMTs, and two Crime Scene investigators. Even Drayton seemed to have acquired a hall pass to get inside. The Crime Scene guys had set up lights on stanchions, marked a few things with red tape, made a video of the area, taken still photos, and checked the scene for possible fibers, hair, and trace evidence.
But they still hadn’t moved the body. Poor Nadine still lay facedown in the lemon curd, her arms and legs splayed out like a rag doll.
“I opened the walk-in cooler and there she was—boom! Facedown in the lemon curd,” Theodosia said. She glanced at the blobs and spatters of yellow that were all around Nadine and thought, She must have landed hard.
“Do you think she went in there to get something?” Riley asked.
“I don’t think so,” Theodosia said. “Basically, it looked as if she’d been shot and then kind of dragged across the kitchen floor. You see over there? Where that red tab marks her shoe? Obviously one of her high heels flew off. So there must have been some kind of struggle during which . . .” Theodosia took a quick swipe at her eyes. “During which Nadine was overpowered and shot. Then she was tossed into the cooler all haphazard like.”
“Why was Nadine in the kitchen?” Sheriff Burney asked.
“There was a cigarette on the floor,” one of the Crime Scene techs said. “Burned down some but not extinguished. I think she came in here to sneak a smoke.”