Laura Childs - Gunpowder Green

There were whistles of appreciation and murmurs as several people pressed forward to gaze at it, lying there, shiny and dangerous, on a bed of red velvet.

They are drawn to it like the hypnotic attraction of a cobra to a mongoose, thought Theodosia. The pistol was troubling yet difficult to resist, on display for all to admire on the library table next to the fireplace.

But the crowd was also beginning to dissipate now, moving out into the center hallway where it was cooler. Most folks were shuffling down the hall toward the solarium for drink refills at the bar.

Booth Crowley had shoved his way through the crowd again and stood talking with Billy Manolo. Or, rather, Booth Crowley was doing all the talking. Billy stared fixedly at the floor while the tips of Booth Crowley’s ears turned a bright shade of pink.

Almost as pink as Delaine’s dress, thought Theodosia, wishing she were a little mouse who could scamper across the floor and listen in on the tongue-lashing Booth Crowley seemed to be inflicting upon Billy Manolo.

“What do you think?” Drayton asked eagerly as he hovered at her elbow.

“Jury’s still out,” replied Theodosia.

“I’m going to dash over and grab a word with Timothy,” he said. “Be right back.”

As the room emptied rapidly, Theodosia moved along with the crowd, straining to keep everyone in view. Just ahead, Doe held an empty champagne glass aloft and, with a deliberate toss of her blond mane, handed it over to Giovanni Loard.

Giovanni Loard.

The thought struck Theodosia like a whack on the side of the head. Maybe we should have taken soil samples from his garden, she thought suddenly. After all, Giovanni seemed to get awfully cozy with Doe right after Oliver’s death. On the other hand, Giovanni was Oliver’s cousin, so he was expected to be sympathetic and solicitous.

She looked back to see where Drayton was, but he and Timothy were nowhere in sight.

“Theodosia!” Delaine’s troubled face appeared before her. “Did Timothy not transcend the boundaries of good taste tonight?”

Delaine wore a mantle of pious outrage, but Theodosia knew she would deliciously broadcast and rebroadcast tonight’s events for days to come.

“Timothy’s a true eccentric,” admitted Theodosia. “You never know what he’s got up his sleeve.”

“Eccentric isn’t the word for it,” sputtered Delaine. “He’s downright . . .” She searched for the right word. “Intemperate.”

Amused, Theodosia glanced back into the music salon. It appeared to be completely empty now. Drayton and Timothy must have exited via another door, she decided.

“And what’s with those soil samples you’ve been collecting?” asked Delaine. She nudged closer. “Any results you’d care to share?”

Soil samples, Theodosia thought again. Should get one from Giovanni’s garden, just to be safe.

“Oh my gosh,” gasped Delaine suddenly, “there’s Gabby Stewart.” She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of a pencil-thin woman in a short black cocktail dress. “Will you look at her face; not so much as a single line. Oh, Gabby . . .” And Delaine elbowed her way frantically through the crowd.

Theodosia stood by herself for a moment, watching the last of the guests amble toward the solarium and out onto the enormous front portico. Then she made a snap decision.

Giovanni lived nearby. His garden was highlighted on the map in the Garden Fest program that had been passed out earlier to all the guests.

She’d go there right now and take a soil sample. What harm would it do? After all, she’d be back in five minutes.

Flaming torches illuminated Timothy’s backyard garden, although it was completely deserted at the moment. Beginning life as a classical Charleston courtyard garden, it had, over the years, veered toward an Asian-inspired garden. Now indigenous flowering trees and shrubs rubbed shoulders with thickets of bamboo, stands of lady fern, and Korean moss. The long, rectangular pond was overgrown with Asian water plants. Along the paths, stone lion-dogs and Buddhas stood guard.

Cool breezes swept through the garden as Theodosia stepped hurriedly down a stone walkway. In a far, dim corner, a small waterfall splashed noisily. Arriving at the back wall, Theodosia put a hand on the ancient wooden gate that led to the alley. Pushing outward, the old metal hinges creaked in protest. And in that same instant, Theodosia heard something else, too: light footsteps in front of her.

She hesitated, then turned to peer into the darkness.

A silver moon slid out from behind a bank of clouds and cast faint light on the man standing ten feet in front of her.

Theodosia put a hand to her chest. “Giovanni, you frightened me.”

“I meant to,” he said.

Theodosia caught her breath. Giovanni’s voice was cold and menacing. He was no longer playing the role of the charming and witty antique dealer. Her eyes went immediately to the pistol Giovanni had clutched in his hand. It was the same pistol Timothy had just presented in the music room. Theodosia decided that Giovanni must have waited until everyone had left, then snatched it from the wooden box that looked so eerily like a miniature coffin.

“You think you’re so smart,” Giovanni snarled at her. “Why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”

“And let you get away with murder, Giovanni?” Theodosia faced him with as much bravado as she dared. “Killing your own cousin. What a coward you turned out to be.”

“ Second cousin,” corrected Giovanni. He waved the pistol menacingly at her. “But what does it matter how we were related? The fact is, Oliver signed his own death warrant by staunchly refusing to give me any help at all.”

“Help with what?” asked Theodosia, determined to draw him out.

“Money,” sneered Giovanni. “I needed money. Some very nasty men were demanding immediate payment of a debt. But Oliver, righteous citizen and uptight businessman, wouldn’t give it to me. Wouldn’t even lend it to me. Said I was incapable of managing my finances.”

“What did you need the money for?” she asked him, knowing full well that greed was a motivator that often outweighed a pressing need for money.

“What does it matter?” Giovanni said petulantly. “The shop, gambling debts... Anyway, my problems are almost behind me now.”

“And you think you’ll get control of Oliver’s money by wooing Doe,” said Theodosia. Keep him talking, she told herself. Drayton has to come looking for me.

“Doe has the mind of a child,” said Giovanni scornfully. But she listens to me, she trusts me. It won’t be long before I’m calling the shots.”

“You think you can make her fall in love with you? Marry you?”

Giovanni shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“She’s not that much of a child,” said Theodosia.

“Shut up!” he said with a harsh bark. All pretense of Giovanni’s carefully cultured voice had long since been abandoned.

“What have you got in mind?” Theodosia goaded Giovanni. “Another accident? Another exploding pistol?” Fury shone brightly in her eyes; her cheeks blazed high with color.

“Not necessarily,” said Giovanni, and suddenly his voice was smooth and hard as ice. “I’m sure this pistol will fire quite nicely all on its own. We have our host, Timothy Neville, to thank for that. Quite the expert when it comes to weapons.” Giovanni’s eyes darted about the dark garden, but only golden koi peeped at them from the pond. The woman had been stalling for time, Giovanni decided, and he knew he’d better bring this to a rapid conclusion.