Laura Childs - Gunpowder Green

“Unlatch that gate.” He gestured with the pistol. “You and I are going to take a little stroll down to Charleston Harbor. The water’s awfully chilly this time of year but . . .” He chuckled nastily. “...You won’t be in any condition to notice.”

Theodosia faced him square on. “I don’t think so,” she told him.

Her obstinance infuriated him. “You foolish, snooping woman,” he hissed. “Very well, have it your way. You hear them in there?” He gestured toward Timothy’s house. “No one’s going to come to your rescue. Everyone is having a merry old time, sipping champagne and whispering about your silly soil samples. I’m sure they all think you’re quite mad. Especially when they find out you were sneaking about at night, snooping in people’s gardens. No wonder you met with such an unfortunate accident.”

Theodosia stared at him. Giovanni had become so enraged he was spitting like a cat, and his eyes were pulled into narrow slits like an evil Kabuki mask.

Oh dear, Theodosia suddenly thought to herself as her heart began to pound a timpani solo inside her chest. Did I push him too hard? I hope he—

Giovanni’s finger tightened about the trigger.

“Giovanni . . .” said Theodosia, extending a hand.

Giovanni Loard squeezed the trigger, flinching slightly as a loud whomp echoed in the courtyard. At the same instant, Theodosia’s hands flew up in surprise, and she uttered a tiny cry of dismay.

“You fool!” Timothy Neville’s voice rang sharply across the garden, bouncing like shards of glass on cobblestones.

Startled, Giovanni whirled to find the grim face of Timothy Neville staring at him from above the barrel of a pistol, a sleek contemporary pistol that looked far more menacing than the one Giovanni held in his hand.

“Miss Browning?” Timothy called. “Still in one piece?” He looked past Giovanni, but his gun never wavered. It remained pointed squarely at Giovanni’s heart.

Giovanni snapped his head around toward Theodosia. “What?” he gasped, amazed to find her still standing.

“You’re a pitiful excuse for a man,” said Timothy, his upper lip curled in disgust.

Giovanni was thoroughly stunned that his shot had been without effect. “It was supposed to be loaded,” he stammered. “You said—”

“Assuming you are still in one piece, Miss Browning, would you care to enlighten the recalcitrant Mr. Loard?”

Theodosia lifted her chin in triumph. Her eyes bore into Giovanni, and her hair flowed out around her like a vengeful wraith.

“We created a special type of ammunition,” she told him. “Gunpowder green.”

“That’s right,” added Timothy. “We figured once our killer knew that soil samples were being tested, it was only a matter of time before he, or she, erupted into a full-blown panic and attempted something foolish.” Timothy smiled with smug satisfaction. “Witness your own folly just now.”

Giovanni Loard’s face was black with fury. “You put what in the pistol?” he bellowed.

“Gunpowder green,” said Theodosia. “Actually a rather pungent and flavorful Chinese tea. But then, what would you know?” Her eyes blazed like a huntress who’d just claimed her prize. “You yourself admitted you were unable to distinguish between Chinese and Japanese blends. We simply assumed your inadequacies ran to gunpowder, as well.”

“And we were correct,” smiled Timothy.

“You pompous old blowhard,” menaced Giovanni. His hands clenched and unclenched, and his eyes sought out the pale skin of Theodosia’s neck.

In a split second, Timothy read the cold, calculating menace on Giovanni’s face.

“You’re not nearly as smart or as quick as you think you are,” Timothy warned him. “Consider the fact that this Ruger is loaded with .22 caliber hollowpoints.” Timothy’s eyes gleamed, almost daring Giovanni to make a move.

When Giovanni continued to stare at Theodosia, Timothy Neville pulled his face into a tight smile and cocked the hammer back. The loud click reverberated off the stone garden walls.

“Timothy . . .” cautioned Theodosia. Fear suddenly gripped her. She was afraid that Timothy Neville, fiery old rebel that we was, might well escalate this standoff into something extremely foolish.

Timothy’s dark eyes glittered with cold, hard rage. “Go ahead, Giovanni, why not make a grab for her? With my arthritis and advanced age, my reflexes probably aren’t what they used to be, so we could make a game of it, you and I. Never mind that I’ve cocked the hammer back, which puts you about a nanosecond away from meeting your maker.”

Giovanni almost seemed to consider the possibility for a moment. Then there were sudden, fast footfalls across cobblestones as men rushed toward them, and shapes emerged from the darkness. Much to Theodosia’s delight, Tidwell’s big belly bobbed across the garden courtyard. She’d never been so happy to see that protruding form in all her life.

Along with Tidwell were two uniformed police officers, one with his gun drawn, the other brandishing a set of handcuffs. At the sight of the three lawmen, Giovanni Loard seemed to collapse within himself.

“Detective Tidwell,” said Theodosia, surprised and a little breathless, “what are you doing here?”

“I took the liberty of calling him, ma’am,” said Henry, Timothy Neville’s highly competent old butler, as he stepped out from behind Tidwell. For all his part in tonight’s drama, Henry still seemed relatively unfazed.

“Good work, Henry,” crowed Timothy, seemingly happy now to relinquish the task of dealing with Giovanni to the police. “Fine work.”

Henry turned baleful eyes on Timothy. “Sir, your guests are departing. Perhaps you should come up to the house and bid them a proper good night?”

“You’re making a terrible mistake!” screamed Booth Crowley as a pair of handcuffs was clamped tightly about his chubby wrists. “One call to Senator Wilbur and your career is finished!”

“Yeah, sure,” said the police officer calmly. He turned as Tidwell entered the house. “These two go to central booking?” he asked.

Tidwell nodded. “ATF’s been alerted, they’re aware they’re being brought in.”

“Tidwell, you idiot!” screamed Booth Crowley, “I’ll have your head on a platter. When I’m finished, you won’t be able to get a job as a crossing guard!”

Theodosia couldn’t believe the bizarre scene being played out inside Timothy’s home. She had just witnessed Giovanni Loard’s arrest out in the garden. Now two more uniformed officers had just apprehended and handcuffed Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo and were about to lead them away. And while Billy seemed subdued and cooperative, Booth Crowley was in a vile rage.

“B. C.?” Beatrix Crowley made pitiful little bleating sounds as she ran helplessly alongside her husband. “What’s going on?” she pleaded. “Tell me why this is happening!”

“Shut up with your fool questions and get on the phone to Tom Breedlaw,” Booth shouted at her. “Tell that good-for-nothing lawyer he’d better move heaven and earth on this one! Go on, what are you waiting for?” he sputtered.

“What is going on?” Theodosia asked Tidwell as a bemused crowd of onlookers, the remains of Timothy’s party guests, gawked and whispered as the two men were led away.

Tidwell favored Theodosia with a benevolent smile. “Yet one more piece of business taken care of, Miss Browning. Not to steal credit from Henry, but we were en route, anyway.” He paused for a moment to scrawl his name on a piece of paper a uniformed officer had presented to him. “We were coming to pick up those two chaps.” Tidwell waved after the departing Booth Crowley and Billy Manolo. “And we ended up with your Mr. Loard, too. A lucky strike extra, I’d have to say.”