Page 11

11

The night sky was dark when Theodosia and Drayton arrived at Jamie’s apartment on America Street. Per his directions, his place was a small one-bedroom unit on the back side of a three-story wood-frame building.

“This has to be it, right?” Theodosia said to Drayton as they pulled to the curb.

Drayton peered through the gloom. “Appears to be an old Charleston single house that fell into disrepair and was cut up into a crazy quilt of apartments. Probably by a slum landlord,” he added.

“There are lots of sketchy buildings in this area because of the student population,” Theodosia said. “With landlords charging sky-high rents just because they can.” She stared at the building and felt a frisson of worry. Paint peeled off in long strips, and the place looked like it was ready to collapse. Then she shook off her feeling of nervousness and said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

They climbed out of Theodosia’s Jeep, stepped through a wrought iron gate that creaked like a rusty coffin lid, and followed a cracked cement walk around to the back just as Jamie had instructed.

“No lights on,” Drayton commented. “Except for the third floor.” He glanced around the backyard. “But not terrible back here. Two decent parking spaces for cars as well as a nice grove of palmettos and dogwoods.”

“And a brick barbeque that someone built.”

“I hope whoever did it used refractory bricks,” Drayton said. “You choose the wrong kind of brick, the porous kind, and when they heat up, they tend to go boom.”

“That’ll add some pizzazz to your wood-fired pizza.”

Drayton touched a hand to a battered-looking back door and said, “You have the key Jamie gave you?”

“Got it right here,” Theodosia said.

“This door is all crooked and cockamamie. And look, the hinges are barely on at all. Any idiot could break in here if they wanted.”

“The joys of living in an old building,” Theodosia said as she stuck the key into the lock. The lock was sticky and obstinate at first and didn’t want to release, but then she jiggled the key harder and something clicked. The door swung open. “Okay, finally.”

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Drayton said.

The back door led directly into a small kitchen. Theodosia fumbled around for a light switch, found it, and turned on a yellow overhead light. Which sent a small flotilla of bugs scrambling for cover.

“Not exactly a gourmet kitchen like you’d find showcased in Southern Living ,” Drayton said.

“It’s awful,” Theodosia said. The linoleum flooring was warped, appliances were nineteen seventies avocado green, and the kitchen cupboards and counters were made of cheap plywood. She couldn’t imagine cooking a meal in a place like this.

“Once they were married, was Bettina actually going to move in here?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Theodosia said. “This place is a disaster zone.” She opened the cupboard under the sink, found a can of bug spray, and gave the floor a spritz.

“More like a toxic waste dump,” Drayton said. “I thought stockbrokers pulled down a fairly decent salary.”

“Salary plus commissions. Maybe Jamie was scrimping and saving so he could buy a nice condo for him and Bettina. This…” She looked around. “Maybe it was only temporary.”

“Let’s hope so.” Drayton walked over to the refrigerator, pulled open the door, and said, “Goodness me, it would appear Jamie is cultivating some odd strains of penicillin on his assortment of cheeses.”

“That bad?”

“Don’t ask. But if Jamie ever offers to make you a grilled cheese sandwich, take a pass. On a more hopeful note, the living room has to be an improvement.”

It wasn’t.

In the gloom they could make out a lumpy maroon sofa and matching chair parked in front of a flat-screen TV. Bookcases were your basic bricks and boards, and there was a strange odor.

“Mildew?” Theodosia wondered.

“Or mold,” Drayton said.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Having opted not to pursue my PhD in mycology, I’m not sure I know the difference,” Drayton said. “Here, let’s turn on a light so we can see what we’re dealing with.” He took a few steps in, caught his toe on a scatter rug, and practically stumbled.

“Do you want me to…?”

“I’ve got it,” Drayton said as he switched on a seventies-looking floor lamp, a brass pole with three white globes.

The room was instantly flooded with light, revealing…

“Another skull!” Theodosia yelped.

“Sweet Fanny Adams,” Drayton said as he stared at it. The skull was sitting in the center of a smoked-glass coffee table. And it looked identical to the one that had shown up in Jamie’s hospital room. “Is it plastic?”

Theodosia tapped the top of the skull with a finger. “Yup. Feels like plastic, looks exactly like the other one, too.”

“Maybe there was a two-for-one sale,” Drayton joked.

But Theodosia shook her head. “This is just plain weird. I mean, somebody must have left it here, right? To scare Jamie when he got home from the hospital?”

“It could explain why the door was off-kilter in its frame. Somebody must have jimmied it open so they could come inside and plant this nasty thing.”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Theodosia said.

“Now what?”

“Now we do what we came here for. We look around and see what else we can find.”

“You mean like a clue?” Drayton asked.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a big red X marking the spot, but maybe something will turn up. Something that spills a little light on why Jamie is being threatened and harassed.”

“So now you’re definitely thinking that Jamie is the prime target?” Drayton asked.

“Yes. No. Actually, I’m still not sure.”

“Okay then, we poke around anyway.”

They spread out, Theodosia stepping into the small bedroom, Drayton searching the living room.

“Got a baggie here,” Drayton called out. He held up a baggie filled with crumpled dark green leaves and said, “Somehow, I don’t think it’s his morning blend of herbal tea.”

Theodosia came out, took a look, and said, “Whatever.” She really didn’t care if Bettina and Jamie toked up once in a while. “You find anything else?”

“Old magazines, some paperbacks, a Monopoly board game.” Drayton shrugged, walked into the kitchen, and pulled open a few drawers. “There’s a pocketknife mixed in with the forks and spoons.”

“Just a pocketknife? Not a stiletto or a switchblade?” Theodosia called.

“It’s more the Boy Scout variety.”

“No other weapons? No guns or hunting knives?”

“None that I can see.”

“What about tools?”

“Haven’t seen those, either,” Drayton said. “Which leads me to believe nothing gets fixed around here. By Jamie or the landlord.” A few seconds went by, and Drayton said, “Ho boy.”

“What?”

Drayton came out of the kitchen holding a pair of brown leather boots. “These were tucked between the stove and the back door. I think they’re the brand you were talking about the other day. Sorels.”

“Damn,” Theodosia said, looking at the pair of scuffed boots. “That’s just plain weird.”

“Maybe a coincidence?”

“Let’s hope so. But all the same, let’s bag them and take them with us.”

“What about the skull?”

“Let’s bring that, too.”

Back in the bedroom, Theodosia found Jamie’s checkbook and financial papers in a drawer. She hurriedly scanned as much as she could and determined that Jamie had a balance of three thousand two hundred dollars in his checking account and owned something like twenty-nine thousand dollars’ worth of stocks and mutual funds. So certainly enough to put a down payment on a condo and move out of this rattrap.

In another drawer, Theodosia found a few pieces of correspondence. But they were of the postcard variety—no threatening notes that hinted at violence.

Theodosia wandered back out into the living room, where Drayton was perusing the bookshelf, and said, “Jamie’s got some money. Enough to move out of here and buy a condo.”

“Good to hear,” Drayton said as he dusted his hands together. “Now can we leave?”

They locked the door behind them and headed toward Theodosia’s Jeep. It was darker than a coal bin now, so they took care as they stepped along the broken sidewalk.

“Why don’t we…,” Theodosia began, then suddenly stopped talking. She’d picked up a low noise, not just the skitter of dry leaves against pavement, but a throaty putty-putt. She looked across the street, where a car idled at the curb. “Drayton, there’s a car over there,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Across the street. I think somebody’s been watching us.”

Drayton seemed unconcerned. “Maybe the driver is here to pick somebody up. Could be one of those Uber things.”

Still, Theodosia’s spider sense had been tickled. Something felt off. “I’m going to check it out,” she said. She passed the bag with the skull and Sorels to Drayton. Then, stepping off the curb and into the street, she hurried in the direction of the waiting car. It was black or dark blue, and the headlights cast dancing beams down the street while the taillights glowed red, which was probably enough to illuminate the car’s license plate. But just as Theodosia came up behind the car, ready to make note of the plate number, the car’s lights winked out and its engine roared. Then the car accelerated fast, pulling away like a drag racer laying rubber and plunging the street into complete darkness.

“Whoa,” Theodosia said as she watched the mysterious car recede into the distance. “That thing is smokin’.”

“You okay over there?” Drayton called.

“I’m fine,” Theodosia said. But she was still looking down the dark, deserted street, wondering just who had been spying on them.