The killer in the camo shirt, black tactical pants, and blade sunglasses crept ever so carefully between rows of orange chrysanthemums and Chinese silver grass. All around, late summer flowers and native grasses blazed crimson and gold while fuzzy yellow bees bumbled from blossom to stem. The killer didn't pay much attention to this bucolic autumnal display but was strictly focused on the mission at hand. Slowly, pressing forward, the killer crawled on hands and knees, eyes finally locked on the back wall of the greenhouse that was now a tantalizing fifteen feet away. Then, head lifted like a wolf sniffing the wind, the killer scuttled the rmaining distance through late-blooming dahlias, hunched over and moving fast. Collapsing in the loamy soil, shoulders and back pressed hard against the greenhouse, the killer enjoyed a moment of blessed relaxation. Almost there.
Breathing back to normal now, the killer peered carefully around the side of the greenhouse. There were six cars and a Jeep, all unoccupied and parked a good fifty yards away, clustered near a series of small white cottages. Looking right, the killer saw the wedding arch, resplendent with curling ivy and woven with white pampas grass, sunflowers, and red bittersweet. Four dozen white folding chairs were set up neatly in front of it. No invited guests had arrived yet, probably wouldn't for an hour or so. So all was good.
Now for the tricky part. Standing upright, the killer dodged around the greenhouse and sprinted the length of it, pant legs brushing tall stalks of foxtail grass as club moss squished underfoot. Spinning around the front of the building, the killer grabbed the door, yanked it open, and darted inside. Just for a second, the killer had caught a glimpse of one person, an older man, silver-haired and wearing a tweed jacket. But, luckily, the man hadn't glanced this way.
Standing inside the greenhouse, heart thump-thumping, the killer felt a swell of anticipation. Hundreds of lush green plants and ferns along with six dozen cymbidium orchids had been draped from the ceiling like some fantastical verdant hanging garden. Below the flora and fauna, a long dining table was set with white linen, crystal goblets, fancy china, and silver flatware. Everything perfect for the wedding reception.
The killer's mouth pulled into a sneer. Like that was going to happen.
Five seconds later, this most dangerous uninvited guest climbed onto a chair swagged in white tulle and hopped aboard the long table, footprints making muddy imprints on the Belgian linen. Grabbing a wrench from a hip pocket, the killer reached up and carefully loosened four bolts in the mechanism that controlled the greenhouse's overhead windows. Then, tromping down the middle of the table, kicking a teacup out of the way and feeling a perverse pleasure in doing so, the killer reached the second mechanism. Twist, twist, and then that was done, too. What was the old saying? Righty tighty, lefty loosey? Well, the hinges were loose all right. Loose as a goose that was about to get its neck wrung. Now to set the mechanism on a hair trigger . . .
And there it was. All the anger and planning and revenge fantasies had been distilled down to this. To the bride and groom rushing through the doorway, flushed with excitement on their wedding day, only to find . . . well, their world would come crashing down on them soon enough.
In the gingerbread cottage that served as the event center kitchen for Foxtail Flower Farm, it was an entirely different story. Tea maven Theodosia Browning, who’d been tapped to cater high tea at Bettina and Jamie’s wedding reception, was busy stacking rainbow-hued French macrons on a silver four-tiered tray. Drayton Conneley, her tea sommelier at the Indigo Tea Shop, was double-checking his stash of Harney & Sons Wedding Tea as well as his proprietary Happily Ever After Tea, a blend of jasmine, lemongrass, and rose petals.
And then there was Delaine Dish, the bride's high-strung aunt, wearing a pink Chanel suit and four-inch stilettos, running around like a chicken with its head chopped off.
"It's Bettina's wedding," Theodosia said with a wry smile. "But you're the one with pre-wedding jitters."
"Because everything has to be perfect!" Delaine cried.
"Henry James once said, 'Excellence does not require perfection,'" Drayton said in measured tones. Delaine's hysteria and theatrics were starting to annoy him.
"Well, Henry James isn't invited to this wedding, so I'm going to keep working my eyeballs off," Delaine said. She frowned, looked around, and muttered, "Where did I put the bouquets and boutonnieres?"
"The cooler in your car?" Theodosia said.
"Right," Delaine said as she rushed out the door.
"She's driving me berserk," Drayton said once Delaine had gone.
"Have faith, it will all be over soon," Theodosia told him. She was in a playful mood this morning because she was looking forward to the fantasy and romance of this autumn outdoor wedding. She and Drayton had driven out early with baskets of scones, freshly made tea sandwiches, and sliced cheeses. The crab claw and shrimp platters would be arriving shortly-along with a minister, a bartender, and four waitpersons.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Theodosia touched a hand to one of her sapphire blue earrings, which matched her eyes to perfection. As luck (and genetics) would have it, Theodosia had been born with vivid blue eyes, masses of auburn hair, a fair English complexion, and a wit and sense of humor that were undoubtedly inherited from Irish ancestors on her mother's side. She was clever, accomplished, and, as owner of the Indigo Tea Shop on Charleston's famed Church Street, an entrepreneur in her own right.
Drayton was sixty-something, cultured, droll in his manner of speech, and always impeccably dressed. He'd lived in China, worked at the tea auctions in Amsterdam, and once taught courses at the Culinary Institute of Charleston. Now he was a professional tea sommelier and a proper fixture at the Indigo Tea Shop.
"Do you think . . . ," Drayton began, then was interrupted by a clatter at the front door. Delaine, her heel caught in the doormat, struggled as she balanced an armload of flowers.
"I've got to keep these cool for another forty minutes," Delaine announced as she finally pulled herself free and lurched in.
"Lots of room in the cooler," Drayton said. He reached out and opened the door for her.
"Thank you, thank you," said an agitated Delaine. She stuffed the flowers into the cooler, stepped back, and touched a shaking hand to her heart.
"Take a breath and try to relax," Theodosia urged. "Everything's practically done, and your guests should be arriving soon. Don't burn yourself out when you've got a beautiful day ahead of you."
"I don't want any screwups," Delaine said. "Which is one of the reasons I've strictly forbidden anyone from entering that greenhouse. After all our hard work, I want the flowers and decor to be a fabulous surprise for Bettina and Jamie."
As Theodosia fixed a bow on her basket of scones, she happened to glance out the window. "Then somebody better remind Celeste there's no peeking allowed, because I see her tiptoeing toward the greenhouse."
"Celeste? Bettina's maid of honor?" Delaine screeched. "That little snoop. I was afraid something like this would . . ." Her words trailed off in an angry mumble as she burst out the door again. She saw Jamie Wilkes, the groom, lounging in front of a live oak, smoking Lord knows what with his best man, Reggie. "Jamie!" Delaine shouted. "Don't let Celeste go snooping in that greenhouse!" She pointed and gestured frantically as a small blond figure in a gauzy cream-colored dress headed straight for the door.
Jamie, his lanky figure turned out in a black Zegna suit, lifted a hand to Delaine and jogged over to try and intercept the ever-curious Celeste.
Delaine, who was still watching the goings-on like a hawk, said, "He's not going to catch that little ninny."
"What can it hurt if she looks inside?" Drayton offered. "It's not that big a deal since . . ."
His words were interrupted by a strange metallic ratcheting sound that clattered and clashed, then rose in pitch as if steel wheels were grinding hard against rusty rails. Seconds later there was a cataclysmic crash and the thunder of falling glass.
"No," Delaine said, frozen in place like a statue, a look of disbelief on her face.
Drayton's head shot up. "What just happened?"
"Don't know," Theodosia said. "It sounded like metal and glass and . . . oh dear Lord . . . did something happen to the greenhouse?"
Theodosia pushed her way past a stunned Delaine, leaped down two steps, and flew across the grassy yard to the greenhouse. Or what was left of it. Because it looked as if the entire front wall had collapsed and an enormous slice of the glass roof had imploded.
"No, no, no!" Theodosia shouted as, without hesitation, she waded into an enormous pile of plants, ferns, orchids, metal struts, and shattered glass to try and rescue Jamie and Celeste. Part of the dining table had also upended and collapsed on top of them, so Theodosia prayed that it had shielded them from falling glass. Grabbing two linen napkins, Theodosia wrapped them around her hands for protection and started digging through the debris. She grabbed a bundle of orchids and tossed them aside, kicked away a pile of ferns, and uncovered the lower half of a twitching and moaning Jamie.
Okay, here's Jamie. Gotta get him out, then find Celeste.
Theodosia grabbed a corner of the table and tried to lift it. No way, it was an impossible task. As she started digging again, she was suddenly aware that Drayton was right beside her.
"Grab Jamie's legs and try to pull him out from under," Theodosia said. Water poured down from overhead hoses that had pulled loose, turning everything into a soggy mess.
Drayton bent forward and grabbed two black loafers. But as hard as he tugged, Jamie wouldn't come free.
"Help me," Drayton said.
Theodosia grabbed one leg while Drayton took the other, and together they pulled, straining like a team of workhorses but finally making progress. Moments later, they'd freed a battered and bleeding Jamie from the wreckage.
"Now we've got to find Celeste!" Theodosia cried.
Which was easier said than done. Theodosia had to get down on her hands and knees, crawl under the collapsed table, and feel around in the muck. After pushing aside broken teacups and waterlogged flowers, she finally located a thin bare ankle.
"Got her, I think," Theodosia said. "But I have to work carefully. There's so much glass on top of her." And blood . . . so much blood.
Grim-faced and determined, she and Drayton gently scooped and shoved and pulled and tugged until Celeste was dragged free from the wreckage. But unlike Jamie, Celeste was glassy-eyed and unmoving, with a jagged chunk of glass protruding from her neck.
She looks as if she's been drugged, Theodosia thought. Or . . . is she dead?
She couldn't dwell on that now. Time was of the essence, and they needed to get help.
"Did you find them?" Delaine shrieked. "Are they okay?" She'd been joined by Haley Parker, Theodosia's chef and baker, Bettina and Jamie, the bride and groom, and Martha and Zach Hempel, owners of Foxtail Flower Farm.
"Stay back!" Theodosia ordered everyone in no uncertain terms. She didn't want any freak-outs. Cooler heads had to prevail and render aid to these two people who'd been practically buried alive.
"Drayton, call 911," Theodosia yelped. "Get an ambulance out here. Get two ambulances." In the back of her mind she worried that Jamie needed an ambulance while Celeste might not.
Drayton grabbed the phone from a stunned Delaine's hand and immediately punched in 911.
Theodosia took a moment to glance up at the greenhouse, where gears and chains and motors dangled freely. And the one thought that ran through her mind like chase lights on a theater marquee was, This was no accident, this was intentional. Someone tampered with those gears.
Dipping a hand into her apron pocket, Theodosia pulled out her phone and started dialing as well.
"Who are you calling?" Drayton asked. He was already on the line and talking to the dispatch operator.
"I'm calling Riley." Riley, Pete Riley, was Theodosia's significant other and a detective D-2 in the Charleston Police Department.
Back in Charleston, Riley's phone rang once, twice, then he picked up with a lazy "Hello there."
"You have to get out here!" Theodosia cried, fear and urgency coloring her voice. "Like, right now!"
"Sweetheart, I don't even have my tux on yet," Riley said.
"Forget the tux!" Theodosia snapped. "There's been a murder."
2
Sheriff Joe Ambourn and his two deputies were the first to arrive, followed by two ambulances that came screaming in. The EMTs tumbled out and, with barely a wasted motion, were down on their hands and knees, pulling equipment from their medical packs. Two of them started working on Jamie; two went to the aid of Celeste. Because Jamie appeared to be semi-conscious and was mumbling responses, Theodosia hurried over to where Celeste, pale and still, was being tended to.
"Priority one," the first EMT said to his partner. Theodosia figured priority one must be code for a big bad problem as both EMTs worked feverishly on Celeste. They bagged her and started chest compressions, worked on her for a good ten minutes, but Celeste didn't seem to be responding to anything they did. In fact her lips were beginning to turn blue.
Drayton walked up behind a stunned Theodosia and said, "How is she doing?"
"Not good," Theodosia said. Her own heart was thudding with worry, working overtime, and she wished she could magically imbue Celeste with some of her own precious energy.
Drayton took Theodosia's arm and gently pulled her away. "Let them work on her while we check on Jamie," he said. Drayton was managing to stay calm and unflappable even in the midst of a crisis.
They found Jamie lying flat on a gurney and in the process of being loaded into the back of one of the ambulances. Theodosia knew Jamie was alive, and maybe even kicking, by the sounds of his groans and hoarse mumbles.
"Jamie!" Theodosia called out. "Hang in there."
Jamie lifted his head momentarily, moaned, "Uhh," and then disappeared into the ambulance.
"How is he really?" Theodosia asked the EMT who'd loaded him.
"His breath sounds are decent, and his heart is strong," said the EMT, a young man whose name tag read S. Griffin. "But his nose is broken, he's sustained some serious cuts and abrasions, one very bad cut on his right hand, and there are possible skull and rib fractures. So the ER docs have to take a careful look at him." Then the EMT vaulted into the ambulance, pulled the door closed, and they sped off, siren wailing, lights flashing.
