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“The other thing is, we did wring a kind of confession out of Boldt.”
“You interrogated the man?”
“Nothing that official,” Theodosia said. “Apparently, Boldt shot Osgood Claxton because Claxton was extorting him over a licensing matter. Then Booker got suspicious about Philip’s motorcycle, so Philip shot him too.”
“Philip was the one on the motorcycle?” Riley was fumbling for words. “Good grief. I need to, um, get a Crime Scene team out there ASAP.”
“Sure,” Theodosia said, nodding even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “That’d be good.”
“This is going to take some time.”
“I suppose that means we have to cancel our dinner tonight?” Theodosia asked.
“Um... probably,” Riley said.
“Too bad. I was looking forward to it.”
“Theo, dinner is the absolute last thing on my mind right now. I could kiss you for solving this case, but not until I get done screaming at you for about fifty thousand hours.”
“Riley,” Theodosia said. “I had no idea I’d be pulled in this deep...”
“But...”
“And, believe me, you would have reacted the same way if you’d seen Philip tormenting Drayton—and then trying to kill him. This guy Philip is some kind of monster.”
“Okay, Theo, I’m coming. I’m on my way.”
***
Theodosia wandered back to where Philip was sprawled in the dirt, still clutching his shoulder and moaning like a sick banshee. Drayton was holding the gun on him now, guarding him carefully. Lamar Lucket danced around on the periphery, feeding off the excitement.
“You okay?” Theodosia asked Drayton. He was covered in a fine film of dust from head to toe and his eyes still looked a trifle googly.
“Still feeling light-headed, but none the worse for wear,” Drayton said. He seemed to have warmed up to the idea of holding the pistol. Go figure.
“Hey, buddy,” said Lucket, trying to insert himself in their exchange. “You look a little whacked and your Harris Tweed is for sure shot.”
“It’s a Donegal tweed, you nitwit,” Drayton snapped back.
Lucket looked shocked. “Hey, just ’cause you got messed with, don’t take it out on me,” he said in a whiny tone.
Theodosia stood over Philip and nudged his leg with the tip of her toe. “Did you kill my goldfish?”
“He killed your goldfish?” Lucket asked.
“Yes, he did,” Theodosia said.
Philip let loose a wet gurgle that was half laugh, half snort.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Theodosia said. “Now an even more important question—does Holly know that you shot Claxton? That you were the one who ruined her party?”
Philip’s lips curled back from his mouth and he exhaled slowly, like air escaping a balloon. Then he shook his head. “She didn’t know jack about any of that.” He clicked his teeth and ground them together as if trying to bite back the pain. “Listen, you gotta help me here. Put a tourniquet on my shoulder, administer a little first aid. I’m hurt real bad and losing blood like a stuck pig.”
Theodosia peered at Philip. “You don’t look so bad to me,” she said in a tone that was just this side of indifferent. “What about Booker? Was Holly in on that? Did she help you kill him?”
“No,” Philip groaned. “If you want to know the truth, Holly’s a not-very-smart little twit. On the plus side, she’s also innocent.” He lifted his head an inch, groaned again from the effort, and then managed a half smirk. “Without me around to prop Holly up, who knows what the future holds for her.”
“I know what it holds for you,” Theodosia said, gazing down at him.
