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Lucket looked thoughtful. “Well, no. But, unfortunately, these things can be the norm in politics today. You get a few crackpots who decide to take matters into their own hands...” He paused when he noticed they were studying him closely. “Wait a minute, you’re not trying to insinuate that I had anything to do with Claxton’s death, are you?” He sounded deeply offended.
“Lamar was at a campaign rally when it happened,” Clarice said in a shrill voice.
Theodosia ignored Clarice, who was beginning to irritate her. She reminded her of a small, yappy dog that wouldn’t quit nipping at your heels. So Theodosia focused only on Lucket. “Not at all,” she lied. “We’re certainly not impugning your reputation. But since you and Claxton ran in the same political circles, I thought perhaps you might offer a few insights.”
“Concerning who killed him?” Lucket said. He looked both interested and flattered.
“That’s right,” Theodosia said. “Surely you must have a few ideas. By now you and your team must have kicked around the circumstances of Claxton’s death and wondered who could be responsible.”
Lucket shook his head. “Not really, other than to say ‘How crazy was that?’ Besides, word on the street was the shooter was some guy on a motorcycle. Probably one of those scruffy biker types wearing club colors.”
“That suspect didn’t pan out,” Theodosia said.
“Then I don’t know.” Lucket put a hand to his face and tapped an index finger against his lower lip. “As far as suspects go, nobody in local politics jumps out at me. Most of them are too chicken-livered to pull a crazy stunt like that. But...”
“Yes?” Theodosia said.
Lucket looked around hastily, as if to make sure nobody was listening. “If anyone wanted Osgood Claxton dead, buried, and forgotten, it would be Mignon Merriweather, his soon-to-be ex-wife.”
“What makes you say that?” Theodosia asked.
“Because of the money involved,” Lucket said. “You realize Mignon and Claxton were still in the early stages of divorce. They hadn’t yet sat down to haggle over who gets what and split the assets. Now, because Mignon is technically still Claxton’s wife, she inherits it all.”
“Is there a lot to inherit?”
“I’d have to say... yes. A good amount. Claxton was a sly devil. Had his sticky little fingers in all sorts of different pies, raked in a pile of money over the years. Heck, he probably has stacks of fifty-dollar bills stashed in safe deposit boxes all over Charleston. Or maybe he wised up and stuck it offshore in the Cayman Islands.”
“One final question,” Theodosia said.
“Gotta make it quick,” Lucket said.
Theodosia fingered the button Lucket had handed her. “Did you have your campaign buttons made before Claxton was murdered or after?”
“Doesn’t matter. I was always fated to win.” Lucket stared at her in the faint glow of an illuminated blowfish and gave a wolfish smile.
***
Theodosia dropped Drayton at his home, then drove to her own little home in the Historic District. She parked in the back alley and let herself into her backyard through the wooden gate. Took a look at her tiny fish pond, where a new crop of goldfish lazed around. Breathed a deep sigh of contentment as she admired the magnolia trees, banana shrubs, and purple iris that had recently bloomed.
She was delighted to finally be home. At her lovely, quirky little cottage that had been given the charming name of Hazelhurst by its original builders. True, it was much smaller than all the mansions surrounding it, but it was hers—lock, stock, and barrel. Constructed in the Queen Anne tradition, also known as Hansel and Gretel style, the exterior was configured in a slightly asymmetrical design, and had cedar shingles that replicated a thatched roof. There were also arched doors, a blip of a two-story turret, and curls of lush green ivy meandering up the sides of the house. It was your basic picture-perfect cottage.
Inside, Earl Grey was waiting in the kitchen.
“Rrowr?” The dog stared at her anxiously as she came through the door, then thumped his tail.
Theodosia dropped her purse and keys on the kitchen counter. “How you doin’, buddy?” She gave his ears a tug and delivered a kiss on his muzzle. “You want to go for a quick spin?” It was their routine to take a nightly jog. Even though Earl Grey had a dog walker who stopped by in the afternoon, he loved nothing better than running with his favorite human.
“Yowwr.” Earl Grey gave a quick shake, starting at his nose, working down to his tail, setting everything in motion at once.
“Okay, let’s do it.” Theodosia ran upstairs, did a quick change into workout gear and tennis shoes, then grabbed a leash and was out the back door with Earl Grey beside her. They sped through her back garden, danced through the gate, and ran down the dark alley.
Theodosia always found it exhilarating to run at night. Old-fashioned streetlamps with yellow globes threw little stepping stones of light. Wrought-iron gates that surrounded historic buildings and homes were closed and sometimes locked, so they reminded her of miniature fortresses. Fog drifted in from Charleston Harbor, dampening the air, tamping down noise, and making everything appear slightly soft and ethereal. The darkness was also a kind of cover for Theodosia, which meant she could jog down Charleston’s hidden lanes and alleys without any prying eyes on her. Many were marvelous old passageways that dated back to the seventeen hundreds, with names like Stoll’s Alley, Longitude Lane, and Philadelphia Alley, though Theodosia preferred its more sinister name of Dueler’s Alley.
These narrow, cobblestone gems were lined with row houses, statuary, and hidden doorways set into high brick walls. Shaded by canopies of palm trees and live oaks, they were private during the day—hardly any tourists ever found them—and deliciously spooky at night.
But as Theodosia jogged along this quiet evening, Earl Grey keeping pace with her, she decided upon a different route. So she headed over to Archdale, zigzagged over on Beaufain Street, then headed down Glebe Street into the area where the College of Charleston was located.
Because she had an idea. One that had been planted in her brain this morning when Holly had mentioned that the graffiti artist Booker had been working in that area.
