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“Remember that horrible woman a few years ago? Anastasia something from Goose Creek?” Theodosia said.
“Anastasia Goddard.”
“She ran over her husband’s head with a lawn mower and ended up killing him. Then claimed it was accidental so she could collect the insurance.”
“Last Sunday was no accident,” Drayton said. “It was cold-blooded murder.”
“Premeditated murder,” Theodosia agreed. “I mean, it couldn’t have been easy to figure out what kind of toxin to use. And whoever did it intentionally targeted Claxton, disorienting him and almost knocking him out so they could finish him off with a gunshot.”
“While not killing the people around him,” Drayton said, rolling his eyes as he recalled his own brush with the toxic gas. “Just obscuring the scene and making them sick.”
“So who hated Osgood Claxton enough to kill him?”
“Everybody.” Drayton poured a cup of Moroccan mint tea for Theodosia and slid it across the counter to her.
“It’s one thing to hate someone and another to go so far as to kill them. That takes a determined, stone-cold killer.” Theodosia took a sip of tea.
“Like Mignon?” Drayton said.
“Don’t know. She could be in the mix as a suspect. There’s also this Ginny Bell person to consider. Mignon told me Claxton had a long-standing affair with her and that it ended badly.”
“You’re talking about the Ginny Bell who heads the Arts Alliance?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia practically dropped the teacup she was holding. “You know her?”
“Know of her. If this is the same Ginny Bell, she’s the executive director of the Arts Alliance. It’s a small nonprofit organization that offers art classes, awards microgrants to artists, and sponsors free art programs and lectures in schools and in the community.”
“It’s got to be the same person. Okay, now you’ve really piqued my interest,” Theodosia said. “I think I’d like to meet this Ginny Bell.”
“I’m not sure how you’d go about doing that.”
“I am. I’ll call her up.”
“Now?” Drayton said.
“No, Drayton, next Tuesday. Yes, I’m going to call Ginny Bell right now. And when I speak to her I intend to ask her some very probing questions.”
11
“Messy,” Theodosia said to herself as she walked into her office. She was referring to both her clutter-bug desk and the Claxton murder case. Neither were going to be resolved today, however, so she plunked herself down in her chair, pushed a stack of tea magazines aside, looked up the number for the Arts Alliance, and called.
But when a chirpy voice answered and Theodosia asked to speak to Ginny Bell, she was told the woman was out of the office.
“I’m sorry,” the upbeat receptionist said, “Ginny Bell is attending a meeting right now, may I take a message?”
“Doggone, I really need to get hold of her. It’s important.”
“She should be back real soon because of our fundraiser tonight.”
“Fundraiser?” Theodosia said, perking up.
“Oh yes, it’s our annual silent auction. Of donated art. Some pieces by well-known local professionals, a lot by amateurs. But it’s good because it’s been carefully curated.” The receptionist giggled. “We’ve been working on it for almost three months.”
“Can anyone come?” Theodosia asked.
“Absolutely everyone is welcome,” the receptionist said. “Just be sure to bring your checkbook.”
Theodosia hung up, spun around in her chair, and decided she might just pay a visit to the Arts Alliance’s silent auction tonight. After all, what could it hurt? Maybe she could even talk Drayton into going along.
