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“Of course.”
“Leave this alone.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
Tidwell’s lips puckered unhappily. “Of course you can. Please don’t try to obfuscate this investigation.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t want you getting involved. Searching high and low for suspects. The mayor and the chief of police have taken a keen interest in this case, so I don’t need you trying to play savior for your friends at the Imago Gallery.”
“It’s difficult to stand by and watch Holly and Jeremy lose everything they’ve worked for.”
“I’m sure they’ll survive just fine.”
“You don’t know that. Buyers have canceled commissioned work, several of their artists have abandoned them.”
“Yes, yes.” Tidwell drummed his fingers against the table, looking bored.
“To top it off, Mignon Merriweather is suing the Imago Gallery.”
Tidwell stopped drumming and gave her a sharp look. “Mrs. Claxton is suing them?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m not aware of any lawsuit.”
“Now you are,” Theodosia said. Then, “Is Mignon a suspect?”
Tidwell gave no reaction except to say, “That would be confidential police department information.”
“Oh come on,” Theodosia said, feeling an ooze of frustration. “I know you’re talking to Ben Sweeney, an artist named Booker, probably Lamar Lucket, and maybe even Jeremy Slade.”
Tidwell regarded her with an owlish glare. “And how do you know all this?”
She favored him with a crooked grin. “Look around. I run a tea shop. Where people get together and talk.”
Tidwell jabbed a finger in her direction. “No, you ask. Then they talk. You charm people into giving up juicy little tidbits of information, then you attempt to weave it all together.”
“Isn’t that what a good investigator does? Puts together bits of critical information, then makes an educated guess?”
Tidwell leaned back in his chair. “Hmmph.”
Theodosia smiled. “Hit too close to home, did I?”
Tidwell was quiet for a few moments, then said, “This is not something you want to stick your nose into.”
“Why not?” she countered.
“Because you’ll end up in harm’s way. Our lab analyzed the gas that incapacitated Claxton and several of the other guests and determined it was a kind of juiced-up mustard gas.”
“I thought mustard gas went out in World War I.”
“Unfortunately, no. However, this particular gas was an interesting amalgam of bleach and ammonia that, when mixed together, produces chloramines.”
“So you’re telling me the killer is a chemist?” Theodosia said.
“Possibly,” Tidwell said. “Or he has access to certain chemicals or even industrial-strength cleaning supplies.”
