AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Judging from earlier today, when Booker came storming into our tea room, I had no idea he could be so friendly and affable.”
“Neither did I,” Theodosia said. She watched carefully as Booker and Ginny Bell chatted with each other. From their smiles and gestures, they clearly knew each other well; maybe they were more than just friends. Which caused a nasty thought to flit through Theodosia’s brain: If Ginny Bell and Booker were tight—and they both hated Osgood Claxton with a passion—could Ginny Bell have talked Booker into murdering Claxton? Or maybe it hadn’t taken all that much prodding. After all, Booker was still furious at Claxton for pulling his grant.
“What are you thinking?” Drayton asked. He knew Theodosia was ruminating on something.
“I’m wondering if Ginny Bell could have been the mastermind behind Claxton’s murder.”
“That she killed him?”
“Or she talked Mr. Booker into killing him.”
Drayton studied the two of them again. Booker whispered something into Ginny Bell’s ear and she threw back her head, laughing happily. “They act like bosom buddies.”
“Maybe Ginny Bell’s the one pulling the puppet strings.” Theodosia closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Oh.”
“What?”
“I think Booker rides a motorcycle. Remember how the police said there was a motorcycle involved?”
“The one they thought might’ve been Ben’s.”
“But it wasn’t. After I chased the phony beekeeper, I heard something, a noise. In the back of my mind I was aware of this throaty rumble but I didn’t realize what it was at the time. I didn’t realize it was a motorcycle until the police started looking at Ben. And I’m pretty sure Booker owns a bike. Now that I think about it, there was a bike parked outside the tea shop this afternoon. You think it was his?”
“Don’t know,” Drayton said. “Booker looks like a biker, dresses like a biker. The chain on his belt, those heavy boots. I suppose you could ask Riley to search through the DMV records to see if Booker holds a motorcycle license.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go outside and see if his motorcycle is parked on the street.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Well, finish your wine first.”
Drayton tilted his glass back and swallowed the last inch. He set the glass down and said, “Now you’ve got me all worked up and curious.”
13
Clouds bubbled overhead as glowing orbs atop wrought-iron streetlamps cast faint, yellow-tinged puddles of light. The night air was damp, and just a half block away, the Cooper River flowed turgidly into Charleston Harbor.
“Do you see it?” Drayton asked. They were walking down a cracked sidewalk, trying to avoid the parts that had heaved up from age and summer heat, checking out all the parked vehicles. Most were older cars and SUVs with the occasional new BMW or Mercedes interspersed among them.
“I don’t see any motorcycles at all,” Theodosia said. She sounded disappointed.
“Maybe you were wrong about Booker riding a bike.”
“I don’t think so,” Theodosia said. “Just because he didn’t ride it tonight doesn’t mean he doesn’t own one.”
“Looks like you’re going to have to ask Riley after all.”
“There’s another way to play this,” Theodosia said.
Drayton gazed at her, brows pinched, looking more than a little leery. “I’m afraid to ask, but what are you thinking?”
“That we should go check Booker’s garage.”
Drayton clapped a hand against the side of his head. “I knew it. I knew coming here tonight wasn’t going to be the end of it.”
“Drayton, if this is going to upset you, I’ll be happy to drop you at your place and go on alone.”
“Then I’d miss out on one of your exceedingly bizarre adventures,” he said.
