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“Or maybe I should leave it at home,” Drayton mumbled as he got out of the car.
Theodosia followed behind Drayton as he hoofed it up the cobblestone path that led to his side door. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and, in answer to a cacophony of barks, said, “Yes, it’s me.” At which point Honey Bee, Drayton’s King Charles spaniel, launched herself into his arms.
“Yes, yes, I love you, too,” he told her as he snuggled her close, kissed the top of her furry little head, then gently set her back down. “Did Pepe stop by and give you your dinner?” He looked over, noted her clean stainless steel food bowl and a water bowl filled with fresh water, and said, “I see that he did.” Pepe was the sixteen-year-old boy who lived two houses down from Drayton. He walked and fed Honey Bee when needed and sometimes lent a hand with pruning and trimming in Drayton’s backyard bonsai garden.
Theodosia plunked her purse down on Drayton’s kitchen counter and said, “Where’s this gun?”
“I keep it under the sink.” Drayton bent down, opened a cupboard door, and fumbled around inside looking for it.
“That’s a good place for a gun. Easy to get at in case of an emergency.”
“Don’t make fun,” Drayton said as he finally pulled out the pistol and set it on the counter along with a box of shells. He took a step back and added, “I really don’t want to touch it.”
“Then don’t,” Theodosia said. “You go get changed and I’ll figure this out.”
“Be careful,” he warned as Honey Bee followed him out of the room.
No stranger to guns, Theodosia flipped the pistol open and checked to make sure that it was empty. It was your basic easy-to-load, point-and-shoot pistol. She hefted it in her right hand—it had some weight to it—then dug six shells out of the box and popped them into the chamber. Haley’s words from this afternoon came floating back to her—easy-peasy. And that’s what this gun was, too. Basically, anyone could load, point, and shoot a gun. The real trick was knowing when you were in genuine physical danger and could make the right split-second judgment call.
Theodosia stuck the pistol in her jacket pocket and looked around the kitchen. Drayton lived in a historic house that had originally been built by a Civil War–era doctor. Over a century and a half of owners, updates, additions, and changes had been made. And when Drayton had moved here some fifteen years ago, he’d turned it into a showpiece. His kitchen stove was a six-burner Wolf range, the sink was custom-hammered copper, and the cupboards were faced with glass, the better to show off his collection of teapots and Chinese blue and white vases. A small indoor herb garden sat on a windowsill. His living room had silk wallpaper and elegant furniture slipcovered in French linen. A Chippendale table sat in his dining room with a French chandelier dangling overhead.
Five minutes later, Drayton came tromping into the kitchen. He’d changed into khaki slacks and a dark green Barbour jacket, the same brand that England’s royal family favored for riding horseback and stalking the moors. On his feet was a pair of Wellington boots.
“You look like you just stepped out of a fancy British outdoor clothing catalog,” Theodosia said.
“Thank you,” Drayton said. “That was the exact look I was going for.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. I’m so nervous I have no idea what I threw on. In fact, I’m getting more and more upset because I still think your idea of going to that island borders on unhinged.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to...”
“But I do. If only to humor you. And try to keep you safe.” He glanced at Honey Bee. “Do you think we should bring Honey Bee along? As a kind of guard dog?”
Theodosia gazed at the little dog as she danced around the kitchen. She was the essence of a girly-girl pup, petite with adorable liquid brown eyes, a professionally groomed coat, and a pink suede collar complete with sparkles.
“Probably not,” she said.
***
They located the boat at slip twenty-nine on pier three of the Charleston Yacht Club just south of the U.S. Coast Guard station.
“It’s chained,” Drayton said, throwing up his hands. “How on earth are we going to...” He stopped. “Oh.”
Theodosia had already climbed aboard the boat and was standing there holding a shiny brass key. It gleamed in the faint light cast by a lantern on the dock.
“Danny always stows his extra key under the aft seat,” she said.
“Lucky us,” Drayton said as he scrambled into the boat, looking unsteady as well as uneasy.
But Theodosia was far from being deterred. “Come on, cast off and let’s get going.”
Drayton unhooked the lines and tossed them back onto the dock. “You know how to work a powerboat?”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Only us seasoned sailors generally refer to these vessels as stink boats.”
The engine sputtered to life under her practiced hand, then caught and gave off a throaty roar along with a few noxious puffs of smoke.
