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“What!” Drayton cried.
“Where?” Theodosia asked.
“We were having dinner at Candlewicks. You know, that fancy new place over on Archdale Street? With the French chef that used to work at Tanadoor in New York?”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. She made a twirling motion with her hand to encourage Delaine to stay on the subject and keep talking.
“Anyway,” Delaine said, “I was sipping a glass of rather superlative Mumm champagne and thoroughly enjoying my escargot when—kaboom—out of nowhere, Josh suddenly told me we needed to take a time-out.”
“That doesn’t sound like an unreasonable request,” Drayton said.
“Are you daft?!” Delaine screamed at the top of her lungs. “When a man asks for a time-out it means he never wants to see you again!”
“Is that true?” Drayton looked at Theodosia.
“Pretty much,” Theodosia said.
Delaine’s lower lip quivered. “Josh claimed I was too self-absorbed.”
Neither Theodosia or Drayton were about to touch that statement with a ten-foot pole. They both knew it was the honest truth.
Delaine continued on. “He also said our relationship gobbled up too much of his precious time. That he never got a chance to enjoy his favorite sports anymore.”
“Which were?” Theodosia asked.
Delaine sniffled and blotted her nose with a hanky. “Well, tennis and scuba diving. Though I don’t see much excitement in whacking a little yellow ball around or hanging out with a bunch of ugly old fish. Not when he could be hanging out with me.”
“So this breakup at Candlewicks was mostly verbal sparring?” Theodosia asked.
“If you can call screaming and shouting verbal sparring, then yes,” Delaine said. “But Josh also tossed his plate at me.”
“At your face?” Theodosia was horrified.
“No,” Drayton breathed.
“He kind of chucked it sideways like he was throwing a Frisbee,” Delaine said. “But his clams casino hit my plate just so…” She flexed a hand to indicate the angle. “And launched my garlic butter escargot all down the front of my new cocktail dress! That’s when our argument really escalated.”
Theodosia clapped a hand over her mouth. She was starting to get the picture. Delaine and Josh Morro had a very public argument and now Morro was dead.
“Excuse me,” Theodosia said. “Are you telling us this because you’re worried you’re a suspect in his murder?”
“Wake up and smell the banana bread,” Delaine shrilled. “I’m already a suspect! Two detectives came to my home last night, asking rude questions and battering away at me for hours.”
“But you weren’t even there when Josh Morro was killed,” Theodosia said. “You weren’t anywhere near Brittlebank Manor.”
“The police seem to think I could have been!” Delaine said. “That I might have snuck in and rigged up that awful chair thing.”
“I’m sure you have a legitimate alibi, don’t you?” Drayton said. “You were busy at your boutique? At Cotton Duck?”
Delaine shook her head. “Yesterday, no, I took the entire day off. I’ve been so frazzled what with Josh blindsiding me like that. And then I needed quiet time to finalize details on my Frills and Frolic Fashion Show. So, yes, I pretty much took the day off.”
“No one saw you at all yesterday?” Theodosia asked. “You didn’t talk to anyone?”
“Not until I got word about Josh’s murder. It was Helene Deveroux who called me and broke the news. You know Helene, she’s a fellow board member. So then I hotfooted it over here and spoke to Haley.”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. “Helene stopped by the shoot yesterday for a minute or two because…”
“Can I please finish telling my story?” Delaine asked in a peevish tone.
