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Tidwell scowled as crumbs dribbled down his shirt. “Unfortunately, yes.”
* * *
Just as Theodosia was finishing up for the day, sweeping floors, putting all the teacups and plates back in the cupboard, Helene Deveroux came in. She’d always been a pretty woman, bouncy and vivacious. But this afternoon, wearing her emotions on her face, she looked tense and unsettled.
“I’m worried sick about Delaine,” Helene said, rushing up to Theodosia and clutching her arm. “I dropped by Cotton Duck a while ago and found her sobbing into their new collection of hand-painted silk scarves.”
Theodosia nodded. “Delaine stopped in here a little while ago.”
“Was she upset?” Helene asked.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Drayton asked from behind the counter.
“Got it,” Helene said with a nod of her head. Helene was not only bubbly and smart; she was also a socialite of sorts, serving on the Opera Committee, Charleston Arts Council, and Charleston Film Board. She was widowed, well off, and tended to be a bit flamboyant—there were rumors that she’d done dinner theater in her younger days. Now, Helene and another lady ran a small shop over on Queen Street—what Theodosia had always figured was a hobby shop—that dealt in antiques and collectible ceramics.
“Helene, you were at Brittlebank Manor for a short time yesterday. Did you see Delaine prowling around?” Theodosia asked.
“I certainly did not.”
“The police are insisting that Delaine could have been there. But…I don’t see how that’s possible. Besides, she’s not the murdering sort.”
“Not one bit,” Helene said. “Delaine tends to be a trifle touchy at times, but behind her hard-shell exterior she’s actually very sweet. I mean, look at all the work she does with animals…rescue animals at that. Poor dogs and cats that have come from unbearable circumstances. She not only raises money to fund their rescue, she fosters some of them in her own home. Delaine’s heart is clearly in the right place.”
“I hear you,” Theodosia said.
Helene nibbled her lower lip. “So it can’t be Delaine.”
“I never thought it was.”
“Then who’s really to blame?” Helene asked. She was clearly in agony for her friend.
“Let’s think for a minute,” Theodosia said as they both sat down. “You were involved in several of the movie’s preproduction meetings, right?”
Helene nodded. “Some of them. Mostly because Peregrine Pictures needed the board’s input regarding tax rebates and incentives from the City of Charleston—and I served as point person for all of that.”
“And everything’s been on the up-and-up? You haven’t detected any political kickbacks or anything like that?”
“It’s all been fairly straightforward. Peregrine Pictures submits copies of their production costs and then the city finance office cuts a tax rebate check.” Helene paused. “So far it’s been good for the city. Some local actors and crew got hired and the restaurants and hotels are faring well, too. It’s also a point of pride that a genuine Hollywood movie is being filmed here. It will no doubt attract other filmmakers and production companies.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But as far as actual Hollywood types are concerned, you’re fairly well acquainted with them? With the key players who were on set when Josh Morro was killed?”
Helene shrugged. “I guess. Some of them anyway. Like yesterday, when I popped in to get those signatures…well, you saw me…I had a lovely chat with that agent, Sidney Gorsk. Of course, then I had to toddle off to file the papers.” She paused, looking suddenly nervous. “Thank goodness I left before Josh Morro was electrocuted. I would have hated to have that horrible image seared into my brain.” She shook her head as if it were all too much for her. Then she swallowed hard and said, “But, to answer your question, I’m familiar with most of the cast and crew, yes.”
Theodosia decided Helene might be a possible source of information.
“Okay, then,” Theodosia said, “I have a rather odd question for you and I’d like you to give it your full consideration.”
Helene nodded.
“Was there anyone, anyone at all, that you can think of who didn’t get along with Josh Morro?”
Helene looked startled. “You mean who hated him enough to kill him?”
“Let’s just keep it at ‘didn’t get along with’ for now.”
Helene leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was quiet for so long that Theodosia worried she might have fallen asleep. Then Helene opened her eyes and said, “I can only think of two people who might have had a serious axe to grind.”
“Okay, that’s a start.”
