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“And who offered you this monumental part?”
“Um, the now-deceased film director.” Her answer sounded weird, even to her.
“So you saw what happened here? You were an eyewitness?”
“I don’t think anybody really saw what went on,” Theodosia said. “The set was completely dark, with everyone kind of moving around in the shadows.”
“And then?” Tidwell urged.
“And then I heard a bunch of weird popping noises and lights started flashing like crazy.”
“And that’s when you saw Mr. Morro down on the floor…”
Theodosia nodded. “Kicking and jerking as if he’d completely lost control. It was awful…I’m sure he was in terrible pain. And people all around him started screaming their heads off.”
“How many cast and crew members would you say were on set at the time?” Tidwell glanced around. “How many people were crammed into this rather dingy, depressing-looking parlor?”
“I suppose fifteen people. Maybe twenty,” Theodosia said.
“And no one saw anything,” Tidwell said in a low voice.
“Like I said. It was dark. And then all hell suddenly broke loose.”
Tidwell looked thoughtful. “So perhaps…” He suddenly fell silent as two men from the medical examiner’s office came in dragging a clattering metal gurney behind them. The men checked with the two officers who were guarding the deceased’s body, then went about their business efficiently, almost routinely, as a multitude of nervous eyes suddenly focused on them. The ME guys rolled Morrow’s body into a black vinyl bag, zipped it up, then placed the bag on their gurney.
And once again, though nobody gave the order, it was quiet on the set.
3
Theodosia was exhausted by the time she escaped Tidwell’s feverish barrage of questions, dropped off Drayton at his house, and finally let herself in her own back door.
But Earl Grey didn’t know about any of that. Her sweet dog was sitting at attention in the kitchen, ears pricked forward, eyes focused on the back door. And when that door opened, and Theodosia walked through, he catapulted himself into her arms. Sloppy dog kisses were administered as his tail thumped wildly. And Theodosia couldn’t help but embrace him back. Clutch his warm, furry body close to hers and be thankful for her dog’s unabashed love.
“Hey, sweetie,” she crooned. “It’s good to see you. Good to be home.”
A cross between a dalmatian and a Labrador (a Dalbrador?), Earl Grey was her roommate, best friend, and jogging partner. He lived with Theodosia in her little cottage in Charleston’s Historic District, on a street that was crowded with enormous Italianate, Georgian, Victorian, and Gothic mansions. Most displayed elaborate columns, pediments, and balustrades and were surrounded by touches of wrought iron.
Unlike these grand homes, Theodosia’s home was cute and cozy. It was a classic Queen Anne–style cottage with an angled roofline made of overlapping shingles, stucco exterior, and wooden crossbeams. Ivy curled up the sides of the house and the second floor sported a sort of turret. The interior was just as intriguing, with pegged wood floors, brick fireplace, leaded windows, and chintz-covered furniture.
“You must be hungry,” Theodosia said to Earl Grey as she buzzed about her kitchen. She filled his dishes with kibbles and fresh cold water, then set about fixing something for herself. A peek in the refrigerator revealed leftover minestrone soup and two cream scones. She warmed everything up, placed it on a silver tray, and carried it into her dining room. She was about to sit down when her mobile phone rang. She grabbed it, looked at the screen, and saw it was Pete Riley calling. Her sort-of boyfriend. Well, he actually was her boyfriend.
“Hey,” she said.
“I just heard about Josh Morro,” were Riley’s first words. Not “How are you, sweetheart?” or “I sure do miss you.”
“Oh, no, you did not,” Theodosia said. How could Riley know about Josh Morro’s murder already? Were there errant atmospheric strobes? Did a flock of evil fairies wing their way all the way up to Chicago, where he was calling from?
“Tidwell called me.”
“That was totally unnecessary. Doesn’t he know you’re at a law enforcement conference? That you’re one of the keynote speakers? That you’ve got to be spot-on tomorrow morning for your big presentation?”
“He knows.”
“Then I think it was rude of him to disturb you. I’m guessing you’ve been practicing your talk, going over it a final time.”
“I got it. I’m ready,” Riley said.
“Still…” Theodosia closed her eyes and pictured him. Pete Riley was tall, fairly athletic, but with a boyish demeanor about him. He had an aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and blue eyes a shade lighter than Theodosia’s. He was also one of the up-and-coming detectives on Charleston’s police force, one of Tidwell’s formidable weapons. Theodosia, of course, simply thought of him as Riley, her Riley. And he called her Theo. It was as easy as that because it suited them.
