She gestures toward her wheelchair. “Can’t go too far.” She holds his gaze as their eyes lock in some sort of strategic stare-down, neither one wanting to be the first to look away.
An awkward moment later, he gives in. “Good to know. Have a nice afternoon.” He turns on his heels and heads to his car.
Frozen, I watch as he tugs open the door, then slides into the front seat. After he’s pulled out of the yard and rounded the bend in the road, I exhale, purging my lungs of stale air. Sucking for breath, the garden’s sweet scent does nothing to revive me. Instead, a sense of doom encroaches like the incoming tide.
I made a giant mistake all right. Claude wasn’t here for a social call. And he didn’t give a rat’s tail about Miss Delia’s garden. He clearly suspects she was involved in the museum break in, and now, thanks to my blabbering about finding the box in tabby concrete, he knows I’m involved, too.
Chapter Seven
The gray clouds part, revealing the bright sun once again.
Taneea sighs. “He was nice. But now I’m bored. I guess I’ll paint my nails again.” She stomps back up to the house and slams the screen door.
Swallowing hard, I step close to Miss Delia. “What the heck just happened? Who was that guy?”
She shakes his head. “An investigator. He said so himself.”
“Yeah, but he was way weird. And creepy.”
“That he was. But I don’t want you to worry your head over him. So long as you keep out of his sights, you’ll be fine.”
Despite the rising heat, a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, powered by the growing sense of foreboding that’s swirling in my gut. “But he obviously suspects you, and probably me now, of being involved in the museum robbery.”
She swats her hand. “Shh, never you mind about him. Let me handle him. In the meantime, you’ve got clippings to prepare for me.” She points to the basket I left on the porch.
“Okay. Sure.” I pivot on my heels and head up to the house, trying to squelch my worry. But that’s almost like telling an ice cube not to melt in this heat, especially since I know something she doesn’t: we never got rid of the dagger like we planned.
Inside the safety of Miss Delia’s kitchen I fumble with my cell phone, dialing Jack’s number.
He answers on the third ring. “Yo, what up?”
“I need you to guys to come get me,” I whisper in case Taneea is lurking nearby, listening in.
He laughs. “What, Taneea driving you crazy?”
“No. Well, yeah of course, but she’s not the problem. It’s something else. Which is why I need you guys. Now.”
“Are you serious?” He sounds as if I just canceled his date with the prom queen. “We’re about to take off for Hunting Island. I just dropped the dock lines.”
“Tie them back up. Send Cooper over to get me and meet us back at the Big House. Oh, and bring the knife with you.”
“What knife?”
Is he for real? How many pirate daggers do we have lying around the house? I sigh. “The knife. The one we never got around to returning.”
After a long moment of silence it finally hits him. “Oh, that knife.” His voice flattens like a deflated balloon. “Aw man, I really wanted to go sailing.”
“Sorry. Maybe another day.”
“Yeah, maybe. See you soon.” The line goes dead.
Breathing deep, I still my mind to remember all the ingredients for my energy potion. Separating the cuttings I need from those Miss Delia wants for her reserves, I stow mine in a Ziploc bag, then toss them into my messenger bag. There isn’t time to do everything I promised, but I can hang most of the fresh cuttings to dry in the heat on her back porch. Just as I finish, I hear the familiar hum of Cooper’s station wagon. Finally.
Bolting through the house, I pass Taneea slumped on the couch, her hot-pink toes perched on the coffee table. She’s sneering at the thick glass screen on Miss Delia’s ancient television. As much as I’d hate to have to watch it myself, I can’t help but laugh that she’s got no other choice.
Miss Delia has wheeled herself up on the porch and is talking with Cooper. Though his jade-green eyes are filled with concern, they still sparkle when he sees me. “Everything okay, Emmaline?” His gaze shifts between me and Miss Delia.
She waves her hand, dismissing his worry. “Only as much trouble as a horsefly causes a nag. And nothing a swatting tail can’t fix.” She grins, no doubt to dismiss any lingering concerns.
But it doesn’t make me feel any better. Or untwist the knot in my stomach.
…
Twenty minutes later, Cooper and I arrive at the Big House. Being with him has helped calmed my nerves, but the jitters aren’t entirely gone, because deep in my gut, despite Miss Delia’s assurances to the contrary, I know Mr. Claude Corbeau is going to be a problem.
As we step into the foyer, a loud scraping sound echoes down the hall, as if someone’s shoving a large piece of furniture across a stone floor.
Cooper grunts as he shakes his head. “Don’t tell me Missy’s at it again.”
Although it’s been days since her argument with Beau, she’s still on a rampage, tearing apart nearly every room on the first floor, still searching for the Beaumont ruby. To avoid Beau’s rage, Cooper’s taken it upon himself to clean up after her and sometimes even help if it means nothing will get broken.
“Ouch! My nail.” Missy’s voice carries, shrill and angry from the solarium at the end of the east wing.
“Sounds like she’s pushing that wrought-iron baker’s rack around. I hope she removed the margarita goblets from the top rack first.”
Metal grates against flagstone pavers once again. A second later, Missy squeals, followed by a cascade of shattering glass.
Cringing, Cooper and I turn to each other. “Oops.”
Beau’s voice booms from the library. “Missy! What was that?” His words are slurred.
“Nothing, sugar.”
“I don’t want any part of that mess.” Cooper grabs my hand and sprints up the grand staircase toward his room. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the literal mess splattered across the solarium floor, or the inevitable fight that’ll erupt when Beau realizes what she’s done. Either way, I’m with him.
When we get upstairs, Jack is still not there so I sit at Cooper’s desk and open his laptop.
Cooper shuts his door. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“As soon as Jack gets here, I promise.”
He pulls up a chair next to me. “Until then, we could do something other than surf the Web.” He grazes the back of my neck with his finger.
A chill, definitely the delicious kind, flits over my skin. Giggling, I inch away. “As much as I’d like that, I need to check something first.” I type Claude’s name into the search engine hoping to find something. The only result is from last week’s Beaufort Gazette. Cooper moves closer, nuzzling the flesh behind my ear as I click through and skim a story about the King Center’s new security consultant brought in to investigate the recent break-in. Beau was even quoted taking credit for finding the world-class investigator and making the board hire him.
Exhaling, I try to block out the sensations created by Cooper’s lips. It’s nearly impossible, except for the niggling question that keeps running through my brain: if Claude is so awesome and famous, why aren’t there any other references to him or some of the big cases he’s solved? I look away from the screen and stare out the window to ponder the possibilities.
Something on the pane draws my attention. Three slimy smudges smear the glass.