Devonshire Scream by Laura Childs Page A

She’d always teased Drayton that the Heritage Society looked like an overdone men’s private cigar club, and that was precisely what Timothy’s office looked like. Mahogany built-ins, oversized brown leather chairs, a freestanding globe, and never mind the clichéd drink trolley with its whiskey and bourbon decanters. All that was missing were the smoking jackets and pipe tobacco.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Timothy asked. His high cheekbones jutted sharply from his simian-looking face and his hooded eyes crackled with intensity. He was big on getting down to business with a minimum of fanfare. Or maybe he figured he just didn’t have that many years left.
    Drayton released a long breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the tragedy at Heart’s Desire.”
    Timothy leaned back and folded his hands, clearly interested. “Yes, I read all about it in the newspaper and saw the various reports on TV.”
    â€œIt was a smash-and-grab,” Theodosia put in. “This crazy gang of thieves drove an SUV right through the window, stole every item of value, and disappeared in about two minutes.” She paused. “I was there. And I want to tell you it was well orchestrated. Choreographed, almost.”
    Timothy’s sparse brows shot up. “Indeed.”
    Theodosia continued. “We’re worried the same type of robbery might happen at your Rare Antiquities Show this Saturday.”
    Timothy’s hand stroked his narrow chin. “Why would you think that?”
    â€œHere’s the thing,” Theodosia said. “Two FBI agents paid us a visit this morning to see if I could identify any of the perpetrators.”
    â€œThey showed her a dozen different photos of known international jewel thieves,” Drayton said.
    Timothy continued to watch Theodosia carefully with eyes that were keen and bright.
    â€œAnd what’s problematic,” Theodosia said, “is that there
was
a photo that may or may not have been an old photo of Lionel Rinicker.”
    â€œWhat!” he cried. Her words caught Timothy completely off guard. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. Rinicker is a learned historian, not some hooligan who goes about crashing trucks through jewelry store windows.” Now his eyes sought out Drayton’s. “Plus he’s a valuable member of our board of directors.”
    â€œWhich brings us to exactly why we’re here,” Theodosia said. “We don’t want to slander the man any more than you do, but what if Rinicker is . . . is some sort of inside man?”
    Timothy’s smooth forehead dissolved into wrinkles and he shook his head. He was clearly in disagreement.
    â€œWait,” Drayton said. He turned to Theodosia. “Tell him about the Pink Panther gang.”
    So she did. She told Timothy all about the high-end robberies all over Europe and the Interpol warnings.
    Drayton scooted to the edge of his seat. “The gang members who’ve been caught have all managed to engineer daring escapes. Agent Zimmer told us they speak multiple languages and carry various international passports. Which means they could turn up anywhere.”
    Timothy steepled his fingers and inclined his head toward them. “Including right here in Charleston.”
    â€œIt’s certainly possible,” Theodosia said.
    â€œBut . . . Lionel has become your friend, Drayton,” Timothy said in a slightly reproachful voice.
    â€œYes. That’s why this is so agonizing for me.” Drayton gazed at Timothy. “It has to be for you, too. I mean, you were the one who introduced us.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Timothy said. “I first met Lionel Rinicker last spring at an antiques auction. He impressed me with his verve.”
    Theodosia leaned forward. “How so?”
    â€œWe were both bidding on a Faulkner first edition,” Timothy said. “And I