Free Shades of Earl Grey by Laura Childs Page A

position next to the fallen security guard and had bunched up his jacket and put it under the poor man’s head. A woman whom Theodosia recognized as Dr. Lucy Cornwall, Earl Grey’s veterinarian, was administering CPR to the downed security guard, while Jory Davis continued to monitor the man’s pulse.
    â€œThere’s something wrong with Timothy,” Theodosia told them in a rush. “I think he’s having a heart attack!”

CHAPTER 5
    ON THIS LAZY Sunday in late October, autumn was clearly in the air. The wet weather was temporarily held at bay by a warm front that had finally drifted up from the Gulf of Mexico. It seemed like a toss-up as to whether the day would dissipate into scattered thundershowers or weak sunshine would punch through the low-hanging clouds.
    Down at Charleston Harbor, people strolled through White Point Gardens and Battery Park, delighted by the huge displays of Civil War cannons and gazing at the magnificent harbor where whitecaps rose like peaks of frosting. Out on the water, sailboats bobbed like corks, tossed about in the boiling froth, masts straining against strong twenty-knot winds.
    But Theodosia was not out sailing today. She was not slicing through the waves, enjoying salty breezes and the exhilaration of navigating tricky cross-currents.
    Instead, she sat with Drayton and Timothy on the side piazza of Timothy Neville’s home. The sun was warm and caressing, the view conducive to Zen-like contemplation since the piazza overlooked the bamboo groves, rocky paths, Chinese lanterns, and trickling fountain of Timothy’s Asian-inspired garden. But the mood was not particularly serene.
    Timothy hadn’t experienced a heart attack last night after all. After rushing him to the hospital along with the security guard, an EKG had been administered, cardiac enzymes monitored, blood pressure taken every fifteen minutes.
    Extreme stress, the doctor had ruled, once he’d studied the test results and learned of the strange events that had taken place at the Heritage Society’s party. Extreme stress had triggered a rush of adrenaline and a flood of cortisol, which had produced symptoms that closely mimicked an all-out heart attack.
    A shaken but stoic Timothy had put up with all the tests and ministrations at the hospital, but staunchly vetoed any notion of an overnight stay even if it was intended purely for observation.
    The security guard hadn’t fared as well. He lay in intensive care, his head swathed in bandages, fluttering in and out of a coma, hooked up to a host of beeping, glowing monitors.
    Â 
    â€œHave you seen this?” Timothy Neville winced as he held up the front page of the main news section of the Sunday Post & Courier.
    â€œWe’ve seen it,” said Drayton. He sat in a wicker lounge chair facing Timothy, looking anything but relaxed. In fact, Drayton was wound so tightly it looked as though his bow tie was about ready to spin.
    â€œJackals,” spat Timothy. “How do they get this stuff out so fast?”
    A small article, mercifully positioned at the bottom of the page, led off with the headline GEMS NABBED FROM HERITAGE SOCIETY.
    â€œAt least it’s not in seventy-two-point type,” Drayton pointed out.
    Timothy stared at him with a mixture of anger and disgust.
    Nervously, Drayton crossed his legs then uncrossed them, deciding that perhaps humor wasn’t the most practical approach here.
    â€œWe look like idiots, ” raged Timothy. “This is going to cost us donors and then some!”
    Theodosia knew that Timothy Neville was worried sick that this incident might also cost him his job as president of the Heritage Society. The man was eighty-one, she reasoned, and had done a masterful job for the past twenty-five years. But how long could he continue? Would this be the political scandal that brought about his downfall? She hoped not, but it was certainly possible.
    â€œTimothy,” began