Dragonwell Dead

17

It was still dark when Theodosia stopped in front of Drayton’s home and tooted her horn. His small house, also located in Charleston’s historic district, had been built and occupied by a prominent Civil War doctor. Today the tidy wooden structure remained weathered, old fashioned, and slightly elegant. Not unlike Drayton himself.

“You’re wearing a jacket to go canoeing in a swamp?” Theodosia asked Drayton as he clambered into her Jeep. She chuckled to herself. “Seems a little dressy.”

“This is a bush jacket,” said Drayton, a trifle defensively. “One I ordered from L.L.Bean. Two-ply cotton duck with cargo pockets and a lined game pouch. Supposed to be water repellant, too.”

“Well,” said Theodosia, glancing at him again as she pulled away from the curb. “I’ll have to admit it exudes a certain bwana-type charm.”

“How did it go with Parker last night?” asked Drayton as they spun across the newly finished Cooper River Bridge.

“Hmm?” said Theodosia, her cheeks suddenly turning a bright shade of pink. “Oh, good. Fine.”

“I didn’t mean your personal relationship,” said Drayton. “I was referring to the drink choices. For Saturday night’s Orchid Lights. You did get around to selecting one, didn’t you?”

“Oh, that,” said Theodosia. She’d been replaying the tape of last evening’s encounter with Angie’s sister in her mind and had almost blanked out the part with Parker and his drink choices. “We settled on a yummy cocktail called a Black Orchid.”

“Sounds apropos,” said Drayton, stretching out his legs and leaning back. “Sophisticated name, probably very appealing to our patrons.” He tried to stifle a yawn. “Goodness, it’s early.”

“Crank your seat back and take a nap,” suggested Theodosia. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“You don’t mind?” asked Drayton. He’d already slid his billed hat down over his eyes while one hand fiddled with the seat mechanism.

“Doesn’t bother me at all,” said Theodosia. “Gives me time to think.”

Two and a half hours later, the thin layer of cloud cover had burned off and sunlight dappled the road ahead of them. An hour earlier they’d passed through Edgefield, a town known for its pottery and peach harvest. Now they were nearing the town of Carmel, just outside Hickory Knob State Park on the Georgia–South Carolina border. They’d just topped a ridge and were descending toward the Savannah River and the thousands of acres of dams, waterways, lakes, and swamps that seemed to string together and were often referred to as South Carolina’s “freshwater coast.”

As glorious as the scenery was, Theodosia found herself staring intently into her rearview mirror, snatching a glance whenever she could.

“What?” asked Drayton drowsily. He’d been awake for a few minutes and had just seen Theodosia glance into her rearview mirror for about the fifth time.

“There was a car back there that I thought was following us,” she told him.

“Are you serious?” said Drayton. He squirmed about in his seat, anxious to check the road behind them. “What color?”

“Um . . . white. Cream.”

“I don’t see a thing.”

“Neither do I anymore,” said Theodosia. “I guess it must have turned off.”

“You’re just being paranoid,” said Drayton. “In light of everything that’s happened.”

“I’ll get over it,” replied Theodosia, deciding that some time today she had to tell Drayton about the ceramic elephant, the fire marshal’s probing questions, and the outrage expressed by Angie’s sister, Gwyn. But not right now. Not when they were almost at their destination and about to embark on a swamp journey.

“You know where we’re going?” asked Theodosia. “I mean precisely?”

“Of course I do,” said Drayton. He had unfurled a little hand-drawn map and was studying it carefully. “Tommy Draper, one of the Orchid Society members, gave me explicit directions. Said this was one of his premier collecting spots.”

“And this is on private property?” asked Theodosia. “So it’s perfectly legal?”

“Oh, absolutely,” replied Drayton.

“I take it you just recently got the map from your friend?” asked Theodosia.

“Oh no,” replied Drayton. “It’s been maybe two... three years.”

Theodosia’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “So it might not be such an all-fired hot spot anymore,” she ventured. “Things could have changed depending on local conditions. Dry spells . . . or wet spells?”

“I suppose,” said Drayton. “Still, this is supposed to be the best area.”

“Where are we going?” asked Theodosia. “Give me a landmark.”

“We should be passing Blazetree Corners.”

“That was a half mile back.”

“Okay,” said Drayton. He studied his map again, glanced out the side window, looked suddenly startled. “Oh, goodness me, here’s our turn! Hang a right! We’re just coming up on County Road Ten.”

Cranking the wheel hard, Theodosia made the turn, and took the Jeep down a jouncing, gravel road.

“Exciting,” said Drayton, hanging on for dear life.

“Isn’t it,” said Theodosia, praying her shock absorbers would hold out.

Another twelve miles of rough road brought them to a small farm. According to Drayton’s map, this was supposed to be their start point.

“Since this is private land,” said Drayton, climbing out of the Jeep, “I have to go clear it with the owner. That was Tommy’s advice anyway.”

“Okay,” said Theodosia. Squinting, she watched Drayton approach a small white clapboard house that was badly in need of paint. A barn stood behind it, but Theodosia could spot no animals nor see any planted fields. If this was some kind of farm, she had no clue what they actually raised.

The good news, however, was that there was a small, meandering stream some forty yards away from where she was parked. The land sloped gently down, with a minimum of underbrush, so she figured she could drive her Jeep right down. Then, all they had to do was slide the canoe off the roof and toss it in the water.

Drayton came hustling back, looking pleased with himself. “I paid the landowner twenty dollars to let us launch the canoe and another thirty for any plants we might collect.”

“It sounds like a deal,” said Theodosia.

“I thought so, too,” said Drayton. “But the fellow, a Mr. Avery Walker, seemed to think we wouldn’t find many plants. That he pretty much got the better of us.”

“In that case,” said Theodosia unfastening the bungee cords. “We’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

They leveraged the canoe off the Jeep and into the water. A skim of green parted as the canoe sluiced through. Dragonflies buzzed about pleasantly.

“You jump in first,” Theodosia told Drayton. “You can be the bow man while I take the stern.” She climbed onto the back end of the canoe, stabilizing the craft for Drayton. “Stay low.”

“You realize I haven’t been in a canoe since summer camp,” said Drayton, as he clambered toward his end. “And I’m not about to tell you when that was.” He eased himself down tentatively, then picked up a paddle and stared at it, as though trying to figure out which end to use.

“Paddling a canoe is a lot like riding a bike,” Theodosia told Drayton as she tossed in his collecting baskets, then pushed off from the grassy bank. “You never forget the basics.”

“But the consequences are significantly different,” said Dayton. “If you fall off a bike you get a scraped knee or, at worst, a banged-up elbow. Fall out of a canoe and you drown.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Theodosia assured him.

They paddled along, Drayton splashing away happily in the bow of the canoe.

“Feather the paddle,” Theodosia advised him. “Like this.” She held the flat blade of the paddle perpendicular to the water to make it more aerodynamic.

Drayton turned to watch her execute a few strokes, then caught on instantly. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Less wind resistance.”

As they continued to paddle along, the stream widened out considerably. Now it was more of a pond punctuated with stands of reeds. Carolina wrens flitted about, stands of tupelo and gum lined the banks. The occasional heron skimmed down to grab a shimmering little bream for lunch.

“What if we should run into an alligator?” asked Drayton.

“I think gator habitats are a lot farther south than this,” mused Theodosia. “Down closer to Savannah where the water’s considerably warmer.”

“And snakes?” asked Drayton.

Theodosia stared straight ahead. “Let’s not get into that.”

“Oh, oh,” said Drayton, as they rounded a bend and dozens of little inlets and tertiary streams came into view. “Now what?”

“This time I did bring a compass,” said Theodosia. “Plus you’ve got your map.”

“That was just to get us to the launch site,” said Drayton.

“No X marks the spot for exotic orchids?”

“Sorry, no,” said Drayton. They paddled some more. “So what do you think, just keep going straight?”

“For now,” replied Theodosia. “Depending on what kind of plant life we encounter.”

“Or don’t,” said Drayton.

But as the sun rose higher and stands of bog rose began to appear, luck was with them. And it wasn’t long before Drayton’s keen eyes spotted bright blooms through draperies of green vegetation.

“Can we edge in closer to the bank?” he asked. “I’m awfully sure that’s a Showy Orchis.”

Theodosia maneuvered the canoe in closer. The water had again narrowed to a stream with a fairly strong current. It made paddling easy, but pulling over a little trickier.

“Yes,” came Drayton’s excited voice. “It’s definitely a Showy Orchis.”

“That’s good?” asked Theodosia as she drove the canoe into the muddy bank where the bow made a dull thud and then stuck fast.

“A fairly common variety,” said Drayton. “But still a beauty.” He stepped carefully from the canoe, then leaned down and grasped the bow, pulling it up onto the bank a bit more so Theodosia could hop out without getting her feet wet.

“And you’re going to collect it?” asked Theodosia. Drayton was tromping around, looking extremely pleased.

“Oh, absolutely. If only to display in the tea shop.”

Theodosia’s eyes searched the area for more orchids. It was damp and shady here, with stalks of puttyroot, too. Probably conducive, she decided, to native plant life. “Look at all this moss,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” At her feet were large lumps of bright green moss.

“Cushion moss,” said Drayton. “Technically Leucobryum.”

Loosening a clump with her hand, she scooped it up and hefted it gently. “It’s like a big, fuzzy Christmas tree orna-ment.”

“Very whimsical,” agreed Drayton. “We should definitely collect some of the moss.”

“Can’t you just see these moss goobers as centerpieces at the tea shop?” asked Theodosia, still charmed by the balls of moss. “Four or five in a wicker basket, maybe surrounding a small bouquet of violets?”

“Or tucked into pots with some of my Japanese bonsai,” said Drayton. “To lend the feeling of a Zen garden.”

“What a great place,” declared Theodosia. “Your friend with the map was right on. Hey, can I use one of your collecting baskets?” Theodosia had already grabbed one and had it half filled with moss.

“Feel free,” said Drayton, plunging his trowel into the soil for about the fourth time. “While I try to disengage this rather large root ball from the soil.”

Straining, Drayton bent into his task again. “Tough,” he said.

“Want me to help?”

Drayton wiped at his face. “Maybe grab that other trowel and give me a hand.”

“Sure,” said Theodosia. “No problem.”

But as they both bent forward, a loud pop split the air.

Drayton’s head popped up like a startled gopher. “Huh? What?”

“Get down!” hissed Theodosia, clawing frantically at his sleeve. She knew there was only one thing in the whole world that made a loud, instantly identifiable report like that.

“What’s wrong?” asked Drayton, still trying to straighten up for a look around.

“Get down, get down!” hissed Theodosia. “I think someone just took a shot at us!”

“They took a . . . what?” exclaimed Drayton. “Good heavens, is it hunting season?”

“C’mon,” urged Theodosia, grabbing wildly for collecting baskets and equipment. “Back into the canoe!”

The canoe lurched wildly from side to side as Theodosia scrambled in first, hurling her daypack and baskets into the center. Drayton got his feet soaked as he pushed off fast then hefted himself in, shoving his paddle into the sandy bottom of the stream.

Settled onto her seat, trying to stay low, Theodosia struggled to swing the canoe around. She knew if she could get them out of the area, maybe slip down one of the smaller tributary streams, that would afford them some cover.

“What now?” asked Drayton, fear evident in his voice.

“Paddle!” came Theodosia’s terse instruction as she headed them away from the bank. “Paddle now and paddle hard!”

Another shot zinged over their heads as the two of them dug in, paddling like crazy, trying to put some distance between themselves and the gunman.

“Holy smokes!” gasped Drayton. He was leaning low, his strokes coming frantically. And already breathing hard.

Theodosia dug deeper, worried at Drayton’s ability to maintain this frantic pace. Drayton wasn’t a young man and Theodosia had no idea how heart-healthy he was.

As they splashed frantically downstream, Theodosia caught sight of a faster-moving, burbling stream that split off to the left. They could veer off into that channel, she decided, or take their chances and keep heading down the main stream.

“Which way?” screamed Drayton.

Theodosia snuck a quick glance over her shoulder. The right river bank was flatter and a lot more open, certainly more conducive for a gunman to run alongside and track them. But if they took the left stream, they’d be plunged into dense undergrowth which would, hopefully, slow their pursuer and afford them some cover.

“Head for that left fork,” Theodosia shouted at Drayton. “Switch your paddle over to the right side and dig in like crazy.” She drove her own paddle deep into the current, using it as a rudder to execute a sharp turn.

Then they were moving along, caught up in the current, hopefully being carried away from the gunman.

Drayton ventured a quick look back at Theodosia. His face was drawn and tense, filled with bewilderment. “Was someone shooting at us?” he gasped.