Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 49

“You all right?” Tidwell peered inquisitively into Theodosia’s face. He had arrived ten minutes earlier, breathless and bug-eyed, gun drawn. Two patrol cars, lights flashing, sirens screaming, had been just seconds behind him.

Theodosia took a deep breath, then blew it out. “I’m okay.” Tidwell had led her gently from her perch on the front steps to more comfortable seating on the porch’s hanging swing.

“You’re sure?” One of Tidwell’s furry eyebrows quivered expectantly. “Because you look awfully pale. Ashen.”

“It’s just my post-traumatic stress look,” Theodosia said slowly. “Comes from confronting murderous maniacs.” There was a slight catch in her voice, but there was a touch of humor, too.

Tidwell cocked his head, studying her. “You’re right. You do project a certain been-to-the-edge look.” He grinned crookedly, but his manner was respectful.

Theodosia sat silently for a few moments, staring at Tidwell’s big hands fidgeting at his side. “Did you talk to her?” she finally asked.

Tidwell nodded gravely. “She wasn’t making a lot of sense, but, to answer your question, yes, I did.”

“I was so off base,” fretted Theodosia. “I was so sure Timothy Neville was the murderer. And that was only after I’d cast suspicions toward Lleveret Dante and Tanner Joseph as well.”

Burt Tidwell pulled himself up to his full height, sucked in his stomach, and gave her a look dripping with reproach. “I beg your pardon, madam. Kindly do not denigrate or underestimate your efforts. Justice will be served precisely because of your actions.”

As if on cue, the front door snicked open, and two uniformed officers led a handcuffed Samantha out onto the porch. The officers had allowed her to pull a pink wool blazer over her gardening clothes and tie a matching paisley scarf, turban style, around her head. Even though the scarf was pulled down across her ears, angry red blotches, the beginnings of blisters, were visible on one side of her face.

Samantha, hesitating at the top of the steps, looked around dazedly. As she suddenly spotted Theodosia, something akin to recognition dawned.

“Theodosia.” Her mouth twitched in a slightly vacant smile. “Be a dear and water that basket of plumbago, will you? And do take care with the sun.”