by Krista Davis
I had to admit that I harbored doubts, too. But I had known the professor for five years and it wouldn’t have been at all like him to put me in peril. “Why would Professor Maxwell offer me the carriage house if he thought it would be dangerous?”
Mom swallowed hard. “Some people always put themselves first.”
I gazed around the beautiful room. The thing was—I wanted to stay. I wanted to walk two blocks to work. I wanted to be part of the Georgetown scene. And most of all, I wanted to sketch in the serene garden. Why did it have to turn out this way? Feeling melancholy, I poured tea for both of us. I had just handed a mug to my mom when someone knocked on the door.
“Don’t answer it,” she hissed.
“Mom!” I approached the door slowly, which made no sense but seemed like the right thing to do. As I drew closer, I saw Professor Maxwell standing outside. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s the professor.”
I opened the door and Professor Maxwell stepped inside. “Ah! Linda Fox,” he said to my mom, “how lovely to see you.” He pecked my mother on both cheeks in a very European way. “I have come to apologize for the rude behavior of my sister and her offspring. They had no business sneaking around the carriage house. Alas, I obviously anticipated that they would not believe me when I said I had a tenant. I expected their boorish manners would lead them to poke around. My sister knows better than that, but I fear her husband has taught her and their son his coarse ways.”
“Mr. DuBois said your nephew would kill you in the middle of the night.” My mom looked him straight in the eyes when she spoke. I had no idea she had that kind of moxie.
To my utter surprise, Professor Maxwell burst into laughter. “That DuBois. Always prone to drama. I’m sorry if he frightened you.” He lowered his voice as though he was confiding in us. “He watches entirely too many true crime programs on TV. DuBois sees murder everywhere. Frankly, my nephew Delbert barely has the grit to tie his own shoes. I have tried to take him with me on trips, but he’s uncomfortable if he’s more than a mile from a Starbucks. Must have gotten those genes from his father. He’s a con artist, for sure, but not violent. In any event, as my sister and her son were thwarted in their plan to appropriate the carriage house, they have now departed to inspect other lodging. You needn’t worry about them. DuBois refuses to cook for them, so I shall entertain them in a restaurant this evening. Now that their plans have been dashed, I trust they will be on their merry way after dinner.”
“So it’s safe for Florrie to stay here?”
At twenty-eight, I felt foolish when I heard my mother ask that question as though I were a child. Nevertheless, part of me was glad she inquired, as I wasn’t sure I’d have been bold enough to ask such a thing of my employer.
“Of course. Color Me Read would be a disaster without Florrie running the show. She’s like a daughter to me. I would never put her in a dangerous situation. DuBois showed up the moment you arrived, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
Professor Maxwell grinned. “DuBois has been with my family a very long time but he’s a bit of a worrywart. Not much happens here without his knowledge. I tease him about being part hawk. He’ll know if Florrie so much as sneezes. I dare say that with DuBois on top of things, we’re safer here than at the bookstore.”
“That’s a relief. It’s such a beautiful spot. Florrie’s sister is sorry there aren’t two bedrooms.”
Frankly, I was relieved about that feature. I looked forward to drawing in the peaceful backyard. Considering our differences, Veronica and I got along very well together. But I cherished my quiet time and Veronica was always lively.
“I’m very sorry if DuBois frightened you. He’s a splendid man. You’ll grow to like him, Florrie.”
My father returned just as the professor left. They shook hands and spoke a minute before Dad barreled into my new quarters. “I hear that was all nonsense about the nephew. You know the professor better than any of us, Florrie. What do you think? Do you want me to stay overnight?”
I could tell he wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed. I assured Dad that I would be fine and sent my parents on their way.
No doubt exhausted by the move, Peaches, a tabby with markings all colors of chocolate and an exotic smattering of peach, had curled up in her favorite plush leopard print bed. One paw draped across her eye as though she meant to block out the world.
I checked the large atomic clock that reset itself daily and was always correct. Fifteen past six. The store would be open until ten to catch the evening crowds of browsers. I had been scheduled to work and felt like I should go in for the remainder of the day.
I dashed up the stairs and hopped in the shower, glad to freshen up after the move. The shower helped me find a second wind after the busy day. I stepped into a skirt printed with scenes of Paris in shades of turquoise and matched it with a square-necked white top and white sandals.
In spite of Professor Maxwell’s assurances about dreadful Delbert, I checked to be absolutely certain that all the French doors were locked. Satisfied that Peaches would be safe, I locked the front door and walked the two blocks to the store. I felt thoroughly spoiled to be living so close.
The second I entered the front door, Helen Osgood descended upon me.
“Where have you been? I’ve been filling in for you all day!” She tapped the golden watch on her wrist. “I have plans tonight.” She stopped being agitated for a moment and beamed. “That cute guy I like so much was here again today.”
Behind her, Bob Turpin, who was always starting a diet the next day, turned his eyes up to the ceiling and stuck out his tongue. It was all I could do not to laugh.
Helen hurried behind the register and retrieved her purse. She tossed her glorious mane of rich copper hair over her shoulder. Helen was frustrated by her job at the bookstore. I had trouble relating to that, but I noticed that she didn’t read much. She had become the store expert on children’s books, though, and had even instituted an hour on Saturday mornings when she read to children. She seemed happiest when she was surrounded by kids.
“The next time you decide to take a day off, give a person advance notice, okay?” she grumbled.
I decided it was best not to tell her what I had been doing. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the prudent thing to do. “I’m sorry, Helen. Professor Maxwell said he would fill in for me.”
“He’s been here all day, driving me nuts. There’s a guy in a blue shirt looking for you. See you Monday.” She flew out the door, and at once the atmosphere in the bookstore was calm and more pleasant.
Bob sighed and shook his head. “I don’t get it. What’s attractive about wearing your hair short on the sides and full of gel to make it stand up in the middle? That guy she likes looks like a skinny bird with a crest.”
I glanced up at his sweet pudgy face. Bob’s dark brown hair fell relatively flat against his head. “Bob Turpin! I believe you have a crush on Helen.”
His face flushed raspberry, and he studied his shoes. I didn’t want to put her down to discourage him, but I figured it was fairly hopeless. “She’d be lucky to have you.”
“You think?” he asked eagerly.
“Any girl would be lucky. Now, I’d better find that guy in the blue shirt.”
“Good luck. It’s not like it’s a color many men wear.” He plucked at his own light blue shirt.
I laughed at him and peered into the front room, which had a fireplace and cushy leather sofas. So I was looking for a guy in a blue shirt. Navy blue? Denim blue? Sky blue? To my dismay, I found him right away.
Norman. Ugh. My skin prickled at the sight of him. I had dated Norman Spratt very briefly. His parents were friends of my parents, and they all dreamed of us as a fabulous couple, including, apparently, Norman himself. I wondered if he liked me because no other women had ever been vaguely polite to him. Maybe I was the only one who had ever agreed to a date.
Norman had a master’s degree in turf grass management. Now, I had no problem accept
ing a need for people who knew how to grow a perfect golf course or make sure stadium fields were healthy. But hearing about grass growing was more boring than watching grass grow. At the ripe old age of thirty, Norman had a round head, sparse hair, and a flaccid beer belly that would have been more interesting had it actually been the result of drinking beer. Poor Norman was simply a bore.
I wasn’t particularly dynamic myself, so it pained me to be shallow, but a two-hour date with Norman dragged by like an eighteen-hour flight and was equally exhausting. In the world of colored pencils, Norman was walrus pink. In fact, he was shaped somewhat like a walrus now that I thought about it.
“Florrie!” Norman smiled at me, and the other man peering at coloring books whipped around and stared me.
“Are these really your books?” asked Norman.
I was proud of my adult coloring books. I had started drawing doodles with crayons as soon as I could hold one. Color it in, everyone had instructed me, but I was always more interested in adding details to the pictures. I nodded shyly. “Yes.”
“They’re really cool. I knew you liked to draw but this is actually pretty impressive.”
I thought he meant that as a compliment, not the backhanded slap it was. I sighed. “Thanks. Is there something I can help you with?”
Norman flushed. “I miss seeing you. What time do you get off? Maybe we could have drinks.”
Noooooo! Oh no. How was I going to get out of this? “I’m closing the store tonight, and it has been an exceptionally long day for me. It would be too late, and I’m bushed.”
“Tomorrow? How about brunch?”
Torture! Maybe his lack of experience with women meant he didn’t understand a brush-off? I tried not to shudder at the thought of brunch with Norman. The long silences while he gazed at me—ugh. There was only one thing to do. The one solution that had worked for me before. “Norman, I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone else.”
The coloring book slid out of his hands and whopped against the floor.
“Are you sure? Your mom told my mom that you weren’t dating anyone.”
“I think I would know.”
“Yes, I suppose you would. Well, if it doesn’t work out, give me a call, okay?”
I had already told one lie. Another one would spare his feelings. “Absolutely.”
I felt incredibly guilty as I watched him trudge away like I had filled his shoes with wet cement. With mixed emotions, I picked the coloring book up off the floor and put it back on the shelf. I didn’t want to hurt the poor guy, but I was not going to put myself through the torment of another date with him. His mother would simply have to find him someone else.
“So you’re the Florrie I’ve heard so much about,” said the other man who had been looking through coloring books.
His statement took me by surprise. Why would he have heard about me? He didn’t look familiar. Slender with cognac brown eyes, he had a striking square chin and prominent cheekbones that I itched to sketch. His brow bone jutted out just a bit along his eyebrows. Surprisingly, his unique features fit together in an interesting, if not entirely trustworthy, appearance. I didn’t recall seeing him in Color Me Read before. “How can I help you?”
“You drew these, right?”
“Yes, I did. Is there something in particular that you’re looking for? We have a wide assortment of coloring books for adults and children if those aren’t your style.”
“Thanks. These are exactly what I wanted. They don’t look too difficult to do.”
“Coloring is easy. Just follow your imagination about color choices. There’s no wrong way. It’s very freeing.”
“I’m not going to color them. I plan to make my own.”
“Oh! Are you an artist?” I asked.
He snorted. “No way. But anyone could do this.”
I was taken aback. Maybe my drawings weren’t going to hang in the Metropolitan Museum of Art but they were intricate and detailed. I had no illusions about my own capabilities, but I spent considerable time on my drawings. I didn’t really know how to respond, but choked out, “Good luck to you.”
I walked away in haste, right into a gentleman looking for a Churchill autobiography. I led him upstairs to our history room. Because of our location in Washington, DC, we carried a vast selection of books that were of interest to the historians, professors, and the international population in the community. He thanked me and was immediately lost in the books on the shelves before him.
On my way back, I thought I heard someone on the third floor in Professor Maxwell’s office. I walked up the stairs. The door was open just a hair. Hinges squeaked when I pushed it.
The man with the dramatic features who had been interested in coloring books was seated in Professor Maxwell’s desk chair. A sand-colored map was spread out before him.
I did my best to be polite. “Excuse me, sir, but this office is for private use only.”
He barely glanced at me. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is the owner’s private office.” I opened the door all the way and pointed at the sign on it that said PRIVATE USE ONLY.
He laughed. It was a gesture that usually brightened faces and made people appealing. On him, it was scary. All those sharp, interesting features morphed like a sarcastic caricature.
He didn’t budge, nor did he look at me. It was as though I was talking to the walls.
“Sir! Please.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs and hoped Bob was on his way up.
The man finally turned his eyes to me. “You really ought to mind your manners around me, Florrie Fox, because I will be the next owner of this store. You see, I am John Maxwell’s sole heir.”
Chapter 3
He turned his attention back to the map.
“Delbert?” I blurted. “You’re Delbert?”
He looked up at me. “I am. And your job is toast.”
At that exact moment, Professor Maxwell spoke from behind me. “Delbert, your mother has been looking for you.”
Delbert leaped from the chair. “Uncle John! I have always admired this office. It’s so”—he gazed around at the bookshelves crammed full of books, tribal masks, primitive hatchets, spears, and unusual artifacts from the professor’s adventures—“interesting.”
In a dry voice, Professor Maxwell said, “Your mother is waiting.”
Delbert hurried from the room, a completely different person from the one who had been so smug only moments before.
As he clattered down the stairs in a rush, Professor Maxwell said to me, “I’m sorry, Florrie. Whatever he said or did, I’m very sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I watched the professor walk down the stairs, so elegant and refined. Professor Maxwell, for all his intelligence, breeding, and money, had two flaws that I could see. He loathed confrontation and avoided it at every opportunity. Being passive was a wonderful trait in a human being. It meant congeniality and pleasant times. It made him a lovely boss, and a terrible manager.
He also had no internal clock or sense of time. For someone like me, who was unfailingly punctual and couldn’t imagine being otherwise, it was impossible to grasp that anyone could lose himself in thought to such an extent that he didn’t notice whether it was day or night. But that was Professor Maxwell.
What Delbert had said was probably true. As far as I knew, Professor Maxwell didn’t have any children, except for the one that went missing and was likely deceased. Delbert probably would inherit the entire Maxwell estate eventually.
The rest of the evening was a lot of fun. Bob was always amusing, and the browsers bought a good amount of books. At ten o’clock, I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED on the front door and while Bob shooed out the downstairs shoppers, I checked the second and third floors for lingering patrons.
The door to Professor Maxwell’s office was open. He sat in his desk chair, his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands.
“Professor
Maxwell? Is everything all right?” I asked.
He raised his head and sucked in a deep breath. “For generations, the Maxwell family has been a Washington institution. Oh, we’ve had our oddballs, no doubt about that. One of my relatives was caught stealing pigs, and another had a bad habit of painting other men’s wives in the nude. He was ultimately shot by an angry husband. They say he survived to continue that ill-chosen hobby. I suppose that illustrates either stubbornness or idiocy. Perhaps it’s his blood that has resurfaced in Delbert. In any event, I am troubled that the Maxwell family treasures and heirlooms will eventually land in Delbert’s possession.” He paused. “It’s Saturday night. I’ll have this little matter taken care of by Monday morning. Good night, Florrie.”
I bid him a good night and checked the other rooms to be sure everyone was gone. He was still sitting there, deep in thought, when I passed him again. Bob and I locked the front door and headed to our favorite pizza place. We waited for our orders together, extra cheese and pepperoni for Bob, mushrooms and black olives for me, before splitting up and heading to our respective homes.
For the first time since I had worked at Color Me Read, I didn’t have to drive home. I walked leisurely, enjoying the air of the warm summer night. Georgetown always bustled, but on Saturday nights it was especially vibrant and seemed to hum with intensity as couples and groups sought out the nightlife.
Part of me felt I ought to enjoy it, but the other part wanted nothing more than to curl up in my jammies, draw, eat pizza, and sleep. I walked on the sidewalk across from Color Me Read. It was a prime location. If I counted the attic with dormer windows, the yellow brick Federalist-style building was three stories tall. Four if I included the basement. So far the basement was only in use for off season items and extra display racks. On the street level, a graceful awning sprawled across the front. Stained glass windows added to the charm in transoms over the front door and the windows on the second floor. The professor’s office was on the third floor, along with the rare books. A light still blazed in the dormer windows of his office.