Color Me Murder

by Krista Davis

  I walked on and was home in minutes. When I unlocked my door, Peaches waited as though she had known I was on my way.

  Peaches had been rescued from a stable when she was only two weeks old. She refused a bottle and by six months refused kitten food. Now that she was eight months old, she clearly wasn’t going to be a petite cat. Voracious and spunky, she sampled everything she could. I had even caught her chowing down on a roasted sweet potato.

  Her tail had always seemed just a little bit too long for her body. She had mostly grown into it, but she had a habit of marching around with it held high, the top part curled like a question mark.

  There was no way I could eat my pizza in peace unless I fed her first. I spooned chicken dinner for cats into a bowl and set it on the floor next to her water. She settled in and ate, a sign that all was well in my new abode. If anyone had been there, she would have let me know.

  I walked upstairs and changed into an oversized T-shirt made to look like a green crayon. I grabbed a pillow, a blanket, and jeans because I planned to sleep downstairs. If Delbert lurked around during the night, I would know about it sooner. I didn’t want to wake up and find him in my bedroom.

  I stared out at the dark garden as I ate pizza. It would be so pretty at night if I hung some fairy lights. I hoped Delbert had found a new place to live that he loved as much as I adored the carriage house. That would put an end to his interest in it.

  Still wide-eyed, I sketched the face of the person who haunted me. Delbert, of the strangely square chin and somewhat Neanderthal brow. When it took shape, I found I had captured his cunning expression.

  I hadn’t expected to get much sleep but it had been a full day and exhaustion finally overcame me. At seven minutes to three in the morning, Peaches yowled, and I jerked up. A dark, hunched shadow was trying the handles of the French doors!

  Chapter 4

  I sprang to my feet. My cell phone and sketch pad fell to the floor. A host of colored pencils rained down, clattering as they hit the wood floor.

  The person outside must have heard the commotion because he ran past three French doors and around the right side of the carriage house.

  My heart beat like crazy. I was afraid to turn on the lights. On my knees, I scrounged for the telephone. In my panic, I hit the autodial for Professor Maxwell. After all, he could be here in seconds.

  And he was. Outdoor spotlights caught me off guard. The garden in back of my house lit up nicely. The professor and Mr. DuBois, carrying a baseball bat, were at my front door before I had zipped my jeans. I let them in.

  Professor Maxwell switched on the indoor lights. “Are you sure it was Delbert?”

  “No. It was just a dark shadow.”

  “Maxwell,” said Mr. DuBois, “you must be realistic. Of course it was Delbert.”

  “Did you see this person at the front door?” asked the professor.

  Now that I was safe, I took a deep breath and explained precisely. “I was asleep. Peaches yowled, and I guess the sound woke me. Someone was trying to get in through the French doors. When I jumped up, I must have scared the person, and he ran to the right of the house.”

  Professor Maxwell strode to the French doors, unlocked one, and stepped outside.

  “Maxwell! You’re not armed. Have you lost your mind?”

  The professor ignored DuBois, who lingered safely inside the door. The old fellow wore an elegant black silk bathrobe.

  Seconds ticked by. DuBois hoisted the baseball bat as if he were preparing to clobber someone.

  “Do you hear anything?” I whispered.

  “Only you.” He sounded annoyed.

  “It’s been thirty seconds,” I said. “Should we call the police?”

  DuBois stiffened. “I think not. The professor would be appalled to see the Maxwell name in local reports of the police log. Besides, this is a family matter.”

  DuBois turned to look at me. His gaze drifted to my collection of clocks on the bookshelf. “Good grief. How did I miss that earlier? How many clocks do you have?”

  “I like to be punctual.”

  “One clock would suffice.”

  Professor Maxwell returned in under two minutes. “Whoever it was is long gone. Florrie, I cannot apologize enough. I honestly didn’t think Delbert would do anything of this sort. I would like to think he just meant to frighten you, but even that kind of behavior is disturbing. How would you feel if I slept down here the rest of the night?”

  “You would leave me alone?” DuBois’s eyes widened.

  A faint smile danced across the professor’s lips. “You have a baseball bat.”

  DuBois made no attempt to hide his displeasure when he choked, “Which I will need to protect you down here. I shall return with linens.”

  I was too agitated to sleep, of course, but I scooped Peaches into my arms and went up to bed anyway. Still unnerved, I sat up against my pillows and drew a sketch of what I had seen. Without exception it was the darkest thing I had ever drawn.

  The reason was obvious and it wasn’t because it had been sinister. It had been nothing more than a dark shape. And a hunched shape at that. Had it not moved and tried the door handles, I might have thought it an illusion or an odd reflection.

  Peaches rubbed her head against my hand and tried to push away my sketch pad. I flipped it closed and set it aside. Satisfied, she climbed onto my chest and purred. I fell asleep to the soothing sound.

  * * *

  When I woke in the morning, Professor Maxwell snored on my sofa. But Mr. DuBois and any linens he may have brought for himself were gone.

  I was tiptoeing into the kitchen to make my tea when a phone played the Indiana Jones theme music. Professor Maxwell jerked to an upright position, blew air out of his mouth, and said, “Maxwell.”

  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I couldn’t avoid it. I ran water into the kettle to make my tea and let him know I was present.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. He tried to break into the carriage house last night.”

  There was a pause. “I’m sure I don’t know why he would do that. No one chased him. I’d have liked to, though.”

  Another pause.

  “He’s a grown man, Liddy. Okay, okay. Please don’t cry. I’m sure he’s fine. Give me enough time for a shower, and I’ll drive over.”

  Maxwell shook his head, slid his phone into a pocket, and muttered, “He’ll turn up before I get there.” He rose and stretched. “Good morning, Florrie.”

  He picked up Peaches and stroked her while walking over to me. “I must apologize for Delbert’s behavior last night. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Tea?” I asked.

  “No, thanks. DuBois probably has breakfast waiting for me.”

  I summoned courage to say what I was thinking. “Look, Professor Maxwell, I love this place. The light coming through the French doors this morning makes me want to stay. But after last night, I think this was a mistake and that I should move back to my old place.”

  “Florrie, if I thought for even a nanosecond that Delbert would hurt you, I would never have suggested you move in here. The Delbert I know is a con artist, a trickster who manipulates people and takes advantage of them. But he has never been violent. My best guess was that he meant to do exactly what he did”—Maxwell pointed his forefinger at me—“frighten you out of the carriage house!”

  “Well, it worked. I’m scheduled to be at the store today, but I think Peaches and I will sleep at my parents’ house tonight. I’ll move my belongings back as soon as I can.”

  Professor Maxwell’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose I can’t blame you. But my darling Florrie, even those of us who are timid face times in our lives when we must brace our shoulders and stand our ground. The fates like to test us. Instead of running, we must use our little gray cells to outwit those who are in the wrong.”

  “Was that him you were talking about on the phone?”

  He nodded. “Delbert has been staying with his parents in Maryland s
ince his roommates booted him out, but he didn’t come home last night. Not terribly surprising given his misbehavior. He’s ashamed to show his face. It’s typical of Delbert to avoid taking responsibility for his cunning ways. He’ll turn up soon. The way Delbert burns bridges, I doubt he has anywhere to go but back to the parents who indulge his errant behaviors.”

  Professor Maxwell walked to the door. “Again, I’m so sorry this happened. I wish you would reconsider.”

  He let himself out.

  When the door shut, I turned to Peaches but she had already scampered across the room and was watching birds through the glass. I supposed I should start packing, but after the rush the day before, that held no appeal whatsoever.

  Sipping my tea, I mixed a quick batter for blackberry muffins and slid the pan into the gorgeous oven that sparkled as though it had never been used. I set a timer, made a second mug of tea, and ambled over to the French doors. Leaving Peaches inside, I stepped out to see if it would be safe for her. To the right of the carriage house, a high wall offered privacy from the mansion on the other side. Some kind of odd rim ran across the top of the fence, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to be.

  On the left side of the carriage house, the fence was interrupted by a wooden door with a round top. It latched securely. Delbert must have sneaked in that way last night. Maybe if Professor Maxwell installed a lock?

  I opened a French door to let Peaches into our garden. She explored it with caution. I kept a very close eye on her lest she decide to scale the wall. Happily, the goldfish captured her attention. She prowled the edge of the sizable pond like a tiger.

  Meanwhile, I strolled the little paths, admiring coral trumpet vines and pink climbing roses. Several plants had been trimmed in formal fashion, leading me to believe this was the work of an avid gardener. I fetched a sketch pad and a pencil and drew Peaches at the pond with the flowering vines in the background until the oven timer went off.

  I carried our breakfasts outside on a tray and settled at a small table in the sun. While I enjoyed blackberry muffins, Peaches ate mackerel.

  And suddenly, I was very angry with Delbert. My apartment in Reston didn’t have French doors or even a tiny balcony. There were no goldfish, no pond, and no fireplace. I longed to stay in this tiny corner of paradise. Maybe I just had to do what my sister Veronica would do, tell him off to his face!

  Like that was going to happen.

  I took the tray inside and returned to pick up Peaches, who mewed in protest. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to go to work.” I checked all the doors to be sure they were locked and dashed upstairs to shower and change.

  Dressed in a boatneck navy blue-and-white–striped top and a bright lemon-yellow skirt, I filled Peaches’s bowl with food to munch on while I was gone, packed two muffins, and ambled to Color Me Read.

  Close to a show window was a bench and an oversized terra-cotta pot of vibrant red geraniums. Jim was already there.

  When I approached the bookstore, he said, “I hate Sundays. Have to wait half the day for my coffee.”

  I grinned at the grumbler and handed him the muffins. “Good morning, Jim.”

  He peeked inside the package. “These smell great!” He bit into one immediately.

  Jim, who had never shared his last name, sat on the bench outside the store every morning with all his worldly possessions packed in plastic bags and attached to a rusted dolly. Professor Maxwell had told me that Jim moseyed toward the canal as the day went on because a restaurant gave him their leftovers for dinner every night.

  “I’ll bring your coffee in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, Florrie.”

  I loved Sundays at the bookstore. Aside from the luxury of sleeping late, it was Helen’s day off. I unlocked the door and keyed in the password sleepy conscience for the alarm system. Maxwell, Bob, and I had argued over a memorable password and finally settled on something we saw every day. On the wall behind the cash register counter was a sign that said GOOD FRIENDS, GOOD BOOKS, AND A SLEEPY CONSCIENCE: THIS IS THE IDEAL LIFE.—MARK TWAIN.

  Flicking on lights as I went, my first stop was the coffee machine. I measured coffee, added fresh water, and in seconds the heavenly scent drifted up to me. Next stop—music. Professor Maxwell insisted that classical music play softly in the background. He thought it made people linger longer and enjoy the bookstore even more.

  I flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN and took a quick walk through the rooms on the main floor, straightening up and making sure it was tidy. The cleaning man did a great job, but people were prone to picking up books in one area, changing their minds or forgetting about them, and leaving them in the wrong section of the store. I walked up to the second floor and did a quick check, but I could hear customers murmuring downstairs and rushed back.

  Bob arrived just as I was taking a cup of coffee out to Jim. A couple of our regulars entered the store followed by two well-dressed ladies who had probably enjoyed brunch with champagne because they acted just a wee bit too giddy.

  We were busy for the next hour. Professor Simone, a friend of Professor Maxwell, phoned to ask if we had a copy of All the World’s Birds by Buffon. The computer showed that we had two but they carried vastly different prices, and I couldn’t tell what the difference was. Promising I would call her back, I walked up the stairs. The rare book room was on the third floor, but when I reached the landing where the stairs to the third floor turned ninety degrees, my sandal caught the carpet and I pitched forward.

  I stood up and brushed off my legs. A lovely bruise would undoubtedly appear in a few hours. Otherwise, no harm done.

  But there appeared to be a wrinkle in the carpeting on the landing. I bent to straighten it but something small and hard prevented me from pulling the carpet flat. We certainly didn’t need anyone tripping and falling down the stairs. I tried to wiggle the hard bit toward the edge. After a couple of minutes of determined prodding, the small item rolled out of a loose corner of carpeting.

  A pearl! It was drilled through as though it had come from a necklace. That was odd. I hadn’t noticed the wrinkle or the loose corner before.

  I tugged at the carpet to straighten it but it moved far too readily. It was a hazard and someone else would surely fall. I would have to close off the third floor and get a carpet layer in to repair it on Monday.

  I studied it for a moment. Something wasn’t right. Surely one of us would have noticed the problem before this. How could a carpet come loose like that? I lifted the corner to peer underneath. Could mice be nibbling at it?

  The overhead light shone brightly on the oak floor. As I rolled the carpet back, I could make out the very fine perimeter of a trapdoor and a hole for lifting it.

  Did Professor Maxwell know about this? He would think it incredible. I plunged a finger into the hole and lifted. The door was hinged on the other side and opened with a loud screech.

  Chapter 5

  Someone was inside! I screamed and dropped the door. It slammed shut with a bang that reverberated in the stairwell. I shook my head. Had I really seen someone lying in there with a spear jutting out of his back? That couldn’t be.

  Bob ran up the stairs, breathless. “Was that you? What happened?” He stopped talking as he took in the misplaced carpet and the trapdoor. “What’s going on?”

  A small crowd climbed the stairs behind us.

  I could hear someone asking, “Florrie? Are you okay?”

  “There’s someone in there,” I whispered to Bob.

  “That’s very funny. Is today trick-your-coworker day?”

  I shuddered.

  “You’re serious? Why would anyone be in there? Should I get a weapon?”

  “He’s lying on his stomach. I’m not sure you’ll need a weapon.”

  Bob leaned forward. His forefinger hovered over the hole briefly. He yanked his hand back and straightened up. “Stand on it.”

  “What?”

  “Stand on the hatch to make it more difficult to open. Just do i
t. I’ll be right back.” He ran up to the third floor and in the direction of Professor Maxwell’s office.

  I stepped onto the door timidly, as though I thought I might plummet into the well beneath, which made no sense at all because I had unknowingly walked across it hundreds of times. There was no reason it should give way under me. Still, now that I knew of its existence, I couldn’t help feeling like it might break, plunging me down a frightening rabbit hole.

  Besides, even if there wasn’t an Alice in Wonderland–type slide inside, I certainly didn’t want to fall on someone who lay in a position all too reminiscent of a crime scene body outline. I had only seen it for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t really that scary?

  I tried to be reasonable. But there wasn’t a good reason for a person to be inside. Just because he was on his stomach didn’t mean he was dead. But I really ought to call 911. If he was alive, he might need help.

  Mr. DuBois’s words from the night before ran through my head. The Maxwells didn’t like publicity about trouble. It couldn’t be helped this time. But what if it was a gag? A manikin or something?

  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Professor Maxwell’s cell number. He was probably at his sister’s house dealing with devilish Delbert.

  When he answered my call, I asked, “Do you know about the trapdoor in the stairs?”

  “In the store?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  There was a long moment of silence before the professor said, “Yes, I do.”

  “You might want to come over here. There’s someone inside it.”

  I heard a quick intake of breath. “What? Who is it?”

  If it was a manikin, he had no knowledge of it. “I don’t know yet. I’m standing on the door so he can’t open it, but,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper, “Professor Maxwell, I’m afraid he might be dead.”

  “Thank you, Florrie. I am on my way. Don’t take any chances.” He sounded completely calm, as though I had told him the mail had arrived. His phone clicked off.

  Bob returned wielding an intimidating primitive hatchet-type battle-ax from one of the professor’s adventures. He stood beside me and whispered, “Okay, you open it, and I’ll be ready.” He lifted the hatchet in preparation.