by Krista Davis
“Maybe we should wait for Professor Maxwell.”
“You think I’m not macho enough to clobber whoever is in there?”
“This isn’t about being macho.” I didn’t know what it was about. I gazed at the collection of people on the stairs below us and back at the trapdoor again.
It gradually dawned on me that we had a bigger problem. “Bob,” I whispered, “he could have closed the cover on himself, but he couldn’t have pulled the carpet over the closed trapdoor.”
“What are you saying?” asked Bob, following my example and speaking softly. “That he had an accomplice?”
I hadn’t thought of that. But why would he hide in there? Was he waiting for us to close the shop and leave? That didn’t make sense. “No. What I’m saying is that someone must have left him in there.” I lowered my voice to the barest whisper. “I’m thinking he could be . . . dead.”
Bob blanched. “I am not jumping in there with him to find out.”
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I raised the door again and let it lean against the wall. The person inside didn’t move. He lay on the floor about four or five feet below the opening.
“The jig is up! Come out of there!” Bob did his best to sound tough, but he wouldn’t have scared anyone older than eight. He was just a big softie.
A couple of Professor Maxwell’s friends had made their way past the others and stood one step down from Bob, looking on. One of them yelled, “Hey! You!”
I pulled out my phone again. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Bob looked queasy.
I reported that we had found someone who might be injured and was in a difficult location. They promised to send someone right away.
A couple of Professor Maxwell’s friends squished between us and looked down at him.
Professor Goldblum, a tiny man with small eyes and a pudgy figure, had boundless curiosity. “Fascinating! A hiding place for liquor during Prohibition. I have heard about them but never had the good luck to see one.”
Really? That’s what interested him? He couldn’t see the man lying at the bottom with a spear jutting out of his back?
“It’s not holding liquor now,” observed Professor Bankhouse.
“Indeed. Most curious. I’m too short. You jump in, Bankhouse.”
Edgar Bankhouse blanched. “Where’s Maxwell? He’s the intrepid adventurer.”
What was wrong with these men? I was a little scared myself, but I hoped someone would have the courage to jump in if I were the one lying inside. Someone had to help him! I sat on the edge of the hole, wishing I had chosen to wear trousers. It wasn’t that big of a jump. I took a deep breath and leaped, doing exactly what I had wanted to avoid—I landed directly on top of the man, narrowly avoiding the spear.
“Florrie!” yelled Bob. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I would be bruised all over later on but for the moment I was okay.
The guy on the floor hadn’t grunted or moved. That couldn’t be a good sign. I scrambled to my knees and crawled toward his head. A shock went through me when I recognized the slightly Neanderthal brow and the features I had sketched just the night before. I dared to touch his neck in search of a pulse. His skin was cold and stiff. Delbert was dead.
Chapter 6
So many thoughts ran through my head that I felt my life swirling like a kaleidoscope.
The head of the spear wasn’t visible. The wooden shaft protruded from Delbert’s back. His shirt was stained with a large area of blood. Even his trousers showed blotches of blood.
I glanced around. The space wasn’t very large. There wasn’t much to see except quite a bit of dust. Most of the dust on the floor had been kicked up, but in the corner, I spied the very clear treads of a shoe.
I pondered it briefly. I hadn’t been over that way. Just to be doubly sure, I looked at the bottom of my sandal. It was smooth, without treads.
About a foot away from the shoe print in the dust, there was a gouge in the floor. Relatively thin, maybe two inches long. I suspected it was new or at least recent because the damaged part of the wood was closer to raw oak in color, while the rest of the wood surrounding it was darker, like wood that had been stained.
Too many questions were dancing through my mind when I heard a commotion above me.
Bankhouse and Goldblum moved aside as two cops peered down at me.
One of them raised his eyebrows in surprise. With the ease of an athlete, he leaped down into the hole with me, landing on his feet. I looked up into delphinium-blue eyes that took my breath away. The name engraved in a shiny bar just over the right pocket of his police-blue shirt said SERGEANT JONQUILLE. He was out of my league with loose chestnut curls that seemed to have minds of their own and a tan that suggested he liked the outdoors. I flushed just to look at him.
“I think he’s dead,” I choked.
Jonquille searched for a pulse much like I had. “I believe you’re right. Who is he?”
“Delbert Woodley, the nephew of the owner of the store.”
“Are you the one who found him?”
“Yes. It was completely by accident.” I explained about the carpet and the pearl. “If it hadn’t been for the pearl, we would have walked over him for days. Or until he smelled bad. And then we wouldn’t have known where the odor was coming from.”
“You’re the manager?”
I nodded. “Florrie. Florrie Fox.”
Unfamiliar voices above us prompted me to look up. An emergency medical technician jumped into the pit with us. “What have we got here?”
Sergeant Jonquille very politely said, “Let me give you a boost out, Florrie.”
He formed a bridge with his hands for me to step on. I couldn’t believe I had worn a short skirt. But who planned for this kind of thing? He boosted me up. His partner who was standing on the floor above us grabbed my hands and hoisted me to the stair landing like I weighed nothing.
From below, Sergeant Jonquille called, “Florrie! Can you go downstairs and put up a closed sign so more people won’t enter the store?”
“Yes, of course.” I started down the stairs, saying excuse me repeatedly to get past everyone.
Bob followed me. When we reached the main floor, he seized my arm. “Did I hear you say that it’s Delbert?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh man! Maxwell is in big trouble.”
It wasn’t as though that hadn’t occurred to me. I had visions of being called as a witness at his trial. Ms. Fox, what exactly did Professor Maxwell say to you about Delbert the night before his murder?
He said he would have the Delbert problem taken care of by Monday morning.
In my heart, I knew Professor Maxwell couldn’t have had anything to do with Delbert’s demise. I was certain of it. A distinguished man with such enthusiasm for the mysteries of life would never kill anyone, except possibly in self-defense.
As I flipped the sign on the door, my stomach did a little flip, too. At that exact moment, Professor Maxwell jogged up to the store. We saw each other through the glass briefly before I opened it for him.
“I see there’s an ambulance outside,” said the professor. “Was someone injured?”
How to answer that? Not exactly?
Fortunately, he babbled on, “What a day. First Delbert disappears and now this.”
He hurried toward the stairs. I debated telling him. Was it better to hear it from me or from the cops? What if he heard it as he walked up the stairs? I didn’t have much time to think about it. “Professor?”
He turned to look at me.
“It’s Delbert.”
Professor Maxwell was many things, but I seriously doubted that he was enough of an actor to pull off the shocked look on his face.
He rushed to the stairs and tried to take them two at a time, but too many people were in the way, hampering his progress.
“Bob,” I said, “stand by the door and don’t let anyone leave. I’m going to get them
off the stairs. Make sure the passage to the door is clear, okay?”
“What if they want to leave?” His sweet round face was fearful.
I took a wild stab from reading too many mysteries. “Tell them the police want to talk with everyone.”
For the next fifteen minutes, I herded people into the various rooms of the bookstore, imploring them to clear the stairway for the emergency medical technicians who would be carrying a stretcher.
As it turned out, I was dead wrong. The EMTs walked down the stairs all right, but they departed without Delbert. More police arrived, carrying cameras and other equipment. The crowd inside grew restless and a new group formed on the sidewalk outside of the store.
Sergeant Jonquille found me. “Thanks for keeping everyone here. How did you know to do that?”
“Just a guess. I read a lot of mysteries. I thought you might need to verify what Bob and I tell you.”
“We’ll start collecting names and addresses and let them go one by one.”
When he asked my address, I paused before giving him an address, which prompted him to shoot me a quizzical look.
“I moved yesterday.”
“Somewhere around here?”
“The carriage house behind Professor Maxwell’s estate.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
I wished I knew what was going through his head.
“Phone number?” he asked.
I gave him my cell number and email address.
“When did you last see Delbert Woodley?”
“I never met him until yesterday. The last time I saw him was here at the bookstore.” The image of him seated at Maxwell’s desk and acting so brazen haunted me. I didn’t mention that he had told me I was toast and that he had left like a frightened child when Maxwell caught him. Maybe I should have. Everything was happening so fast. I felt the need to be honest, yet cautious.
Particularly as it concerned Maxwell. He had made no secret of his antipathy toward Delbert. Bob was right. Maxwell was in serious trouble. I didn’t need to add to it. I told myself to keep it simple. The wrathful relationship between Delbert and the professor would come out soon enough. I chose my words carefully. “He was leaving, I think.”
“Time?”
“Dinnertime. Around six thirty or seven.”
“How did Professor Maxwell and Delbert get along?”
And there it was. It hadn’t taken him long. My gaze met those clear blue eyes.
“Loyalty is a great trait, Florrie, except where murder is involved. The truth always floats to the top.”
“Delbert was a worm. He told me that he would inherit Maxwell’s estate and that I was toast. It’s not surprising that Maxwell, a man of great integrity, would be disappointed in his nephew.”
“Did they have an argument yesterday?”
They might have when Delbert and his mother found the guesthouse occupied. But I didn’t really know. “Not that I saw or heard.” I let out a relieved breath. That was the truth.
“Thank you, Florrie. I may need to contact you with more questions.”
“Sure. Anytime.”
“Florrie!” called Bob.
Sergeant Jonquille nodded. “Go on. If you have trouble with anyone who wants to leave, just let me know. We’ll be processing them fairly fast now.”
I made my way to Bob at the front door and immediately saw the problem. My mother and father stood outside peering through the glass.
I knew I would upset the people who were itching to leave, but I unlocked the door and slipped out anyway. Mom and Dad embraced me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
“Thank heaven you’re okay.” Mom held me at arm’s length and looked me over. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. How did you hear about this?”
“It’s all over Twitter. Norman’s mom, Irma, called to tell us because she knows you work here.”
“What happened?” asked Dad.
In a whisper, I said, “Delbert is dead.”
Mom shrieked. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
Dad stared at me in shock. He leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “Do you need a lawyer?”
“No! His body . . . well, it’s kind of a long story. Why don’t you grab a bite, and I’ll come join you when I can?”
My mom seized my hand and held it tight. “I was so scared. I thought we had lost you.”
“Linda, honey, let’s get you a bracing cup of tea . . . or bourbon.” Dad took her arm and gently steered her away. But he looked back at me and there was no doubt in my mind that my mom wasn’t the only one who had been terrified.
Ignoring the reporters who tried to thrust microphones in my face, I turned my back and knocked on the door. Bob let me in.
The police were processing everyone in an orderly fashion, and Bob was releasing them. With that part of the chaos under control, I went in search of the professor.
I found him on the second floor, seated in a floral armchair in the mysteries and classics room. The summer sun shone brightly through the colors in the stained glass that ran across the tops of windows that opened like French doors to the balcony that overlooked the street. A bust of Shakespeare and a faux raven that perched on a rolling library ladder appeared to fixate on the professor. His cell phone lay on a nearby table where books were displayed.
I quietly slid onto a chair across from him. “Are you all right?”
“Liddy, my sister—I don’t think she’ll ever get over this.”
“You spoke with her?”
“I didn’t want her to hear it on the news. Telling her was one of the worst things I have ever had to do in my life.”
“Is she on her way?”
“Of course. I hope they’ll have removed him by the time she and her husband arrive. I don’t want Liddy to see him like that. No one should have to see a loved one splayed . . .” He closed his eyes tight as if he wished he hadn’t seen Delbert’s corpse.
He tented his fingers and pressed them over his nose and mouth. “Who could have done this, Florrie?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Chapter 7
Maxwell rubbed the back of his third finger against his upper lip, deep in thought. He rose and closed the door before returning to his seat.
Speaking softly, he said, “Florrie, I am very sorry to say there is a good likelihood that I will be arrested.”
I sucked in a deep breath of air. “Surely not,” I said, knowing full well that he was probably right.
“In that event, you will be solely in charge of Color Me Read. I have asked my attorney to draft the appropriate documentation so that you can step into my shoes, so to speak, and handle any matters that should arise. I have total confidence and trust in your judgment.”
“But . . . even if they arrest you, won’t you be out on bail?”
“Possibly. But my attorney informs me that bail may be denied because of my escapades, as she calls them, around the world. They may fear that I could disappear into the wilds of Borneo or the Amazon River Basin, never to be seen again.”
I gazed into his eyes, as sincere and kind as ever. “I promise to take good care of the bookstore. Don’t worry about that.”
“I know you will, Florrie. You are a rock in my turbulent world.”
Professor Maxwell winced and massaged his mustache. “You can imagine that I feel enormous guilt.”
What? Was he about to confess? No!
“Don’t look so horrified, Florrie. I didn’t murder Delbert or anyone else.” He leaned forward and patted my shoulder in a gesture meant to be reassuring. “Delbert was born with every advantage in life. He never missed a meal, never wanted for anything, attended the best schools. Yet he turned out to be an immoral, unprincipled degenerate. Clearly, his parents and I failed him somewhere along the way. Delbert had the intellectual capacity to be anything he liked. But he had the character to be devious and manipulative. He used his brain, not for good, but to prey on others to
his own advantage. My guilt arises from the conflict of relief that I no longer have to worry about his next scam, and the intensely deep sorrow I feel at the loss of my nephew.” He looked straight at me. “Because I do feel a loss. I’m not sure how to reconcile those two emotions.”
I didn’t know, either. I searched for something sage, or at least comforting, to say. “Isn’t that how love of family is supposed to work? We care about them, no matter what they do.”
Maxwell smiled at me. “When you entered this room, I was contemplating the great thinkers and their philosophies, but you, my little artiste, put it all in simple perspective. You’re quite right, Florrie. We have to take them as they are, don’t we?”
Sergeant Jonquille knocked on the door as he swung it open. “Florrie, may I have a word?”
I jumped to my feet and joined him in the hallway.
“Who has a key to the bookstore?” asked Jonquille.
“The professor, Bob, Helen, and I. There are a couple of other people who work here but they don’t have keys.”
“Thank you, Florrie. You’re free to go.”
“Sergeant? I have worked for the professor for five years. He’s a very fine man. He couldn’t have murdered Delbert.”
Jonquille smiled. “I’ve heard that about a lot of convicted murderers.”
Oh! How annoying of him. “I’m sure you have,” I said sweetly, “but I don’t think you understand. Professor Maxwell uses his brain. He’s all about the power of the mind. If he were going to kill someone, it would be better thought out. It would be sneaky and look like an accident. He would never be so crass as to stab someone, nor so stupid as to do it in his own store with an implement that belonged to him.”
Sergeant Jonquille stared at me for a long moment. “I go by facts, Florrie. Facts are undeniable.”
I hated that he made sense. I would have said the same sort of thing if I didn’t know the professor so well. I walked down the stairs, noting that Delbert’s body had finally been removed.
Because of the long days of summer, it was still light outside when I left the building and heard a cop lock the door behind me. I texted my parents, who texted back that they were having dinner with my sister in a nearby restaurant.