Color Me Murder

by Krista Davis

  “In the beginning, I thought it must be someone with a key to the shop who knew the code to turn off the alarm. That narrowed the field of suspects. But then I learned how easy it is to bump a lock and that a number of people knew the code to disarm the alarm.”

  “So you no longer suspect her?”

  I winced. “She bought new fake pearls. Clearly, that in itself is meaningless. A totally innocent thing. But one wonders if she did that because her other pearl necklace broke. . . .”

  “Lance Devereoux? You know him?”

  “Bob and I paid Lance and Scott Southworth a visit. Lance told us about Delbert ruining his career.”

  “I see. You certainly have gotten around.” He flipped the page. “Who is this?”

  I inhaled sharply and hoped he didn’t notice. “Jacquie Liebhaber. We talked about her before. She’s a women’s fiction author who was once married to Maxwell.” I wondered how I could put it without breaking my promise to her. “A private investigator came here looking for her.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows. “Curious. Why would he have thought she might have returned to her ex-husband?”

  “Maybe she felt safe with him?”

  Eric studied me. “How does she fit into Delbert’s murder?”

  “He reprinted the contents of some of her books under his own name as e-books. She’s not the only author to whom he did that. And I thought it peculiar that she went missing around the time he was murdered.”

  “Aha. That is a sign of guilt.” He sighed. “If Maxwell did murder Delbert, she might have been present.”

  I didn’t want to consider that possibility.

  As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “We have to go where facts take us.”

  “So far, they haven’t taken me anywhere. I seem to go in circles, suspecting everyone.”

  “And we finish with Emily Branscom, who is hiding something.”

  “The identity of her lover.”

  “Because she’s still married. That’s a good reason.”

  “I would hope they have separated by now if she’s really sleeping with someone else.”

  He flipped through the sketches one more time. “You’re very good. The detail in your work is fantastic. Like the crinkles around the eyes. You capture a person’s character.”

  “Thanks.” The alarm went off on my iPhone. “I need to go over to the store to open it.”

  Eric offered to walk with me. We took Frodo along and strolled toward Color Me Read. Families were enjoying the warm weather. Couples were headed to brunch. It was hard to remember why I had ever been fearful.

  I unlocked the door as Helen arrived, one hand digging in her purse. “I’m glad you’re here. I always keep the store key in the zippered compartment of my purse, but I don’t see it.”

  I looked at Jonquille, but he was busy watching Helen.

  “No matter. I’ll find it before Bob and I have to lock up tonight,” said Helen.

  I swung the door open, and we walked inside. How could I word this so it wouldn’t sound like I was accusing her of something? While I punched in the code to disarm the alarm, I said, “I hate when that happens to me. Why don’t you look again? Maybe it’s in another compartment?”

  This time Jonquille shot me a look of approval.

  I tried to urge her a little bit more. “Those big bags just swallow things whole. It drives me crazy.”

  “But I love them,” said Helen. “They’re so chic.” She reached her arm down into it and pulled out four lipsticks, a wallet big enough to be a small purse, and a makeup bag. “Voilà!” she cried, triumphantly holding up the key.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. At least it hadn’t been stolen. I was feeling bold with Jonquille present. “You’re not wearing your pretty pearls today.”

  She frowned at me. “I thought you wanted the day off. What are you doing here?”

  So much for that. “I’m leaving. I just wanted to be sure everything was going well here.”

  Jonquille, who was holding Frodo’s leash, turned and headed for the door.

  Helen caught my elbow and whispered, “Out of uniform, that guy is cute! I don’t blame you for not waiting for Maxwell’s release. Bankhouse says he could be in the slammer for the rest of his life.”

  I was saddened by the disdainful way she spoke about Maxwell’s incarceration. It might be a good thing that it wasn’t my natural inclination to lash out at people. “Have a good day, Helen,” I said, walking out the door.

  As we walked back, Jonquille asked, “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself this afternoon?”

  “Of course. I can’t expect you to be my personal bodyguard.”

  “You have my number. Call me if anything happens, no matter how unimportant it might seem.”

  He reached for my hand and clasped it in his. I looked into his eyes and thought I might melt.

  “Just call me. Okay?” he said.

  We walked up the mansion driveway, where Felipe stood guard. I was delighted to see him because I had more faith in him than some of the other guards.

  Eric grabbed his gym bag and took off.

  I bolted the door and frosted the tortes with whipped cream. The strawberries I had bought at the farmers’ market were huge and had a saturated deep red color like wild strawberries. I sliced them in half and decorated the two tortes with them. When they were in the fridge, I cut some of the leftover strawberries, placed them in a bowl, and sprinkled them with a little sugar. Then I added a generous dollop of leftover whipped cream on top.

  I pulled back the bolt and stepped outside with Frodo on his leash. I exchanged greetings with Felipe. “Keep an eye on the place, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  We headed straight to the mansion where I delivered the strawberries to Mr. DuBois.

  He was sitting in his wheelchair, looking frail. He ignored the berries to reach for Frodo. He massaged Frodo’s ears and motioned to me. “Come closer.” I bent over but that wasn’t near enough for him. He gripped my shoulder and whispered, “I’m no longer swallowing those mind-numbing pills. I hold them under my tongue and when the nurses leave the room, I flick them into that plant.”

  The leaves of the poor plant were turning brown along the edges. “I don’t think it likes your meds.”

  “Bah! I didn’t, either. The plant is giving its life to save mine. I want you to take me upstairs.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Don’t be daft. It doesn’t become you. There’s an elevator.”

  Of course. It made sense that a big house like this would have an elevator. “All right. Are you ready to go?”

  “Quick! Before Nurse Ratched comes back.”

  I smiled at his reference to the tyrannical nurse in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. There was nothing wrong with his brain. I propelled the wheelchair forward.

  “Faster!” he hissed. “She’ll find us if you don’t move it!”

  “No one said you have to stay in your room, did they?”

  “I don’t care if they did or not. They stick me in there. Get me out of here. Hang a right. Quick!”

  I pressed a button and the elevator door opened immediately. It was just large enough to accommodate the wheelchair, Frodo, and me.

  “Press the button for the third floor,” he said.

  I did as he asked. In a minute, I was backing the wheelchair out into a hallway.

  “We’ll start on that end.”

  I rolled him into a bedroom that connected to a second bedroom through a Jack and Jill bathroom.

  He leaned forward, scanning everything.

  “What are we looking for?” I asked, glad to have a chance to snoop.

  “I hear things. They always say I’m hallucinating, but I’m not. Next room.”

  “Wouldn’t you be hearing sounds from the second floor?” I asked.

  “Of course. I want to see what they’ve done to my house.”

  I pushed the wheelchair into a sewing and craft room. At the
end of the hall we visited a large attic that was used for storage. Most of the windows were dormers that jutted out of the roof and gave me a better overview of the property. From where I stood, I overlooked the roof of the two-story garage, the swimming pool behind it, and a garden that extended back probably as far as the garden of the carriage house. The grounds were lovely and well tended.

  “Ready for the second floor?” I asked.

  We took the elevator down one floor.

  “Start on that end.” He pointed toward the rooms over his.

  I indulged him, but truly thought we were unlikely to find anything of interest. The sounds he heard were probably the nurse, the guard, or traffic. Still, I was enjoying my tour of the house, and if we stumbled across a clue, then that was all the better.

  The bedrooms on the second floor were beautifully outfitted with luxurious fabrics and antique furniture. I couldn’t help wondering how many of Maxwell’s ancestors had slept in those same bedframes. It was sort of comforting to think that the same family had lived in this home for more than a century.

  We turned right to a newer wing with modern furnishings. I peeked out of a window and realized we were over the garage.

  The only thing that piqued my interest on that floor was that someone had cleaned up Maxwell’s room. The clothes and items that had been unceremoniously dumped out of his dresser by the burglar had disappeared. I presumed they had been folded and put away in drawers.

  “Turn me around so I can see.” Mr. DuBois eyed every detail in the room from the contents of the bookshelves to the placement of the throw rugs. “Needs to be dusted,” he grumbled.

  “Are you satisfied that no one is up here?” I asked.

  “No. I am not deranged. I know what I heard.”

  What I was hearing was the nurse calling Mr. DuBois in a panic. “I think we’d better return.”

  He seized my hand. “Take me to the carriage house with you.”

  Instead of arguing, I thought I’d get farther with him by pointing out the problems. “There’s no elevator in the carriage house. You’d have to sleep on the sofa.”

  “Bah! You may recall that I did that once for two hours. I didn’t get a wink of sleep on your uncomfortable furniture. But they could move the bed in.”

  Clearly his brain was working well. “The nurses would still come to care for you. In fact, because there are no walls on the main floor, they would be with you all day and all night.”

  He leaned to the side to glare at me. “I resent your logic.”

  Trying to ignore the fright in the nurse’s tone as she continued to call his name, I squatted beside the wheelchair. “For two hours? So you did not sleep in the carriage house after Delbert tried to break in?”

  “I tried. Couldn’t do it.”

  So no one knew where the professor had been during that time. “Did you tell the police you were with Maxwell all night?”

  He lifted his chin in defiance.

  I was pretty sure that meant he had lied to the police to protect Maxwell. I still didn’t think Maxwell was guilty, but he didn’t have an ironclad alibi for much of the night.

  The poor nurse shouted, “There’s no way he could be upstairs.”

  “He’s with me,” I yelled.

  “Young ladies of good breeding never shout,” Mr. DuBois declared, as if I were his pupil.

  “Then I guess I just showed my lowly roots.” I pushed the wheelchair into the elevator.

  “Take me to the basement,” said DuBois.

  “I think it’s time for you to return to—”

  He clenched my arm with a great deal more strength than I could have imagined. “The basement,” he hissed.

  I punched the button marked B and seconds later, the doors opened to a dank cellar. The walls were mostly brick. It appeared to me that the ceiling of wood slats had been bolstered by steel columns and beams.

  A few ladders and other unwieldy items like sinks and mantels had been stashed there. An ancient furnace that was large enough to walk into took up a significant amount of space. Hot water heaters and a counter with a sink lined one wall.

  “There’s certainly nothing to see here,” I said, eager to leave.

  We ascended only to be met by the agitated nurse.

  “I almost called 911! Where have you been? You have no right to remove him.”

  In the calmest tone I could muster, I explained that we had visited the bedrooms above Mr. DuBois’s quarters so he could see for himself that no one was there.

  The nurse was speechless for twenty seconds. “I would appreciate it if you asked permission before rolling him about. It’s time for his pill and a nap.”

  She all but pushed me out of her way and wheeled poor Mr. DuBois back to his room.

  Chapter 31

  I returned to the carriage house and phoned Ms. Strickland. “Any news on Maxwell?”

  “He no longer finds jail quite as fascinating as he did in the b eginning.”

  That wasn’t surprising.

  “But we finally have a little break. A key to the bookstore was in one of Delbert’s pants pockets.”

  “They’re just telling you that now? Seems like they would have known that immediately.”

  Ms. Strickland sighed. “I totally agree. It’s not enough to spring Maxwell, of course. Anyone could have planted the key in his pocket, but it does open up the possibility that Delbert went there on his own that night.”

  “I wondered if that could be the reason he was pawing through the professor’s desk!” It wasn’t much, but it was good news. “I know I’m not next of kin, but I’m wondering if you could get the doctor’s instructions regarding Mr. DuBois. They seem to be pumping a lot of pills into him.”

  “It’s highly unlikely that we could obtain anything like that due to the patient privacy act. Still, I’ll make an inquiry and see what happens.”

  I thanked her and hung up. After a quick shower, I stood in my closet wrapped in a towel, looking at my clothes. What did I own that was the most Norman repelling? He liked grass, so green was out. Turquoise was probably too close to green. Ohh. Dead grass. Why didn’t I have drab brown clothes? I settled on a sundress the color of a hazy blue sky, almost verging on gray. I had bought it because I loved the white polka-dotted fabric.

  For my peace of mind, I marked the French doors with straw like Jonquille had shown me. As an apology for leaving Peaches behind, I filled her bowl with her favorite, tuna and duck.

  I had mixed feelings about returning Frodo. I had enjoyed his company, even if he would have welcomed an intruder by licking him. I packed his dinner bowl, bed, and toy into my car, asked Felipe to keep an eye on the place, marked the door with straw, and drove to the suburbs with Frodo in the front seat and a strawberry cream torte safely away from him in the backseat.

  When I opened the door for Frodo, he bounded out of the car and ran in joyful circles on my parents’ lawn, delighted to be home.

  The air felt balmy and summer-like on my bare arms, and cooler than in the city. The scent of meat searing on the grill hung in the air.

  Carrying the torte, I walked around to the gate on the side of the house and let Frodo into his fenced backyard.

  The first person I saw was the last person I wanted to see—Norman. He waddled toward me.

  Frodo, who loved attention from everyone, sped past him like he didn’t exist, and ran to the cluster of people hanging around the grill on the patio. I wished I could do the same.

  “I’m sorry about your boyfriend, Florrie.” Norman smiled at me, sending up goose bumps on my arms.

  Oh no! My parents must have told his parents that the relationship with Jonquille was over. Aargh! I reminded myself that there were plenty of other people to talk to. It wasn’t a date, and at worst, it would only be a few hours. I could always bail early if he was too annoying.

  “Hi, Norman.” I kept walking toward the patio, but he kept pace with me.

  “Maybe I can ease your broken heart,” he sai
d.

  An opening! How could I use that to my advantage? I looked away and said, “It will take a long time before I’m ready to even think about another man.” Good, good! I looked down at the ground and bit my lip to stop myself from grinning. I would have pretended to wipe a tear from my eye if the torte hadn’t required two hands to carry it. I didn’t like that I was getting better at lying, but it was coming in handy.

  “Florrie!” Mom hustled toward me. She held out her arms, and when she took the torte, she whispered, “The Spratts think your romance with the cute cop fizzled and died.”

  “Gee thanks, Mom.”

  “This is beautiful! I could use your help in the kitchen. Excuse us, Norman.”

  I liked this better already. All I had to do was pretend to be busy.

  When we were in the kitchen and safely out of earshot of any Spratts, Mom said, “I’m sorry, dear. The Spratts are such old friends of ours. Your father and I thought it best if we just kind of erased your lie by saying you weren’t seeing Sergeant Jonquille anymore. Unless you are?”

  I hoped I might be sometime in the future, but it seemed unwise to fuel the fire under that lie again. “No, Mom. But if Norman becomes a pest, you’d better rescue me.”

  “Stick with your dad and me. We’ll save you. I promise. One more thing, sweetie, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s not talk about murder tonight. I don’t think the Spratts would understand. Iced tea?”

  I spooned ice cubes into the tall glass and poured the dark amber liquid. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not right now. I prepared most of it in advance.”

  I walked to the sliding glass door and looked out. The Spratts were there with my dad and Norman. Veronica was wearing crazy-high heels again and someone had his arm wrapped around her waist. Mr. Spratt appeared to be discoursing on something. Veronica’s friend turned his head slightly to listen to him. I blinked. Surely I wasn’t seeing right.

  “Mom, what’s the name of Veronica’s new boyfriend?”

  “Scott. Scott Southworth. You’ll love him. He’s very smart. His dad is that big builder. I’ve seen the Southworth name on a lot of construction signs. And you won’t believe who his stepmom is.”