by Krista Davis
Eric squeezed my hand, and I knew he didn’t agree with the other guy.
“If I don’t touch anything, may I look upstairs?” I asked.
“Yeah. Be my guest.”
The second I started up the stairs, I could hear the other cop say, “What a crock. Does she really think we’re going to chase down a couple of two-bit burglars for breaking and entering a lousy bookstore?”
I wanted to cut him some slack. Maybe he was tired of his job. Maybe he was jaded from having seen too many truly terrible things. Maybe he didn’t care about crime anymore and was waiting for his time to run out so he could collect retirement pay. But my efforts to justify what he had said didn’t work. I was ticked off with him for not caring more about the people who counted on him. Maybe this was a two-bit bookstore to him, but it mattered to a lot of people. Not to mention that he might have been a little more sympathetic about Dolly’s death. She wasn’t just some old lady.
The second-floor rooms were a disaster area. If I was correct and the burglars had been looking for The Florist, then I could understand why they couldn’t delicately look at every single book. But did they have to knock them all on the floor?
It was six in the morning by the time the police collected fingerprints. Thankfully, Petrocelli and the other cop were gone. Eric and I sat outside of the store on a bench sharing a takeout breakfast of lattes and freshly baked ham croissants.
“Do you think we’ll be able to open the store today?” I asked.
“Sure. Florrie, I’m personally going to follow up on the fingerprints, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if they don’t lead anywhere.”
I swallowed a sip of the bracing latte. “I’ve been thinking about it. You’re not going to find anything. If they were smart enough to know how much time they had before anyone arrived, then they probably wore gloves.”
“Did you notice gloves on either of them?”
“It all happened so fast. I hate to admit it, but I was so astonished that I didn’t notice much of anything. But I think the burglars might have done this before.”
“Broken into Color Me Read?”
“I mean I think they were professionals. That sounds weird. Can you be a professional thief? Is that an oxymoron? I heard that cop minimizing the importance of the break-in, but here’s what I think. The burglars had the confidence and guts to look for something in the store with the alarm ringing. They knew people were being alerted. A common thief would have left immediately. It wouldn’t have been worth it to him to be caught. The alarm would have scared him away. But these guys knew they had about eight to ten minutes, maybe more, before anyone arrived to check things out. They didn’t stop at the cash register, try to get into it, and leave. They didn’t just vandalize the store, either. They were looking for something specific. They knew what they were after, and it was something worth enough to them to take the risk of searching even though an alarm was going off the whole time.”
Chapter 7
Eric leaned over the food between us on the bench to kiss me. “I think you’re right. But not everyone will agree with us.”
“Was that kiss supposed to soften the blow of the truth? You’re trying to tell me that the burglary won’t be a priority for the police department?”
“Sorry, Florrie. Probably not. Break-ins like this aren’t unusual. And in this case, nothing appears to be missing. Unless we can prove that the person meant to commit an additional crime in the bookstore, all we have is the misdemeanor of unlawful entry.”
“Breaking in isn’t enough? It’s not like they did it for a lawful reason. Clearly anyone who breaks into a business in the middle of the night is up to no good.”
“That’s true. But it’s still just a misdemeanor.”
I huffed a little. “I can’t say I like that, but I do understand that there are more important crimes to investigate. Like Dolly’s death.”
Eric stared at me silently. “Would another kiss help?”
“Eric! They can’t just sweep Dolly’s demise away like it’s nothing.”
“It will depend on the medical examiner. If she had a heart attack, then obviously, as tragic as her death was, she died of natural causes. I know you think the paper in her hand was from a valuable book, but, Florrie, we don’t know if she was still in possession of the book. She could have given it away, or hidden it, or left it with someone for safekeeping. So far, we don’t really know that it’s missing. All we know for sure is that the one person who knew where it was has died.”
“When will we hear from the medical examiner?”
“Depends on their backlog. Hopefully today sometime. I promise I’ll call you when I hear.”
Professor Maxwell strode up to us. Wherever he had spent the night, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. His eyes were their usual violet, but his eyelids hung low and he had dark circles under his eyes. He paused for a moment, taking in the police vehicles and commotion at the store. “What’s going on?”
“Didn’t you see Mr. DuBois?”
Professor Maxwell turned his head toward me fast, as though I had asked the wrong thing. “No.”
Eric and I filled him in on everything from Dolly’s discovery of The Florist, to her unexpected death, and the burglars at Color Me Read.
The professor listened intently. “I have a few underground contacts. I can put out the word that I’m looking for The Florist. If it has landed on the black market, I may hear about it.”
He strode up to the bookstore and entered it.
Eric scowled. “He has underground contacts? I don’t like the sound of that.”
I thought I’d better switch the subject before the professor landed in jail again. “I need to call Veronica, Bob, and Helen. It will take us a while to get the store in order.”
An hour later, the police were gone. Veronica and Bob had shown up to help shelve books. Helen hadn’t answered her phone. Bob took one look at me and his eyebrows tanked over his nose. “Are you okay?”
A long breath shuddered from my mouth. In a whisper, I said, “Dolly is dead. They think she had a heart attack.”
“What?!” Bob shrieked so loud that it echoed up the stairwell. “What a cruel fate. She finds something worth a lot of money, enough to change her life, and she dies that night?”
I told him about the scrap of paper she held between her fingers.
“Do you think someone threatened her and stole it?”
“I hope that wasn’t the case. Maybe they’ll find it on the floor.”
We all did our best to focus on cleaning up the store. I worked with the professor in the second-floor room dedicated to philosophy and what he liked to call books by and about great thinkers.
I was slightly amused by his lack of urgency. He examined almost every book he handled as though he wanted to read it. Meanwhile, I was just concerned about getting them back in order so we could find them.
When the bulk of them were back in place, I left him to his musings and went downstairs. Bob was just finishing with the special orders.
“Everything is in good condition. I don’t think we’ll need to reorder any of these.”
“Great. I needed some good news.”
“I’m broken up about Dolly.” Bob reached out to hug me. When he stepped back, he wiped tears from his eyes.
Veronica walked up, dusting off her hands. “We have a couple of hours before the store opens. Do you think that’s enough time to meet Mom and Dad for brunch? They might still be there.”
“I forgot all about that. I’m kind of grubby. I’d rather run home and change clothes.”
Veronica suggested that Bob go with her. I would go home to change and stop by the restaurant if time permitted.
It was a glorious summer day, but now that the burglary crisis was over and the adrenaline had worn off, I dragged along the sidewalk thinking of Dolly. My feet felt like they had turned to lead. Nothing would bring Dolly back. I imagined horrible scenarios of someone viciously fighting with her over t
he book.
Lucianne Dumont! What if she had managed to obtain Dolly’s address? It was probably available through land records. The invisible Angie on the other end of Lucianne’s earphone might have even found it online.
Peaches was glad to see me when I unlocked the door. She mewed nonstop as though she was trying to tell me she had been worried by the disruption of our normal schedule.
I showered and changed into a sleeveless dress the color of sea glass. It would be cool for the hot day ahead, and I always thought it gave me an air of professionalism. If more people like van den Teuvel had heard about the book, I might need to look cool and collected, even if I was quivering inside. Who would have thought running a bookstore could put me in this kind of position? I had thought it would be a very calm and peaceful job.
I apologized to Peaches for leaving her at home again. If the press got wind of the story, it could be a zoo at Color Me Read today. Peaches might be better off at home. I filled her bowl with her favorite tuna to make it up to her.
I wouldn’t have much time with my parents, but the restaurant wasn’t far away. Walking back slowly, I thought about Dolly’s last minutes. Heart attacks weren’t uncommon. They could come on quickly, too. But the piece of paper Dolly held in her fingers gave me pause. I was fairly sure it came from The Florist. If Dolly had been looking at the book, maybe even turning a page when the heart attack hit her and she fell to the floor, she could have easily ripped it. But if that was the case, wouldn’t the book still be on the floor or the sofa? I hadn’t noticed it when I looked around. It could have slid under a piece of furniture, I supposed. Even if the scrap of paper came from something else, wouldn’t the rest of the document be somewhere near Dolly’s body?
I didn’t want to think about it, but I couldn’t help going there in my mind. It was the logical conclusion. If the rest of the torn document wasn’t in the room, then someone had ripped it away from Dolly and taken it.
The crowds grew dense as I approached the Georgetown Flea Market, which was doing a brisk business. I didn’t have the time to pause and peruse their wares today, but I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. Across tables laden with china, knickknacks, and paintings, gawky Edgar appeared to be negotiating with a gentleman.
There wasn’t a reason in the world to be suspicious. Edgar was just a student. A guy from out of town taking in one of Georgetown’s fun weekly events.
So why did I feel the need to spy on him? True, students were notoriously poor, but I didn’t know anything about him. He could come from a wealthy family who was footing his expenses. Besides, even if he was in need of money, it didn’t mean he had killed Dolly and stolen The Florist. Maybe he was buying a desk or a reading lamp. Keeping an eye on him, I circled through the tables and tents, drawing ever closer.
At the table where Edgar stood, the vendor was selling books. My heart beat a little bit faster. I scolded myself. Edgar could be in the market for used textbooks, or books in German.
I backed as near as I could in an effort to eavesdrop.
“Sorry, son, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Were they were talking about The Florist?
“Florrie! Florrie!”
Why? Why now?
Norman. Pink, flaccid Norman bumbled toward me. I thought of him as walrus pink, but today he was pinker than usual, almost a flamingo, probably due to the heat. He caught up to me and leaned toward me for a beefy kiss.
In the nick of time, I spun away, avoiding those rubbery lips, ever so reminiscent of plump erasers. “Norman. What are you doing here?”
“We saw you from the restaurant. You looked like you were going in circles, so I offered to show you the way.”
Great. Just great. I glanced toward Edgar, but he had moved on. “Lead the way.”
Reluctantly I followed him into the restaurant to the large table overlooking the flea market where my parents sat with his parents. The last I heard, his mother didn’t want him involved with me, which suited me just fine. Alas, something must have changed her mind. Maybe she couldn’t find anyone else to go out with him.
Veronica was wolfing an omelet and Bob was busy with a breakfast steak and fries.
“We ordered eggs Florentine for you.” Dad pointed at a plate with a cover on it. I slid into the chair next to him, prepared to eat fast.
Norman lifted the cover off my food as though he was waiting on me.
His mother shot me a stern look. “Veronica and Bob have been telling us the most horrific stories about burglars. I thought you Fox girls were through with criminals.”
My eyes met Veronica’s. Why wasn’t Norman infatuated with her like other guys? And then I realized this was my opportunity to get Mrs. Spratt to discourage Norman from being interested in me. I did my best to make it sound terrible. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Spratt. Did Veronica tell you that we found one of our customers murdered last night? And the killer was still there, hiding in the garden!”
My mother gasped, and I felt a twinge of guilt. I would have to make it up to her later.
“And one of the men who broke into the bookstore during the night very nearly attacked me,” I said. “He jumped from the second floor. If the police hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened.”
Bob and Veronica quit eating and stared at me. But I ate ravenously, keeping an eye on my watch.
“This is what comes of dating a policeman,” said Mrs. Spratt. “It wouldn’t happen with a nice man like our Norman.”
That was entirely unfair, of course. I had to say something. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t? “Eric had nothing to do with it. Those things would have happened anyway.”
“He did come to her rescue, though. That’s one of the perks of having a boyfriend who’s a cop.” Veronica smiled at me.
“Maybe you should think about finding employment elsewhere,” suggested my mom. “The store is so lovely, but odd things happen there.”
They all spoke at once.
In the din, my dad leaned over to me and whispered in my ear. “Was that for the benefit of Mrs. Spratt?”
“You bet.”
He shook his head. “And to think that you’re my quiet, bookish daughter.” But a slight smile crept over his lips, and I knew he was teasing me.
Veronica, Bob, and I apologized to everyone, excused ourselves, and rushed out the door.
I was very glad to leave Norman behind, but I tried to send Veronica and Bob ahead.
Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “No way. What are you up to?”
I looked at my watch. “Okay then come with me, but we’ll have to hurry.”
They followed me through the crowd to the vendor who was selling old books. I was frantically trying to figure out how I could get him to tell me what Edgar had wanted. I couldn’t exactly come right out and ask him that, could I? I smiled at him as brightly as I could. “Hi! I’m looking for a book called The Florist.”
The portly guy looked at me in surprise and I feared I had done the wrong thing by asking about the book.
“The coloring book?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Funny, you’re the second person today to ask about it. I’m gonna have to find a copy of that book.”
“Oh?” I positioned my purse so that it hid my left hand and nonexistent wedding band. “That might have been my husband. Slender with old-fashioned glasses?”
“Now look here. I’m not spoiling a husband’s surprise. I’ve been married forty years, and I know better than that.” He winked at me. “Let’s just say I’ll be looking for a copy.”
I thanked him and walked away with Bob and Veronica, who promptly asked, “Your husband? What was that about?”
I explained about having seen Edgar speaking with the man. “At least it tells me one thing. Edgar was asking about the book.”
We rushed through the Sunday morning brunch crowds on our way back to Color Me Read.
The store was silent and a little
bit creepy when we opened the door. But within half an hour, it became a different world. Sunday browsers clustered inside, children ran by me clutching books, and the ever-present classical music played soothingly in the background. It was as though nothing untoward had happened. I felt as though a cloud of gloomy gray surrounded me as I strode through the happy bustle.
But word had begun to spread and it wasn’t long before members of the Hues, Brews, and Clues coloring club began to filter in looking for confirmation of the rumors they had heard.
Nolan arrived first. He gazed around and helped himself to a cup of coffee. “I heard about Dolly. I know it’s not our regular coloring day, but I’m too restless to sit around my office, and I don’t feel like being alone today.”
“That’s understandable. Everyone grieves in different ways. We’re happy to have you hang out here with us.”
“I never imagined anything like this. She was younger than me. Far too young to die.”
He had barely finished speaking when Edgar loped in. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn’t know Dolly for very long. How can I feel such a loss? I’ve been wandering around Georgetown all day. It’s just too depressing to be at the brownstone right now.”
Edgar must not have seen me at the flea market. Or was he acting like he didn’t know I had been there? He certainly hadn’t been teary then. “You’re both always welcome at Color Me Read,” I assured them, leading them to the parlor. “We’re all depressed about Dolly, too.”
Other members of the group filtered in one by one. They spoke softly and the mood was somber. Not the best thing for the store, but I felt we owed it to Dolly.
I sent Bob out for pastries that people could nibble on while they talked.
Veronica joined me behind the counter. “Did Dolly have a history of heart problems?”
“That’s a good question. I don’t know.”
She intercepted a little boy and his mother before they wandered into the parlor. “Do you like giraffes?” She led them past the parlor to the children’s book room.
I had just answered the phone when a gaunt man walked into the store. The skin on his face was so taut that it was concave beneath his cheekbones. His blue eyes flitted around, as if he was taking stock of the store.