by Krista Davis
* * *
I took Peaches to work with me again in the morning. She walked to the store eagerly. Maybe she liked being with people all day long instead of hanging around home alone. I went through my routine of opening the store, poured a cup of coffee for the professor, and walked upstairs with Peaches racing ahead.
But Professor Maxwell wasn’t there. It wasn’t like him at all.
When I returned to the first floor, Veronica had arrived. The advantage to having a sister who is not only a knockout but immensely popular is that by high school you develop a well-honed ability to recognize the people who want to use you.
So when Percy showed up at Color Me Read wearing a brown short-sleeved shirt covered with the Gucci monogram, I knew something was up. After all, he was the one who had said no one wanted to buy books anymore.
He walked in somewhat tentatively. That should have come as no surprise to me. He found himself in a land where books were prized. They were the big feature. It must have felt foreign to him. When he saw me, he smiled. Chill bumps ran along my arms.
“I’m looking for Florence Fox.”
I was tempted to say that no such person worked in the store. Florrie wasn’t short for Florence. But that would have been unkind and silly. “I’m Florrie Fox.”
“I heard you were cute.”
Ugh. He was trying to kiss up to me. “How may I help you?”
“I heard . . .”
At that very moment, Veronica walked by with an armful of books to change out the window display for the upcoming signing.
Percy’s gaze followed Veronica all the way to the window.
He turned back to me. “I was told that you authenticated a coloring book called The Florist?”
“I wouldn’t say I authenticated it. I’m not an expert, but it appeared to me to be an original copy.”
He leaned against the checkout counter and gave me a sideways look that I thought was supposed to be flirtatious. “This isn’t the best place to talk. I’d like to get to know you better. How about having dinner with me tonight at Porcino? It’s impossible to get a table on short notice, but they know me there.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He was well-known at a restaurant called pig? With enormous relief, I said, “Thank you for your kind invitation, but I’m seeing someone.”
He straightened up. “You’re kidding.”
I should have been insulted, but I laughed at him. He wasn’t good at this. I stepped out of my polite bookstore manager shoes for a moment. “I think we both realize that you’re not here to date me. And I know you don’t buy books. What is it that you want?”
He held up his palms. “Okay. I can see that you are all business. As a man of industry myself, I can appreciate that. He took out a checkbook. “How about a little business transaction between the two of us?”
There were two things in the world that I was certain about at that moment. The first was that I would never take a check from Percy, even if he forgot himself and wanted to buy books. The second was that there wasn’t a business transaction of any kind that I would be willing to enter into with him. “This is a bookstore. If you would like to buy books, I would be delighted to sell them to you. We don’t take checks.”
“Gotcha.” He winked and pointed his index finger at me. “I understand what you’re saying.” He left the desk, sidled up to Veronica, and said something that made her giggle.
Zsazsa and Professor Goldblum hurried into the store.
“We need to speak with you,” said Zsazsa.
“Privately,” added Goldblum.
“I’m almost finished here. I’ll meet you upstairs?” They nodded their agreement and stopped by the coffee to help themselves.
Percy returned with two books from the show window. He handed me a dark dystopian detective book and a mystery by a Swedish author written in the original Swedish.
“You read Swedish?” I inquired.
“Is that what that is?”
Had I been a meaner person, I would have rung them up. Instead, I set them aside. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”
Percy took a deep breath and for the first time, I thought the real guy was speaking to me. “Look, I sold The Florist at an estate sale by mistake.”
“I was there.”
“Funny, I don’t remember you.”
No kidding.
“The woman who bought it has died and no one can find the book. The woman who hired me to arrange the estate sale is going to sue me for the value of the book, which is apparently a small fortune. I don’t have that kind of money.” He pointed at me with his whole hand. “Since you’re the one who identified it as being old”—he flicked his pen on his checkbook—“I thought maybe we could enter into an arrangement that would change your recollection of the book?”
“You’re asking me to lie about it?”
“No!” His eyes blinked open wide. “I would never ask that. Perish the thought! I’m just saying that maybe for one hun . . .”
I shook my head.
“One thou . . .”
I shook my head again.
“What’s your price?”
I took a deep breath of air and shook my head.
“Oh, come on. I would do this for you.”
Now I couldn’t help laughing out loud. “No, you wouldn’t. You can put your checkbook and pen away. There is no amount of money that would bribe me to lie about this.”
His mouth twitched back and forth and for just a second, I thought I saw a flicker of tears coming on. He was very stressed about the lawsuit. Not that I could blame him.
“If I find the book and bring it in to show you, will you authenticate it for me?”
Did he have the book? Or know where it was? That didn’t compute. If he had it, he could hand it over to Ms. Dumont and solve his problem with the lawsuit. I didn’t think that would be legal, but if he had it, that was the least of his legal problems. “Sure,” I lied, hoping he still thought I was an authority even though I wasn’t. “If you bring the book in, I will tell you what I think.” I omitted mentioning that he would still have to have it properly authenticated. After all, if he brought it in, he would be the number one suspect in Dolly’s death.
He started to leave but turned back. “Where do you think it is?”
Was he pretending he didn’t know? I didn’t want to say something out of turn that could interfere with the police investigation. I told him the truth. “Dolly was holding it the last time I saw it.”
“And where exactly was that?”
“Here. In the bookstore.”
“So it’s probably in her apartment . . .”
I had no idea why he drew that conclusion, but I didn’t bother correcting him. If he didn’t have it or know where it was, maybe he would find it when he put Dolly’s possessions up for sale. But that still wouldn’t solve his problems, because as far as I knew, it still rightly belonged to the estate of Dolly Cavanaugh.
The second he left, Veronica rushed over to me. “What did he want?”
“He wants me to lie about The Florist. Apparently, he was engaged to Maisie at one time.”
“No kidding? I don’t know why I’m surprised, he’s so dreamy!”
“Veronica, he’s a worm.”
“You’re exaggerating. I think he’s sweet. How can you resist those deep brown eyes?”
“Eww. How is it possible for you to be attracted to someone like him? He has no brain.”
“You’d be interested in him if you didn’t have cute Sergeant Jonquille hanging around.”
As if mere mention of his name made him materialize, Eric walked into the bookstore.
“I can assure you 100 percent that I wouldn’t be attracted to Percy if he were the last hope for mankind to survive.”
“Let’s hope earth doesn’t devolve to that point! So these are the famous flowers,” said Eric. “Did this Percy person send them?”
“I very seriously doubt it.” I leaned across th
e checkout desk for a kiss.
Eric pecked me on the lips. “Impressive arrangement.”
Veronica did not help at all by gushing over them like they were the Hope diamond. “Florrie just won’t tell us who her admirer is.”
If she hadn’t been on the other side of the checkout counter, I would have bumped her in the shin to shut her up. “They’re probably from some nice old lady whom I helped in the store and don’t even remember.”
“Like we’d believe that,” Veronica teased.
The two of them gazed at me as though waiting for me to confess. “I don’t know who they’re from, and it doesn’t matter. Someone did something nice for me, and I appreciate it.”
“Jack Miller.” Eric, who always took everything in stride, said Jack’s name glumly.
“Who’s that?” asked Veronica.
Eric glanced at me before turning to Veronica. “You don’t know him?”
Ohhh. This was getting me into so much trouble. Hastily, I said, “Veronica was busy at the time Jack came in. And he was here very briefly. The fact that I didn’t mention him to Veronica should prove to you how insignificant his presence was.”
There. That should do it. I smiled at them.
I could see on Eric’s face that he wasn’t buying it. “A detective from homicide should be by today to question the two of you. Nothing to be worried about. Just tell him what happened the way you told me.”
“Should we have an attorney present?” asked Veronica.
“Not unless you were involved in Dolly’s death.”
Veronica play-punched him.
“He may ask for a list of the members of the coloring club.”
Veronica nodded. “I’ll get that ready for him. Are they suspects?”
“Probably not. But they might know something. In the meantime, I’d better get back on my beat.” He winked at me when he said, “Stay away from that Jack Miller.”
But before he made it out the door, Goldblum jogged down the stairs. “Are you coming, Florrie? Hey! I didn’t know Sergeant Jonquille was here. Bring him up here with you.”
“What’s that about?” Veronica gazed up the stairs at Goldblum.
“I have no idea.”
My sister grinned at me. “You seem to be pleading that to a lot of things. Like the man who sent the flowers.”
“You can stop that now. But stay away from Percy. He’s trouble.”
“Bad boys can be fun sometimes.”
Where did she get such crazy notions?
“We’ll be upstairs.” Eric and I rushed up to meet with Zsazsa and Professor Goldblum.
When we walked into the room, they simultaneously said, “Close the door.”
Chapter 18
Eric closed the door behind us.
“We have news.” Zsazsa motioned for me to sit down. “The young man, Edgar, is not a student.”
“Edgar? Dolly’s tenant?” asked Eric.
Zsazsa explained her concern that he didn’t understand German.
“He’s not even enrolled.” Goldblum lowered his voice and looked at Eric when he said, “I still have some connections.”
“Maybe he’s planning to enroll in the fall,” I suggested.
“Applications for the fall term have closed.” Zsazsa shook her head. “He is not in the department of German and European Studies. I knew it!”
“There are other universities in this town,” Eric pointed out.
“An excellent observation. None of them have a graduate program in German and European Studies,” said Goldblum with great satisfaction.
“We need to see his driver’s license or the registration on his car.” Goldblum looked at me eagerly. “To find out who he really is. Maybe his name isn’t Edgar Delaney.”
“Why would he claim to be a student?” I wondered aloud.
“It’s an easy cover.” Eric pulled out his little notebook and wrote something. “Most people don’t happen to run into retired professors who would ask them questions in German. Maybe he thought that department would be an easy bluff. I’ll pass this information along to homicide.”
Goldblum scowled when Eric left. “That was certainly anticlimactic.”
Zsazsa ticked items off on her fingers as she spoke. “He claims he’s from Ohio. He has no apparent good reason to be in Washington. He lied about being a student. And he lives in Dolly’s house. Isn’t that enough to suspect him?”
Goldblum paced the floor. He came to an abrupt halt. “We should search his apartment.”
“Whoa.” I held up my palms. “That’s definitely illegal. No breaking and entering. Not even the police can do that. They would have to get a warrant.”
“But Maisie wouldn’t. Can’t the owner of the building go into the tenants’ apartments?” Zsazsa cocked her head.
“I want to find Dolly’s murderer as much as anyone else, but I don’t want to land in jail, nor do I want that to happen to the two of you. Besides, I don’t think you’ll find Maisie to be very cooperative.”
I heard Veronica shouting my name. “I’d better get back to work. Please don’t go getting into trouble.” I left the room and scrambled down the stairs expecting to find Veronica with an irate customer.
The man with her could have been Santa Claus had he worn red and added a white beard. He was clean-shaven, with a head of fluffy white hair and a belly that wouldn’t need any stuffing. His sport coat hung open. I suspected that it wouldn’t close over his abdomen.
“This is—” began Veronica.
The man interrupted her. Flashing a badge, he said, “Detective Lieutenant Holberstein. I’d like to speak to each of you individually.”
“You go ahead,” I said to Veronica. “The professor is out if you want to use his office.”
Veronica led the way upstairs, looking terrified.
In less than fifteen minutes, she came back. “Your turn.”
“How did it go?”
She shrugged. “I felt like I was boring him. I gave him the list of Hues, Brews, and Clues members like Eric suggested, and he didn’t even look at it. He just folded it and stuck it into his pocket.”
A few minutes later, I understood what she meant. I had explained how we found Dolly and told him about the skeleton in her wall and The Florist.
“A coloring book,” he said in dull disbelief.
“It’s a rare book from the 1700s,” I explained.
“O-kay,” he sang in two tones. “Thank you, Ms. Fox. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
He stood up and slowly walked down the stairs. I followed him and watched as he ambled out the door.
Veronica was ringing up a sale for a woman.
“Was that Detective Holberstein?” asked the customer. “He looks awful. I suppose it’s no wonder.”
Veronica must have smelled gossip. “Do you know him?”
“Not very well but I heard what happened. Such a shame. I thought for sure that he would retire. He must be counting the days.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“He had major heart surgery. Must have been about a year ago now. I understand it was touch and go for a while. On the day of his operation, his wife and son were on their way to the hospital when a poorly secured load of metal tubes on a truck came loose on the beltway and went straight through their windshield. In a split second, he lost his entire family.”
Veronica and I shared a look. No wonder he had been so lethargic and uninterested.
“I understand he sort of gave up on life after that. Who could blame him?” The customer tsked loudly. “You ladies have a great day.”
The second the door shut, Veronica said, “If we don’t do something, Dolly’s murder will go unsolved.”
“Maybe he doesn’t work alone. I’ll ask Eric.”
“I feel so sorry for him. But Dolly matters, too. And how do we know that her killer won’t poison somebody else if he’s not caught?”
I agreed with her entirely. I didn’t think that Detective H
olberstein had it in him to care anymore.
* * *
At 8:41 that night, my phone rang. Zsazsa sounded completely hysterical. She was always in control and self-composed. I had never heard her like this. Words spilled out of her in a crazy mix that made no sense.
“Zsazsa, I need you to calm down. Speak slowly.”
“They are here. They think I killed Dolly.”
“Who?” I asked. “Where are you?”
She whispered, “I have to go. They’re taking me to the police station. Florrie, you must help me. I beg of you!”
The line went dead.
Chapter 19
I wasn’t sure whom to call first, Professor Maxwell or Eric. In the end, while I slid on sandals and was grabbing my purse, it was Professor Maxwell whom I phoned. Zsazsa was an old friend of his. Unless I missed my guess, she needed a lawyer, and the professor would be able to roust one on short notice.
Mr. DuBois answered the phone. “This had better be important. True Tales of Evil is on TV.”
When I told him about Zsazsa’s phone call, he changed his tune. “Maxwell isn’t home. To be honest, I’m worried about him. He has completely abandoned his normal schedule. He’s out and about at odd hours. I shall try to reach him on his cell phone, but don’t hold your breath. Most of the time he does not answer.”
I hung up, got into my car, and drove to the Second District station. When I parked, I called Eric and explained the situation as I ran into the building.
Of course, they didn’t let me see Zsazsa. Only a lawyer would be able to talk with her. I waited impatiently, walking in circles. I had dealt with Professor Maxwell’s attorney before. I checked my phone. Strickland, Wheeler, and Erba was still listed under my contacts. Because the professor was an important client, I had the direct number to Ms. Strickland. Zsazsa probably couldn’t afford her fee, but in my panic, I phoned her anyway.
Ms. Strickland promised to send someone over. When I hung up, I made one last desperate call to Professor Goldblum. He and Zsazsa were old friends. Maybe he could do something for her.
The wait dragged on. Half an hour passed. Forty-five never-ending slow minutes passed. Business went on as usual at the station house. Only those of us who waited for news were agitated.