The Coloring Crook

by Krista Davis

  “Now that Nolan’s laid up, I suppose he won’t be finding you a new place to live.”

  “There’s another thing that keeps me from sleeping. Maisie has given us our notice. We were in a month-to-month lease with Dolly. We had lived there so long. I never gave any thought to what would happen if Dolly died. Anyway, we have to be out in a matter of weeks.”

  “Zsazsa’s apartment is coming available. But it’s a one-bedroom.”

  “Too bad. That’s a nice building. To be honest, I think it might be time for Priss and me to leave Washington. It’s gotten so expensive here. Our incomes would go a lot further in the suburbs or in some small town.”

  “I hope you change your mind about that. We’d miss you.”

  “Nothing is settled yet. Dolly would never have imagined the number of people impacted by her death.”

  After she left, it was a quiet morning at Color Me Read. I had a thousand things to do, but I couldn’t get Dolly and Zsazsa out of my head.

  I stood at the checkout counter, doodling a picture of Zsazsa with a slate-blue colored pencil. Her dramatic eye makeup came first. I had known her for years. She and Goldblum were close friends of Professor Maxwell. They spent countless hours in deep and fascinating discussions with him at the store. She was kind, and interesting, and charming. I doodled her hair, which wasn’t the same in blue. Her hair was the color of sugar maple leaves in the fall, glowing in the afternoon sun. Funny how different she looked without that burst of color on her head.

  This was the first time I had seen her afraid of anything. I would be scared of going to jail, too.

  But as I drew her mouth, I couldn’t help wondering if she could possibly have murdered her friend. I wasn’t under the impression that Zsazsa needed money. Had they argued over The Florist? Which one of them actually found the book at the estate sale? Was it possible that Zsazsa felt she was entitled to the book? Money drove people mad and caused them to do unimaginable things.

  But the lips I had doodled on Zsazsa smiled at me, and I was convinced that she would never have murdered Dolly.

  “That’s a pretty good likeness.”

  Eric’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts. “Thanks.”

  “How’s she doing today?”

  “Feeling better.”

  “I stopped by because they have some preliminary information about the skeleton in Dolly’s house. It was definitely a man, about five feet, ten inches tall. Most likely he died as a result of a broken neck. It’s hard to tell if he broke his neck falling into that wall or if someone stuffed him in there.”

  “I don’t have any doubt about that. How could someone fall into a wall?”

  “There’s a case in Texas where something similar happened. There was a rotten floorboard and they think it gave way and she slid down into the wall.”

  I shot him a look of disbelief. “As improbable as that sounds, in our case, the man would have had to fall into the wall from a hole in the roof. I drew a rough sketch of the roof and the wall. So he was on top of the roof, it gave way, and he happened to fall behind the bookcase, breaking his neck in the process. And in all the years he was there, no one ever noticed there was a hole in the roof? Not to mention the smell.”

  Eric threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t say it was logical. I just said that it had happened somewhere else.”

  “I believe the cops need to rethink that theory. In any event, I don’t believe that’s what happened here. Do they have any idea when he died?”

  “The house dates back to the 1800s, but the bones are modern. Oddly enough, it’s the remains of the shoes that are the biggest clues. They were a brand and style that were sold around twenty years ago. Give or take five years and that’s the time frame.”

  My hopes sank. “Then he was probably hidden there when Dolly owned the house.”

  “I know she was a friend of yours, but I can’t help wondering if he wasn’t a tenant whom she killed.”

  “Good heavens! Like Arsenic and Old Lace?”

  He tilted his head. “In a way, I guess. But this victim wasn’t poisoned as far as we can ascertain at this time.”

  “Does Maisie know yet?”

  “Someone from homicide is going over to talk with her. I wanted to tell you before wild rumors start.”

  “I still can’t imagine Dolly as a murderer.”

  “There’s the possibility that her husband did it.”

  “That would be more plausible. Maisie isn’t very likeable, but I keep feeling sorry for her. I just can’t imagine how horrible it would be for my mom to be murdered and then discover that she had hidden a body behind a wall. My head would spin. I would have to rethink everything I had known to be true.”

  Eric nodded. “She didn’t like her mother to begin with. This takes everything to a whole new level.”

  “Eric, I heard what happened to Detective Holberstein.”

  “He went through a very tough time.”

  “Do you think he’s ready to get back to work?”

  His eyebrows jumped. “It’s very kind of you to be worried about him.”

  “That would be nice of me, but I’m more concerned about Zsazsa and Dolly. Zsazsa didn’t murder anyone. They’ve got nothing on her. I saw the dumpster. Anyone could have thrown out antifreeze there.”

  “You went and looked at the dumpster?”

  “I happened to be over there getting clothes for Zsazsa. I’m worried that Holberstein will take the easiest route instead of performing a thorough investigation.”

  “The sad fact is that the easiest route, the one where everything fits together, is often what happened.”

  “Are you saying you think Zsazsa murdered Dolly?” I was appalled.

  “I’m trying to tell you that Holberstein is a professional who will do his best.”

  “That’s so not true,” I cried. “You should have been there when he talked with me. I honestly don’t think he understands the importance of The Florist. He acted like I was talking about some mass-produced children’s coloring book.”

  Eric laid his hand on my arm. “Let’s give Holberstein a chance. Okay?” He shot me a funny look. “Your mother called me.”

  “What?” Oh no! What was she up to now?

  “There’s a concert in the park on Saturday night. Your mom’s bringing a picnic dinner and asked me along.” Eric forced a smile, but his eyes narrowed as though he wasn’t sure about it. “Thought I’d better walk it by you first.”

  Why was I the last to know about this? Why hadn’t she called and told me about the concert? I must have shown my irritation because Eric began to chuckle.

  “I gather this is all news to you? It was nice of her to invite me. But if you’d rather I didn’t go . . .”

  “Of course, I want you to go. I only wish she had told me first.”

  “Maybe we should keep our mothers apart for a while. There’s no telling what they might do if they got together.” I reached across the counter and high-fived with him.

  A customer approached the counter with a stack of books on World War II.

  I waved to Eric as he left. We had only been dating for a month. It was far too soon for my mother to be so involved. While I rang up the sale, I debated whether I should talk to Veronica first to find out what was up.

  But no sooner had I finished than Edgar sauntered into the store. He browsed around for a while, but I noticed that he kept looking at me. He finally sidled up to the checkout counter. Tilting his head bashfully, he said, “I understand we’re married.”

  Chapter 21

  I hadn’t expected that. My breath caught in my throat. “Ohhh, you must have talked to the guy from the flea market. I guess I deserved that.” I managed to choke out, “I understand you’re not a student.”

  Edgar’s face went as pale as paste. “Could we talk? Somewhere else?”

  I tried to think of a very public place. “Sure. How about the café across the street?” I didn’t know his financial status, so I quickly
added, “My treat.”

  “At noon?”

  “That sounds great.”

  At exactly five minutes before twelve, I asked Bob and Veronica to mind the store. I crossed the street and found a table in the window as I had hoped. Very public, but not so close to other tables that everyone would hear us. I ordered an iced tea to sip while I waited.

  I studied the bookstore from my vantage point. It was amazing to me that the guy who had jumped on the awning hadn’t ripped through it. There had been two of them. Did van den Teuvel have a partner? Or had he and Orso broken in to Color Me Read at the same time? That didn’t make sense. It had to have been a team of people.

  Time ticked by. I checked my watch entirely too often and was beginning to feel like I had been stood up on a date.

  By the time twenty minutes had passed, I was sorely irritated. Other people didn’t go by the clock as precisely as I did, but I had waited long enough.

  I paid my check and walked out quite miffed with Edgar. When I crossed the street, a bicycle delivery guy zoomed past me, nearly hit a woman, and crashed into a car. People ran to help him, but I turned and power-walked down the street. What if something had happened to Edgar?

  The day was hot and humid, typical summer weather for Washington, DC, but lousy conditions for rushing. I slowed to a walk. The brownstone appeared tranquil as I approached it. It had been foolish of me to imagine that something might be wrong with Edgar.

  I slowed down but continued to Dolly’s house anyway. I knocked on the outside door that led to the basement. “Edgar?”

  There was no answer.

  I huffed. He stood me up, and now I had imagined terrible things when the truth was that he wasn’t even home. He probably forgot all about it and went somewhere else. I had turned to leave when I heard something crash inside.

  “Edgar?” I shouted. I tried the doorknob. It twisted easily.

  I pulled my phone from my purse and held it at the ready in case I needed to call 911. With the other hand, I pushed the door open slowly, worried about what I might see.

  At first I couldn’t make out much. My eyes had to adjust. The underground apartment had windows, but coming from the bright summer sun, it seemed dark.

  It appeared to be a compact apartment. I was looking at a combination living and dining room. I guessed the kitchen and bathroom were toward the rear. I listened quietly. Could the sound have come from upstairs?

  I heard another thud. There was no way I was going inside. “Edgar? Are you all right?” I shouted.

  Still standing in the doorway, I dialed 911 but felt foolish when I told the dispatcher, “I think something is wrong because the door was unlocked, and I can hear thuds inside.”

  She was nice about it and promised to send a car by to check on the situation.

  I was looking down at my phone when someone wearing a baseball cap plowed into me with his head down like a bull.

  I flew airborne for a couple of feet and landed on my back, momentarily stunned. I had heard about people having the wind knocked out of them, but I had never experienced it before that moment. I lay on my back gasping and hoping nothing was broken.

  By the time I sat up and looked for the guy who had flattened me, he was long gone.

  Feeling creaky and sore, I managed to get to my feet. “Edgar?”

  The door was still open. I peered inside. “Edgar?”

  Someone whimpered. Edgar sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. I wished I were hearing the siren on a police car. I was leery about going inside.

  My cell phone lay on the ground where it had fallen. The glass on it was cracked in a starburst pattern. I picked it up and pushed the button to call 911 again. Nothing happened. It was dead.

  “Edgar,” I called, “is anyone else in there with you?”

  He sniffled and shook his head.

  I debated. The easiest thing to do would be to run upstairs in the hope Priss, Olivia, or Maisie was home. Not that they were strong, but they could call 911 again and they would be good backup if someone else was hiding in Edgar’s apartment.

  I looked at him again. There was something so pathetic about his appearance that I didn’t feel I should leave him alone at that moment. Had he been through some kind of trauma?

  I propped the door open with a footstool in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. Holding my breath, I entered the apartment with great caution. “Where’s your phone?”

  Edgar still sat on the floor. I kneeled beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Lock the door,” he whispered.

  That made me uneasy. Edgar could be Dolly’s killer or there could be someone else in the apartment. I wasn’t taking any chances. In case anyone could hear us, I said in a loud voice, “The police are on the way. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “He’ll come back. Lock the door,” he wailed.

  “Let’s go outside. We’ll be safer out there.” Edgar’s glasses lay on the floor. I picked them up and handed them to him. “Where is your cell phone?”

  He looked around the room and shivered. Was he in shock?

  “Florrie?”

  I was thrilled to hear Eric’s voice. Part of me wanted to run to him and moan about being knocked down. But Edgar was in far worse shape than me. “In here, Eric.”

  Eric stepped inside. “What’s going on?”

  Edgar didn’t say a word. I nudged him a little bit. I was close enough to see tearstains and fear on Edgar’s face. “Tell Eric what happened. Who was that?”

  Edgar swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. He knocked on my door and when I opened it, he burst inside.” In a tiny voice he said, “I thought I was going to die.”

  “Was he alone?” asked Eric.

  “As far as I know. He tried to choke me.” Edgar whimpered and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I thought my mother would never know what happened to me. I would disappear and never be heard from again, just like my dad.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that Edgar had been through a harrowing experience.

  Eric walked past us and down a hallway that I suspected led to the kitchen. After checking out the closet and bathroom, he returned. “What did he want?”

  I stood up. “Maybe I should let you talk with Edgar alone.”

  “No!” Edgar fastened his fingers on my arms like talons. “Don’t leave me. Please, Florrie. Don’t leave me alone!”

  “All right. It’s okay. Relax, I won’t go anywhere.”

  Behind Edgar’s back, I made a bewildered face at Eric.

  Eric crouched. “Let’s see your neck.”

  He took a closer look and nodded. “You better get that checked out. What did he say to you?”

  “He asked, ‘Where is it? Where is it?’” babbled Edgar.

  “The Florist?” I asked.

  Edgar shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. He never mentioned it by name.”

  “Why would he think you had The Florist?” Chills ran down my spine. Had Edgar murdered Dolly? I was glad Eric was present.

  “I don’t know. I’m confused. I . . . I was so scared that I didn’t know what to say.” He turned his head to look at me. “Why? Why would he threaten me? I don’t have any money.”

  Eric continued to ask him questions while I untangled myself from Edgar’s clutch. I wandered around the room being shamelessly nosy. After all, Zsazsa and Professor Goldblum thought he was lying about being a student. I didn’t see any textbooks. Maybe he took notes on his computer? It had been a while since I was in school, but I didn’t see many books at all. He had a map of Washington on the dining table, along with a list of antiques stores.

  And then my breath caught in my throat. A photo lay on the table. It showed a remarkably handsome man standing on the stoop of Dolly’s house. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that it was the same house. The iron gate and fence were in the front and the windows matched, right up to the dormer on the third floor. Something was slightly off, though. I had to stu
dy it for a moment before I realized that the vegetation was smaller. The tree in the front wasn’t nearly as large as it was now.

  I flipped it over, hoping to find a date. Nothing was written on the back. Still, it was odd that Edgar had a photo of the house from years before. Maybe Dolly had given it to him?

  Eric was making notes. “You’re sure you had never seen him before?”

  “Positive. He wore a baseball cap pulled down low over his face. I’ll never forget his voice. I used to like English accents, but this was like the devil himself.”

  “British?” I walked over to them. “Are you certain?”

  “Did you see him, Florrie?” asked Eric.

  I told Eric about the man ramming into me. “I didn’t see his face at all. But there is one person who wants The Florist and has a very distinct English accent—Frederic van den Teuvel.”

  “Could it have been the man who was following Edgar? Jack Miller?” whispered Eric.

  I didn’t want to think that. A lot of people could do an excellent English accent, but I hoped it wasn’t Jack. Still, I understood why he might think that. Then again, Jack had been following Edgar. “I didn’t see his face, but that’s probably a good bet.”

  “Maybe you should get checked out, too. Let me see your eyes.”

  I walked behind Edgar so he wouldn’t see me.

  “Florrie!” Eric was annoyed.

  I flashed the photograph at him.

  He followed me. “Stop that and look at me. Hmm, pupils look okay. Still, that kind of fall is nothing to mess around with. Do you have a headache?”

  The only thing annoying me at that moment was his refusal to pay attention to the photograph in my hand. “I’m fine.” I held the picture up to his nose so he couldn’t avoid seeing it.

  He gazed at it for a minute, flipped it over, and examined the back. “Let’s get an EMT crew in here.”

  Eric radioed in. When he was finished, he asked Edgar if he could stand up.

  Aside from the marks on his neck, it seemed to me that most of Edgar’s wounds were psychological. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand up, he was just too scared to.

  Eric helped him to the sofa and asked for his driver’s license. “Edgar Delaney,” he read aloud. He showed him the photograph. “Want to tell us about this?”