by Krista Davis
In case Eric’s parents were there when I went to collect him, I made a point of wearing my favorite lavender dress that I thought brought out the green in my eyes. Not that they would care, but it made me feel like I was putting my best foot forward, and it didn’t have any blood stains on it. Besides, the reading of the Dumont book was that evening and who knew if I would have a chance to change clothes before then?
I drove over to the hospital, hoping the doctor had okayed Eric’s release. I dreaded the whole thing. All I wanted to do was curl up at home with a book and Peaches. That wasn’t possible because I had to work. Still, in a perfect world, that’s what I would have done. Clearly, my world wasn’t perfect. Why had I put myself in this position? This was the time to walk away from Eric. To leave him to his fiancée. We hadn’t been dating long. It didn’t matter how much I liked him or how lovely he had been to me. For all I knew, maybe he was like that to everyone.
But I parked my car in the hospital garage, braced my shoulders, and took the elevator up to Eric’s floor. A small crowd had gathered outside his room and a nurse was trying her best to shoo them all into the waiting room.
As I drew closer, I recognized his weary mom and dad, the dreaded Rebecca, and the two cops from the parking lot the night before. “Good morning. It looks like Eric is having a party.”
The nurse turned to me. “Rules are rules. I’m sorry but we cannot have all of you here.”
Eric’s mother and one of the cops said, “Hi, Florrie.”
The nurse’s eyes brightened. “You’re Florrie? You may go in. Everyone else to the waiting room.”
Eric was sitting up in bed. “Thank goodness you’re here. I love my mother, but she’s been smothering me with love since I woke up. Can you get me out of this joint?”
“Has the doctor signed your release?”
“He’s supposed to be doing that right now.” Eric ripped the tape off his arm and slid the IV needle out.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”
“Hand me my clothes?”
I really couldn’t blame him. As upset as I was about Rebecca—and why exactly was she here again this morning?—I could relate to his desire to escape the hospital. I hoped we could at least remain friends. Handing him fresh clothes that someone, probably his mom, had neatly hung up, I asked, “Are you sure you want to come with me?”
Eric had swung his legs over the side of the bed. One was wrapped in bandages. He stopped and looked at me. “I would be a pest at your place. You think my mom should take care of me?”
I was horrified that my initial reaction to his question was to think that if he went home with his mom, Rebecca would be with him constantly. Was I turning into one of those terrible women who played games? I chose my words carefully. “Not at all. I only want you to be comfortable.”
He blew a huge breath of air out of his mouth. “Thanks, Florrie. I’d much rather be here with you.”
I was basking in the glow of his words when the nurse returned. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going home.”
“You didn’t know that you’re not supposed to disconnect yourself from your IV?”
“You should be glad. Now you don’t have to do it.”
Under her breath, the nurse said to me, “It’s probably a sign that he’s feeling well. But I pity you, honey. Try to keep him off that leg.” She handed me a stack of papers with instructions on them and, in a regular tone so he could hear, she rattled off what he was supposed to do. “Mainly, I want you to bring him to a doctor if it looks worse. And make sure he takes those antibiotics. He tried to weasel out of them this morning.”
The nurse tried to coax him into a wheelchair. I wasn’t getting in the middle of that argument. “I’ll go get the car.”
I scurried by the waiting room and fetched the car from the garage. When I pulled up at the front door to collect Eric, he was standing on one crutch surrounded by his parents, his cop friends, and Rebecca.
His dad helped him into the passenger seat while his mom whispered to me.
“Please call me a couple of times a day to let me know how he’s doing. I know he’ll try to make it sound like he’s back to normal no matter what is really happening.” She reached out and hugged me. “I’m so glad he has you to help him.”
Rebecca wasn’t as warm. She glided toward me like an iceberg and whispered, “You may have won this round, but the war has just begun.”
Lovely. I slid into the driver’s seat and closed my door to get away from her.
The cops were joking with Eric, but made a point of saying they would retrieve clothes and necessities from his apartment and bring them to the carriage house. That would delight Mr. DuBois. Three police officers hanging out behind the mansion would be like a dream come true to him.
I was relieved to see Veronica’s car parked at the carriage house. She hadn’t forgotten that she had to open the store for me. Happily, Eric had no trouble limping inside with one crutch.
“I don’t need this thing.” He stashed it in a corner before settling on the sofa.
Peaches wasted no time making him welcome. I brought him a mug of coffee and some snacks. After making sure he had his phone and a throw in case he grew chilly and wanted it for a nap, I was off to Color Me Read.
So much had happened that it was hard to focus. I tried to force myself to think about the event that evening instead of Eric. The doctor had said he would be fine. As for Rebecca, that conversation would simply have to wait.
Veronica and Helen asked about Eric immediately. I assured them he would be okay.
“Thanks for being nice to Percy last night,” said Veronica, giving me a hug.
“Sure.” I glanced at my watch. “Is it really twenty past one? We need to get going.”
The rest of the afternoon was consumed by preparations for the reading that night. We brought chairs up from the basement and arranged them in rows in the parlor where Don Moosbacher would read from his book. Veronica placed stacks of the book on the checkout counter and new-release table so people could find them easily to purchase them. I was planning to send Helen out for pastries, but I thought it would do me good to get out, so I went instead.
While I was looking at the selection of pastries in the bakery, I heard rapping on the window.
Edgar waved at me. He barged inside. “How is Eric?”
“He ripped out his IV this morning and escaped from the hospital. I think the nurses may have been glad to see him go.”
Edgar smiled. “He must be okay if you’re joking about him.”
“How’s your sister?”
“Spending a lot of time in dialysis. No matches have come up for her yet.”
Edgar volunteered to help me carry pastries. The two of us were like children at the bakery, selecting all the yummy items we wanted to try. In the end, I bought petit fours, mini-cream puffs, orange chocolate tarts, spinach and Gruyère filled buns, lemon tarts, Snickerdoodles, and an assortment of cupcakes. I suspected we had bought far too many until we returned to the store. It was so crowded that I worried the fire marshal might show up and tell us we had exceeded our capacity.
Don Moosbacher shook hands and walked through the crowd like a celebrity. I overheard one elderly gentleman saying how glad he was that someone was finally brave enough to reveal the truth about the Dumonts.
Veronica and I arranged the goodies on tables that she had set up in the children’s book room. Veronica kept the coffeepot filled, and I stationed myself at the front desk to direct people.
As they drifted into the parlor and took a seat, Professor Maxwell trotted down the stairs. He looked as tired as I felt.
“I assume you know that Mr. DuBois is upset about your irregular hours?”
“DuBois is always upset about something. You gave him the best gift imaginable.”
“Coconut cupcakes? I hardly think so.”
“Your charming Sergeant Jonquille. As we speak, DuBois is preparing Beef Wellin
gton for him and two of his buddies.”
“He said he wouldn’t serve Eric. He’s never done that for me.”
“You, my dear Florrie, are not a policewoman.”
“And to think I was going to buy a takeout pizza on the way home tonight.” I smiled at him. “You look worn out.”
“I am. I had hoped Orso would put my little van Gogh painting on the black market. It hasn’t been easy finding the current underground dealers.”
“That’s what you were doing with van den Teuvel. I saw you coming out of a bar with him and some scuzzy-looking guy.”
“As much as I loathe van den Teuvel, his roots run deep in the underground art market. It’s big business, and he’s a player. I’ve been touching base with people who might know if Orso had a van Gogh for sale. But I haven’t had any luck. It may have gone straight to someone like van den Teuvel, who had a buyer waiting.”
“I presume he wouldn’t tell you if that were the case?”
“I doubt it. Not unless there was a hefty commission in it for him.”
“Do you have a photo of it?”
“Of course. I should have realized my little artiste would appreciate it.”
He trudged upstairs but returned quickly. Professor Maxwell handed me a picture that nearly made me choke.
Chapter 27
“Do you know if prints of your van Gogh sunflower were ever made?” I asked.
“Not to the best of my knowledge. It was bought by my great-grandfather in the late 1800s. I suppose someone could have arranged for the sale of prints during the ensuing hundred years, but I doubt it. Is it familiar to you? Have you seen it somewhere?”
I nodded reluctantly, my heart pounding. “I saw it or something very similar hanging on the wall in Olivia and Priss’s apartment.”
The creases between the professor’s eyes deepened. “Are you certain? I’m under the impression that they would not have the funds for something like that.”
“Maybe they don’t realize what it is. People are always finding famous paintings in garages and attics.”
“I’d like to see it. How could we arrange that?” he asked.
I was spared having to answer. Everyone grew quiet.
And then someone called, “Yoo-hoo! Florrie? Where are you?”
Veronica, the professor, and I were standing in the doorway to the parlor, watching as Mr. Moosbacher arranged his notes.
I knew that voice. Veronica whispered, “You’d better go shut him up.”
I hurried through the hallway. Sure enough, Norman stood at the checkout desk looking around.
I whispered, “Shh. We’re having an event. Why don’t you sit down?”
From the parlor doorway I watched him take a seat.
Mr. Moosbacher began to speak. “Since we are in Washington, the hometown of the Dumonts, I’m sure many of you have heard stories about them. In my book”—he held up a copy—“I sought to sort fact from fiction. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. For instance, who has heard about Ambassador Dumont’s son, Lawrence, driving through town in a convertible in the buff?”
At that moment, Lucianne Dumont marched into Color Me Read with a man in a suit and a police officer.
She strode into the parlor, turned to the audience, and held up a document. “I have in my hand a restraining order against the publication of Mr. Moosbacher’s libelous book about my family. It’s nothing but lies,” announced Lucianne.
Some of the audience appeared to be in shock, but a few of them snuck out of their seats. I knew where they were going and rushed to the checkout desk just in time to see someone who looked suspiciously like van den Teuvel leaving the bookstore. I had no time to peer out the window, though. People streamed toward the checkout desk. If Lucianne wanted to prevent people from reading the book, she had done the wrong thing. Now everyone would be itching to buy it. No one had shown me a restraining order. I was more than happy to ring up sales.
If Mr. Moosbacher was still speaking, I couldn’t hear him.
Lucianne wound her way through the crowd and shrieked when she saw me selling the book. The man dressed in a suit, whom I assumed might be an attorney, and the policeman broke through the cluster of people, too. And Norman was right behind them. I heard Professor Maxwell’s voice in back of me. “Keep selling, Florrie.”
Norman pushed his way to the counter. “Florrie, I have something to tell you.”
“Norman, I’m busy right now. Can it wait?”
“I’ll stay right here until you’re finished.”
Ack! He was in the way of everyone waiting to buy the book. “Could you tell me tomorrow?”
As much as he annoyed me, I felt terrible about the disappointed look on his face. And he was still blocking everyone and slowing us down. “Maybe you could wait for me in the parlor?”
He drifted away, sad as a dog on a diet.
I sold books as fast as I could. Veronica slid them into bags and passed them to the customers. As far as I was concerned, Lucianne’s restraining order was just too late. The horses were already out of the gate.
I could hear Professor Maxwell discussing the restraining order with the man in the suit and the cop. “We’re not publishing it,” said the professor. “This document makes no mention of a restraint on the sale of the book. Hundreds of bookstores around the country have this book in their possession and are currently selling it. We’re no different.”
Lucianne stared daggers at me. I had a very bad feeling she would make life hard for me if she could.
Mr. Moosbacher’s book sold out. We didn’t have a single copy left, which made me rather sad because now I was itching to know what was in it that Lucianne had fought so diligently to keep quiet.
When the hubbub died down and Mr. Moosbacher had left, I asked the professor, “What could it contain that would be so outrageous?”
“Every family has its secrets. I know mine does. The sad thing is that Ambassador Dumont was a highly respected man. His grandfather, however, made a penny every which way he could including a few highly questionable ways, and the ambassador’s son, Lucianne’s father, spent every cent he could. That’s not a secret. The man was a thief who considered himself above the law. My guess is that Moosbacher uncovered something wildly illegal that they did to build the family fortune.”
Veronica and Edgar packed up the leftover pastries while the professor and I locked up the store. I turned off the coffee and the music, then walked the basement and the first floor to make sure that no one lingered behind. I returned to the front door and flipped the sign to Closed. Only when I turned around did I realize that the baseball cap was gone. Someone had swiped it. I hadn’t seen van den Teuvel that night. Admittedly, it had been a zoo. And it was possible that the cap disappeared hours ago, but I hadn’t noticed until now. Chills rose on my arms when I was forced to acknowledge that Edgar’s assailant had been in the store.
The four of us walked back to the mansion together. While Edgar and Veronica told the professor what had happened to Eric, I was thinking about getting another look at the sunflower painting in Olivia and Priss’s apartment. When we reached the carriage house, I entered first to be sure Eric wasn’t sleeping.
He sat on the sofa with his leg up, playing poker with his two police friends and Mr. DuBois.
I waved at the professor, Veronica, and Edgar. “You can come in.”
We opened the package of pastries, the professor brought over a couple of bottles of wine, and we had an impromptu party.
I was in the kitchen when Eric limped over to me. He whispered, “Is it okay with you if Edgar spends the night?”
I shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t have anywhere for him to sleep.”
“Mr. DuBois has offered a camping cot that Maxwell takes on his adventures.”
“It’s okay by me. Is Edgar afraid to go home?”
“He’s scared that guy will come back. Homicide ran a background check on him. Everything he told us was spot on, right down to the sister in need
of a kidney.”
“Did you ever question van den Teuvel about attacking him?” I asked.
“He’s slick, Florrie. Except for the accent, we haven’t got anything on him.”
The cops, Veronica, and Professor Maxwell finally went home. While Edgar accompanied Mr. DuBois to retrieve the cot, I collapsed in a chair, dog-tired. I thought it would be best to get a good night of sleep before I broached the subject of Rebecca.
“Did you change your bandage?” I asked.
Eric grimaced. “It looks awful. Thanks for putting me up. I won’t be in your way long, I promise.”
Maybe it was because I was exhausted or maybe I just couldn’t stand it anymore, I blurted, “So who is Rebecca?”
Eric didn’t squirm. He didn’t seem one bit uncomfortable about my question. In fact, he grinned. “She’s my Norman.”
“Norman!” I leaped to my feet. “I forgot all about him. He must have gone home.” I explained about him coming to the bookstore during the mad rush to buy a scandalous book.
“He’ll get over it,” Eric assured me.
“So Rebecca is your Norman.” I had not expected that response. I could understand and relate to that. “She’s not your fiancée?” I asked just to be perfectly sure.
Eric snorted. “Is that what she told you? Good grief. I hope she’s not telling anyone else that. I’d better check to make sure she hasn’t convinced my parents we’re engaged. Although I can’t imagine my mom not mentioning it. Rebecca is a friend of my sister’s and hangs out at my parents’ house all the time. In fact, she works at my dad’s restaurant. We joke about her adopting our family. We’ve all grown used to her being there.”
“So your parents called her when they heard you had been hurt?”
“They didn’t have to. Mom said Rebecca was the first to know. She had heard on the news that a police officer had been injured, and she drove over to their house. She was sleeping on the sofa when you called.”
I nodded. “That sounds like something Norman might do.”
Eric’s expression changed to worry. “Oh, Florrie. Did you believe her? I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would have explained sooner.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “For a couple of people who haven’t been going out very long, we’ve certainly encountered some bumps in the road.”