by Krista Davis
He scooched over, wincing when he moved. “Just to be perfectly clear, I’m not interested in seeing anyone else. I know you think you’re boring, but I think you’re pretty amazing.”
I was about to kiss him when Edgar barged in carrying a camping cot. I spent the next few minutes bringing him blankets and helping him get settled.
It was past midnight when I fell into my own bed with Peaches by my side.
I slept until nine in the morning. I bolted out of bed when I saw the time. I had to open the store at ten. No lingering for me this morning. Maybe Edgar could pick up some breakfast for Eric. I rushed into the shower. When I was dressing in a sleeveless periwinkle shirt and an icy-white skirt, I heard voices downstairs. Peaches was nowhere to be seen. The scent of coffee and bacon wafted up to me.
I slid my feet into white sandals and walked down the curving staircase.
Mr. DuBois was serving breakfast in my garden. Hampered by his crutches, he told Edgar where to place the dishes. Stacks of blueberry pancakes with pats of butter melting on top of them got my immediate attention. “Good morning, Miss Florrie. I have your tea waiting, just the way you like it—a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk.”
I sat down at the table between Eric and Professor Maxwell. I sipped my hot tea and pronounced it perfect.
Mr. DuBois beamed.
Eric was already eating pancakes. “Now we know how the other half really lives.”
At Mr. DuBois’s direction, Edgar passed me bacon and sausages.
Professor Maxwell appeared to be finished with his breakfast.
I checked my watch. “I would love to eat, but I need to open the store.”
Professor Maxwell placed his hand over mine. “Bob is taking care of that this morning. You and Veronica have the day off. Fear not. I have made the arrangements. Helen will be there to assist Bob.”
I looked at the professor. “What’s up?”
“I should like to visit Olivia and Priss’s apartment to see the sunflower.”
Eric stopped eating. “Is there something special about their sunflower?”
Professor Maxwell told them the story of Orso while I indulged in the fluffy pancakes and salty bacon. My teacup was instantly refilled when I drained it.
It was a gorgeous summer day and still early enough to be comfortable. Peaches roamed through her private jungle and birds twittered in the trees.
“You’re sure it’s the van Gogh, Florrie?” asked Eric.
I excused myself and fetched my sketch pad. I located my quick rendition of what I had seen.
Professor Maxwell was looking over my shoulder. “That’s it! Florrie, that’s the painting.”
“I don’t understand,” said Edgar. “Why would Olivia and Priss have a painting that was stolen?”
Chapter 28
It was a good question. There was only one answer I could think of. “Orso gave it to them?”
Eric held out his hand for the sketch pad. “May I?”
I handed it to him.
The professor leaned back in his chair. “Of course. Orso removed the four items from the delivery truck and gave them to someone for safekeeping. I had been working on the presumption that they were hidden but everyone knows it’s easier to hide things in plain sight.”
“Edgar, where’s that photo of your dad?” asked Eric.
Edgar pulled it out of his wallet.
“Show it to the professor.”
Edgar passed it to him.
“Is that Orso?” asked Eric.
Professor Maxwell peered at it closely. “No. He looks a lot like Orso, but that’s definitely not him.”
Edgar exhaled noisily. “I’m glad to hear that!”
The professor drummed his fingertips on the table. “It appears that Olivia and Priss are now key. Shall we pay them a visit, Florrie?”
“You can’t just barge in and demand your sketch,” said Mr. DuBois. “You need a pretense for visiting them. Otherwise they’ll clam up.”
“Quite right, DuBois. But if I were interested in buying the building, I would surely be expected to tour the house, including their apartment . . .”
“Florrie,” said Eric, “do you think Nolan is up to showing the building this morning?”
“If he thought he was going to sell it, he would do backflips with two broken legs.” I looked up his number and called him.
I admit that I felt just a hair guilty for lying to him. He would get his hopes up about selling the house. But just as I had expected, he was raring to go and agreed to meet us there at eleven o’clock.
Eric pushed back his waving hair. “I wish I could be there.”
“No way. They would clam up. Not to mention that you’re supposed to keep your leg up.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. DuBois. “I acquainted myself with the instructions for your care, and I’m afraid you haven’t been following them.”
“I get it. I would ruin the whole plan. I’ll stay here and console myself by studying Florrie’s sketchbook.”
At ten minutes of eleven, Professor Maxwell and I set out for Dolly’s house. “They live in the second-floor apartment. When you walk in, you’ll see a wall full of paintings and photographs. The sketch is on the left in a black frame about an inch wide all the way around.”
“I hope they haven’t damaged it.”
The professor greeted Nolan warmly, asking all the right questions about the house. “What kind of heat does it have? Does each unit have its own electric meter? Has it been rewired?”
Nolan did his best to limp along. But I noted that stairs were an issue for him. “You don’t need to come down to the basement with us,” I said.
“I should be with you when you view any occupied units of the house. You can see the third floor on your own.” Nolan opened the door to the basement and stopped cold. “Seeing that it’s you, maybe I can trust you to look at the basement unit by yourselves?”
I assured him that he could. The professor and I made quick work of the basement. Not that there was much to see. The laundry room, a utility room that appeared to double as a storage area, and Edgar’s small apartment, none of which were remarkable or surprising in any way.
We walked back up the interior stairs.
Nolan knocked on the door of Dolly’s apartment. We could hear footsteps approaching on the other side. The door swung open and we stood face-to-face with Percy. There was no mistaking what he was doing there. He wore a woman’s robe of cream-colored silk embroidered with flowers. Yet he didn’t appear to be the least bit self-conscious about his attire or, far, far worse, the fact that I had caught him with another woman. Most men would have been ashamed, or at least embarrassed, but Percy asked, “Is it eleven o’clock already?”
Nolan scowled at him.
I was taken aback. “I thought you were dating my sister.”
Percy nodded. “Veronica. Nice girl.”
Really? That was all he had to say? No shame? No blushing? No rapid chatter to try to defend himself? I had been right about him all along. He was a worm.
“Don’t look so astonished, Florrie. See, Maisie and I were engaged once. And when she came back to town because of her mom’s death and all, we sort of hooked up again.”
“Good try, Percy. You were out with Veronica only a couple of nights ago.”
“Yeah, I like Veronica. We have a real good time together. So, you wanna come in?”
Percy stepped aside and yelled, “Hey, Maisie! Nolan’s here!”
I gasped when we walked inside. The paintings had been taken off the walls and the furniture had been moved.
Nolan glanced at me. “We’re getting ready for the estate sale.”
Maisie ambled out of the bedroom dressed in high-fashion jeans and a T-shirt that sparkled with blue and silver sequins in an abstract design. “Hi. Excuse us. We’ll be outside.” She crooked her finger at Percy and ushered him out the front door.
“Well that was awkward,” said Nolan.
While he showe
d the professor the bedroom, I remained in the kitchen, wishing I had thought to study it before Maisie arrived. Finding orange juice now would be meaningless. If Dolly’s killer had made the antifreeze drink in her kitchen, everything would be washed up or thrown away by now.
Finally, it was time for us to see the second-floor apartment. Nolan climbed the stairs slowly. After three steps he said, “Florrie, run up there and see if Olivia or Priss is home. Maybe I don’t need to walk up. Here’s the key for the third-floor apartment.”
“No problem, Nolan.”
The professor and I walked up to the door. I knocked on it. The pretty wreath and the pillow on the bench were gone.
Priss opened the door. “Florrie! Nolan told us he was showing the apartment today. Where is he?”
Whispering so I wouldn’t embarrass him, I said, “His ankle is killing him, so he’s going to wait downstairs.”
“Poor Nolan. That fall really banged him up.” Priss flitted out to the railing and looked down at him. “Hi, Nolan! How are you feeling?”
She kept talking to him, so the professor and I stepped inside and greeted Olivia. While the professor made small talk, my mouth fell open. There wasn’t a single thing left on the wall.
“Your wonderful paintings,” I gushed. “They’re gone!”
The professor didn’t show any sign of dismay. “Pity. Florrie was telling me about a painting of a sunflower. I collect them and thought I might be interested in buying it from you.”
Olivia avoided my gaze. “Really? I don’t think it’s worth much.” She eyed some boxes that clearly contained paintings. “We’re packing up for our move. I think it might be in this one.”
She dug in the box and pulled out a black frame that I recognized. I could hardly breathe.
Chapter 29
Olivia held it out to us. “Is this the one?”
The frame was the same, but the image inside had been drawn with a black pen and colored very well with beautiful mustards and apricots. But it clearly was not a painting.
The professor glanced at me.
I had no idea what to say. Mostly I was angry with myself because I hadn’t been prepared for this. “Do you have another one? One that is a painting? An oil, I think it was.”
Olivia tilted her head like a confused puppy. “No. This is the only sunflower that we have. It’s the one you admired the other day. Would you like to have it, Professor Maxwell?”
At that moment, my opinion of Olivia took a nosedive. How could she keep a straight face? It made me question everything she had ever said to me.
The professor surprised me when he pulled out his wallet. “What are you asking for it?”
Olivia handled the situation smooth as silk. “It’s not worth anything.” She held it out to him. “You’d do me a favor by taking it. One less thing for us to pack. Unless . . . will you be looking for tenants if you buy the house? Priss and I would love to stay.”
“I haven’t decided whether to buy the house. But I promise I’ll call you if I do.”
“Thanks. It’s very stressful having to move after all these years. We’re pretty comfortable here.”
The professor and I took a quick look at the kitchen and bedrooms, all of which were in the process of being packed.
At the door, Professor Maxwell paused and asked Olivia, “By any chance, do you know Orso?”
“I don’t believe so. The only orzo I know is the little pasta.” Olivia smiled. “Does he have an apartment for rent?”
“Not that I know of. He’s an old acquaintance. I thought we might have a mutual friend.”
After thanking Olivia and apologizing for having disturbed her, the professor and I trekked up the last flight of stairs. I slid the key into the door and opened it.
“So this is where the skeleton was hidden?” asked Professor Maxwell.
“Right there.” I pointed at the spot where it had been.
“Not a bad little efficiency.”
“You wouldn’t find it creepy to sleep here knowing that someone had been hidden in the wall?”
Professor Maxwell laughed. “My dear Florrie. Better to know it was removed than to sleep here not knowing it was behind the bookcase.”
We walked out, and I locked the door. Professor Maxwell stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down the stairwell. “I wouldn’t want to fall down these stairs. No wonder Nolan wanted to remain safely at the bottom.”
We walked down to Nolan, who was flirting with Priss.
“Ready to make an offer, Professor?” he asked.
“I’d like to think about it. Thank you for allowing us to see it. I hope your ankle is better soon.”
“If you need any more information, just give me a call.”
We said goodbye and hustled out to the street. We were two blocks away before I said, “Olivia knows something about your van Gogh.”
“Undoubtedly. She probably knows she has stolen property. I did find it amusing that the replacement piece was so childish. Didn’t they think an artist would know the difference? It’s most peculiar. But I got the feeling that she really didn’t know Orso.”
“I don’t know. She was doing a fabulous job of lying about the van Gogh with a straight face. Besides, if she doesn’t know Orso, then how did she get the van Gogh?”
“Therein lies the mystery. How did she get the treasure Orso stole, and what has she done with it?”
When we reached the mansion, Professor Maxwell thanked me for my assistance and went home. I could hear laughter coming from the carriage house before I reached the door.
I opened it to find Eric and Edgar examining my sketch pad with Zsazsa and Goldblum.
“Did she have the van Gogh?” asked Eric.
“She had taken it out of the frame and replaced it with a sunflower that she or Priss must have drawn and colored.”
“So they know what they have.” Goldblum frowned. “I suppose that makes them the most likely candidates to have murdered Dolly and stolen The Florist. They clearly have no compunction about possessing that which belongs to another.”
I slumped onto the sofa next to Eric. “They must know because she hid it. What I don’t understand is why didn’t they sell it? I’m under the impression that they don’t make much money. Selling that sketch, even underground on the black market, would have brought in a bundle and made their lives easier. They could have bought a condo!”
“Because they value the arts and treasure it?” suggested Zsazsa.
I supposed it was possible, but I doubted that. “So what are you all doing?”
Zsazsa asked, “I suppose you heard that Maisie discovered one of my lipsticks in Dolly’s apartment?”
“She told me about it.”
Zsazsa’s eyes met mine. “It has to be a plant. I didn’t lose a lipstick there. I would remember that. You know how I loathe being without my lipstick.”
“I believe you, Zsazsa. Maisie said they found it under the coffee table. Maybe I shouldn’t have snooped, but when I was going through Dolly’s books and searching for The Florist, I looked under all the furniture, including under the skirt of that ottoman. There was nothing there. Nothing. I would have seen it. If it had been there, the police would have found it on their first sweep of the apartment. They were there for hours. I find it hard to believe that they would be so sloppy.”
“Your drawings are lovely,” said Goldblum. “I don’t see any of me.”
“They’re just doodles, really. It helps me think when I draw the people involved. You haven’t been accused of murder yet.”
“Neither have you, but there’s an excellent drawing of you in the sketchbook,” he pointed out.
“Mike did that.”
Eric raised his eyebrows. “First Jack Miller and now Mike somebody?”
“He’s old enough to be my dad. I keep running into him at parks. On that day, I was helping a lady who fell, and he drew a quick sketch of me in my sketch pad. Wasn’t that a sweet thing to do?”
�
�And this evil-looking guy?” asked Edgar.
“That’s Frederic van den Teuvel. He’s an antiques trader.”
“Like my dad!” said Edgar.
“Good grief, I hope not. He’s a scum bucket who deals on the black market. Professor Maxwell warned me about him. He turned up asking about The Florist right away. It worried me that he knew about it so soon. He’s the one who probably choked you.”
Edgar paled and took a long look as though he wanted to burn van den Teuvel’s face into his memory.
“And the cute mouse?” asked Goldblum.
“Peaches was chasing a mouse in the garden. It reminded me that there’s a mouse in Dolly’s house that Priss is afraid of.”
They chattered on about the lantern I had sketched. But I was still thinking about the mouse and remembered something Dolly’s neighbor had said. I sat up straight. “The year of the goat. When was the year of the goat?”
They all looked at me like I had lost my mind. I looked up year of the goat on my phone. There were several options, but the only one that fit the time frame was 1991. “It was 1991 when the man in Dolly’s attic died.”
Zsazsa very kindly asked if I needed an aspirin or a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Zsazsa. But I don’t think I’ve gone over the edge yet. Dolly’s neighbor told me there was a time when they had so many rats in the neighborhood they called it the year of the rat, but it was really the year of the goat. It was a neighborhood joke. Everyone acquired pet cats at the time. I’m sorry to gross you out, but I bet the body in the attic was the reason they had a rat infestation. They’re like vultures that don’t fly. They eat up dead things. It’s nature’s way of cleaning up.”
“That’s the year I was born,” said Edgar.
“What else happened in 1991?” Eric asked.
“It was the year that the Soviet Union dissolved,” said Goldblum.
“I meant a little closer to home,” Eric chuckled. “What was going on at Dolly’s house? Who were her tenants?”
“Do you think she kept books about her rentals?” I asked. “She must have. Somewhere in Dolly’s papers, Maisie must have that information.”