by Krista Davis
“That was twenty-seven years ago. Wouldn’t she have thrown them out by now?” asked Goldblum. “I don’t think I have bank statements or anything that goes back that far.”
Eric reached for his phone. “Those records seem like the kind of thing homicide would have asked for.” He held a brief conversation with someone and then hung up. “They’re checking to see if they have them.”
I grabbed my sketch pad and wrote with a cobalt-blue coloring pencil, 1991 and 27 years ago.
“How is that going to help anything?” asked Goldblum.
“It isn’t,” I responded.
Eric wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “On the contrary. It’s a starting point. We’re no longer casting about wildly. We have a place to begin. Now we need to figure out who went missing in 1991.”
It was sweet of him to say that. In a way, I guessed it was true.
Edgar was busily working with his phone. “I’m looking up what happened in Washington, DC, that year.”
“Isn’t technology wonderful?” asked Goldblum. “Not that long ago we would have had to go to some damp basement and spend days looking through microfiche for that kind of information. What did you find?”
“Hey, you were right about Russia, Professor Goldblum. Looks like the homicide rates were high, and”—he gazed up at us—“you won’t believe this. A van Gogh on loan from the private collection of the Maxwell family was stolen in transit to a local museum.”
Chapter 30
“That has to be a coincidence,” I said. “There can’t be any connection.”
“But there is a link, Florrie,” said Eric. “You’re the one who saw the stolen item in Dolly’s house. There may not be a tie to Dolly’s murder, but there’s something going on there that involves a man hidden behind a bookcase and Maxwell’s missing van Gogh.”
“Do you think Olivia or Priss could have been involved in the theft?” asked Zsazsa. “Perhaps Dolly found out about it and threatened to expose them.”
“After twenty-seven years?” said Goldblum. “If that was the case, it seems like it would have happened a long time ago.”
“The man in the wall! Maybe he was the one who was going to expose them,” I said.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Goldblum smiled. “Anyone hungry? I could use a nosh.”
“Me, too,” said Zsazsa. She plucked at Edgar’s shirt. “Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’m kind of grungy. I think I should stop by the house and pick up some fresh clothes.”
“Excellent!” crowed Goldblum. “I would love to see the inside of Dolly’s house.”
Goldblum and Edgar rose to leave.
“I don’t think I should go there,” said Zsazsa. “My presence could be misconstrued. No, no, no. I should not go into that house. Not under any circumstances. Someone might call the police.”
“Why don’t you stay here with us?” I suggested. “When Goldblum and Edgar are done, they can meet you at a restaurant.”
“Think you could bring back some takeout?” asked Eric. “My wallet is on the bookshelf.”
“Better yet, Edgar and I will pick up something for everyone, and we’ll bring it back here.”
The two of them left and Zsazsa got up to brew tea. I felt like a terrible hostess and rushed to help her.
“How are you doing at Goldblum’s?”
“He spoils me. A five-star hotel wouldn’t do it any better.”
A snore rattled through the room. We glanced over and giggled at Eric, who had dozed off.
I preheated the oven and pulled out my mixer. “How do mini-cheesecakes sound to you?”
“I love cheesecake! I’ve been eating far too much since Dolly died and this horrible nonsense started. It’s soothing to me to eat. Isn’t that awful?”
“It’s hard on the waistline.” I pulled out the mini-cupcake baking sheet and little liners. I handed half of them to Zsazsa to insert in the pan. “We have to get to the bottom of this. Maybe we need to look at motive.”
“I have no motive to have killed Dolly. It’s preposterous that the police could imagine that I would have stolen The Florist from her and then concocted a drink to kill her.”
“Did you even enter her apartment that night?”
“We walked home from the tea room. I had paid because she forgot her purse at Color Me Read. She was still so excited about having found The Florist. Other than Maisie’s birth, I think it might have been the most exciting thing that ever happened to Dolly. Her house is on the way to my condo. I walked inside with her. She asked if I would like to have a glass of champagne to celebrate. I declined because we had already had champagne at the tea room and I had promised to edit a friend’s article that evening. I didn’t want to be giddy when I did that.”
Zsazsa sat down on a stool. “If I had stayed, Dolly might be alive today.”
“Or you would be dead, too. How long do you think you were there?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“Did you go back to Dolly’s that night?”
“No. I was home editing the article.”
“So you couldn’t have killed her. Unless you carried antifreeze around with you from the time you came to the coloring club until you arrived at Dolly’s house that evening, there’s no way you could have poisoned her.”
“I think that’s abundantly clear but that dreadful Holberstein fellow insists there are ways I could have done it.”
I suspected there were. She could have planted the antifreeze somewhere or carried it in her purse like I had described. “What does he think is your motive?”
“The Florist naturally. That makes no sense at all. I didn’t even know about the book until shortly before we came to the bookstore. Does he think I always carry antifreeze in my purse in case I feel like dispatching someone? It’s absurd.”
She was right about that. I popped two packages of cream cheese into the mixer and let it rip, wincing at the sound. I glanced over at Eric, who stretched.
I watched the mixer’s arm circle around, and it dawned on me that whoever murdered Dolly probably planned ahead. “No one knew about The Florist until Dolly brought it to Color Me Read. I wonder how many people happen to have antifreeze at home. I don’t, and I don’t think Veronica does. For that matter, I don’t think my dad has any, either. Dolly’s killer had only a few hours to buy antifreeze and concoct something he thought Dolly would willingly consume.”
“And it had to be someone she knew. Everyone would be shocked if a stranger showed up at their home offering them a drink.”
“That narrows down the field considerably,” I said, while spooning the cheesecake mixture into the little liners.
“It would have been easiest for Olivia and Priss,” said Zsazsa, “but they had an incentive to keep Dolly alive. They knew Maisie would sell the house if Dolly died, and they would lose their home.”
“Which is exactly the fix they find themselves in now.” I slid the mini-cheesecakes into the oven and set the timer. The two of us joined Eric while they baked.
I woke Eric when I slid onto the sofa next to him. “I feel just terrible for rolling you over last night. If I hadn’t—”
“Edgar would be sitting here with a burn wound instead of me.”
“Nah, he moved away. I should have pulled you in the other direction.”
“Florrie, you can’t make yourself miserable about this. No one knew where that firecracker would land. It was a fluke. It wasn’t aimed at anyone.”
I sat up. “What if it was? What if someone intended to have it land on Edgar?”
“A kid shot it off. I seriously doubt that he even knows Edgar,” said Eric.
“Nolan,” I blurted.
“You think Nolan shot off the firecracker?” asked Zsazsa. “Was he at the concert?”
“That’s not what I meant. You were there,” I said to Eric. “Remember when he fell down the stairs and said a step was slippery?”
“Right.”
“And
where was that?”
Eric blinked like he was losing his patience. “In Dolly’s basement.”
“And who lives there?”
“Edgar! I see what you’re getting at. You think someone has been trying to harm Edgar?”
“Who was attacked and choked in his apartment?”
“Again, Edgar.”
“Are you implying that the killer meant for Edgar to drink the antifreeze?” asked Zsazsa.
“It sounds kind of silly when you put it that way, but what if Dolly drank something intended for Edgar?”
Chapter 31
Eric smiled at me sweetly. “I think that’s a very long shot. Besides, why would anyone want to harm Edgar?”
“For something he has. Didn’t he say the person who choked him was asking ‘Where is it?’”
Eric shook his head. “Your theory doesn’t hang together. If Edgar had consumed the antifreeze and died, then he could never tell anyone where ‘it’ is.”
He had a good point. The timer went off on the oven. I hopped up and headed for the kitchen, disappointed that we weren’t making any progress. I pulled the mini-cheesecakes from the oven and set them on a baking rack to cool.
I glanced over at Zsazsa and thought about Mike and his anger toward the person who let him take the rap for a crime. I hoped Zsazsa wouldn’t end up being convicted for something she didn’t do. I didn’t think there was sufficient evidence to build a case against her. But maybe the police had information I didn’t know about.
* * *
The next morning, Mr. DuBois woke Eric and Edgar. I was up and dressed, ready for work, and tiptoeing around.
The first words out of Mr. DuBois’s mouth were, “There was another garage break-in last night. Only one block away.”
Eric reached for his phone and made a call. He probably hated being out of the loop.
“What did they steal?” asked Edgar.
“They don’t know. That’s the trouble with garages. They are packed with items one wouldn’t miss until they were needed. Young Edgar, may I impose on you to help me bring breakfast from the mansion?”
“Of course. This beats cereal with cold milk any day!”
I watched Peaches while Edgar rolled in a cart loaded with food. The smell was divine.
Mr. DuBois uncovered various platters to prepare a plate for Eric. I dared to steal a slice of bacon.
“Miss Florrie! Sit down at the table properly, and I shall bring you a plate of waffles with fresh blackberries.”
I checked the time. “I have a few things to take care of on my way to the bookstore. You fellows enjoy yourselves.”
The morning air reminded me of the day Dolly died. I walked over to Dolly’s house, thinking that the crisp morning was a hint that fall would be coming soon. Only on this day, it was the contents of Dolly’s house that were spread out on her small lawn and the sidewalk in front of the house. I stood on the other side of the street watching as strangers helped themselves to the possessions that she had held so dear. Now that Percy was involved with Maisie, I assumed he was handling the sale. That meant there would be untold bargains. Some people would probably be like me and unknowingly buy something for two dollars that was worth much more.
Lucianne Dumont watched Percy with an eagle eye and spoke to the air again. Poor Angie on the other end of the phone. Did she have to listen to Lucianne all day?
I wondered why Lucianne would be there. Surely she wasn’t interested in any of Dolly’s things. She hadn’t even wanted the possessions of her own grandfather.
Not too far away, I spied Frederic van den Teuvel watching the goings on at Dolly’s house. All of the hawks had come to feast. But I didn’t think they would find what they wanted.
The Florist had made a brief appearance, and I for one was thrilled that I had been able to see it and hold it in my hands. Now it would probably be lost forever, or at least until the person who possessed it died. With any luck, it might turn up again sometime.
With a heavy heart, I walked through Dolly’s gate, probably for the last time ever.
I walked over to Percy. “Are you selling Dolly’s copy of Winnie-the-Pooh?”
“Yeah. I think that box is still inside. I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you, Percy.”
I doubted that he had even looked at the books because they appeared to be in the same boxes I had placed them in days ago. The only difference was that Percy had added a sign that read
Books
50 cents a piece
or
10 for $5. 00
The guy was a genius. I couldn’t tell Veronica about him, of course. She would have to see what he was like on her own. Maybe I could talk her into coming over to the sale so she would find out for herself. I didn’t see Maisie around, but I suspected she must be nearby.
I pawed through the books in the box until I found Winnie-the-Pooh. When I lifted it, I noticed a plastic grocery bag on the bottom of the box. I didn’t recall lining a box or putting anything into a grocery bag. Feigning great interest in more of the books, I removed just enough of them to pull out the grocery bag. It was heavier than I had expected.
My breath came fast and I could feel my blood pumping. Surely not. It couldn’t be. I peeked inside the bag. The Florist had somehow made its way into another estate sale.
Painfully conscious of the presence of Lucianne Dumont and Frederic van den Teuvel, I decided not to remove The Florist for the inspection I was itching to do.
I slid Winnie-the-Pooh into the bag on one side of The Florist and a copy of Cocky the Lazy Rooster on the other side.
What had Professor Maxwell said? They used couriers who didn’t draw attention to themselves and looked like they were simply going about their day. Trying my best to look casual, I rose to my feet and gazed around as if I were still shopping. The lantern that had been on the table in Dolly’s garden was only two dollars. I didn’t need it, but it would look lovely in my garden and I would always think of her when I lit the candle inside. It seemed fitting. With my booty in hand, I wandered through the tables to Percy.
“Three books and the lantern.”
“Three dollars and fifty cents.”
I was thrilled that I had correct change. All I wanted was to get out of there before a war started over the contents of the grocery bag.
I avoided looking at Lucianne or van den Teuvel and walked away at a leisurely pace.
I didn’t relax until I was safely inside Color Me Read. I locked the door behind me, set the alarm so I would hear if anyone tried to break in, and ran up two flights of stairs to Professor Maxwell’s office.
I was winded on my arrival.
The professor was seated at his desk. “Florrie! Are you all right? Your face is flushed.”
Taking a deep breath, I very carefully pulled out the contents of the grocery bag, handling them like delicate eggs.
“Children’s books?”
“I have to check the dates. I’m not sure they’re worth anything. But look at this.” I placed the leather cover on the desk in front of him and opened it.
“The Florist? Where did you find it?”
I told him what I had done.
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s not like you at all.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to hand it over to the rightful owner, Dolly’s daughter, Maisie Cavanaugh. She can sell it to whomever she wants.” I kneeled on the floor and eyed it.
“What are you doing?”
“Aha! Right there. It’s the last page.” I gently lifted it and turned it over. The bottom outside edge of the book had been torn off. “I’ll bet anything that missing piece is what Dolly had in her hand when she died.”
I set it down on his desk again and slumped into a chair. “In all honesty, I never thought I would see this book again.”
“How do you suppose it landed in the box?”
“All I can imagine is that Dolly placed it in this grocery bag and Percy didn’t realize what it was
for the second time. If he had bothered to look into the bag he might have recognized some of the pages he printed out and made the connection. Do you mind if we keep it in the locked drawer in your desk until I can turn it over to Maisie?”
“You do realize that technically it belongs to you now? Even if you didn’t do the right thing and tell Percy what it was. He sold it to you fair and square.”
I shook my head. “It belongs to Maisie.”
With The Florist safely stashed away, I returned to the first floor, turned on the music, made a pot of coffee, and looked up the phone number for a reputable auction house we had used before. They agreed to send someone over at noon.
I called Maisie and arranged for her to come to the store as well.
It took every fiber of my being not the spill the news to Bob. But when I had calmed down, I realized that my theory about Dolly having placed it in the bag was completely wrong. If she had done that, she wouldn’t have had the corner of a page in her hand when she died. Whoever stole the book and murdered Dolly had slid it into the bag. But why? Why leave it in Dolly’s house? Remorse? Guilt?
That question plagued me all morning. At noon, I introduced Maisie to Mr. Arthur Fenton and took them upstairs to the professor’s office.
When they were seated, I unlocked the drawer, lifted out the bag, and gingerly removed The Florist.
Arthur blinked rapidly as he examined it. “This is in very high demand. Everyone in town is talking about it.”
“It belonged to Maisie’s mother, Dolly Cavanaugh. Unfortunately, Dolly has died, so it now belongs to Maisie.”
“Well, you have quite the find here. Are you interested in selling it?”
Maisie looked at me. “Where did you find it?”
“In your mom’s estate sale.”
“Does Percy know about this?”
I shook my head from side to side.
Maisie paused for a split second, then said, “My mother would want me to sell it.”
She looked straight at me as though she needed confirmation. “I think Dolly would want that, too.”