by Krista Davis
Maisie began to cry. “I’m only sorry she’s not here to see this happen. She would be so thrilled.”
Chapter 32
Maisie accompanied Arthur back to the auction house, and I heaved a sigh of relief. At least the book would be safe until it was sold.
During a lull in the afternoon, I looked up my copy of Winnie-the-Pooh. I was painfully aware that prices fluctuate but it was in great condition and valued around eight thousand dollars. A similar copy of Cocky the Lazy Rooster had sold two years before for nearly fifty thousand dollars! Dolly always had a good eye.
Now if we could just figure out who murdered her.
It bothered me that the killer had taken the time to slide the book into a grocery bag. That meant it was someone who was very comfortable in Dolly’s house. Someone who wasn’t in any hurry to get out. Her killer had ripped the book from her hands while she lay dying and had calmly slid it into a grocery bag unafraid of being caught.
I slumped onto the sofa in the reading parlor. I was a complete dolt. They had used me, and I had fallen for their bait. What an idiot I was! I should have realized that Percy couldn’t be as stupid as he seemed.
Sure, Maisie had an alibi back in South Carolina, but Percy had been right here in Washington all along. He must have paid Dolly a visit that evening. Maybe to plead for the return of The Florist. He’d brought the toxic cocktail along with him. While Dolly was dying, he ripped it from her hands, slid it into the bag, and left.
But the problem was that if Percy sold it, he would become the number one suspect in Dolly’s death. And Maisie couldn’t very well claim to have miraculously found it after the cops combed the place and I had gone through all the books. So they took a chance on me. They hadn’t forgotten to put that box of books out. They were waiting for me to do exactly what I did.
It was a no-lose situation for them. If I didn’t turn it over to Maisie, all they had to do was claim that I was the one who had stolen it. I was a patsy.
I had no idea whether Lucianne’s lawsuit had any merit, but it seemed simple enough to me. Maisie would sell the book and collect the money, while Percy filed for bankruptcy. Then the two of them would ride off into the sunset and live wealthily ever after.
Not if I could help it, they wouldn’t.
That night, over leftover sweet potato gnocchi, giant grilled shrimp, and spinach salad with bacon that Mr. DuBois had cooked for them, I told Eric and Edgar what had happened.
Eric became very serious. “So when word got out about The Florist and Lucianne told Percy how stupid he’d been to sell it, he called Maisie and cooked up this plot? Ouch, but that’s cold. Poor Dolly.”
“I just don’t know how to prove it,” I said. Looking at Edgar, I added, “Unless you saw Percy at Dolly’s house that night.”
“I didn’t know anything until I heard the ambulance pull up.”
“Phone records,” said Eric. “There have to be phone records between Percy and Maisie. He might have even texted her. People can be pretty dumb about that kind of thing.” He picked up his phone and made a call.
“When I was going through Dolly’s books, a friend of Maisie’s came by and recommended Percy to handle Dolly’s estate. Maisie acted like she didn’t remember who he was. She played her role quite well.”
I slept better that night knowing that it was Maisie and Percy that we had to watch out for. As long as they didn’t know we were onto them, we should be safe.
Of course, the issue of Veronica still remained. But once Percy was arrested, that should fall in place by itself. I wouldn’t have to be the bossy big sister.
* * *
The sun shone in my window the next morning, and I had renewed hope that the recent craziness would soon come to an end. I felt awful for Veronica. I couldn’t understand what she saw in guys like Percy.
I showered and dressed for work, but this morning I was in no hurry. Edgar and Eric were just getting up when Mr. DuBois arrived with breakfast.
“When Eric goes home, and the breakfast service ends, I’m going to be very jealous,” I said to Mr. DuBois.
He whispered, “Then I suggest you convince him to stay.”
I probably should have been put out, but I laughed. Things were looking up. We dined on crab crepes, fruit salad, and the ever-present bacon at the table in the garden. Peaches walked the perimeter of the koi pond, watching the fish and occasionally dipping her paw in the water.
Over breakfast, we told Mr. DuBois what had happened. Eric assured him that homicide had been advised and that it was in their hands now.
I left Peaches with Eric and was off to work in plenty of time to open the store. When Veronica and Bob arrived, I already had everything up and running.
“We should receive that shipment of the Dumont book today,” I said, looking at the long list of people who had requested it.
Veronica paid no attention.
“What’s wrong with you this morning?” I asked.
“Percy showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night.”
Oh noooo. “I hope you hid your good jewelry.”
“Why do you say things like that? It’s just mean, Florrie. You know what I think? You don’t like sharing me with anyone else and that’s why you hate everyone I date.”
“He’s seeing Maisie.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Veronica, I’m sorry. Really I am. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Then stop hurting me.” She marched off in a huff and avoided me all day.
At four in the afternoon, Eric called me. “Have you seen Edgar?”
“Not since I left the house this morning. Did you misplace him?”
“I’m getting worried. He went to his apartment to pick up clean clothes. He should have been back by now. He’s not answering his phone.”
Normally, I wouldn’t have been concerned, but someone had tried to choke him. I checked the time. “I’m due to deliver some books. I’ll look in on him in half an hour or so.”
Bob circled the checkout desk and faced me from the other side. “What did you do to Veronica?”
“I didn’t do anything. She just has terrible taste in men. I hope she’s not being mean to you.”
“Eh. I think she’ll be okay once you’re gone.”
I loaded the packages into a bag and felt like Santa Claus when I left the store. Most of the deliveries were close by, so the load lightened fairly fast.
Dolly’s house appeared peaceful. The estate sale items were no longer in the yard or on the sidewalk. I sidestepped the stairs to the main floor and knocked on the basement door.
Edgar didn’t answer. I tried the handle, but it was locked.
I knocked again. “Edgar? It’s Florrie.”
I stood in front of his door and called Eric. “He’s not answering his door.”
“I’m coming over there.”
“You’re supposed to stay off your leg. Besides, what are you going to do, bust the door down?”
“All right. I get what you’re saying. What time are you coming home?”
“Six o’clock.”
“Do you think I could convince DuBois to check on him?”
“I suspect he would do anything for you, but he doesn’t like leaving the safety of the Maxwell estate.”
“How does he get all this food he’s cooking for us?”
“He receives grocery deliveries at the mansion from stores all over town.”
“No wonder he likes me so much. I’m a captive audience. He must get lonely in that big house by himself.”
“I’ll see you at six.” I hung up and looked around. Out of an abundance of caution, I walked up the steps to the front door of the house. When I tried the door handle, the door swung open just like it always did.
But the house was eerily silent. I walked up to Olivia and Priss’s apartment, and knocked on the door. No one was home.
There was nothing to do but continue with my deliveries and return to the bookstore.
When six o’clock finally rolled around, I was relieved to go home.
Until I got there.
Chapter 33
Eric and Mr. Dubois waited for me on the sofa.
“Edgar didn’t come back?” I asked.
“And he still isn’t answering his telephone,” said Eric.
“I don’t like this, either, but he’s not a child. He’s an adult. Maybe he met a girl and they’re in a bar. Maybe he went to a movie and turned off his phone.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Eric.
“No.”
“Miss Florrie, over two thousand people go missing each day. There’s no telling what evil might have befallen Edgar.”
“You’re the cop, Eric. Should we report him missing?”
“I already have. It would help if we had a picture of him.”
“I can draw a larger sketch if that would help.”
“Wonderful.” Mr. DuBois smiled at me. “And I shall make tea.”
Fervently hoping that Edgar would return before I finished the sketch, I sat next to Eric and drew Edgar from memory. Even though the type of glasses he wore were popular, they would give him away immediately.
Eric looked over my shoulder. “That’s very good. I would recognize him from that if I saw him on the street. He took a photo of it with his phone and emailed it to the station. “I hate waiting.”
“I can call Zsazsa and Goldblum. We could canvass Wisconsin Avenue, look in bars and antiques stores.”
“Tea is served. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of serving it with your delicious little cheesecakes.”
“Thank you, Mr. DuBois.”
He sat down with us and sipped his tea.
“I think you’d better call Zsazsa and Goldblum. DuBois, do you drive?” asked Eric.
I held my breath.
“Yes. I have a driver’s license. But shouldn’t someone remain here in case he returns?”
Eric’s eyes met mine. “Good idea. I’ll phone Zsazsa and Goldblum.”
In the end, Zsazsa, Goldblum, and I split up, each taking a section of Georgetown. Eric drove my car, which I thought a bad idea given the location of his wound, but there was simply no stopping him.
At nine o’clock in the evening, we reconvened at the carriage house. Mr. DuBois had duck confit, roasted potatoes, and celery root puree waiting for us.
At that point, we were too worried to be hungry, but it didn’t stop us from gathering around the table in the garden. I made a point of lighting the candle in Dolly’s lantern.
“There’s just no sign of him at all,” said Goldblum. “I stopped by Dolly’s house to talk with Priss and Olivia, but they hadn’t seen him all day.”
“We ought to call his mother,” I said. “But who would have her phone number?”
“Anyone know her first name?” asked Eric.
“His sister is Lucy.”
Eric excused himself for using the phone during dinner. He called the station and asked for a phone number for Edgar’s mom. While he was on the phone, his face brightened. “Where?”
Eric hung up. “Eat up everyone, they found Edgar in Rock Creek Park. Sounds like he’s a little drunk. They’re taking him to the hospital.”
In much better spirits, we devoured Mr. DuBois’s fabulous dinner. “Now go get our young man. When you return, coffee, brandy, and chocolate mousse.”
Eric grinned. “You don’t have to bribe us to come home.”
“Maybe you should stay here and put your leg up,” I suggested.
“Not a chance.”
* * *
The waiting room at the hospital was all too familiar to me.
Goldblum paced back and forth. Zsazsa was the most patient among us, sitting primly and waiting.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Eric. “Did you have to wait like this for me?”
“I did. Except that night, this room was full of cops.”
“Really? You never told me that.” He smiled, clearly pleased that his buddies came to his rescue.
At long last, the nurse opened the door and called, “Sergeant Eric Jonquille?”
Eric, who had refused to bring his crutch, hobbled back to see Edgar. He returned twenty minutes later and sat down. In a low voice he said, “I want to tell you this before Edgar is with us. He tested positive for Rohypnol.”
“The date-rape drug?” asked Goldblum.
“That’s the one. He’s very groggy and doesn’t remember anything, which is typical. So don’t be surprised when you see him. He’ll be okay after it wears off. Other than some bruises, he’s not injured.”
Poor Edgar was able to walk, but I could see why the cops thought he was drunk. He wasn’t stable on his feet. We managed to get him into the car and home to the carriage house. He nearly fell into the cot and drifted off right away. I placed a blanket over him and joined the others out in the garden.
Everyone passed on coffee. Mr. DuBois served brandy and the most heavenly chocolate mousse topped with whipped cream. It was the perfect ending to a very strange day.
“Do you think he took the Rohypnol intentionally?” asked Goldblum.
I didn’t know much about the drug other than what I had read in newspapers.
But Eric shook his head. “Unlikely. I would wager that someone slipped it into a drink. But I can’t imagine why.”
“Clearly to knock him out,” said Zsazsa. “Look at him. You could steal his wallet or his car keys and he would never know.”
Edgar slept through the dinner and the night. When I rose in the morning, he was sitting in the garden watching Peaches chase butterflies.
I sat down with him. “How do you feel today?”
“Groggy. Did I black out or something? I don’t remember last night.”
“Someone slipped you Rohypnol.”
“Why? Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. To steal your cash or credit cards?”
He rose too quickly and had to steady himself by grabbing the table. But he walked into the house and returned with his wallet. “Cash is here. Credit cards are here.”
“I don’t know, Edgar. I’ll make some tea. That might help you feel better.”
I was in the kitchen pouring water into teacups when he lurched over to the counter and grabbed it. “It’s gone. The only thing they took was the picture of my father.”
Chapter 34
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Look through the pockets of the clothes you wore yesterday. Maybe you took it out to show someone and shoved it into a pocket.”
I could see him across the room, digging through his clothes. He looked up at me with despair. “It was the only picture I had of my dad.”
That woke Eric, who slid his wire-rimmed glasses on. He was so adorable in his glasses with his hair mussed from sleeping that I couldn’t help smiling at him.
“Morning. Did I miss something?”
“They took the picture of my father!” Edgar was beyond distressed.
Whoever doped him couldn’t have taken anything he treasured more.
I poured another cup of tea and carried the tray out to the garden. Eric was yawning when he joined me.
Edgar brought his clothes outside. “Would you go through the pockets?”
“Sure.” I checked the pockets of his jeans. They were empty. His shirt didn’t contain pockets. “Would you mind if I looked through your wallet?”
Edgar took his clothes inside and brought out his wallet. He sat down and passed it to me.
I flipped it open. His driver’s license picture was better than most. I took each item out and placed it on the table. Credit cards, cash, and a few receipts. “I’m sorry, Edgar. I know how much that photograph meant to you.”
After a big slug of tea, I inserted everything back into the wallet and laid it on the table.
“What would someone want with that pic
ture?” asked Eric. “Is there anything you haven’t told us about your dad?”
Edgar shrugged. “Thomas Jones. Flea market trader. Lived in Washington twenty-seven years ago. I know so little about him.”
“And your aunt said he might not want to be found.” Eric took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I hate to suggest this, but what if he was in hiding because he did something illegal?”
Of course a cop would think of that. I watched Edgar’s reaction, expecting him to protest.
“Anything is possible, I guess. That would explain a lot.”
The knock on the door that we were expecting finally came. “Ahh, breakfast has arrived!” said Eric.
I rose to open the door for Mr. DuBois. The professor was with him and rolled in the cart loaded with food. Mr. DuBois insisted on serving us, but made a plate of hash brown pancakes topped with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce for himself as well.
“I have to hand it to you, DuBois,” said Eric. “My dad is a fantastic chef and I grew up eating some fancy food, but this is unbelievable. I should introduce you to him. I bet he would put this on the brunch menu at his restaurant.”
We ate ravenously, all except for Edgar.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“I wish I could remember what happened.”
“They found you in Rock Creek Park,” said Eric. “Does that spark anything for you?”
“No. This entire trip has been a big bust. I don’t even have a photo to show people anymore. What am I going to tell my sister?”
Professor Maxwell studied him. “I’m not so sure that it’s a bust. Someone knows your father and for some reason, that person doesn’t want you to find him. Think about it. He went to a lot of trouble to dope you just to obtain the photograph of your dad. You have ruffled someone’s feathers, Edgar. It must mean you’re very close to finding him.”
Edgar’s face lit like a child given a chocolate. “I was ready to give up. You’re right. It must mean he’s here. Do you think he drugged me to get the picture away from me?”
Good heavens. I hoped not! What kind of father would do that?
While they were talking, I retrieved my sketch pad. The picture had shown Edgar’s dad in the distance, so the face had been quite small. I tried to recreate it from memory only larger.