The Coloring Crook

by Krista Davis

  While I was drawing, Eric glanced at my sketch. “You’re drawing Percy.”

  I blinked and held it at arm’s length. “I am. Rats!”

  Edgar stood up and circled the table to stand behind me. “Wow. But it looks like my dad, too. Do you think Percy could be my half brother?”

  Oh swell. Poor Edgar came to town looking for his father and now he might have found his half brother who was a murderer? It didn’t get any worse than that. On the other hand, if Percy’s kidney was a match for Edgar’s sister, he would probably be willing to sell it.

  “Maybe Percy’s dad was in the same business as yours,” Eric mused aloud.

  I winced when I asked, “Has Percy been arrested yet?”

  Eric made some phone calls while the rest of us cleared the dishes and took them back to the mansion. Mr. DuBois refused all offers to wash the dishes and shooed us out of his kitchen.

  When Edgar and I returned to the carriage house, Eric said, “Good news. They brought him in for questioning but released him.”

  “Like they did Zsazsa?” I asked.

  “Exactly like that. They’re checking the phone records to see if he was in contact with Maisie. If they find some concrete evidence, they’ll arrest both of them. Right now they’ve got nothing on them.”

  “Then we should pay Percy a visit, don’t you think?”

  Edgar and Eric were all for it. I brought Peaches inside and fed her Tuna Delight which, from the way she gobbled it, must have lived up to its name.

  We were on the verge of leaving when I remembered that Eric was supposed to stay off his leg. “Maybe you should wait here.”

  “Not a chance!”

  “At least take the crutch.”

  Eric planted a big smooch on me. “I’ll be fine. If I can’t walk back, one of you can come pick me up.”

  I reminded myself that sometimes you have to pick your battles. That was one I wasn’t going to win. However, if he was limping by the time we reached the sidewalk, I was sending him back to the carriage house.

  I locked the door behind us and watched Eric as we walked along the driveway of the mansion. I thought he was doing amazingly well when he said, “Well! If it’s not Mr. Flower Bouquet.”

  I looked around. Sure enough, Jack Miller was casually hanging out on the sidewalk. “He didn’t send me flowers, Eric!”

  “No? Then what’s he doing here?”

  Eric headed straight for him.

  Chapter 35

  I grabbed Eric’s arm. “Please don’t do this. Leave Jack alone.”

  “It’s my job to get rid of creeps who follow women. You wait here.”

  “Eric! Please don’t bother him.”

  Edgar and I waited a few yards away while Eric played cop. He and Jack were all smiles in two minutes.

  Eric waved to us to come over.

  “It’s not you he’s following,” said Eric. “Meet Jack Miller, of the FBI Fine Art Crime team.”

  Jack grinned at me. “An art thief was released from prison recently, and we were hoping he’d lead us to the place where he hid the things he stole. I’ve been tailing him. Then word got around that Professor Maxwell was looking for a van Gogh sunflower painting on the black market, so I was keeping an eye on him.”

  “That’s why you were following him when he left a bar with van den Teuvel.”

  Jack laughed. “And what were you doing tailing me?”

  “You knew?”

  “You followed me for blocks. It would have been difficult not to notice you.”

  “I was making sure the professor made it home okay,” I explained.

  “Sorry that I scared you the night van den Teuvel broke in to Color Me Read.”

  “It was you who jumped off the awning?”

  “And it was Jack who sent the flowers as an apology,” said Eric.

  “Those got me in a lot of hot water with Eric.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Then why were you following Edgar?” I asked.

  “You were following me?” Edgar appeared shocked.

  “You were meeting up with a lot of antiques dealers and some black market dealers, asking questions about a Thomas Jones. We know Orso had to stash the goods somewhere and you landed on my radar.”

  I wasn’t smiling anymore. “Orso is also known as Thomas Jones?”

  “Not many people call him that, but it’s his real name.”

  I gazed at Edgar. “No wonder weird things have been happening to you. Orso is your dad! Do people think Edgar has the items Orso stole?”

  Jack shrugged. “They think he might lead them to their whereabouts. And we all noted that he showed up shortly before Orso was released from prison.”

  “That’s why van den Teuvel attacked you,” said Eric.

  Jack shook his head. “What a nut job. Did he use the British accent?”

  “He’s not British?” I asked.

  “He’s actually Gary Robertson from Pomona, California. A thorn in my side. When he shows up, there’s always trouble.”

  I did note that Eric slyly wrapped an arm around me while we spoke with Jack. It wasn’t necessary, but it was sort of cute.

  We finally left Jack and made our way along the block in the direction of Dolly’s house. Eric was limping a little bit more, but he didn’t complain.

  As we walked through Dolly’s gate, we could hear people yelling inside the house.

  The front door opened and Percy stumbled out backward. Maisie and Veronica appeared on the stoop. Both of them were angry and shouting. Percy took one step too many backward and tumbled down the concrete stairs.

  Edgar and I rushed to him.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Percy tried to sit up. “I think I may have broken something.” He moaned in pain.

  Priss and Olivia showed up behind Maisie and Veronica, who appeared horrified.

  “An ambulance is on the way,” called Eric.

  With Percy and Edgar side by side, I compared their faces. Percy’s was narrower, especially around the jaw. Their eyes were brown, but slightly different shapes. And Percy’s eyebrows were thinner than Edgar’s.

  I left them to talk and trotted up the stairs. “What happened?”

  Maisie and Veronica gazed at each other.

  It was Maisie who said, “He was two-timing us.”

  Veronica asked, “Will he be okay? We didn’t mean to hurt him.”

  “We wanted to,” said Maisie. “And he would have deserved it.”

  Veronica sat down on the top step. “I didn’t want to believe you, Florrie. I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I fell for him twice!” Maisie complained. “How could I be so stupid after he broke off our engagement and dated someone else?”

  “He deserves what he got,” said Priss.

  Olivia appeared pained. “Maybe we should go in.”

  “No!” Priss was adamant. “You’re always bossing me around, just like Florrie bosses Veronica. Birth order does not give you the right to tell us what to do.”

  Oy. I wanted to walk away. Instead I looked at Veronica. “I’m sorry. I just found out about it first. It’s hard not to tell your sister she’s being two-timed. But I don’t like to see you being taken advantage of and I certainly don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Well put, Florrie,” said Olivia.

  “My mom tried to warn me about Percy.” Maisie spoke softly. “She hated his guts. Maybe I should have listened.”

  The ambulance rolled to a halt on the sidewalk and a little crowd gathered.

  Just beyond them, across the street, Mike looked on.

  Chapter 36

  “Mike!” I waved and ran toward him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was planning to ask you the same question. Do you know the owners of this house?”

  “Yes. Is something wrong? You seem put out.”

  “While I rotted in jail and lost the best years of my life, the real thief lived the high life right here.”
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  “Do you mean Dolly?”

  “Dolly lived here?”

  “She was the owner of the house, but she was murdered a few days ago.”

  “Was she married?”

  “Four times! But her last husband died a long time ago.”

  “He got what he deserved.”

  “Someone shot him.”

  “Ordinarily I do not take pleasure in the deaths of others, but on this occasion, I believe I am entitled to some small degree of satisfaction that he was not rewarded for his poor behavior by a long and wonderful life.”

  I felt so stupid. How could I have not seen this? “You’re Orso.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “How do you know that?”

  “You lied to me. You gave me a fake name.”

  “I apologize. I no longer wish to be known as Orso. That name carries with it a great burden. I am trying to start fresh. I thought if I gave myself a new name it would be a new beginning for me. Orso Moschello and Tom Jones are gone just as though they died in the prison where I wasted my life.”

  “Tom Jones?”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve heard jokes about the singer my whole life. I loathed that name.”

  “Which one is your real name, Orso or Tom Jones?”

  “They both are. Orso means bear in Italian. My grandfather called me Piccolo Orso, ‘little bear,’ when I was a child. My friends picked it up and when I was in the antiques business, everyone knew me as Orso. My middle name was my mother’s maiden name, Moschello. I thought it had a more interesting ring to it. I was a young man then and thought it sounded macho, so I was known as Orso Moschello. But my birth certificate says Thomas Moschello Jones.”

  “When exactly did you go to prison?”

  “The worst year of my life, 1991.”

  My pulse quickened. It couldn’t be. Could it? “Do you know a woman with the last name Delaney?”

  He studied me in alarm. “Who are you?”

  “I know someone who would like to meet you.”

  “Me? Are you sure? Do you know Betty Delaney?”

  “I don’t. But there’s someone else who has been looking for you.”

  His expression hardened. “Is this some kind of trick? I haven’t violated my probation or done anything wrong.”

  “It’s nothing like that. Don’t worry.”

  “Who would want to meet me? My parents passed away while I was in prison. Except for distant cousins, I don’t have anyone left on this earth who cares about me.”

  “Your son does.”

  “This time you are wrong, dear Florrie. I don’t have a son.”

  “Tom Jones, you are about to embark on the new life you longed for.”

  I took his hand and was prepared to march him across the street when a moving truck pulled up. Olivia and Priss walked out to talk to the driver.

  I tugged a reluctant Orso, or Mike, across the street and through Dolly’s gate. We watched as the EMTs loaded Percy into the ambulance. At least the cops would know where to find him.

  I motioned to Edgar to join us.

  “Mr. Thomas Jones, I would like you to meet your son, Edgar Delaney. He’s been looking for you.”

  I walked away to give them some privacy. Eric held his hand out to me. I grasped it. “How is your leg?”

  “Achy. But I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”

  We watched as movers passed us carrying furniture and boxes. It was the end of an era. Dolly was gone, and now, after twenty-five years in this house, Priss and Olivia would be gone, too. And in one of those boxes was Maxwell’s van Gogh sunflower, probably worth millions. It was going away and would be lost again. “There must be a way to stop them,” I whispered. “I know I saw the van Gogh.”

  “Maisie, how old are you?” I asked.

  “Thirty. Why?”

  “So in 1991, you were three years old.”

  Eric whispered, “Where are you going with this?”

  “Priss and Olivia said they had lived here twenty-five years, but they took care of Maisie when she was three, so they were here in 1991.”

  “They just rounded the number,” said Eric. “I wouldn’t put much stock in that.”

  Priss walked out wearing a gardening hat with a wide brim. Blood-red roses and dotted midnight-black tulle pinned the brim up in front so her face was visible. She carried a long-handled spade.

  “What a cute hat!” said Maisie. “May I see it? Where did you get it? My shop should carry these.”

  Priss’s free hand touched the brim. “I made it myself. I’d rather not take it off, though. You understand—hat head. My hair’s a mess.”

  “That’s mine!”

  The gardening neighbor from across the street marched toward us. That is my spade, Priss Beauton. You have some nerve.”

  Priss smiled at her. “Please. It’s just a shovel. They all look alike.”

  The neighbor’s eyes narrowed. “That’s where you are wrong, missy. That spade has a nick on the back, just above the spot where the handle joins the metal. And over the nick is a smudge of green paint.”

  Eric said, “Turn the shovel, Priss.”

  Priss took two steps toward the truck, but the neighbor was surprisingly fast. She tugged at the spade, but Priss wasn’t letting go.

  A breeze came up, catching Priss’s hat. Priss let go of the shovel to reach for her hat, but the wind carried it toward Veronica.

  The neighbor flipped the spade so we could see. Sure enough, there was the nick and the green smudge, just as described. The irate neighbor glared at her. “Just so you know, I reported the break-in of my garage to the police. You may have gotten away with stealing from other people’s garages in this neighborhood, but not from mine.”

  She turned on her heel and went home with her spade.

  “Are you going to report her?” I asked Eric.

  “I guess I have to.”

  Veronica started to hand the hat back to Priss, but Maisie grabbed it. The hat twisted and a piece of paper fell out of it.

  Oblivious, Maisie checked the label inside the hat. “I knew you didn’t make this.”

  I bent over to pick up the paper. It was the photo of Edgar’s father.

  Chapter 37

  “Oh, Ms. Beauton,” moaned Eric. “What have you done now?”

  To me Eric said, “Hold on to that hat.”

  Maisie handed it to me, while Eric walked over to the moving men and showed them his badge.

  He made a phone call, and then said to Priss, “Let’s go inside and have a little talk.”

  I peered in the hat to see if she was hiding anything else in it. She’d done a good job, but I dared to wedge a fingernail under the fabric. And there it was. It hadn’t been in a box after all. My fingers trembled. I was holding an original van Gogh sunflower in my hands.

  “Maisie,” said Eric. “I’d like you to come, too.”

  Maisie’s face paled until it was almost a toasted gray. She went along, though, and the rest of us fell in line.

  Orso caught up to me. “Is that the van Gogh? How did she get hold of it?”

  I handed Edgar the photo of his dad, which he promptly showed to Orso.

  “This is your father? Well, I must say that’s a disappointment. I rather liked the idea of a daughter and son. I enjoyed it if only for fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s not you?” Edgar asked.

  “No. This is Randy Johnson, the man who ruined my life. The one who ran off with four priceless items we were transferring to a museum.”

  Edgar frowned. “Then how did my mom get this picture?”

  Orso rubbed his face. “I was with her the day she took the photograph. It was before Randy scammed me. She dreamed of living in a house like this. We had a lovely day together,” he said wistfully.

  We gathered in Dolly’s apartment. It wasn’t the same without Dolly’s furniture and clutter. The hardwood floors were fabulous and would help sell the house, but the room was eerie now that it was empty.

  Er
ic turned to me. “Would you go get Olivia? I think she should be here.”

  I raced up the stairs and asked Olivia to come down. She shut her eyes for a few seconds. “We had a good long run. I guess in the back of my mind, I knew it would all come out one day.”

  She walked down the stairs in front of me like she was bravely going to her doom.

  When we walked in, Orso was speaking. “I hired Randy, the man in Edgar’s photo, to help me transfer priceless items to a museum. Unfortunately, on arrival at the museum, it was discovered that four items were missing, one of which was the small van Gogh sunflower. I knew I didn’t have them. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, but Randy disappeared and was nowhere to be found. The prosecutor insisted I made him up to take the blame. I wasted a lot of years in prison because of this guy. If anyone knows where I can find him, I’d be most appreciative.”

  I had a very bad feeling that we all knew where Randy was. What we didn’t know was how he ended up behind the bookcase, or why someone put him there.

  A look passed between Priss and Olivia. Priss said, “Dolly killed him. She was like a sister to us, so we helped her drag him up the stairs and hide his body.”

  “Didn’t he smell?” asked Edgar.

  “Thankfully it was a bitterly cold fall and winter that year, which helped more than you would think.”

  “That would have been 1991?” I asked. “The year of the rat, which was really the year of the goat?”

  Olivia looked pained.

  Maisie shook her head. “I knew it. I knew Mom was responsible.”

  “Dolly?” I asked. “I find that so hard to believe. Why did she murder him?”

  Olivia looked down at her hands. “He was three-timing her.” Her chest heaved. “He had proposed to Dolly, and to Priss, and to me. He was seeing all three of us, right under our noses. Right here in this house! The man was horrible.”

  “How did he break his neck?” asked Eric.

  Olivia began to cry. “It wasn’t Dolly!”

  Priss’s eyes widened. “Yes, it was. Remember?”

  “Oh, Priss. It wasn’t any of us. Dolly and I went up to his studio apartment on the third floor and found him with Priss in flagrante delicto. Priss said she was his fiancée, then I said I was his fiancée, then Dolly chimed in, and she thought she was his fiancée! The fuss moved out into the hallway with everyone shouting, and yelling, and arguing, and smacking him. How could he do that to us? He was moving toward the stairs, undoubtedly to escape us, and the three of us, we didn’t mean to, but we all three pushed him. I remember it like it was yesterday.” Olivia closed her eyes. “I swear he tumbled down those steep stairs in slow motion. All three of us reached our hands out as if we could catch him or stop him from tumbling. And then he finally came to a stop. I knew it was bad from the angle of his head. No one can turn their head like that and survive. He was gone. He was there kissing up to all three of us one minute and the next minute, he was just gone.”