by Krista Davis
“She must be thirty,” Zsazsa said. “You look far too young to have a stepdaughter that age. Do you have grandchildren?”
That drew a smile from Bankhouse. “I try to stay in shape. Helen had one disastrous marriage straight out of college. Thankfully no children arose from that ill-fated union. Since then she has dated quite a few fellows, most of whom are equally unprepared to make a living. Her mother indulges her every whim, but I insisted she absolutely had to have a job, even if it wasn’t her dream position.”
Goldblum sighed. “That’s about it for the employees, except for you, Florrie.”
I chuckled. “I minored in spear throwing in college.”
Fortunately, they all smiled. While I had no doubt that battling with a spear was something that could be done equally well by any size or gender person, it was preposterous to imagine that I, notoriously unathletic and exceedingly incompetent at activities involving such things as balls and other items that had to be thrown, could possibly have seized a spear as my weapon of choice.
“Please,” begged Bankhouse, “not a word about this to Helen. She would be furious if she knew I had told you the sordid details about her.”
Zsazsa pretended to close a zipper on her lips. “Your secrets are safe with us.”
I bid them farewell and headed home, wondering if there was a reason Bankhouse had wanted Helen to work at Color Me Read. I had no reason to think he had a motive to hurt Delbert, but still, it would have been easy for him to gain access to the building with Helen’s keys.
When I entered the carriage house, Peaches lifted her head briefly, but didn’t budge from her spot in the sun. That was the second time she hadn’t come running like she used to. I wasn’t sure I liked this development. On the other hand, maybe it simply reflected her comfort level at living in our new digs. With all the French doors that overlooked the garden, there was a lot more for her to do than in our old apartment.
I spent the next couple of hours having the Color Me Read phone forwarded to my cell phone and making calls to the various delivery companies so they would reroute all parcels to the carriage house.
I had just hung up the phone when there was a knock on my door. I approached it cautiously and saw Detective-Sergeant Zielony outside.
Ugh. Not him again. I opened the door.
“Hello, Florrie. May I come in?”
I realized that I had read far too many mysteries when I wondered if I was giving him permission to snoop if I let him inside. What could he want in my quarters, anyway? Did he hope to see shoes that would match the print I had seen on the floor?
But what could I do? Would he get a search warrant if I said no?
Reluctantly, I stepped aside.
Detective-Sergeant Zielony entered and gazed around.
I felt like he was taking in every tiny detail. It was rude of me not to invite him to sit down or to offer him a beverage, but I didn’t want him to stay long. “How may I help you?”
“Nice place.”
“Thank you.”
“No wonder Delbert wanted to live here.”
I didn’t respond.
“Wouldn’t you rather live in the mansion?” he asked.
What an odd question. “No.”
“Is there a bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?” He started for the stairs.
“No, you may not.”
He turned around, his eyes reflecting his shock at my response.
“What do you want, Detective-Sergeant Zielony?” The question slipped out of my mouth, startling me. I wasn’t usually so brave.
His chin raised slightly as he regarded me. “Who will inherit the Maxwell estate now that Delbert is dead?”
He caught me by surprise. “I have no idea.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure. Detective-Sergeant Zielony, I work for Professor Maxwell. We talk of many things, like Mark Twain’s humor, and whether there is a treasure at Oak Island. We speak of Tolstoy and Harry Potter, of bookstore business and curious world events. Until two days ago, I didn’t know of Delbert’s existence. I have no idea what comprises the Maxwell estate or who might be in line to inherit it. Nor do I care.”
“One of his friends called you his right-hand woman.”
“That’s very flattering. I suppose I am when it comes to Color Me Read.”
“Then surely he has discussed his personal life with you?”
“Only to the extent of his adventures around the world. You know the kind of thing. Tales of his travels.”
“You are aware that I can get a search warrant to see what you’re hiding upstairs.”
In truth, every nerve in my body tingled with fear. I tried to hide my anxiety. Didn’t they say animals sensed fear? Did cops have ways of knowing that, too? I lifted my chin, much as he had, and said, “Then by all means go right ahead.”
I trembled a bit and tried to hide it from him. Where was this bold Florrie coming from? Too much Nancy Drew and Monsieur Poirot?
He strode toward the door. As he passed by me, he whispered, “You’re more of a spitfire than I had thought.”
I had to restrain myself not to slam the door behind him. It would only feed his ego. But I quivered and leaned against the closed door, trying to reason with myself. I had nothing to fear. I had done nothing wrong. Then why did he make me so nervous? And why had he come to scope out the carriage house? What had he expected to find?
I finally walked away from the door and made myself a mug of black tea with milk and sugar to help me get myself together.
Maybe instead of fearing awful Detective-Sergeant Zielony, I should consider what he knew that prompted him to come to the carriage house. What could he have been looking for? They had the weapon.
Clothes! Of course. How stupid could I be? They had found blood on the carpet of the third floor. Chances were good that the killer had blood on his clothes, or that he was bleeding, too. Had Delbert managed to inflict an injury on his killer?
I hadn’t given much thought to the killer walking out of Color Me Read. He or she likely had to go home wearing bloodstained clothes. We knew it was definitely after ten at night, so it would have been dark, but the streetlights and lights from stores and restaurants would have been sufficient for people to notice if someone bloody was walking along the streets. How did the killer get away without anyone noticing him? Had he parked close to the store?
I cupped the warm mug in both my hands, thinking with great relief that there was no blood upstairs. I seriously suspected that the search warrant had been an idle threat intended to scare me, but even if Zielony managed to get one, he wouldn’t find anything of interest among my belongings.
After finishing my tea, I walked over to the mansion and knocked on the back door. Mr. DuBois answered, tidy and official in his butler’s uniform, but showing signs of fatigue.
“Miss Florrie!” He glanced around before seizing my hand and pulling me inside. “These are dark days for the Maxwells.”
“Have you heard from the professor?”
“Indeed. His lawyers tell me he’s doing fine, but they are no closer to finding the real murderer.” He peered at me. “Are you afraid you shall be killed, too?”
Chapter 11
I hadn’t been up to that moment! “Why would you ask such a thing? Why would anyone want to kill me?”
“Because you know too much.”
“Then I have nothing to fear because it’s all a mystery to me. Mr. DuBois, when they arrested the professor yesterday, they searched the mansion, didn’t they?”
“Indeed. Left a mess behind. No courtesy whatsoever.”
“Do you know what they were looking for?”
At that moment, the doorbell tinkled a tune. DuBois’s eyes opened wide. He seemed paralyzed.
“Perhaps they’ll go away,” he whispered.
“You think it’s the press?” Maybe they had been annoying him.
A woman yelled something.
I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but there was no doubt that she was angry.
Mr. DuBois sagged. “Ugh. The professor’s sister, Liddy.”
He didn’t budge.
“You’re not going to answer the door?”
“I am debating that action. It would be rude not to do so, and it is my job to take care of such matters. On the other hand, Maxwell is not home, and I trust she is fully aware of his current incarceration. Nothing good can come of her visit.”
He had a point.
“Ugh,” he uttered. “I suppose there’s no benefit in putting it off. She would surely return later.”
“I’ll go with you.”
We walked through the elegant house to the foyer. The floor was a checkerboard of black-and-white marble. The walls were covered with an elegant soft gold paper with just a hint of an Asian feel. A large round mahogany table sat in the middle of the room holding a tall vase of vibrant gladiolus.
Mr. DuBois opened the front door. “Good day, Miss Liddy.”
She barged inside. Plump, with thin brown hair, her eyes were red-rimmed, probably from crying. She passed DuBois without any acknowledgement. “Who are you?”
I held out my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Woodley. I’m Florrie Fox. I manage Color Me Read.”
She shrieked as though I had told her I was the devil himself.
Mr. DuBois hastened to close the door. “Miss Liddy! Please.”
She eyed me through mere slits. “You have your nerve being here. This is all your fault. If you think you’re moving into the mansion, you’re quite wrong.” She pointed her forefinger toward the door. “Out! You’re through, you little harlot!”
“Now just a moment, Miss Liddy.”
I was surprised to see DuBois intervene.
“Ms. Fox is a legitimate tenant on a month to month basis, and I believe she is entitled, by law, to one month’s notice. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Maxwell’s current situation does not change his possession of this house.”
She burst into tears.
DuBois and I looked at each other like we were wondering what to do. I guessed he was as unenthusiastic about comforting her as I was.
After what seemed an uncomfortable eternity but was probably only a minute or two, Mrs. Woodley regained her composure. “One would think a mother who had lost her only child at the hands of her own brother might elicit more sympathy. And you, DuBois, should be ashamed of yourself for treating me like a stranger. I can see that my lawyers will have to undertake the eviction of both of you from the property.” She turned on her heel but made a slow exit. Just outside, she looked at us again and said, “Maxwell will rot in prison for what he did to my little boy, and the two of you will join him for your actions as his accomplices. Make no—”
With one swift motion of his right hand, DuBois effectively slammed the door in her face.
He looked at me with a mischievous grin. “Oooh. That felt good!” He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “I shall hold down the fort from the invading relatives. Now, how do we find the real culprit who dispatched Delbert?”
It spoke well of Maxwell that all of the people who knew and loved him didn’t question his innocence. If only the police could come to that realization.
“Can you obtain information from Maxwell’s attorneys or the police?” I asked.
DuBois’s eyes reflected his excitement. “I shall make it my quest. What do you wish to know?”
“I imagine they’re going to do an autopsy on Delbert—”
“Undoubtedly!”
“Don’t you think it would be helpful to know the time of death? The three of us were together at three in the morning. After that, the professor was with you or me until morning. So we could provide him with an alibi for those times. Right?”
DuBois nodded. “Indeed. And what about fingerprints on the spear? Maxwell’s will be there, of course, because it belonged to him. But the killer’s fingerprints will be on it, as well.”
DuBois bustled into a library, and I followed him. Fine paneling and woodwork lined the walls. The fireplace was so large I could almost walk into it. A massive desk with claw feet and four-inch-wide lions’ heads on the corners took center stage. I didn’t know what kinds of woods comprised the inlay, but I knew without any doubt that it was an antique and may have been in the Maxwell family for generations. I couldn’t imagine living in a house like this. Had members of the Maxwell clan curled up in the cushy chairs by a blazing fire to read one of the thousands of books on the shelves?
DuBois sat at the desk like he owned the place.
“How long have you worked for the professor?” I asked.
“Maxwell was a mere boy when I came to work for the family. I knew his parents well. Such dignified and proper people.”
After working for the Maxwell family so many years, he probably did feel that it was his home, as well.
“So you have known Liddy a long time, too. She must have been a small child when you started working here.”
He jotted notes with a pen that I recognized as Swiss and pricey. “Indeed she was. Fortunately, a nanny looked after her. To be correct, a series of nannies watched over her. Miss Liddy always was a demanding and imperious sort. You can tell a lot about people by the way they treat the help. Is there anything else I should inquire about?”
“I imagine it would behoove us to know the status of the house and the store.” I hated to even think it, but if the professor was held for a longer period of time, they might become issues.
DuBois made a note. “I happen to know that Maxwell has the right to use of this property until his death or such time as he no longer desires to reside here. The family assets, like this house, a beach residence, a horse farm, some paintings of significance, and the jewelry, especially the famous Maxwell emerald and diamond necklace, are the subject of a rather complicated family trust, intended to ensure that everything remain in the family. Small wonder that Maxwell was concerned about Delbert inheriting everything.”
“A necklace?” I gazed around the room. “Is there an alarm system?”
“It was installed forty years ago. We are the proverbial sitting duck, ripe to have our feathers plucked by a half-witted burglar. I have begged Maxwell to update it. Times have changed so much. But that sort of thing bores him. He always says, DuBois, you are a far better alarm system than any mechanical one.”
“So you don’t think his sister could make a demand for the house and throw us out?”
“I doubt it. But I will express our concern to his solicitors.”
I let him know that packages intended for the bookstore would be arriving. He was most agreeable about it.
“Mr. DuBois, either you or Maxwell made reference to Delbert’s roommates kicking him out. I doubt that Liddy would tell us who they were. I’d like to know what happened there. Do you have any idea how to contact them?”
DuBois’s head gave a little jerk. He sat with a straight back and stared at me without a word.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but had found that often when I was quiet or didn’t respond immediately, the other person in the conversation felt it necessary to fill the silence, so I simply waited for him to respond.
“Under the circumstances, I expect it would be acceptable to break protocol and snoop. After all, the professor needs our assistance.” He pushed something on the desk, and retrieved an iPad.
“The police didn’t collect the computers?”
DuBois smiled. “Perhaps they weren’t aware of the secret compartments in this house. Pity, eh?”
He spoke as he typed. “2450 Langsworth Place.” He peered at the iPad and in only a few seconds, a brilliant smile lighted his face. “Scott Southworth and Lance Devereoux. I do love modern technology.”
That was far too easy. “The professor had their names and the address?”
Mr. DuBois didn’t look up at me. “There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Delbert’s father
cut him off and Delbert couldn’t pay the rent. Intended as tough love, I believe. Apparently he wanted to force Delbert to stand on his own two feet and stop playing the role of rich kid. Delbert went to his mommy, who would do anything for him. Liddy didn’t want her husband to know that she was paying Delbert’s rent, so she came to Maxwell, who wrote the check for the rent and smoothed things over with the roommates. I must say, though, that he was in full agreement, as was I, with Delbert’s father. It’s ridiculous to have that young man cruising around spending money like water and getting into trouble at every turn.”
“Delbert didn’t have a job?”
“Hah! Delbert has had many jobs, most often acquired through his parents, though I must say he is well educated. Assuming, of course, that he didn’t lie, cheat, and steal his way through college. He has been fired from almost every position he has ever held.”
He jotted their names and address on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “I would come with you, but I feel the need to protect the mansion. I don’t dare leave it.”
I was beginning to wonder if the old fellow had developed a bit of agoraphobia. “Can I pick up some groceries for you? Or takeout, perhaps?”
He appeared to be touched by my question. “Thank you for your consideration, Miss Florrie. I have a standing order with the greengrocer, the florist, the organic food store, and my favorite Japanese restaurant. Home delivery is a marvel.”
I checked the time when I left the house. Did I dare go back to the bookstore as the other police officer had suggested? I squared my shoulders. Why not? The worst-case scenario was Zielony being angry with me. I was pretty sure I had already accomplished that.
