Color Me Murder

by Krista Davis

  She paused and stared out the plate glass window, but I didn’t think she was seeing anything. She could have told us that last night. It was hardly worth a special meeting. She had to know something more.

  Sonja swallowed hard. “It was strange because from what I could see, Delbert did not have a pleasing personality, yet he was always the center of attention. Women flirted with him and men wanted to be his friend, even buying him drinks.”

  “I guess money attracts some people.”

  “Exactly. But there was one woman who watched him with anger in her eyes.”

  Chapter 15

  Now we were getting somewhere! “Do you know her name?”

  Sonja shook her head. “She isn’t a regular. I serve hundreds of people every night. Most I know only by sight. She’s very attractive. A tall blonde with good taste in clothes.”

  That could be nearly half the women in Georgetown. It didn’t fit anyone who worked at the bookstore, but Helen fell into three of the categories. “You’re sure she’s a blonde? Not a redhead?”

  Sonja took a big breath. “The neon lights sometimes cast misleading tints, but I remember her as a blonde.”

  My excitement fizzled. There had to be more to this. Why would she bother telling me? “This woman just watched him?”

  “It was the way she did it. Almost from the shadows, like she was spying on him. And there was no mistaking her anger. Later on, when a few drinks had loosened her up, she talked silliness of revenge on Delbert because she hates her new job.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  She mashed her eyes closed briefly. “No. They haven’t talked to me. I didn’t report it that night because I would have to call the police all the time. Drunk people say a lot of things they don’t mean.”

  “Did Delbert notice her?” I asked.

  “I was working, so I couldn’t watch them continuously. I saw him look at her once. His glance remained on her. I remember wondering if he found her attractive, or if she was a previous girlfriend whom he had discarded in a cruel manner.”

  That was no help at all. Jacquie Liebhaber was a blonde. I couldn’t imagine her hanging at Club Neon, though, unless she was trying to torment Delbert. “Age?”

  “Late twenties? The typical Club Neon age group.”

  That eliminated Jacquie.

  I took a slip of paper out of my pocket and wrote my cell phone number on it with a blue-tipped colored pencil. “Would you call me if she comes in again?”

  Sonja looked at the paper like she feared it might bite her.

  “Sonja, I appreciate this information very much. But I can’t help feeling like there must be something more. You could have told me this at Club Neon last night.”

  Her gaze flew past me. She appeared to scan the street outside. We were alone, yet she spoke in a hushed voice. “A man came into the club asking questions—”

  I interrupted her. “When?”

  “Last night. Before you arrived. He was very large.” She balled her hands into fists and held up her elbows. “Strong like a fighter. On his left arm, just above his elbow, was a tattoo of a butterfly. He was bald, but I remember thinking perhaps he shaves his head because he had a bushy black mustache. Florrie, he scared me. He was like a character from a movie. The big bad dude who comes in to break the knees of the quivering scrawny guy.”

  “And he made inquiries about Delbert?”

  “Oh yes. He asked for me by name, which made me very nervous. How would he possibly know my name?”

  Maybe he had paid a visit to Delbert’s roommates like I had. I turned to look out the window. “You thought he was watching you?”

  “He was watching me! He was still there when you came in. You weren’t the first person to be talking about Delbert. A lot of people knew him. His death was a hot topic. But”—she smiled—“you and your friend didn’t look like Club Neon types. I felt more comfortable with you.” She leaned across the table. “I’m not afraid that you’re going to punch me or haul me off to a dark warehouse to grill me.”

  I wondered if she had seen too many thriller movies. Then again, maybe she was right to be wary of the man with the butterfly tattoo. Scott and Lance thought Delbert had finally crossed the wrong person. It could be someone with unsavory connections. But if Butterfly Man or a pal of his had murdered Delbert, why would he be asking about him?

  I bought several slices of raspberry cream torte from her as thanks, and because they looked delicious.

  I walked home wondering if there were no end to the people Delbert had hurt. He was like a human wrecking ball. The professor knew that. Surely Delbert’s parents must have realized it. They had paid to clean up his messes.

  In spite of myself, I kept an eye out for a big bald guy with a large mustache. Not one person matched that description. I felt sort of silly about it as moms with darling children in strollers passed me. The men in ties and business suits, or golf shirts with shorts, didn’t seem very threatening, either. It was a nice neighborhood. Bullies like Butterfly Man were few and far between.

  I walked along the driveway to the carriage house. In front of the garage, Sergeant Jonquille chatted with a guy in a uniform different from Jonquille’s.

  “Florrie!” Jonquille sounded pleased to see me.

  My heart skipped a beat when my eyes met his.

  “I was just filling Felipe in on the details.”

  I shook Felipe’s hand. His name tag read FELIPE NUNEZ, MONTOYA SECURITY. He was shorter than Jonquille, but on the pudgy side. I guessed him to be close to fifty. “We’re all very glad to have you here.”

  “You’re in good hands with Felipe. He used to be on the police force with me, but he got smart and retired. Now he snags all the cushy jobs,” said Jonquille. “I stopped by to let you know that you can go back into the bookstore if you stay off the third floor. We blocked it with crime scene tape. You can reopen to the general public on Thursday morning.”

  Day after tomorrow. Thank goodness. “That’s fabulous! Thank you so much. Any leads yet?”

  Jonquille cocked his head. “Leads?”

  “To the killer.”

  He blew a breath out of his mouth. “I understand how you feel about Maxwell. He’s lucky to have someone as loyal as you. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to the idea that he knocked off his nephew.”

  “You’re not even considering that someone else might have murdered Delbert?”

  Jonquille looked away for a few seconds. “It’s not up to me, Florrie. I’m not in homicide. But it doesn’t look good for the professor. I’ll tell you what. If you come up with a legitimate suspect, or concrete evidence, I’ll take it to homicide.”

  “Who’s on the case?” asked Felipe.

  “Zielony.”

  Felipe groaned. “The man’s like a terrier after a squirrel. He won’t give up even if the squirrel jumps to another tree. Good luck changing his mind.”

  “But what about justice?” I was horrified. “I understand doing your job, but what if I’m right and the professor isn’t guilty? It would be unfair to incarcerate him while the real perpetrator gets off scot free. Or worse—kills someone else!”

  “Florrie,” said Jonquille, “we’re all about justice. But you’re one of our witnesses. You told us that Maxwell was planning to do something to take care of Delbert. Deep in your heart, you probably know the truth. You’re just not ready to accept it.”

  I tried not to scowl at him. Something had happened at the mansion the night before that put Mr. DuBois in the hospital. He knew that, but would poo-poo it by saying there was no connection.

  There was nothing to do but thank them both and go home. It had been a very stressful twenty-four hours, and I longed to pull out my sketch pad and relax. Besides, if we were going to reopen, I needed to invite Jacquie Liebhaber to a grand reopening party. If Jacquie came to sign books, it would be a huge success. I’d have to order extra books right away and get on the ball. I hoped I could get them fast enough.


  I unlocked the door to the carriage house. Peaches and Frodo waited for me, purring and wagging. There was no warmer welcome home.

  After the requisite petting, I fed both of them. “What do you think of the carriage house, Frodo? Are you okay being here?”

  He was too busy snacking on dog cookies to respond. I logged into the bookstore computer and searched for contact information for Jacquie Liebhaber. Her agent’s number came up, and I called it.

  When the agent answered, I explained that I wanted to invite Jacquie to a signing on rather short notice.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

  “Who is this again?” she asked.

  “Florrie Fox of Color Me Read, in Washington, DC. I believe Ms. Liebhaber was once married to the owner, John Maxwell?”

  There was silence on the other end. Finally, the agent said, “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t believe she’ll be available on such short notice.”

  Chapter 16

  That was disappointing. I would have to find someone else.

  I went through our list of local authors. Aha! Emily Branscom had a new nonfiction book out on little-known historic oddities of Georgetown. That was just the ticket. She was always popular. I phoned her agent and left a message asking if Emily would be interested in doing a signing.

  That pending, I took my sketch pad out to the garden and doodled. I found myself drawing a cupcake. I really ought to bake some cupcakes. Would people buy a coloring book of desserts and pastries?

  Inspired by a butterfly in the garden, I sketched a butterfly landing on a cupcake. And then just a butterfly. The thought that a butterfly would fit beautifully in a new garden coloring book flitted through my mind before I returned to the important thing—who was Butterfly Man and what did he want?

  What had Jonquille said he needed? A legitimate suspect. Or concrete evidence.

  I flipped the page to make a list of suspects. An ivy-colored crayon poised over the paper, I hardly knew where to begin but wrote Lance Devereoux’s name, the roommate whose career Delbert ruined. I sketched his face from memory but wasn’t pleased with the likeness. Had his pal Scott Southworth helped him? What about Jacquie Liebhaber, the author whose books Delbert published as his own? I added their names.

  Reluctantly, I wrote Helen’s name next and drew a sketch of her face with her gorgeous copper hair tumbling over her shoulders. It was ridiculous, of course. She had no motive. At least not one that I knew about. She did have access to the bookstore, though. So did Bob. I kept coming back to that. Along those lines, I had been a little bit disturbed to learn that Zsazsa, Bankhouse, and Goldblum all knew the alarm code. Bankhouse had access to the keys through Helen, but any one of them might have finagled the key situation. Could one of them have left the back door unlocked? Again, though, I knew of no motive that they might have.

  My only remaining suspect thus far was Mr. DuBois. He would do anything for Maxwell. And he certainly had access to keys. But the fact that someone had chased him almost prevented me from adding his name. I needed to get over there to talk with him and find out exactly what had happened last night.

  I looked over my list with disgust. Only Jacquie and Lance were plausible suspects.

  There was a knock at my door. I hurried inside and peeked through the window. To my relief I saw Felipe, the guard. When I opened the door, he handed me a business card. “There’s a Mr. Hambrick here to see you. Do you want to talk to him?” He lowered his voice. “You don’t have to. I can send him away.”

  I had no idea who he was. I looked at the card in my hand. IAN HAMBRICK, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Could this be Butterfly Man? “Maybe Maxwell’s lawyer hired a PI. I’d better talk to him. Can you stay with me?”

  “Sure. It would be my pleasure.” Felipe signaled him to approach.

  It was kind of cool to have my own private guard. Was this how the wealthy lived?

  Ian introduced himself. About six feet tall, he spoke with a slight British lilt. In spite of the heat, he wore a driver’s cap of beige linen. His face, while not unattractive, was very narrow. His chin and nose were somewhat pointy. His beard was short and well trimmed.

  Although he didn’t fit Sonja’s description of Butterfly Man, I looked at his arms anyway in search of the tattoo. Unfortunately, he wore a long-sleeved shirt that covered his arms.

  “I’m looking for Jacquie Liebhaber. The nurse at the main house referred me to you. Have you heard from her in the last week?”

  I was taken aback. “Looking for her? Jacquie Liebhaber, the women’s fiction author? She’s missing?”

  “I’m afraid so. No one has seen or heard from her since Saturday.”

  My knees went weak. How many things could go wrong? “Oh my gosh! What happened?”

  “We don’t really know. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t know Jacquie. She was once married to John Maxwell, who owns this property, but I’m sure you have read in the papers that he is currently incarcerated.”

  “So she hasn’t been here?”

  “Not that I know of. I assume the only reason she would come would be to see Maxwell, and he hasn’t been here since Sunday.”

  He nodded. “Thanks anyway. If she shows up looking for him, please give me a call. Everyone is very worried about her.”

  “I can understand that. I hope they find her soon. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I have always enjoyed her books.”

  “Thank you.” He strode away.

  I was reeling. There was no reason to imagine a connection between Delbert’s death and Jacquie’s disappearance. But the timing was certainly coincidental.

  “Everything okay?” asked Felipe.

  “I don’t know. Must be boring out here,” I said.

  He smiled and shrugged. “I’ve worked in worse situations.” He looked at the sky. “Rain, snow, sleet. Yecch. Those are the days I wonder why I don’t get a nice cushy security job at some office building. Today, the weather’s good, the house and grounds are beautiful, and I seriously doubt that the scumbag who broke into the mansion last night will be back.”

  “Could I offer you a cold drink?”

  He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Thanks, but I came prepared with a cooler.”

  I stepped inside and closed the door. Could Jacquie have murdered Delbert? It seemed unlikely. Would she have a key to the bookstore? Only if she had been having midnight rendezvous there with Maxwell. That thought shocked me for a moment. After all, it wasn’t outside the realm of realistic possibilities. He went to the bookstore a lot at weird hours. They truly could have been meeting there secretly.

  That changed everything. Maxwell might have entrusted her with a key and the password to the alarm system. But would Delbert have been there? Could she have arranged to meet him there out of anger because he stole her books? It might not have been difficult to lure him with the promise of money or even some scam.

  Or had she gone to see Maxwell and discovered Delbert there instead? Had she been waiting for Maxwell when Delbert arrived? She could have murdered him and then taken off. Was she in hiding because she had killed Delbert? Would she let Maxwell suffer in prison for her crime?

  I wished I knew more about her. She had divorced Maxwell. Were there hard feelings after all these years? Had she plotted this to land Maxwell in prison for something that had happened in their marriage so long ago?

  I hadn’t considered his ex-wives. There had been three I believed. But what about girlfriends? Had he been dating someone and dumped her? Oh no! That opened a whole new group of people to consider.

  The only person who would know who might have it in for Maxwell was DuBois. He could fill me in on Jacquie.

  I found it curious that the private investigator bothered to come to the mansion. Did that suggest that she and Maxwell were still in touch? Why hadn’t any private investigators come around looking into Delbert’s death for Maxwell’s benefit?r />
  What a dolt I was. Of course! I bet that was Butterfly Man. A quick phone call to the lawyers and I would know.

  I brought Peaches and Frodo inside and secured the doors. I didn’t see Felipe when I crossed the driveway to the main house.

  I knocked on the back door, but when no one answered, I used the key I had found earlier in the day. It had been so early in the day that it felt like several days had gone by.

  Felipe and the nurse chatted in the library. I stopped to say hi and headed for Mr. DuBois’s room.

  The curtains had all been drawn. He lay in bed, a tiny motionless figure. His mouth hung open in the throes of deep sleep.

  When he gasped and snapped his mouth shut, I jumped in alarm. But he didn’t wake.

  I gazed around the darkened room. A large TV hung on the wall, the screen black. His bookshelves overflowed with mysteries and true crime stories. I couldn’t help noticing that he had a full set of Jacquie Liebhaber’s books.

  A collection of photos were mostly of DuBois with members of the Maxwell family. I wondered if he had any living family of his own. The pictures led me to believe the Maxwells were his adopted family.

  I ambled out to the library. “How is Mr. DuBois doing?”

  “He’s as fine as can be given his injuries. He’ll sleep most of the day today. Don’t you worry about him, honey. Sleep is always the best thing for recuperation.”

  I suspected she was right.

  “I can give you a call if he wakes. Would you like that?” the nurse asked.

  Shaking my head, I said, “No, thanks. I’ll stop by a little later to check on him. I did want to call his attorneys, though.” Feeling a little guilty for acting like I owned the place, I stepped behind the desk, located the phone number, and dialed.

  The two of them quickly excused themselves.