by Krista Davis
“A pretend farm?”
“They don’t actually farm, except for one section of farm-to-table veggies that my dad serves. Mostly they just collect animals who need homes and run up extravagant veterinary bills.”
“They sound like wonderful people.”
“I’m fairly fond of them,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “But I’m worried about you.”
“Me, too. I don’t understand why anyone would want to harm me. I had nothing to do with Delbert’s murder.”
Jonquille quizzed me about who might be angry with me. I had no answers.
I was beat and we both had work in the morning, so I reluctantly went up to bed sooner than I’d have liked. It was late and I was exhausted, but wired by Jonquille’s presence and the horrible thought that someone had now targeted me. I snuggled on the bed with Peaches and Frodo, and sketched Jacquie’s face with colored pencils. She was probably in her seventies, but her face was remarkably unlined. Either she’d had work done or she took very good care of her skin. I ought to take a cue from that. She hadn’t worn a stitch of makeup but still looked good.
In every photo I had seen of her, she had worn her blond hair in a perfect shoulder length bob. But when I saw her today, it was wavy and unruly, as if she hadn’t blown it dry. Maybe that was her usual look when she wasn’t blown dry, styled, and primped for being photographed?
Her clothes had been unusual, too. She had been dressed in a snow-white oversized man’s button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of cutoff jeans that didn’t fit her well, with high-heeled shoes.
As I added details to the sketch, I reviewed what I knew for sure about Jacquie, which was precious little. Trying to sort what she had claimed from what was verifiable, I drew as I thought it all through.
I doodled the lock on my door because she was able to gain access to the carriage house while I was out. Next to it, I drew a key. Would she still have one? Maybe the lock had never been changed? Maybe there had been a key in a hiding place somewhere that I didn’t know about?
She’d said she was looking for food. I sketched the refrigerator and a sandwich with frilly lettuce sticking out of it. I believed her story because the burn on her hand proved she had touched the refrigerator door handle.
And finally, I knew she was “missing” and that a private investigator had been hired to find her.
To me, it all added up to one thing. She was on the run, hiding from someone. She had said she was safe here. And she didn’t want me to call her husband. Was he the person from whom she was running? But hadn’t she said they—plural?
I was sorry she had left. Not because I wanted to attract whatever trouble was following her, but because I hated to think of her out on the street, dodging between shadows lest she be seen. I hoped she had another safe place to take refuge.
It was two in the morning before I had calmed down enough to try to sleep. Even then, I lay awake for a long time, thinking about Jacquie. She appeared to have a great life, but under the surface, something was very, very wrong.
* * *
Despite the late night, I was up early in the morning, eager to get going. After a shower, I dressed for work in a simple coral top and a full skirt that reminded me of an impressionist painting of huge blooms in corals, pinks, oranges, reds, and a splash of turquoise.
I smelled coffee as I was walking down the stairs.
“How do you like your eggs?” asked Jonquille.
“I like them every way possible. But you don’t have to cook me breakfast.”
“Scrambled it is. Are you one of those people who doesn’t eat breakfast?” he asked.
“No, I always have a bite to eat in the morning.” I pulled out the wild blueberry buns and placed one on each of the two plates he had set out.
“I’m glad you were up early. I have two hours to zoom home, shower, and get to work.”
After feeding Peaches, I carried the plates out to the garden. Jonquille followed me with mugs of coffee.
Birds twittered in the trees, and the sun glinted on the goldfish in the pond. Frodo roamed, probably sniffing out squirrel tracks.
“I can see why you like living here. Most of us peons who live in the city don’t have any outdoor space. My apartment is fine but it’s not much more than a place to sleep, shower, and do laundry. On the other hand”—he grinned—“it’s very close to work.”
“I would say you’re welcome to come over here and enjoy the garden, but I think I’ll be bunking with my parents for a while.”
“You’re afraid to live here?”
I hated to admit it, but I nodded and sipped the coffee. I didn’t back off from a challenge, but I wasn’t gutsy like Veronica and my mom. Besides, this was different. “It sounds terrible, but when Delbert was murdered, I thought I could relax and enjoy this place. But those switched wires on the refrigerator”—I paused and considered my words carefully so I wouldn’t imply that Jacquie had been here—“mean that someone gained access to the carriage house while I was out. Even with a guard on duty. And here’s the bigger thing—why would anyone want to kill me? Honestly, Jonquille—”
He interrupted me. “You can call me Eric.”
I smiled at him. “Honestly, Eric, I’m no angel, but I haven’t done anything that would agitate anyone. I’m actually a very quiet, uninteresting person.” As I said that, an image of Delbert’s mother Liddy shouting at me in the mansion foyer jumped into my head.
“You’re anything but uninteresting, Florrie.” Jonquille finished the last bite of his eggs. “Here’s the thing. I think you’ll be safer here. What if the person who is after you follows you to your parents’ house? What then?”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. I would feel safer at home with my parents, but would I be leading someone there and putting my parents in danger?
“Don’t look so dismayed. Felipe will be here shortly. I’m calling the guard service again this morning. They need to understand that this isn’t just a babysitting job where the guard can sit around in the kitchen and flirt with the nurse. I don’t mean to sound crass, but is there a way Maxwell could pay for some cameras? This is a big place, but there are some very cool and uncomplicated video cameras we could set up around the property. All we need is an iPhone or an iPad to hook them up to. That way we can watch more areas at one time.”
This was sounding very appealing. “I think I can talk Maxwell’s attorney into something like that. Plus, if the guy comes back, maybe we can identify him from the video.”
“Call me when you get the okay, and I’ll have a buddy of mine set it up. And, if I’m not being too forward, I can sleep over on the sofa for the time being.”
It took a lot of willpower not to jump up and hug him. But from the grin on his face, I gathered my expression had conveyed my gratitude. “Thanks, Eric.”
“In the meantime, I’m going to show you a little trick that private investigators sometimes use.”
Jonquille rose and strolled through the garden. He returned with the dried stem from a spent flower. “We need thirteen of these.”
I roamed the garden with him in search of the straw-like material.
When he placed a tiny bit of straw in the hinge side of one of the French doors, I understood what he was doing.
“This was in a mystery I once read. I should have thought of it myself.” In the story, a private investigator marked doors with a bit of straw to know if someone had entered while he was watching the other side of the house. The straw wasn’t very noticeable unless someone was on alert for it. If a door was opened, the straw would fall, and on his return, the missing straw would alert him that someone had entered or left the house.
Jonquille and I carefully placed them where they wouldn’t be noticed in each of the French doors.
With Peaches in her carrier, and Frodo on his leash, we marked the front door. I left for work, and Jonquille went home to shower.
Jim was already on his bench when I arrived.
> “You’re early again today, Florrie.”
“I have a lot to do. I’ll be back shortly with some cupcakes and coffee.”
“Everything okay? You look troubled.”
“Busy day, that’s all,” I lied.
As soon as I was inside the bookstore, I let Peaches out of her carrier, unlatched Frodo’s leash, and pulled Detective-Sergeant Zielony’s card out of my purse. To my great surprise, he answered the phone when I called.
“Good morning, Detective-Sergeant Zielony. I was wondering when I will be able to enter the third floor. I have some business matters to take care of in the professor’s office.”
The words flowed out of my mouth so smoothly that it frightened me. Was I turning into a liar? My heart pounded in anticipation of him catching me in my fib, though it wasn’t entirely untrue. I did need to look around for bills that needed to be paid.
“Yeah. I think we’re done there. I’ll send someone over to remove it.”
Feeling courageous, I added, “And for your information, I would like to clarify that I am not involved in a romantic relationship with Professor Maxwell.” There! I had said it. I felt much relieved and very bold.
There was a long moment of silence on his end.
“Then who are you seeing?”
“No one.”
“Florrie, you’ll get a lot farther with me if you tell me the truth. I know otherwise.”
I was stunned. “Then you’re wrong.”
He snorted and said goodbye.
I was on the verge of shaking. Why did that man make me so nervous? Probably because he had jumped to conclusions and socked the professor in jail.
Peaches mewed and pawed at me.
I stroked her, taking comfort in her purrs. “Thanks, Peaches, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
I plucked a dried stem off a plant in the store and hurried to the back door, where I inserted it in the hinge, just as Jonquille and I had done at the carriage house. I returned to the front of the store, grabbed my purse, and headed out, taking care to lock the door behind me so Peaches and Frodo would be safe.
“Hey, Jim! Keep an eye on the place, will you?”
He gave me a little salute.
I almost jogged down the block in my hurry. But at the end of the block, I spied Sugar Dreams Cupcakes. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The shop had that sparkling new look. “Hi! So this is where you moved. I’d like two dozen assorted cupcakes, please.”
The clerk opened a box and proceeded to fill it. “We love the new location. The old shop was okay, but the bank was taking over the building, and we were a little nervous about a new owner, so the time seemed right for a move. Sometimes it’s a good idea to get ahead of these things.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood. You’ll be seeing me a lot.”
She handed me the boxes. “I hope so!”
I walked back as fast as I could.
When I reached the steps of Color Me Read, Jim shouted to me, “All’s well, capitan!”
I waved at him and opened the door, wondering where he picked up the European version of captain. Frodo waited for me at the door, with his tail wagging, but Peaches had made herself at home on a high shelf.
I selected two cupcakes I thought Jim would like and poured a cup of coffee to take to him. Leaving the door unlocked, I carried them out to him.
He inhaled deeply. “Coffee and fresh cupcakes. I’m a lucky guy.”
I watched him curiously. How many homeless people on a bench would consider themselves lucky? I exchanged a few words with him before hustling back to the store.
I checked the back door to be sure the straw was still in place. With both doors locked, I did something completely out of character for me. I walked up to the second floor, tore off one end of the crime scene tape, and dared to walk up the stairs to the spot where Delbert had been murdered.
Chapter 25
I paused at the landing. The carpet was still pulled back, revealing the door in the floor. I would have to call a carpet installer to fix that as soon as possible.
Shivers ran along my arms just to think of what had happened there. I trudged up the remaining stairs and along the hallway, trying not to think about the blood on the carpet.
Maxwell’s office was a mess. If I hadn’t known the police had gone through everything, I would have thought someone had ransacked it.
I searched for a carpeting person on my cell phone and made an appointment for someone to come in at one o’clock in the afternoon to replace the hall carpeting and tack down the carpet on the landing. That done, I immersed myself in the job of searching for anything that might be useful in defending the professor.
Bit by bit, I set about restoring order. It was slow going to organize it all and put papers, notebooks, and fascinating maps back where I thought they belonged. I read or flipped through each item in search of anything that might help the professor.
Three hours later, I had nothing. No leads, no clues, nothing suspicious or even interesting. He had a lot of maps, including curious hand-drawn maps, no doubt for locating treasure. Could someone have been after a particular map and happened upon Delbert in the bookstore after hours? I perused them, but even though some had tempting words like tesoro on them, I wasn’t knowledgeable enough about the professor’s latest quest to know if one of them was especially important or rare.
I rose and stared out the window. What had happened here? Had Delbert been searching for something when I caught him in Maxwell’s office? Had he found a key and used it to let himself in later that night? He had departed in a hurry. Had he returned later to look for something in particular? Maybe he’d had a new scheme in mind and needed some kind of maps or documentation to make it seem real to his next victims.
Across the street, a man in a dark business suit stared at the bookstore. He gave me chills for a minute. I scolded myself. Maybe he had heard about the murder or intended to shop here. Everything and everyone was beginning to look sinister to me.
I sat down at the desk, found a red pencil in the top drawer, and drew the layout of the office, the hallway, and the secret hatch in the stairs. I drew little drops of blood in the hallway. Unless I missed my guess, the gouge on the floor might indicate that the spear had landed inside the hatch. Someone threw it in there. To get rid of it? Or was it aimed at someone?
It must have been retrieved by the killer, who drove it into Delbert. Perhaps he had staggered along the hallway, bleeding, in an effort to get away. Or maybe he died immediately and was dragged to the hatch to dispose of his body.
I crammed my diagram in the top drawer and went downstairs to open the store for the day. I flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN and unlocked the front door.
Bob bounded in, full of enthusiasm. While I opened a box of cupcakes and set out napkins, I listened to him chatter, and wished I could confide in him about Jacquie. While he babbled on, the man whom I had seen from the window walked in.
He had a receding hairline and his body leaned toward being very well fed. His gaze fell on the stairs immediately, and almost as though he was drawn to them, he slowly walked up.
“Florrie, are you paying any attention to what I’m saying?” asked Bob.
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” I sprang up the stairs and found the man staring at the trapdoor. “May I help you?”
He turned weary eyes toward me. “My son died here.”
I gasped, embarrassed to have done so. My hand flew to cover my mouth. “Mr. Woodley?”
He nodded, seemingly in slow motion, as though he had no energy left.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not many people are sorry,” he murmured. “They say they are, but they don’t mean it. It’s terrible to know that people are relieved that your child is gone. Even worse to feel some sense of relief yourself.”
I had been guilty of that feeling. I could hardly take my eyes off the man. It was terrible to lose any loved one, even the ones who brought more difficulty tha
n happiness to one’s life. “It must be very hard for you.”
“Are you Florrie?”
“Yes.”
“I apologize. On behalf of my entire family, I apologize for their behavior.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“My wife told the police that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t moved into the carriage house.” He eyed me briefly. “You’re a good bit younger than Maxwell. He usually goes for women his own age.”
“I manage his bookstore. I’m not his concubine.”
A glimmer of a smile crossed his lips but vanished in an instant. “You didn’t know Delbert, did you?”
“I only met him very briefly.”
“I did everything I could to turn his life around.” He covered his eyes with one outstretched hand. In the barest whisper, he said, “I didn’t like my own son. And now I have to live with that knowledge. There will never be a chance for redemption or reconciliation. I can never take back the last things I said to him.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine a parent not liking his own child.
He continued speaking, but I wasn’t sure he actually meant to talk to me. It was more like a stream of his thoughts. Maybe he needed to work through his guilt but didn’t have anyone to whom he could admit the truth.
“It began when he was just a child. Friends, family members, and doctors said he would outgrow his conniving behavior. But he never did. And what began as small, inconsequential ugliness grew into full-fledged deceit. He cared about no one but himself. You can’t imagine the sleepless nights and the dread of anticipating the next horrific chicanery.”
“I’m sure he had some redeeming qualities.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? He was always on the lookout for the next scam. I knew he would come to a tragic end. I just wasn’t prepared for it to happen so soon. He was young. He had time to change his evil ways. But if I’m being realistic, I suppose he never would have.”
I had to throw some hope his way. He was grieving and beating himself up. “Maybe Delbert would have changed and become more like his dad.”
