Color Me Murder

by Krista Davis

  We cleared the table, Veronica served the flan, and Jonquille refilled drinks. When we reassembled, Cody turned on an iPad to show us where the monitors were and what was happening.

  “Looks pretty quiet all around the property,” I observed.

  “So why didn’t you see Professor Goldblum?” asked Veronica.

  “That’s a slight problem because of the location of the mansion. Traffic and people go by on this street all the time. Most of them are completely innocent. We couldn’t tell that Goldblum had been following you, only that he was walking along the sidewalk. For all we knew, he might reside on this street or on the next block over.”

  Goldblum helped himself to more flan. “I consider my inadvertent participation to be an excellent trial run, which pointed out this minor flaw in your system. But what if the guard is on the opposite side of the property when he sees someone sneaking up the driveway?”

  “An excellent question, professor.” Cory grinned. “We’ve timed it from the farthest spot of the property. He can cut through the mansion and be on this side in two minutes.”

  “What would have happened had I stopped and lurked across the street, observing the comings and goings at the house? I take it the guard would have noticed?” asked Goldblum.

  “Exactly. And it will be taped. So if the person takes off, we’ll be able to watch the tape to see if we can identify him,” said Cody.

  It was late and everyone was exhausted, so we called it a night.

  Before they left, Goldblum teased, “Zsazsa will be furious that she missed this!”

  And Veronica raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Is that Sergeant Jonquille’s overnight bag I saw?”

  “It’s not the way it looks.”

  She winked at me. “It never is.”

  * * *

  I woke the next morning, refreshed and determined more than ever to find Delbert’s killer. My sketch pad and pencils had landed on the floor during the night. I had fallen asleep wanting to draw but was too tired.

  After a quick shower, I studied my closet. It would be a long day. Given all the bizarre things that had happened, I felt the need to look pulled together and in charge, even if I was squirming on the inside. I pulled on a blood orange dress. Flat white sandals, a gold necklace, and dangling earrings set with blood orange stones of coral completed the outfit. I sucked in a deep breath and loped down the stairs.

  Eric was busy at the stove again.

  “Good morning. Did your father teach you to cook?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. My mother is so spoiled by leftovers from the restaurant that I don’t think she has cooked anything for decades. I hope it’s okay that I used some of your cheese and spinach leaves in a couple of omelets.”

  “Of course it’s okay. It smells wonderful. I’m feeling very spoiled. We’re having a book signing at the store today. Usually I like to bake something to serve but I haven’t had time.” I opened the freezer. “There’s not even anything to warm up except two bagels.” I pulled them out and popped them into the oven.

  “You’ve been a little bit busy. Florrie, I went by Pizza Man yesterday to ask some questions. They’re not sure they remember the pizza order but they recalled a kid coming in to buy a pizza. He paid from a little wad of cash in his hand. They thought his mom probably sent him in, but I suspect someone paid him to buy the pizza and deliver it here.”

  “To divert the attention of the guard?”

  “Sure. Do you know anyone who wouldn’t take the pizza into the mansion and stick around for a slice or two?”

  “It’s so simple. Almost too easy. But if a kid brought a pizza to your door, wouldn’t you tell him there must be some mistake?”

  “The perpetrator probably gave him some line to say. Something like, ‘Your boss sent it as thanks for your hard work.’ Or maybe he said it was from a neighbor for DuBois.”

  I could see someone buying that explanation. “Any activity last night?” I asked.

  “Not a thing.”

  “Does that mean he gave up or that he thinks I’m dead?” I poured coffee for both of us.

  Jonquille folded the omelets with a practiced hand. “Probably neither. It would be easy enough for him to find out if you went to work. I have a feeling our guy isn’t stupid. If he were, we’d have caught him already.”

  “So you think he’ll try again?” I swallowed hard but tried to act nonchalant as I added the bagels to our plates.

  We carried our breakfasts and mugs out to the garden table. It was so peaceful that I could hardly believe any of this was happening to me.

  Jonquille looked me in the eyes. “I hope not, Florrie. I wish we could catch this creep. But we don’t really have anything to go on. You can’t remember arguing with anyone? Or ticking someone off?”

  I bit into the warm eggs and melting cheese. My mouth still full, I murmured, “So good!”

  “I’m glad you like it. Seriously, isn’t there anyone who is upset with you?”

  I sipped my coffee. “Delbert. But he’s gone. Delbert’s mother. I’m not the type to tell people off.”

  “I heard you let Zielony have it yesterday morning.”

  My mouth full of omelet, I blinked at him. I swallowed and said, “Oh. That. He was under the crazy impression that Maxwell and I are lovers. I had to clear that up!”

  “So you’re not?”

  “You thought that, too?”

  He avoided my eyes. “I kind of hoped it wasn’t the case.”

  I put down my fork. “I admire the professor. He has done fascinating things. You don’t meet people like him every day. I spend most of my time reading about places or drawing them. But he’s a real-life adventurer. He has an incredible mind. Most people just try to get through their days. They’re thinking about their jobs, or how to get a job, or what’s for dinner, or whether their kid flunked his math test. That’s life and it’s normal. But the professor speculates about whether ghosts exist, and what’s beyond the universe, and what happened to the Ark of the Covenant. I love him.” I hastened to add, “In a platonic way, because he’s so interesting. But I have no romantic interest in him. I suspect Delbert’s mother put that thought in Zielony’s head. I’m lucky he hasn’t arrested me yet.”

  Jonquille didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Zielony’s a stubborn guy. That’s for sure. And I’m sorry to say that he does have a compelling case against Maxwell. When the DNA tests come back, it may even be a strong case.”

  “If Maxwell murdered Delbert, and a random professional thief burglarized the mansion believing no one was living there, then why did someone enter the carriage house to cross the wires on the refrigerator?”

  Jonquille’s eyes met mine. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Florrie. I promise.”

  * * *

  Veronica pulled up at the carriage house just as Eric and I were leaving. We planted the straw in the hinge side of the door again. Such a silly thing, really, but it gave me such comfort!

  “Good morning! Do you think the professor would mind if I parked here?” asked Veronica.

  “Probably not.” I shrugged. “He’s not here anyway, so you have my official permission.”

  We said goodbye to Jonquille and set off for the bookstore with Frodo and Peaches.

  “No kiss goodbye?” asked Veronica.

  “I told you. It’s not like that. He’s sleeping on the couch.”

  “You’re kidding! I was already imagining a double wedding. You are coming to Mom’s cookout, right?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I have to meet this special guy of yours.”

  “He’s adorable and so good to me. You’ll love him.”

  I was happy for Veronica. But I’d heard that before from her—more than once. She was quick to fall in love and just as fast to dump her beaus.

  The store wasn’t open yet, so I left Veronica to pump up the social media about the store while I bought pastries.

  The morning air was crisp and blessedly cool as I stro
de up the street to Heinrich’s Bakery. Through the glass window, I could see beautiful Sonja wrapping a box with a thin gold ribbon and handing it to a customer.

  A bell on the door rang when I pushed it open. “Hi, Sonja. You’re up early for someone who worked into the wee hours of the morning.”

  She looked up and gasped. “Florrie! I don’t go to bed on Friday nights because I have to be here at three in the morning on Saturdays to help my aunt start baking. It’s a very long day, but I’ll get a nap this afternoon before I tend bar again.” She tilted her head. “Do you believe in kismet?”

  “A little bit, I guess.”

  “This meeting was meant to be. I was thinking of you just yesterday. The girl you were asking about walked right by the window. Of course, by the time I ran out the door, she was gone. But it was definitely her.”

  “The one who was so angry with Delbert?” I dug in my purse for something to draw on. I found an envelope that contained a bill I needed to pay, and an emerald-green crayon. “Can you describe her for me?”

  She gestured toward her own features as she described the woman. “Long blond hair worn straight. It came halfway down her upper arms. Sort of a square face, I think. Her lower jaw was angular, emphasizing her cheekbones. A straight nose. Not too long but not pug or ski jump.”

  I slowed down as I drew because the face was beginning to look all too familiar to me.

  I handed her my drawing. “Imagine that she’s not actually green.” I held my breath.

  “You have captured her quite well.”

  I’d hoped I hadn’t. The face on the envelope bore an uncanny resemblance to Veronica.

  Chapter 28

  I swallowed hard and tried not to show my distress. “I’ll keep an eye out for her. Thanks, Sonja. But I didn’t come here for that. I need cookies for children and elegant pastries for adults, please.”

  We decided on chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies, and oatmeal cookies for the kids. Choosing the pastries would have been such a pleasure if I hadn’t felt sick about Veronica. Pointing to the items in the case, I bought far too many mouthwatering treats—apples peeking out of puff pastry, chocolate croissants, lemon tarts, glistening fruit tarts, and creamy cannolis.

  Sonja packaged them all and promised to let me know if she saw the woman again. I thanked her and left, moving slower than molasses.

  It couldn’t be Veronica. It just couldn’t! There were thousands of beautiful blondes in Washington, DC. Many with square faces and high cheekbones. Surely there were hundreds in Georgetown on any given day. But Veronica had been in Georgetown yesterday. And someone at her old job had sabotaged her. It sounded like the kind of thing Delbert had done to people.

  What was I thinking? No, no, no. It was all a coincidence. I knew Veronica better than that. How could I suspect her for even a moment?

  When I reached the bookstore, it was teeming with children and their parents. I didn’t know whether it was publicity from the murder or Veronica’s professional social media push that brought people to Color Me Read. But they came in droves. One mom brought the six children who were attending her young daughter’s birthday party, along with their mothers. Seven moms and seven kids, all shopping for themselves. I thought the cash register might overheat.

  Zsazsa made her way through the crowd. She poured herself a cup of coffee as she always did, but she stood beside me behind the counter, gazing around in awe. “Are you giving away free puppies?”

  “It seems like it.”

  I rang up three of my coloring books and a box of colored pencils for a woman. “I hope you enjoy these.”

  “I have information,” Zsazsa whispered into my ear.

  She had my full attention.

  In a soft voice, she said, “I visited the gym yesterday to inquire about a membership for myself. I told them my friend, Emily Branscom, raved about the place. Ugh.” She drew her mouth down and pinched her nose dramatically, holding her pinkie in the air. “It reeked of sour socks. I’ll never understand the attraction. At any rate, I asked if Emily had found her membership card yet.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “How else can one obtain information? Of course I did. She had it with her on Tuesday. It was only when she arrived yesterday that she couldn’t find it.”

  “Are you certain? That would mean she was in the carriage house while I lived there. And after Professor Maxwell was in jail!”

  “She must have a key,” reasoned Zsazsa.

  “But there was a guard. Of course, he didn’t notice the guy who crossed the wires, either. There are only a few possibilities. Either she let that guy in or she crossed the wires herself.”

  Zsazsa placed her hand on my arm. “Or she thought she left her favorite earrings on the nightstand and arrived at an opportune time when she happened to miss both the guard and the wire changing person.” Zsazsa wrapped her arm around me. “There could be a very reasonable explanation.”

  Unlikely! “She just happened by when the guard wasn’t watching? She had a key and let herself in to look for something she thought she had left there? She somehow dropped her gym membership card and accidentally knocked it under the refrigerator, which she apparently did not touch because she would have gotten shocked?”

  “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “There’s one thing I can do right now. Bob!” I beckoned to him. “Can you man the cash register? I have a little problem I need to take care of.”

  I grabbed my purse and left before anyone could ask questions. Guilt pummeled at me for leaving the store when it was so busy. But my survival was more important.

  Hurrying, I returned to the chic hardware store. The cost of new locks for the front door and all the French doors put a nice dent in my budget. But it had to be done. Who knew how many of Maxwell’s women had kept a key to the carriage house?

  I carried my purchase home, trying not to think about how busy the store was. I located a screwdriver and swapped out the lock on the front door. If I hadn’t felt guilty for abandoning the store, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But guilt had a way of making me drop things and jab myself with the screwdriver. An hour and a half later, all the locks had been changed, but my hands looked like I’d been in a fight. I heaved a sigh of satisfaction. I, Florrie Fox, was independent and capable. And I was going to find Delbert’s killer so my life could return to normal. All I had to do was use my little gray cells.

  I returned to the store feeling much better about the situation. I had told Zielony off. It appeared that Sergeant Eric Jonquille might be smitten by me, and today anyway, the store was a booming success.

  At five o’clock, Emily Branscom arrived. In the animal world, she would have been a chipmunk. Petite, with round cheeks and a perky attitude, she had a ready smile for everyone. She wore a crimson dress that clung to her tiny figure. Around her neck hung a dramatic turquoise pendant set in silver.

  It was impossible that this woman wanted to kill me. Zsazsa’s theory that she had left favorite earrings behind began to seem more likely. I chatted with Emily, and told her how sorry Maxwell would be to miss her talk and signing.

  “I can’t believe the poor man is in jail. From what I hear, they have a rather good case against him. They say he told people he was going to rid himself of Delbert. Of course, there’s also the problem of the trapdoor. Not many people know that they exist in these old houses. That certainly narrows the field of suspects.”

  “But you know about them,” I said. When I realized it sounded like I was accusing her, I quickly added, “Have you written about them in your books?”

  “Naturally. Prohibition was a fascinating time in our history. People did all kinds of clever things to hide their hooch. Too many of those hiding places have been closed up or torn down in remodels. It’s a shame when we let those marvelous historic quirks go. Have you heard the dead man’s ghost yet?”

  She caught me off guard. “You mean Delbert? No.”

  “Interesting. I had assu
med he would be here. Do you mind if I wander about a bit? I’m quite sensitive to their presence, so I might be able to feel his energy.”

  “Yes, of course. Please feel free to be sensitive.” Was that what one should say? I had no idea.

  She ambled away, gazing about.

  Fifteen minutes later, she approached me. “Florrie, you have several spirits here. But I’m only picking up one dark spirit.”

  “That would be Delbert,” I said drily.

  She tilted her head and studied my face. “Have you been experiencing troubling events in your life?”

  And now she was freaking me out. Should I play as though nothing was wrong or should I confront her? I looked her straight in the eyes. “I’d call Delbert’s murder and Maxwell’s incarceration troubling.”

  “Oh definitely, but I meant on a more personal basis.”

  I played dumb. “I’m not sure what you mean. Looks like it’s time to get started.” I led her through the seats to the front of the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, “thank you for coming today. I am so very pleased to introduce Emily Branscom, whose books about Washington, DC, always cause us to look at things a little bit differently. Emily?”

  Polite applause welcomed her. It was standing room only.

  Emily spoke without a lectern or notes and moved about as she talked.

  “Ghosts are nothing new in Washington. I’m sure many of you know that Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Jackson are said to haunt the White House. There are many well-known ghosts in Georgetown, too. What I pursued in my book are the many ghosts that few speak of. The ones that”—she gazed up at the ceiling and around the room—“exist among us in our everyday lives.”

  She paused for dramatic effect.

  “How many people here live in a building that was built before 1930?”

  Many of the people in the room raised their hands.

  Without moving her head, Emily shifted her eyes to scan the room in a way that was positively scary. “Then chances are extremely good that a dead body was in your home for several days.”