by Krista Davis
He looked around nervously. “You didn’t bring that book here, did you? That sort of thing attracts barbaric crooks. They’ll think nothing of killing you to obtain the book.”
I tried to hide my smile. Professor Maxwell had warned me that Mr. DuBois watched too much true crime TV. “You needn’t worry. It’s not here. Actually,” I said, “now that I think about it, I would have refused to keep it in my possession even if Dolly had asked me to take it. I wouldn’t want to be responsible if something happened to it. As it is, no one knows where it is.” I told him my belief that someone had taken it from her.
“You see? You see how something like that attracts lowlifes?” Mr. DuBois sniffed the air. “Your cake will be done soon.”
The heavenly scent of baking blueberries wafted our way.
“You must be very careful, Miss Florrie. A criminal broke into the Medford’s garage the other day. And now the bookstore? We could easily be next.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From their housekeeper.”
“I don’t think you have to worry. Why would someone break into a garage? Who keeps valuables there?”
“The house will be next. They start small but grow brave when they’re not caught. You just wait and see. That person will be back looking for more things to steal and sell.”
“Maybe the thief found exactly what he wanted and he won’t be back.”
Mr. DuBois ignored my teasing. “You are quite right to be troubled by this van den Teuvel fellow. In the first place, it means people think you have this valuable book in your possession. Whether it’s true or not is irrelevant. Your name is out there and associated with the book. Secondly, how do you know this man isn’t watching the mansion now? Miss Florrie! How do you get us tangled up in these things?”
“That’s not fair. I was only doing my job. If the book is found, I think the best thing to do is hand it over to an auction company immediately. They can have it authenticated and they are in the business of handling rare and expensive items. They’ll know how to store it until it’s sold.”
“An excellent idea. They’ll go public with it right away and no one will come snooping around here for it.”
I didn’t hide my smile this time. “I honestly don’t think you have to worry about that.”
“Naïveté, Miss Florrie. The young always have it in abundance. You cannot imagine the lengths to which evil people will go to satisfy their own base needs.”
“Excuse me. I think the cake is ready. Will you join me in a piece for breakfast?”
Happily, the fresh blueberry streusel cake cheered up Mr. DuBois. He even took a piece home to the mansion for the professor’s breakfast.
After he left, I showered and slipped into another dress that gave me confidence. I didn’t wear it often because it was cherry red and somewhat eye-catching, which wasn’t my style. I was perfectly happy to blend into the background. I had bought it on a shopping expedition with my mom and Veronica, who had loved it. They had said it made me exude courage, something they both thought I was short on. Today, though, I had a bad feeling that I might need to look poised even if I wasn’t.
After breakfast, Peaches waited by the door. I put her harness on her, and explained that she needed to walk like a dog, not a cat. I didn’t think she cared what I was saying, she just wanted to go to the bookstore instead of staying home alone.
To my surprise, she did walk like a dog—almost. She stopped a few times to check out scents and sounds, but overall, she appeared to have learned the route and was eager to get to the store. She nearly raced up the stairs to the door.
I unlocked it, closed the door behind us, and took off Peaches’s halter. She leaped up on the checkout desk and gazed around like she owned the place.
Meanwhile, I went through my morning ritual of turning off the alarm and switching on lights and music.
For the first half hour of my day, I was reassured by the simple routine of life. It didn’t bring Dolly back, but it was oddly comforting to just go about business, putting out new books on a table for our customers to see when they walked through the door.
Unfortunately, at four minutes past eleven, a grumpy male customer arrived. He stomped through the store and proceeded to inform me that he could buy books cheaper elsewhere. As he left the store, he bumped into a woman nearly my age. She glared at him and brushed off her dress.
Bob was right behind her, carrying boxes of goodies for customers. They almost toppled out of his hands. The woman who entered before him turned and caught the top box. She set it on the counter for him.
“Honestly!” she said. “People in Washington used to be so polite.”
Bob looked over at her. “Thanks for giving me a hand.” To me he said, “What was his problem? He nearly bulldozed me.”
I shrugged. “He didn’t like our prices.”
“Are you Florrie?” asked the woman.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her hair was a warm blond shade with a tinge of apricot that was most likely dyed. Although she had her mother’s generous figure, it was her pretty mouth that gave her away.
“Maisie?” I guessed.
“How did you know?”
“You resemble your mom. I’m so sorry, Maisie. We loved Dolly.”
“Really? I didn’t think anyone liked her, much less loved her.”
I was stunned. “She was a lot of fun and so nice to everyone.”
“That doesn’t sound like my mother at all. I didn’t think anyone would miss her.”
“She spoke of you often.”
“You’re just saying that to be kind.”
“Nope. She loved you, Maisie.” I wasn’t sure what happened between them, but she needed to know. Dolly would never be able to tell her.
Tears brimmed on her lower eyelids. “I didn’t expect this to happen. I thought she would be around for a long time, annoying me and pestering me.” She sniffled and tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I never thought I would cry about losing my mother. She was such a pain. I suppose that sounds cruel, but we were estranged. You can’t imagine the things she did to me.”
“Did she set you up on a date with the most boring man on the planet?” I asked, thinking of Norman.
A whisper of a smile emerged. “She set me up with a guy old enough to be my grandfather.”
“Oof! That must have been awful. What was she thinking?”
“She was determined to break off my engagement to the only man I ever loved.” Maisie took a deep breath. “And she did it. She broke my heart, but that didn’t matter to her.”
“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t anything else I could say. Dolly had been wonderful to me, but maybe as a mother she had been domineering.
“I got in late last night and stayed at Mom’s house. It was surreal being back there again. Especially without her. The newspaper ran an abbreviated obit this morning and that brought out the vultures.”
I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
“People who sell estates. People who auction things. Real estate agents. Everyone was looking to make a buck. Do you know”—she pawed through a Gucci purse—“a Nolan Hackett? He told me he was very close to Mom and she had been thinking about selling her house.”
“They were in the bookstore coloring club together. He was planning to show her a property.”
“How odd.” She shook her head. “Mother was probably just flirting with him. She didn’t have any money to buy a house. That was just like her. Well, what brings me here are my mother’s books. I don’t know beans about the value of books, but I do know my mother and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find some books of value. I found a bag from your store at her house yesterday. I wondered if you have anyone on staff whom I could pay to go through her books.”
“Did anyone mention The Florist to you?”
“Why do people keep talking about the florist? I haven’t had a chance to think about the memorial service yet. Do you have a florist you want to re
commend?”
I grinned in spite of myself. “I mean the book The Florist.” I told her about the book and her mother’s amazing discovery.
“Ohhh! So that’s what Ms. Dumont was talking about. She probably thought I was insane because I didn’t have a clue. I thought she dropped by to express her condolences, which surprised me because I didn’t think my mom ran in her circles. She kept saying The Florist belonged to her. Out of context, that’s just crazy talk.”
“I’m no lawyer, but I think Dolly bought it fair and square. Did you see it in her apartment last night?”
“To tell the truth, all I could see was that there’s a lot of stuff in my mom’s house. So many little pieces of bric-a-brac. Would you be willing to go through her books? Perhaps you know where the ones of little value could be donated?”
I had some ideas about that. Dolly would have liked to donate them to the library for their annual fund-raising sale. “I’m not an expert on valuable books. But maybe I could go through and pull the ones that could have some value. At least narrow them down for you.”
“I’ll pay you, of course. What do you charge?”
“Dolly was a dear customer, more of a friend really. I’m happy to do it for her.”
“That’s very kind of you. I know she would appreciate it. I certainly do. My head is just spinning. Her death was so unexpected. I didn’t know she had a heart condition. But that was Mom—always keeping secrets and finagling things.”
We arranged for me to go to her mother’s house the next morning and Maisie left the store. I wandered to the glass front door and watched her.
Frederic van den Teuvel loped up to her. He stood a full head taller and said something that made her smile. They walked away together.
Had he waited outside for her? If she knew him, surely he would have mentioned The Florist, wouldn’t he? But Maisie had acted as though she knew nothing about Dolly’s lucky find. What had the professor called him? Some kind of deadly parasite.
Would Maisie resent me if I told her what the professor had said about van den Teuvel? Maybe I should just mind my own business. Or I could play it by ear when I went over to look at Dolly’s books. If the opportunity came up, maybe I could warn her.
In the afternoon, a florist delivered a giant bouquet of flowers to the store. Rich golden sunflowers contrasted with dark violet gladioluses, fuchsia Gerbera daisies, and pink Stargazer lilies. He set it on the desk, and said, “Have a good one.”
“Veronica!” I called.
She ambled in. “Oh my! They’re so beautiful.”
“Are you dating someone new?”
Veronica tensed, which made me very suspicious.
“Who would have sent me flowers?” She delicately plucked a card out of the elaborate arrangement. “They’re for you!”
“What?” I took the tiny card from her. “Eric must have sent them.”
The card bore my name and the words “with thanks” but no sender’s name. I flipped the card around. “There’s no name.”
Veronica snatched it out of my hand and examined it. “Why wouldn’t Eric have signed his name?”
* * *
That night, I settled on the sofa with my sketch pad fully intending to work on the coloring book I had been neglecting. Peaches played with her favorite mouse again. She would sneak up on it, lower her head, and wiggle her hind end before pouncing on it and batting it across the room again.
But my mind was on Maisie. Instead of working on a garden scene like I should have been, I drew Maisie’s face, plump with pronounced cheeks. I was pleased that I managed to accomplish the resemblance to her mother.
I stared at her face, melancholy about Dolly’s passing. I wished that she and Maisie could have made amends before her death. It would have meant so much to Dolly, and it would have been better for Maisie, too.
I certainly had spats with my mother, but I couldn’t imagine being estranged. She meant well even when she did things that I considered outrageous.
Staring at my sketchbook, I thought about The Florist and how different my own adult coloring book would be. The Florist was accurate enough to be a precise guide to plants, while the images I was drawing were from a greater distance. They were garden images with mixtures of plants and benches. Some even included little hedgehogs and chipmunks. As I compared the two, it dawned on me that maybe the simple title The Garden, would be appropriate for my book.
It was still light outside. The garden in back of the carriage house was surrounded by a tall fence that was barely visible through the dense flora. In the middle, the koi pond had grown dark now that the sun no longer hit it directly.
I opened the French doors. Peaches shot outside and headed directly to the pond. She could spend hours perched on the edge watching fish glide by.
My attention turned to the beauty of the garden as we neared twilight. The greens of vines and trees darkened as the sun faded, but the daisies, white fronds of astilbe, and the white edges of hostas seemed to come alive at twilight, almost as though they were lighted from behind. I had bought solar fairy lights and strung them on the pergola over the outdoor dining table. They came on as darkness fell and while they offered no significant illumination, they gave the garden a sparkle that I loved.
Peaches perked up and looked back toward the house. She dashed inside and a second later, I heard a knock on the door.
I followed her into the house and heard Eric calling, “It’s me, Florrie.”
Ugh. Why was I wearing a crayon nightshirt? I was sorely tempted to race up the stairs and primp. Sadly, there was no time. I opened the door and smiled at him.
“Cute outfit! Did I come by at a bad time? Neither of us got much sleep last night.”
“I was just sitting out in the garden. Would you like a drink?”
“If you’re having one.”
I quickly mixed lemonade with a little vodka. We carried the drinks out to the garden.
Eric looked over at my sketchbook. “I am interrupting. Sorry, I should have called first.” He took a sip of his drink and leaned toward me. “I wanted to tell you this in person—”
Chapter 11
“Dolly was murdered,” I said flatly. I had feared it all along, but the police explanation had been so much more palatable.
“I’m sorry, Florrie.”
“How did she die?”
“The medical examiner was suspicious because she was in pretty good health and there was no sign of a heart condition.” The muscles in his jaw tensed, as though he was saying something unpalatable. “She was poisoned by ethylene glycol.”
“Antifreeze?” I didn’t want to be melodramatic but antifreeze poisoning sounded like a terrible way to die. I swallowed hard imagining it. “Is that as awful as it sounds?”
Eric squeezed my hand. “They tell me it tastes sweet.”
I noticed that he skipped how sick she must have felt before she died. Poor Dolly! I must have swayed a little bit because Eric reached for my hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“It’s just so horrible. Was there any liquid?” I asked. “When I found her, there wasn’t a glass or anything on the carpet.” I searched my memory. “But there were glasses outside with a bottle of champagne. Three champagne glasses. I thought maybe she intended to celebrate her good fortune with Veronica and me.”
“I don’t remember any liquids inside, but I can check the photos. No one removed anything from the scene—unless you did before we got there.”
“No, of course not. Everything was exactly as we found it. Believe me, the last thing we were concerned about was cleaning up. Veronica and I thought she was still alive.”
“That happens a lot. The body can twitch and make little sounds that lead people to think the person isn’t dead yet.”
“I wish we had gotten there sooner. I don’t know what happened but maybe if we had arrived sooner . . .”
Eric winced. “You can’t go there, Florrie. You didn’t do anything wrong. You
had no way of knowing that something was going awry at Dolly’s house. Not to mention that you and Veronica might be dead right now, too, if you had timed it differently.”
I shivered at the thought.
“Did anyone find the rare coloring book?” he asked.
“No. I’m going over to Dolly’s house tomorrow morning to go through her books. I’m hoping I might find it there. Will they test that tiny bit of paper? I think they’ll be able to tell approximately how old it is by examining the fiber content.”
He nodded. “It won’t be my case, of course, because I’m not in homicide, but I’ll pass that along.”
I sagged at the thought of dealing with homicide again. They were completely unreasonable when I encountered them before.
“Do you know anyone who would have wanted that book enough to kill Dolly for it?” he asked.
“No!” The word popped out of my mouth. I didn’t want to think I knew anyone who would be so cruel. But only a moment later I had to reconsider. “Maybe. I’m surprised by the number of people who are interested in it. Dolly bought it at the Dumont yard sale. Lucianne Dumont came by the store and asked for Dolly’s address. She claimed that it had been sold by mistake. And there’s an antiques dealer named Frederic van den Teuvel who is dying to get his hands on it. Now maybe the police will believe that the intruders at the bookstore were searching for it.”
Eric took a deep breath. “Are you certain Dolly had it? She didn’t give it to someone for safekeeping or sell it?”
“When she left Color Me Read, she and Zsazsa went to a tea room to celebrate. I have no idea what she did between then and the time Veronica and I found her. Dolly seemed very protective of it, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t hand it over to someone she trusted. I’m almost positive that the scrap of paper in her hand was from the coloring book, though. If that’s true, then someone must have taken it from her. On the other hand, it would have been easy for a cop to overlook those pages as just an old book.”
“Are you saying that we cops are not sophisticated?” he teased.
