by Krista Davis
Eric returned. “You should have been a cop. Did you find the slippery step?”
“Nope. I was talking with him not fifteen minutes before he fell, so I don’t think he had been drinking.”
Eric walked up and down the stairs, examining them. “I don’t see anything. Sometimes people just slip. I’ll have a word with Maisie about switching out the light bulb.”
When I was leaving the building, I found that a small group of people had gathered outside. Two large TV vans had parked on the street.
A reporter holding a microphone rushed at me. “Are you a tenant?”
“No.”
“Can you confirm that a skeleton was found in a wall?”
They already knew about it? I could have confirmed the existence of the skeleton, of course, but it felt wrong to do that. Eric or another police officer should tell them. I took the easy way out by saying simply, “No.”
“Can you tell us if this was related to the murder of Dolly Cavanaugh?”
That stopped me in my tracks. How could they already know that she had been murdered? I had only learned the night before.
“Who left in the ambulance?” asked another reporter.
“I don’t have any information. The police will be able to tell you more.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“A favor. I just came over to do someone a favor.” I hurried away. Some favor. Exposing a secret wasn’t exactly what I would call a favor. And now that Dolly was dead, she couldn’t even defend herself. Everyone would assume she had murdered the person in the attic. Dolly would be blamed and the case would be closed. It wasn’t as though the real killer would step forward. He would get away with murder.
I crossed the street and looked back at the big brownstone. I didn’t think I had been taken in by an act on Dolly’s part. She had been genuinely nice. I strolled over to the store to talk with Veronica.
Color Me Read bustled with patrons. It was an odd contrast to the glum atmosphere at Dolly’s house.
Veronica and Helen were in the middle of a child’s birthday party. The children laughed and giggled as Veronica read Bats at the Beach to them. Helium balloons floated in the air and a special bat birthday cake sat on a table in the corner, just waiting to be cut.
I trudged up the stairs in search of the professor, but I found Zsazsa in the second-floor reading room. She held a book about estate planning.
“Zsazsa?” I said in horror. “Are you okay?”
She closed the book. “I miss Dolly so much. We often went to estate sales together early in the morning, then grabbed some breakfast. She was frequently my companion for afternoon tea. Something precious is missing from my life now.”
“You two were quite different.”
“Our backgrounds and our education weren’t in the least bit similar. Yet we were kindred spirits. We understood each other. Everyone needs a friend like that. I shall miss her every day as I would a sister.”
She sighed and sucked in a deep breath. “But her death was good in one way. I need to put my matters in order. I won’t have my nieces hiring a dolt like Percy. That’s for certain.”
Now that she’d told me Dolly was like a sister to her, I didn’t know how to break the news about the skeleton. “There’s a skeleton in Dolly’s attic,” I blurted.
Zsazsa gazed at me blankly for a moment. “Is that some kind of joke? I don’t understand the humor.”
I collapsed into the chair beside her. “It’s not a joke. I found it this morning behind a built-in bookcase in her attic.”
“This cannot be. I knew Dolly very well. She would never have done such a thing. It must have been there for a very long time, and she had no knowledge of it.”
“I guess we’ll find out. With all the amazing modern techniques, they can probably tell quite a bit about the skeleton.”
“There you are.” Professor Goldblum joined us. He plopped into a chair. “I’ve been looking all over for you two.” He peered at us with inquisitive eyes. “Unless this is a private discussion?”
Zsazsa waved her hand. “Nonsense, you are most welcome. We were talking about Dolly.”
Goldblum, a chubby little man who had retired from the university, sat back in his chair. “Her death was such a loss. Dolly was a pistol.”
I was slightly amused to hear him describe her that way. “Did you . . . go out with her?”
He chuckled. “Gracious, no! I’m not the sort of man who interests women. And Dolly had her share of admirers. I’d have been at the end of the line.”
“Oh?” I asked as casually as I could.
“For starters, I’m pretty sure that Nolan was attracted to her.”
“Nolan?” Zsazsa pinched her nose. “I cannot fathom why women chase him. Like the”—she lowered her voice—“Beauton sisters. They practically salivate when they see him. If you ask me, he looks like a weathered sailor and has all the appeal of a shark.”
Goldblum snickered. “All I can say is that women never look at me that way.”
“Really,” continued Zsazsa, “have you ever heard Nolan talk about anything except real estate? It’s like watching a TV with only one channel. I find him painfully dull.”
I didn’t know how to break the news to them. Was there any good or kind way to tell someone about murder? Zsazsa and Goldblum were very smart. Maybe they would come up with ideas that could help the police. I closed the door to the room.
Zsazsa sat up in alarm. “What is it? What has happened?”
I told Goldblum about the skeleton.
“Fascinating!” Goldblum sat up. “I can’t quite picture how one would do that. Do you have photos?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “What kind of pervert would take pictures of it?”
“I thought young people took pictures of everything these days.”
That was probably true. I shuddered at the thought of a selfie with the skeleton. “Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me, but the police are taking plenty.”
“But they won’t show them to me!” Goldblum smirked at me. “Didn’t I say Dolly was a pistol? My, my! I never would have expected it of her. She was wilder than I thought.”
“There’s more. I’m so sorry.” I reached for Zsazsa’s hand and clutched it. “I’m afraid Dolly was murdered.”
Zsazsa bounced on her chair like she had a spring inside her. “I knew it! I have said all along that she did not have a heart attack.”
“She drank antifreeze.”
The two of them fell into silent horror.
Zsazsa made the sign of a cross over her face and shoulders.
Goldblum rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. He sniffled a little when he said, “Could it have been related to the skeleton in her attic? Someone took revenge?”
“So if they figure out who the skeleton is, then they will know who murdered our Dolly?” Zsazsa looked down and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot believe that sweet Dolly would have killed someone and hidden that person in her attic for eternity.”
“Now, Zsazsa. Do not despair. There are several possibilities,” Goldblum reasoned. “A previous owner could have hidden the body there. Or perhaps it was done by her husband who lived there for several years before he passed. A tenant might even have done it.”
Zsazsa’s eyes opened wide. “The Beauton sisters,” she whispered.
“There is one other thing you should know,” I said. “The Florist appears to be gone. When I found her, she held a small scrap of paper between her fingers. I think it’s from the book.”
“That changes everything,” said Professor Goldblum. “Obviously the thief murdered her to steal the book.”
“Not so fast.” Zsazsa held up a finger. “How would a thief manage to get her to drink something with antifreeze in it?”
Chapter 15
“At gunpoint?” I suggested. “Or the thief poured it into something delicious. Something he knew Dolly would never be able to refuse.”
�
�Like chocolates.” Goldblum frowned. “I don’t think you could put enough antifreeze to kill someone in a chocolate. Must have been a drink. But why kill her? Why not just take the book and flee?”
“Clearly, so she could not report the identity of the thief to the police. She was very protective of that book.” Zsazsa shook her head. “After the coloring club meeting, Dolly and I went out for tea and pastries. A late afternoon tea. She kept the book by her side every moment. I should have insisted she place it in a bank for safekeeping. Of course, it was a Saturday night and no banks were open. It is too late for such thoughts now. But we can still help our beloved Dolly. We must find the person who did this terrible thing to her.”
I understood exactly how Zsazsa felt. But there wasn’t anything we could do. “The police are already on it, Zsazsa.”
She winked at me. “Your Sergeant Jonquille is so handsome. Nevertheless, it is the least we can do for Dolly. I shall not stand by and watch as her death is boxed up and put away like some inconvenience.”
That wouldn’t happen, would it? I wanted to think that Eric wouldn’t allow it to happen, but the truth was that he didn’t have that kind of power. Professor Maxwell had once said to me even those of us who are timid face times in our lives when we must brace our shoulders and stand our ground. I didn’t have to be Wonder Woman. Maybe if we put our heads together we could figure out who killed her.
A knock at the door took us by surprise, though it shouldn’t have.
Veronica peeked inside. She flapped her hand. “Oh, it’s just you guys.” She looked over her shoulder as she swung the door open. “Come in, please. Florrie, this gentleman is in search of Leonardo’s Notebooks. It’s in here, right?”
Goldblum rose and beckoned to the man. They launched into a discussion about great thinkers.
Veronica whispered to me, “Lucky break finding Goldblum in here. I had to look it up. I thought it would be with art books.”
Speaking quietly, Zsazsa and I filled her in on the news about Dolly.
“A skeleton?” Veronica whispered. “Who do you think she killed?”
And that was exactly what worried me. Everyone would believe Dolly had murdered someone.
* * *
I had planned to go to Dumbarton Oaks to sketch for my garden coloring book in the afternoon, but my heart wasn’t in it. I forced myself to take my sketchbook and head in that direction, but it wasn’t long before I found myself across the street from Dolly’s house, watching the commotion.
A woman’s voice said, “It’s such a shame what happened to Dolly.”
I looked around. A gaunt woman in sunglasses and a stylish sun hat stood up from her garden work and waved a trowel at me. “It could have been any one of us. Were you a friend of Dolly’s?”
I debated how to answer that. To say that I ran Color Me Read didn’t begin to describe our relationship. It seemed simpler to say, “Yes.”
“Poor Dolly, she was so young when she was widowed. My husband passed last year. You know, I had always assumed she was doing fine without her husband. It wasn’t until mine died that I understood her struggles. I don’t know what I would have done in her shoes. I have to admit that I wasn’t happy when she took in tenants, but now I wonder if I wouldn’t have done the same thing. Of course, there are no skeletons in my walls.”
I was tempted to ask how she could be so sure, but decided that might be rude and it could make her clam up. “Did you see or hear anything unusual the evening she died?”
She lowered her sunglasses for a better look at me, revealing aged eyes with harsh crow’s feet. “Are you with the police?”
I introduced myself. “I found her.”
“You poor dear! That must have been just awful for you. I didn’t hear a thing. Of course, I don’t know exactly what time she died. Let’s see, that day I was up early to work in my garden in back of the house. I like to get an early start before it gets too hot.” She adjusted the long white sleeves of her shirt. “I was probably indoors with the air-conditioning running when she died. But I didn’t hear any screaming or arguing or anything like that.” She pointed to my sketchbook. “Are you planning to sketch her house?”
I told her about the coloring book I was drawing and showed her some of my sketches.
She immediately invited me into her backyard. I followed her along the side of her house and entered a fantasy garden. Grass grew between large white paving stones that were set in a huge rectangle. Two chaise lounges rested on it with an umbrella offering shade just behind them. I could imagine tall, frosty drinks on the little table between the chairs. Vines grew on the wooden fence walls, creating a small oasis of privacy. Birds bathed at a fountain at the back wall, probably oblivious to the arch of vibrant violet roses that framed them.
“Would you mind if I sketched your fountain?” I asked. “It’s stunning.”
“I would be honored. If the neighbor’s cat comes over, would you shoo him away? I don’t want him eating my beautiful bird guests. There was a time when we had so many”—she lowered her voice to a whisper when she said the word, “rats” and then raised it again—“around here that everyone had cats. We used to joke about it. We called it the year of the rat, and said the Chinese zodiac must be wrong because it was actually the year of the goat. But they’re long gone, and it’s my birds that I’m concerned about now.”
She left me to sketch. I settled on one of the chairs and spent the next two hours sketching a bird wonderland of flowers and twining vines around the fountain. For that brief time, I almost forgot about Dolly. Almost.
Sketching had relaxed me and put me back into a more sensible frame of mind. I felt more myself again until I left the garden and rounded the house.
Jack Miller, the guy who had shown up at the back door of Color Me Read with a head wound, stood on the sidewalk observing Dolly’s house.
“Hi. How’s your head?”
“Florrie Fox! My head is great, thanks to your expert nursing care. What are you doing here?”
I lifted my sketchbook. “Drawing.”
“I suppose you heard about the murder?” he asked.
“I am all too acquainted with it.”
“Really?” He looked at me with a gleam of interest. “You knew Dolly?”
It was my turn to be surprised. “I did. It sounds like you did, too.”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he said. “There’s a rumor that she was murdered.”
I took a harder look at him. How many mysteries had I read where the killer returned to the scene of the crime? Some of them even buddied up with the cops to find out if they had any clues. Was he trying to get information? Speaking as casually as I could, I replied, “I’ve heard that, too. It’s so sad. Dolly was a wonderful person.”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded me. “Everyone says that when someone dies.”
“That’s a little bit cynical.” He seemed like such a nice guy. It was the kind of remark I would have expected from Nolan.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“How did you say you knew Dolly?” I knew perfectly well that he hadn’t told me, but I wanted to force him into a corner so he would have to be specific.
“It was a little business transaction. Dolly liked antiques.”
That sounded plausible. But what if the transaction had gone wrong? Or what if he knew about The Florist? Just because he said something plausible didn’t mean he was innocent. I looked up at him. He was so cute, though. It was hard to imagine him being a hard-hearted murderer. Nevertheless, I played clueless. “Did you buy something from her?”
“I wanted to.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “The Florist?”
He frowned at me. “I’m not following.”
“What did you want to buy from Dolly?”
“A drawing.” He jammed his hands into his pockets.
“But she refused to sell it?”
“She died too soon for us to come to an agreement.”
&n
bsp; I felt the flush of embarrassment burning the tops of my ears. Thank goodness my hair covered them. I was as bad as Mr. DuBois, imagining everyone was an evil killer. “Her daughter might be willing to sell it to you.”
“I was told she’s giving everything to some estate company to sell.”
“You’re in luck, then. She may hire Percy McAllister, who apparently doesn’t value anything correctly. You can probably get it for a steal.”
He glanced over at me, but his eyes darted at something past me. “Thanks for the tip. That’s very helpful, Florrie. Nice seeing you again.”
Jack gave me a friendly nod and ambled away.
I couldn’t help thinking that Dolly’s house was very close to the bookstore. Surely it wasn’t Dolly who had clobbered him the morning he appeared at Color Me Read. Probably not. She had been busy prowling through the Dumont estate sale.
I turned my attention to the forensics crews that still came and went from the house. How would I feel if someone found a skeleton hidden in the wall of my parents’ house? Suddenly I felt very sorry for Maisie.
As I watched, Zsazsa exited the house. She spied me standing across the street and waved at me. There wasn’t any traffic, but she looked both ways before jogging across the street to me.
“My goodness but it’s hot today.” Zsazsa fanned herself with her hand. “I was just visiting with Maisie, poor thing. She harbors such ill will toward her mother. It’s a pity Maisie never matured enough to get to know Dolly as the delightful woman she was.”
“I guess she knows now that Dolly was murdered?”
“Do you know what she said to me? ‘Mother embarrassed me her entire life. And now she didn’t even have the decency to die with class.’ Who says that about their murdered mother? She acts as if Dolly chose to be murdered.”
“I wonder if she knew about the skeleton,” I mused.
“She says she knew nothing. I believe her exact words were, ‘Mother didn’t leave me a legacy, she left me a curse.’”
Maisie made it hard to feel sorry for her. Would I have said something similar in her shoes? I didn’t think so. She assumed her mother had killed the person and had hidden him in the wall. “You don’t suppose it was Maisie . . .” I hated to even suggest that Maisie might be the one who killed Dolly.
