Chapter 21

Mr. DuBois set a cup of tea before me and handed a dog cookie to Frodo. “Am I to understand that the killer has now murdered two individuals? Who is the second one?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hilda. “He said there would be a murder. He wasn’t thinking about the foot in the rug. So that would imply two.”

Mr. DuBois seemed to shrink before my eyes. “It could be any one of us!”

Jacquie spoke reassuringly, “Now, DuBois. Perhaps the police will be able to prevent the second murder.”

Hilda held her hands to her face. “I don’t think so. The foot in the rug, that was definitely the first victim.”

I watched Jacquie’s expression. Wrinkles formed between her eyes. Was she as skeptical as I was? After all, the foot in the rug had not been where Hilda claimed. Eric had looked for it. He had even questioned neighbors. No one had seen the alleged foot in the rug. Unless . . . Hilda had committed the murder to bolster her claim.

Jacquie’s eyes met mine. I wished I knew what she was thinking. As much as I wanted to be open-minded about Hilda and her remarkable abilities, she seemed a little bit melodramatic with her pronouncements. Was that why she didn’t seem credible to me? Or was I just a born skeptic?

Was it remotely possible that Manny had been rolled in a rug as a coincidence? I wondered if there were statistics about how often a murderer rolled a corpse in a rug. Maybe it happened more frequently than one would think. After all, a body had to be hard to move. A rug seemed like an easy solution. It disguised the body, assuming a foot wasn’t sticking out, and it was probably easier to drag a body in a rug than just a body.

Mr. DuBois appeared to be reveling in Hilda’s every word. “Can you make contact with that person again? If you’re in his head, perhaps you could assist the police.”

Hilda considered his suggestion. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to make contact with him at the bookstore. I . . . I’m not sure how I would reach him. It all happened so spontaneously that night.” She pulled her lips into her mouth as if she were afraid. Whispering, she said, “I’m not sure I want to hear from him again. It was horrifying. I have been able to channel a lot of dead people but they’re usually pretty nice. Some are grumpy, but I always assume that’s how they were when they were alive. The person whose thoughts I picked up at the bookstore was frightening. Pure evil.”

Most murderers were.

“Perhaps if you returned to the bookstore,” suggested Mr. DuBois.

“That’s right,” said Jacquie. “You could do a relaxed reading in the parlor or come just to chat. We’ll provide some snacks and let people know you’re available to talk.”

At that point, all I wanted was to go home, shower, and do something comforting, like sketch. The thought of another night of Hilda’s drama at the store drained me even more. I wished I knew whether she was for real or not. I didn’t want to be unfair to her. And it really wasn’t like me to be so closed-minded. I wasn’t a genius. I didn’t know everything. Far from it. But if someone as smart as the professor didn’t believe in ghosts, maybe Hilda was a big fraud.

Or maybe not. The professor didn’t know everything, either.

Hilda appeared uncomfortable and averted her gaze. “I would like to come back to the bookstore. Even though I fear channeling that man’s thoughts again, perhaps”—she forced a smile—“perhaps that would help the police. I should do whatever I can to assist them.”

I nodded reluctantly. As graciously as I could, I said, “We would welcome another visit from you. If you don’t mind, I was up most of the night and it has been a long day. Plus, I think I’d better check on Peaches.”

“She’s fine,” said Mr. DuBois. “She had a rather good day and ate all her salmon.”

Had I heard correctly? Were those words actually coming out of the mouth of someone with an intense dislike of cats? I tried to hide my smile. “Thank you for the tea. I hope you’ll forgive me for heading home but I’m exhausted. Good night.”

Frodo and I left through the back door and quickly crossed the paved area to my home. Peaches yawned and stretched when I entered. I picked her up. “Good job with Mr. DuBois. I have a feeling he likes you!”

She purred but kept her secrets about Mr. DuBois to herself. After a long, hot shower, I dressed in an oversize crimson T-shirt that reached my knees. Veronica had given it to me. It said Color Outside the Lines.

The thing was, even though I was home and relaxed, I didn’t really feel any better. Whether Hilda thought someone had communicated an intent to commit murder didn’t matter. The reality was that Manny was dead.

Peaches and Frodo leaped down the stairs ahead of me. Peaches zoomed to her dish and yowled repeatedly.

“I get it. Time for dinner.” I opened a pouch of shredded beef in broth and poured it into her bowl. She purred while she ate. Frodo contently snarfed turkey dog food.

I didn’t have much appetite. I scrounged in the fridge and found some cheese, which I folded into an omelet and ate at the counter. I warmed apple cider and took it over to the couch. I felt better just picking up my sketchbook.

The first thing I doodled was Manny’s face. I hadn’t been able to do him justice with a crayon. He was only a few years younger than me, I guessed, but, according to his boss and coworker, his attitude and demeanor had been that of an immature person.

The hair that parted in the middle and fell into his forehead was easy. But as I drew, I saw that he had a narrower jawline than I had realized. It ended in a pointy chin. His eyes reminded me of almonds but they drooped slightly in the middle of the bottom lid, giving him a somewhat petulant appearance. For no good reason, I felt compelled to draw the coffin with the wide shoulders and narrow end. The soil had been loose around it. I added Manny’s foot sticking up out of the ground.

Why had his killer buried him there? Granted, it was a flower bed, so the soil wasn’t packed hard. And the coffin was empty, so it would have been easy to move aside. Had the foot sticking up been a mistake? An oversight in the dark?

Why hadn’t anyone noticed the killer burying the rug? It stood to reason that it must have been done at night and quickly, which, unfortunately, pointed to Coralue.

Poor Coralue. I hoped she would be okay. And I fervently hoped her son wasn’t involved in Manny’s demise. Coralue was far easier to sketch. Her face and hair style were so round. She always had a kindly expression, as though she was confident about herself and her life. I drew a small mouth with full lips and the ladylike bob that always seemed to be in place.

I got up to fetch a throw and snuggled underneath it. When I picked up my sketchbook, it fell open to Harry. Where was he? We had been so busy that I hadn’t checked to be sure he was back in the professor’s office, where he belonged.

I started to draw Roxie, but my eyelids grew heavy. I checked to be sure the front door was locked and headed up to bed.

* * *

I woke early, thinking of Manny. And of Coralue’s son. If Mr. DuBois didn’t make another appearance, I might have time to visit Coralue before work. She had been in distress the last time I saw her. Maybe I should have been concerned about all her lights being off. Why hadn’t I checked on her last night?

I showered quickly and slid on gray slacks and a white shirt. Drab, drab, drab. I searched my closet for a violet pullover. Much better. I added two long chains and turned the cuffs of the shirt sleeves back over the violet sweater. I drank a quick cup of java while I fed shrimp in aspic to Peaches. I packed Frodo’s breakfast and stashed it in my purse, planning to buy something to nosh on for myself.

I promised Peaches that she could come to the store the next day, and dressed Frodo in his halter. We were off in the brisk morning air and headed for Coralue’s house.

Police tape still hung in front of the mansion but the coffin and the butler had disappeared. No one was around, so I ducked under the police tape but took care to make a wide swath between myself and the actual scene of the murder.

I stopped in my tracks and looked over at the spot where the coffin had been. Was it the site of the murder? Probably not. If there had been an argument on the street, Coralue might have heard it. And the killer happened to have a rug. That was unlikely unless he was some kind of rug dealer. No, Manny must have been killed elsewhere and brought here in the rug.

Would Coralue’s son be stupid enough to kill Manny and hide the corpse in his own mother’s yard?

I held Frodo’s leash short so he wouldn’t disturb anything, and tiptoed at the edge of the flower bed to reach the front door.

It opened before I had a chance to ring the doorbell. Coralue wore a black sweater set with a black skirt. She looked like a ladies-who-lunch version of Morticia Adams. She had taken time with her hair and makeup. They were flawless. “Come in, Florrie. I’ve been expecting you.”

That frightened me a little bit. “Why?”

She showed us to the lovely conservatory in the back of the house. “Because the two of us went through a trauma together. I don’t think anyone else would understand the horror we experienced. That kind of ghastly event bonds people.”

She wasn’t kidding about expecting me. She had set out a tray with cobalt-blue-and-white teacups adorned with gold. She poured an amber liquid into them from a matching teapot. “Russian tea,” she said. “It’s not actually Russian. I don’t know how it got that name. But hot tea blended with orange juice is always comforting to me.”

Next to the tea was a matching platter overflowing with chocolate croissants and blueberry Danish. “You have to try the pastries. I baked them myself.”

“I didn’t know you liked to bake.” I sat down on the soft cushion of a wicker armchair.

“I’ve attended some classes. I bake when I’m stressed. It takes my mind off the things that trouble me.”

“You must be tired,” I said. “The nightmare continued long into the night for you.”

“I hope I never go through anything like that again. I was up all night. I kept peeking out the window to see what they were doing.”

“Did they remove the coffin or did you?”

Coralue picked up her teacup. “The police took it. They’re hoping they can get some DNA off it. I removed the butler with their permission. He’s in the basement for now. I can hardly bear to look at him.”

“Have you contacted your son?” I asked.

“I have. The police wasted no time interviewing Hayes. They hauled him into the police station early yesterday morning. Apparently, the animosity between Hayes and Manny was widely known in the judo community. Some sided with Manny and some with Hayes. I knew about it but I didn’t realize that it had become such a big deal.”

She tore off a bit of chocolate croissant. “They interviewed me, too. Of course”—she flicked her hand carelessly, as though it didn’t matter—“I don’t have an alibi. Neither Hayes nor I have one.”

“But what motive would you have for killing Manny?”

She stared at me in disbelief. “For my son! Naturally, it’s preposterous. I didn’t murder Manny. The thought never even entered my head. It’s a sport. Sometimes someone cheats. You learn from that and move on. The one who cheats is always watched very carefully once there’s an allegation in the air. Manny would have been marked by that questionable episode forever. He never could have gotten away with it again. To my way of thinking, that’s the appropriate punishment. It would be absurd to murder someone for something like that. His own judo community would have seen to it that he never did it again.”

“Have the police said how he was killed?” I asked.

“Hayes said their questions led him to believe that someone used a judo maneuver on him. They didn’t ask me anything of the sort.”

When I didn’t say anything right away, Coralue asked what I was thinking.

“Two things, actually. It’s probably a coincidence that someone attacked Cyril Oldfield. That person used a knife, though.”

“Cyril? I had no idea. Is he all right?” asked Coralue.

“He’s still in the hospital. He survived the attack but I have to think it was a close call if they’re keeping him there.”

“Surely there couldn’t be a connection. Unless . . . could Manny be the one who attacked Cyril?” asked Coralue.

“I don’t think so.” But no sooner were the words out of my mouth than I remembered Manny claimed he was getting into a more lucrative line of work. Had he planned to steal Cyril’s clock? After all, he had intended to steal Harry.

“I’ll have to pay him a visit,” she said. “I haven’t seen Cyril in years. I remember when his wife died in that boating accident. Cyril was broken. I mean physically and emotionally, he was just devastated. Poor little Roxie was only three. The cutest bubbly little girl you can imagine. I doubt that she remembers her mother. Why would anyone attack Cyril?”

“That’s what we’re all wondering.”

“What was your other thought about Manny’s death?” She picked up her teacup and cradled it in her hands.

“If Manny was into judo, wouldn’t he have known how to defend himself? Aren’t there tricks they learn to resist attacks?”

“One would think so. Isn’t that the point of martial arts? I’ll have to ask my son. It’s quite obvious to me that it wasn’t Hayes. It’s not in his character. And one would think the killer would be bruised if there had been a confrontation. Unless the killer attacked him from behind. That poor young man. I don’t care how much he cheated, he didn’t deserve to have his life end at such a young age.”

My phone buzzed, letting me know I had a text message. I ignored it.

“Maybe you should get that, sweetheart. We all need to be alert right now.”

Reluctantly, I pulled the phone out of my purse and glanced at it. Professor Maxwell had sent me a text.

Florrie! Where are you? Come to the store quickly!