Chapter 10
“It seems most likely that one of the employees would be the perpetrator because they had easy access to the building,” Zsazsa mused. “Anyone else would have had to break in and turn off the alarm.”
Goldblum snorted. “Sleepy conscience. How many times have I seen one of you punch in the password to turn off the alarm? Half the regulars probably know it.”
“That’s true.” Zsazsa shot me an apologetic look. “I knew it, too.”
I gazed around the table. Didn’t they realize they had just enlarged the pool of suspects and included themselves?
“What about Bob?” Bankhouse stirred his coffee, clinking the spoon against the mug. “Helen tells me he reads a lot of thrillers.”
“Bob Turpin?” I couldn’t believe anyone would imagine he could murder, much less with a spear.
“Sure, you saw him wielding that ax when you opened the hatch.” Bankhouse sipped his coffee, looking at us over the rim of the mug.
“Bob?” Goldblum sounded incredulous. “He hasn’t got the grit to stab someone. I’d put my money on Helen. Did you know that she has never read To Kill a Mockingbird? What’s someone like that doing working in a bookstore anyway?”
Bankhouse’s coffee mug clunked to the table so hard that a bit of milky brown liquid spewed out and onto the wood tabletop. “I beg your pardon. Helen is my stepdaughter!”
Goldblum, Zsazsa, and I stared at him in a long awkward pause.
Goldblum stammered, “Sorry about that. I had no idea. You don’t have the same name. Isn’t she Helen Osgood?”
Bankhouse tilted his head. “She uses her birth father’s surname. Helen didn’t want anyone to know that Maxwell hired her as a favor to me. She was embarrassed about the circumstances that resulted in the termination of her last job. Frankly, Helen has never been the student I’d hoped she might be. She has the brains but was never interested in school. I tried steering her to social media, but from what I gather, those positions are extremely popular. Nevertheless, in spite of Helen’s general disinterest in books, I can assure you that she had no reason to murder Delbert. I doubt she even knew him.”
“She must be thirty,” Zsazsa said. “You look far too young to have a stepdaughter that age. Do you have grandchildren?”
That drew a smile from Bankhouse. “I try to stay in shape. Helen had one disastrous marriage straight out of college. Thankfully no children arose from that ill-fated union. Since then she has dated quite a few fellows, most of whom are equally unprepared to make a living. Her mother indulges her every whim, but I insisted she absolutely had to have a job, even if it wasn’t her dream position.”
Goldblum sighed. “That’s about it for the employees, except for you, Florrie.”
I chuckled. “I minored in spear throwing in college.”
Fortunately, they all smiled. While I had no doubt that battling with a spear was something that could be done equally well by any size or gender person, it was preposterous to imagine that I, notoriously unathletic and exceedingly incompetent at activities involving such things as balls and other items that had to be thrown, could possibly have seized a spear as my weapon of choice.
“Please,” begged Bankhouse, “not a word about this to Helen. She would be furious if she knew I had told you the sordid details about her.”
Zsazsa pretended to close a zipper on her lips. “Your secrets are safe with us.”
I bid them farewell and headed home, wondering if there was a reason Bankhouse had wanted Helen to work at Color Me Read. I had no reason to think he had a motive to hurt Delbert, but still, it would have been easy for him to gain access to the building with Helen’s keys.
When I entered the carriage house, Peaches lifted her head briefly, but didn’t budge from her spot in the sun. That was the second time she hadn’t come running like she used to. I wasn’t sure I liked this development. On the other hand, maybe it simply reflected her comfort level at living in our new digs. With all the French doors that overlooked the garden, there was a lot more for her to do than in our old apartment.
I spent the next couple of hours having the Color Me Read phone forwarded to my cell phone and making calls to the various delivery companies so they would reroute all parcels to the carriage house.
I had just hung up the phone when there was a knock on my door. I approached it cautiously and saw Detective-Sergeant Zielony outside.
Ugh. Not him again. I opened the door.
“Hello, Florrie. May I come in?”
I realized that I had read far too many mysteries when I wondered if I was giving him permission to snoop if I let him inside. What could he want in my quarters, anyway? Did he hope to see shoes that would match the print I had seen on the floor?
But what could I do? Would he get a search warrant if I said no?
Reluctantly, I stepped aside.
Detective-Sergeant Zielony entered and gazed around.
I felt like he was taking in every tiny detail. It was rude of me not to invite him to sit down or to offer him a beverage, but I didn’t want him to stay long. “How may I help you?”
“Nice place.”
“Thank you.”
“No wonder Delbert wanted to live here.”
I didn’t respond.
“Wouldn’t you rather live in the mansion?” he asked.
What an odd question. “No.”
“Is there a bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?” He started for the stairs.
“No, you may not.”
He turned around, his eyes reflecting his shock at my response.
“What do you want, Detective-Sergeant Zielony?” The question slipped out of my mouth, startling me. I wasn’t usually so brave.
His chin raised slightly as he regarded me. “Who will inherit the Maxwell estate now that Delbert is dead?”
He caught me by surprise. “I have no idea.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure. Detective-Sergeant Zielony, I work for Professor Maxwell. We talk of many things, like Mark Twain’s humor, and whether there is a treasure at Oak Island. We speak of Tolstoy and Harry Potter, of bookstore business and curious world events. Until two days ago, I didn’t know of Delbert’s existence. I have no idea what comprises the Maxwell estate or who might be in line to inherit it. Nor do I care.”
“One of his friends called you his right-hand woman.”
“That’s very flattering. I suppose I am when it comes to Color Me Read.”
“Then surely he has discussed his personal life with you?”
“Only to the extent of his adventures around the world. You know the kind of thing. Tales of his travels.”
“You are aware that I can get a search warrant to see what you’re hiding upstairs.”
In truth, every nerve in my body tingled with fear. I tried to hide my anxiety. Didn’t they say animals sensed fear? Did cops have ways of knowing that, too? I lifted my chin, much as he had, and said, “Then by all means go right ahead.”
I trembled a bit and tried to hide it from him. Where was this bold Florrie coming from? Too much Nancy Drew and Monsieur Poirot?
He strode toward the door. As he passed by me, he whispered, “You’re more of a spitfire than I had thought.”
I had to restrain myself not to slam the door behind him. It would only feed his ego. But I quivered and leaned against the closed door, trying to reason with myself. I had nothing to fear. I had done nothing wrong. Then why did he make me so nervous? And why had he come to scope out the carriage house? What had he expected to find?
I finally walked away from the door and made myself a mug of black tea with milk and sugar to help me get myself together.
Maybe instead of fearing awful Detective-Sergeant Zielony, I should consider what he knew that prompted him to come to the carriage house. What could he have been looking for? They had the weapon.
Clothes! Of course. How stupid could I be? They had found blood on the carpet of the third floor. Chances were good that the killer had blood on his clothes, or that he was bleeding, too. Had Delbert managed to inflict an injury on his killer?
I hadn’t given much thought to the killer walking out of Color Me Read. He or she likely had to go home wearing bloodstained clothes. We knew it was definitely after ten at night, so it would have been dark, but the streetlights and lights from stores and restaurants would have been sufficient for people to notice if someone bloody was walking along the streets. How did the killer get away without anyone noticing him? Had he parked close to the store?
I cupped the warm mug in both my hands, thinking with great relief that there was no blood upstairs. I seriously suspected that the search warrant had been an idle threat intended to scare me, but even if Zielony managed to get one, he wouldn’t find anything of interest among my belongings.
After finishing my tea, I walked over to the mansion and knocked on the back door. Mr. DuBois answered, tidy and official in his butler’s uniform, but showing signs of fatigue.
“Miss Florrie!” He glanced around before seizing my hand and pulling me inside. “These are dark days for the Maxwells.”
“Have you heard from the professor?”
“Indeed. His lawyers tell me he’s doing fine, but they are no closer to finding the real murderer.” He peered at me. “Are you afraid you shall be killed, too?”