Chapter 11

I hadn’t been up to that moment! “Why would you ask such a thing? Why would anyone want to kill me?”

“Because you know too much.”

“Then I have nothing to fear because it’s all a mystery to me. Mr. DuBois, when they arrested the professor yesterday, they searched the mansion, didn’t they?”

“Indeed. Left a mess behind. No courtesy whatsoever.”

“Do you know what they were looking for?”

At that moment, the doorbell tinkled a tune. DuBois’s eyes opened wide. He seemed paralyzed.

“Perhaps they’ll go away,” he whispered.

“You think it’s the press?” Maybe they had been annoying him.

A woman yelled something.

I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but there was no doubt that she was angry.

Mr. DuBois sagged. “Ugh. The professor’s sister, Liddy.”

He didn’t budge.

“You’re not going to answer the door?”

“I am debating that action. It would be rude not to do so, and it is my job to take care of such matters. On the other hand, Maxwell is not home, and I trust she is fully aware of his current incarceration. Nothing good can come of her visit.”

He had a point.

“Ugh,” he uttered. “I suppose there’s no benefit in putting it off. She would surely return later.”

“I’ll go with you.”

We walked through the elegant house to the foyer. The floor was a checkerboard of black-and-white marble. The walls were covered with an elegant soft gold paper with just a hint of an Asian feel. A large round mahogany table sat in the middle of the room holding a tall vase of vibrant gladiolus.

Mr. DuBois opened the front door. “Good day, Miss Liddy.”

She barged inside. Plump, with thin brown hair, her eyes were red-rimmed, probably from crying. She passed DuBois without any acknowledgement. “Who are you?”

I held out my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Woodley. I’m Florrie Fox. I manage Color Me Read.”

She shrieked as though I had told her I was the devil himself.

Mr. DuBois hastened to close the door. “Miss Liddy! Please.”

She eyed me through mere slits. “You have your nerve being here. This is all your fault. If you think you’re moving into the mansion, you’re quite wrong.” She pointed her forefinger toward the door. “Out! You’re through, you little harlot!”

“Now just a moment, Miss Liddy.”

I was surprised to see DuBois intervene.

“Ms. Fox is a legitimate tenant on a month to month basis, and I believe she is entitled, by law, to one month’s notice. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Maxwell’s current situation does not change his possession of this house.”

She burst into tears.

DuBois and I looked at each other like we were wondering what to do. I guessed he was as unenthusiastic about comforting her as I was.

After what seemed an uncomfortable eternity but was probably only a minute or two, Mrs. Woodley regained her composure. “One would think a mother who had lost her only child at the hands of her own brother might elicit more sympathy. And you, DuBois, should be ashamed of yourself for treating me like a stranger. I can see that my lawyers will have to undertake the eviction of both of you from the property.” She turned on her heel but made a slow exit. Just outside, she looked at us again and said, “Maxwell will rot in prison for what he did to my little boy, and the two of you will join him for your actions as his accomplices. Make no—”

With one swift motion of his right hand, DuBois effectively slammed the door in her face.

He looked at me with a mischievous grin. “Oooh. That felt good!” He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “I shall hold down the fort from the invading relatives. Now, how do we find the real culprit who dispatched Delbert?”

It spoke well of Maxwell that all of the people who knew and loved him didn’t question his innocence. If only the police could come to that realization.

“Can you obtain information from Maxwell’s attorneys or the police?” I asked.

DuBois’s eyes reflected his excitement. “I shall make it my quest. What do you wish to know?”

“I imagine they’re going to do an autopsy on Delbert—”

“Undoubtedly!”

“Don’t you think it would be helpful to know the time of death? The three of us were together at three in the morning. After that, the professor was with you or me until morning. So we could provide him with an alibi for those times. Right?”

DuBois nodded. “Indeed. And what about fingerprints on the spear? Maxwell’s will be there, of course, because it belonged to him. But the killer’s fingerprints will be on it, as well.”

DuBois bustled into a library, and I followed him. Fine paneling and woodwork lined the walls. The fireplace was so large I could almost walk into it. A massive desk with claw feet and four-inch-wide lions’ heads on the corners took center stage. I didn’t know what kinds of woods comprised the inlay, but I knew without any doubt that it was an antique and may have been in the Maxwell family for generations. I couldn’t imagine living in a house like this. Had members of the Maxwell clan curled up in the cushy chairs by a blazing fire to read one of the thousands of books on the shelves?

DuBois sat at the desk like he owned the place.

“How long have you worked for the professor?” I asked.

“Maxwell was a mere boy when I came to work for the family. I knew his parents well. Such dignified and proper people.”

After working for the Maxwell family so many years, he probably did feel that it was his home, as well.

“So you have known Liddy a long time, too. She must have been a small child when you started working here.”

He jotted notes with a pen that I recognized as Swiss and pricey. “Indeed she was. Fortunately, a nanny looked after her. To be correct, a series of nannies watched over her. Miss Liddy always was a demanding and imperious sort. You can tell a lot about people by the way they treat the help. Is there anything else I should inquire about?”

“I imagine it would behoove us to know the status of the house and the store.” I hated to even think it, but if the professor was held for a longer period of time, they might become issues.

DuBois made a note. “I happen to know that Maxwell has the right to use of this property until his death or such time as he no longer desires to reside here. The family assets, like this house, a beach residence, a horse farm, some paintings of significance, and the jewelry, especially the famous Maxwell emerald and diamond necklace, are the subject of a rather complicated family trust, intended to ensure that everything remain in the family. Small wonder that Maxwell was concerned about Delbert inheriting everything.”

“A necklace?” I gazed around the room. “Is there an alarm system?”

“It was installed forty years ago. We are the proverbial sitting duck, ripe to have our feathers plucked by a half-witted burglar. I have begged Maxwell to update it. Times have changed so much. But that sort of thing bores him. He always says, DuBois, you are a far better alarm system than any mechanical one.”

“So you don’t think his sister could make a demand for the house and throw us out?”

“I doubt it. But I will express our concern to his solicitors.”

I let him know that packages intended for the bookstore would be arriving. He was most agreeable about it.

“Mr. DuBois, either you or Maxwell made reference to Delbert’s roommates kicking him out. I doubt that Liddy would tell us who they were. I’d like to know what happened there. Do you have any idea how to contact them?”

DuBois’s head gave a little jerk. He sat with a straight back and stared at me without a word.

I wasn’t sure what was going on, but had found that often when I was quiet or didn’t respond immediately, the other person in the conversation felt it necessary to fill the silence, so I simply waited for him to respond.

“Under the circumstances, I expect it would be acceptable to break protocol and snoop. After all, the professor needs our assistance.” He pushed something on the desk, and retrieved an iPad.

“The police didn’t collect the computers?”

DuBois smiled. “Perhaps they weren’t aware of the secret compartments in this house. Pity, eh?”

He spoke as he typed. “2450 Langsworth Place.” He peered at the iPad and in only a few seconds, a brilliant smile lighted his face. “Scott Southworth and Lance Devereoux. I do love modern technology.”

That was far too easy. “The professor had their names and the address?”

Mr. DuBois didn’t look up at me. “There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Delbert’s father cut him off and Delbert couldn’t pay the rent. Intended as tough love, I believe. Apparently he wanted to force Delbert to stand on his own two feet and stop playing the role of rich kid. Delbert went to his mommy, who would do anything for him. Liddy didn’t want her husband to know that she was paying Delbert’s rent, so she came to Maxwell, who wrote the check for the rent and smoothed things over with the roommates. I must say, though, that he was in full agreement, as was I, with Delbert’s father. It’s ridiculous to have that young man cruising around spending money like water and getting into trouble at every turn.”

“Delbert didn’t have a job?”

“Hah! Delbert has had many jobs, most often acquired through his parents, though I must say he is well educated. Assuming, of course, that he didn’t lie, cheat, and steal his way through college. He has been fired from almost every position he has ever held.”

He jotted their names and address on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “I would come with you, but I feel the need to protect the mansion. I don’t dare leave it.”

I was beginning to wonder if the old fellow had developed a bit of agoraphobia. “Can I pick up some groceries for you? Or takeout, perhaps?”

He appeared to be touched by my question. “Thank you for your consideration, Miss Florrie. I have a standing order with the greengrocer, the florist, the organic food store, and my favorite Japanese restaurant. Home delivery is a marvel.”

I checked the time when I left the house. Did I dare go back to the bookstore as the other police officer had suggested? I squared my shoulders. Why not? The worst-case scenario was Zielony being angry with me. I was pretty sure I had already accomplished that.

I strolled over to the bookstore and ducked into the alley behind it where the deliveries were made. I had to build up a little courage to knock on the door. I sucked in a deep breath and hit the door with my knuckles.

Sounds of shuffling and footsteps came from inside the store. The door swung open. The friendly cop who had suggested I return smiled at me. He picked up four small boxes and a large envelope. “Need help carrying them home?”

“No, I’m fine. I am so grateful to you. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Zielony can be a jerk. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.” I walked away and went straight back to the carriage house, where I made arrangements to deliver the books to the buyers. I phoned Bob, who agreed to deliver half of them and then accompany me on a little visit to Delbert’s roommates.

At six in the evening, it was still light outside with a couple more hours of daylight left when Bob and I set off to meet the roommates. I wasn’t particularly fearful, but if they were anything like Delbert, I thought it best to bring a friend along. Not that Bob would be much help in a crisis, but I felt better anyway.

They lived across the Potomac in Arlington, Virginia. I drove and Bob checked house numbers. The tiny redbrick Cape Cod had seen better days. The yard was void of plants other than grass, but had been freshly mowed. Near the sidewalk, a sign declared FORECLOSURE SALE and stated a date the following week.

We walked up to the house, and I rang the bell.

A friendly-looking fellow opened the door. He wore jeans and a Washington Redskins T-shirt. His hair was tidy and cut short. He stood only five inches or so taller than me.

I introduced myself and Bob. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I believe you were roommates with Delbert Woodley?”

He groaned. “I’m not talking to the press.”

“We’re not reporters.”

He tilted his head. “You’re with the police?”

“No. We’re looking into the circumstances of Delbert’s death,” I said carefully. That was true.

He looked from me to Bob and back again. “I don’t understand. Insurance investigators?”

Bob blurted, “We work at the bookstore where Delbert was . . . found.”

The guy seemed to sag with relief. “Come on in.”

“Are you Scott or Lance?” I asked as we entered.

“Lance Devereoux.” He showed us to the living room.

“This is Scott.” Addressing his roommate, he added, “They work at the bookstore where Delbert was killed.”

His roommate stood up and shook our hands. Only slightly taller than Bob, he wore his hair in the modern style that Bob disliked. It was short on the sides and stood up on top probably thanks to some gel. He wore the scruffy one-day beard growth, too. “I know that bookstore. I’ve shopped there a couple of times. Cool place.”

Bob nodded. “I think I’ve seen you there.”

It was a tiny house furnished in modern man cave style. A billiard table occupied what would normally be the dining room. The living room featured a fireplace that was dwarfed by a giant TV set. I didn’t see any packing boxes, but if that sign out front was correct, Lance and Scott would probably be moving soon.

A comfy U-shaped modular sofa barely fit in the living room. There was plenty of room for the four of us to perch on it. An empty blue cupcake box from my favorite cupcake bakery perched on the sofa with us.

I pointed at it. “Great cupcakes! Sugar Dreams are my favorite.”

“Ours, too,” said Lance. “We were in line to get one of the last boxes before they move.”

“Where are they going?”

“I’m not really sure. They’re staying in Georgetown, but I used to pass by regularly for work, so we got a little spoiled.”

“Did you know Delbert long?” I asked.

“I knew of him in college but we weren’t close,” said Lance. “I hadn’t seen him in years. When I posted for a roommate on the college online site, Delbert responded.”

How did investigators do this? There must be a trick to asking questions so people would relax and talk. “When did he move out?”

Lance glanced at Scott, then rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head as though he was in pain. “Last week. My friends keep trying to tell me this would have happened to him sooner or later, but I can’t help feeling like he might be alive if I hadn’t given him the boot.”

Scott winced. “You can’t blame yourself. Where he lived had nothing to do with his death. It’s not like he was homeless and wandering around.” To us he said, “His parents live an hour from here. He could have stayed with them.” He looked at his roommate again. “You’re not responsible for his death.”

“I’ve had some lousy roommates,” said Bob. “What did he do?”

Lance looked up at him as though they had made a connection.