Chapter 16
That was disappointing. I would have to find someone else.
I went through our list of local authors. Aha! Emily Branscom had a new nonfiction book out on little-known historic oddities of Georgetown. That was just the ticket. She was always popular. I phoned her agent and left a message asking if Emily would be interested in doing a signing.
That pending, I took my sketch pad out to the garden and doodled. I found myself drawing a cupcake. I really ought to bake some cupcakes. Would people buy a coloring book of desserts and pastries?
Inspired by a butterfly in the garden, I sketched a butterfly landing on a cupcake. And then just a butterfly. The thought that a butterfly would fit beautifully in a new garden coloring book flitted through my mind before I returned to the important thing—who was Butterfly Man and what did he want?
What had Jonquille said he needed? A legitimate suspect. Or concrete evidence.
I flipped the page to make a list of suspects. An ivy-colored crayon poised over the paper, I hardly knew where to begin but wrote Lance Devereoux’s name, the roommate whose career Delbert ruined. I sketched his face from memory but wasn’t pleased with the likeness. Had his pal Scott Southworth helped him? What about Jacquie Liebhaber, the author whose books Delbert published as his own? I added their names.
Reluctantly, I wrote Helen’s name next and drew a sketch of her face with her gorgeous copper hair tumbling over her shoulders. It was ridiculous, of course. She had no motive. At least not one that I knew about. She did have access to the bookstore, though. So did Bob. I kept coming back to that. Along those lines, I had been a little bit disturbed to learn that Zsazsa, Bankhouse, and Goldblum all knew the alarm code. Bankhouse had access to the keys through Helen, but any one of them might have finagled the key situation. Could one of them have left the back door unlocked? Again, though, I knew of no motive that they might have.
My only remaining suspect thus far was Mr. DuBois. He would do anything for Maxwell. And he certainly had access to keys. But the fact that someone had chased him almost prevented me from adding his name. I needed to get over there to talk with him and find out exactly what had happened last night.
I looked over my list with disgust. Only Jacquie and Lance were plausible suspects.
There was a knock at my door. I hurried inside and peeked through the window. To my relief I saw Felipe, the guard. When I opened the door, he handed me a business card. “There’s a Mr. Hambrick here to see you. Do you want to talk to him?” He lowered his voice. “You don’t have to. I can send him away.”
I had no idea who he was. I looked at the card in my hand. IAN HAMBRICK, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Could this be Butterfly Man? “Maybe Maxwell’s lawyer hired a PI. I’d better talk to him. Can you stay with me?”
“Sure. It would be my pleasure.” Felipe signaled him to approach.
It was kind of cool to have my own private guard. Was this how the wealthy lived?
Ian introduced himself. About six feet tall, he spoke with a slight British lilt. In spite of the heat, he wore a driver’s cap of beige linen. His face, while not unattractive, was very narrow. His chin and nose were somewhat pointy. His beard was short and well trimmed.
Although he didn’t fit Sonja’s description of Butterfly Man, I looked at his arms anyway in search of the tattoo. Unfortunately, he wore a long-sleeved shirt that covered his arms.
“I’m looking for Jacquie Liebhaber. The nurse at the main house referred me to you. Have you heard from her in the last week?”
I was taken aback. “Looking for her? Jacquie Liebhaber, the women’s fiction author? She’s missing?”
“I’m afraid so. No one has seen or heard from her since Saturday.”
My knees went weak. How many things could go wrong? “Oh my gosh! What happened?”
“We don’t really know. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”
“Sorry, but I don’t know Jacquie. She was once married to John Maxwell, who owns this property, but I’m sure you have read in the papers that he is currently incarcerated.”
“So she hasn’t been here?”
“Not that I know of. I assume the only reason she would come would be to see Maxwell, and he hasn’t been here since Sunday.”
He nodded. “Thanks anyway. If she shows up looking for him, please give me a call. Everyone is very worried about her.”
“I can understand that. I hope they find her soon. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I have always enjoyed her books.”
“Thank you.” He strode away.
I was reeling. There was no reason to imagine a connection between Delbert’s death and Jacquie’s disappearance. But the timing was certainly coincidental.
“Everything okay?” asked Felipe.
“I don’t know. Must be boring out here,” I said.
He smiled and shrugged. “I’ve worked in worse situations.” He looked at the sky. “Rain, snow, sleet. Yecch. Those are the days I wonder why I don’t get a nice cushy security job at some office building. Today, the weather’s good, the house and grounds are beautiful, and I seriously doubt that the scumbag who broke into the mansion last night will be back.”
“Could I offer you a cold drink?”
He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Thanks, but I came prepared with a cooler.”
I stepped inside and closed the door. Could Jacquie have murdered Delbert? It seemed unlikely. Would she have a key to the bookstore? Only if she had been having midnight rendezvous there with Maxwell. That thought shocked me for a moment. After all, it wasn’t outside the realm of realistic possibilities. He went to the bookstore a lot at weird hours. They truly could have been meeting there secretly.
That changed everything. Maxwell might have entrusted her with a key and the password to the alarm system. But would Delbert have been there? Could she have arranged to meet him there out of anger because he stole her books? It might not have been difficult to lure him with the promise of money or even some scam.
Or had she gone to see Maxwell and discovered Delbert there instead? Had she been waiting for Maxwell when Delbert arrived? She could have murdered him and then taken off. Was she in hiding because she had killed Delbert? Would she let Maxwell suffer in prison for her crime?
I wished I knew more about her. She had divorced Maxwell. Were there hard feelings after all these years? Had she plotted this to land Maxwell in prison for something that had happened in their marriage so long ago?
I hadn’t considered his ex-wives. There had been three I believed. But what about girlfriends? Had he been dating someone and dumped her? Oh no! That opened a whole new group of people to consider.
The only person who would know who might have it in for Maxwell was DuBois. He could fill me in on Jacquie.
I found it curious that the private investigator bothered to come to the mansion. Did that suggest that she and Maxwell were still in touch? Why hadn’t any private investigators come around looking into Delbert’s death for Maxwell’s benefit?
What a dolt I was. Of course! I bet that was Butterfly Man. A quick phone call to the lawyers and I would know.
I brought Peaches and Frodo inside and secured the doors. I didn’t see Felipe when I crossed the driveway to the main house.
I knocked on the back door, but when no one answered, I used the key I had found earlier in the day. It had been so early in the day that it felt like several days had gone by.
Felipe and the nurse chatted in the library. I stopped to say hi and headed for Mr. DuBois’s room.
The curtains had all been drawn. He lay in bed, a tiny motionless figure. His mouth hung open in the throes of deep sleep.
When he gasped and snapped his mouth shut, I jumped in alarm. But he didn’t wake.
I gazed around the darkened room. A large TV hung on the wall, the screen black. His bookshelves overflowed with mysteries and true crime stories. I couldn’t help noticing that he had a full set of Jacquie Liebhaber’s books.
A collection of photos were mostly of DuBois with members of the Maxwell family. I wondered if he had any living family of his own. The pictures led me to believe the Maxwells were his adopted family.
I ambled out to the library. “How is Mr. DuBois doing?”
“He’s as fine as can be given his injuries. He’ll sleep most of the day today. Don’t you worry about him, honey. Sleep is always the best thing for recuperation.”
I suspected she was right.
“I can give you a call if he wakes. Would you like that?” the nurse asked.
Shaking my head, I said, “No, thanks. I’ll stop by a little later to check on him. I did want to call his attorneys, though.” Feeling a little guilty for acting like I owned the place, I stepped behind the desk, located the phone number, and dialed.
The two of them quickly excused themselves.
I pawed through the top drawer of the desk for a piece of paper. The only tablet for notes was embossed with an elegant crest and the name MAXWELL. I tore off a sheet and jotted down the number, in case I needed to phone Ms. Strickland from home.
She came on the line. “How’s Mr. DuBois?”
I filled her in on his condition and thanked her for arranging the nursing staff and security. “Is there anything I can do for the professor? Call him, perhaps?”
“He has limited access to the phone. But he takes great comfort in knowing that you’re taking care of business matters for him.”
Fudging a little bit, I said, “I hear there’s a fellow around asking questions. A big guy with a tattoo of a butterfly on his arm?”