Chapter 17

“Interesting. Do you know his name?” asked Ms. Strickland.

“You didn’t hire him?” My comfort in thinking he was working for her fizzled.

“No. We use Simon Baker.”

I didn’t want to be pushy but the professor was in jail. Time was of the essence here! “He hasn’t been around to talk with me yet.”

“He’s probably working his police contacts first,” she said. “Keep me posted if anything else happens.”

I assured her that I would, and hung up. I couldn’t help grinning a little bit. Just as Mr. DuBois watched too many true crime shows, I read too many mysteries. It made perfect sense that a private investigator would first tap his police contacts for information. They knew far more than I did. After all, they had collected fingerprints and DNA. They would get the autopsy results, too. The police were a far bigger font of information than DuBois or me. If only Zielony hadn’t made up his mind that Maxwell was guilty, the police would be out searching for the killer, too.

I returned to the hot pavement between the two houses. No sign of the private investigator hired by Jacquie’s family. I wondered if her family would speak to me. But what would I ask? I couldn’t exactly inquire whether she was having midnight rendezvous with Maxwell or if she had killed Delbert. Then again, that private investigator did drop by. That had to mean something.

At that very moment, I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. But the sight of Felipe standing in the middle of a pile of parcels reminded me that I had to take care of the store.

“Need a hand with these?” he asked, looking up at the sky. “They’re calling for a thunderstorm tonight. We need it. It’s been so dry that my wife’s vegetable garden is withering.”

I unlocked the door. He petted a very enthusiastic Frodo, then helped me carry packages inside.

“Felipe, is it possible to unlock a door without the key?”

“You don’t have to worry, Florrie. I’m watching out for you. Someone will be here around the clock.”

“Thanks. But I was thinking about the bookstore. There wasn’t any sign of a break-in. Not many people have the key, so I was wondering if it’s possible to get in without”—I exaggerated to make my point—“blowing the lock off the door with a gun.”

He smiled at me. “It’s way too easy. Look up how to bump a lock on your computer.”

I froze. “I hope you’re joking?”

“Sorry. I wish I were. Of course, there are ways to pick a lock, too, but bumping is easy.”

I thanked him for his help. If what he said were true, the field of suspects wasn’t as narrow as I originally thought.

As soon as he left, I reached for my iPad and typed in How to bump a lock. Uh-oh. Turned out it was actually fairly easy to bump a lock. Who knew? It was probably common knowledge among the unsavory. With the help of a key that had been filed down, a quick bump on it followed by a swift turn could open almost any lock.

There was still the matter of the alarm password, though. Assuming Maxwell hadn’t forgotten to turn the alarm on when he left that night.

Taking a deep breath, I phoned Bob and Helen to let them know that the store would be reopening. Bob was delighted. Helen took it more calmly. I wondered if she were sorry her brief vacation would come to an end. She didn’t even ask about Maxwell.

That done, I unpacked the books that had arrived and phoned the people for whom we had special-ordered them.

It was past the dinner hour when I finished. And I still needed to come up with a clever reopening idea. I glanced at my sketch pad, longing for the days when I had had time to doodle.

Eureka! A coloring extravaganza. Why not? We could give away adult and children’s coloring books, colored pencils, and crayons as prizes. I phoned Helen again and asked if she would like to do a special Saturday morning book reading for children. When she agreed, I sent out colorful emails to the people who had signed up for our mailing list about children’s events.

Now for the adults. We could do the same sort of thing, but we needed something to pull in the more intellectually inclined. I checked my email. Emily Branscom’s agent had sent me her phone number, saying Emily would be delighted to sign at Color Me Read and that I should contact her to make arrangements.

I phoned Emily, who was thrilled to come to the store on Saturday afternoon, in spite of the short notice.

A crack of thunder sent Frodo running to my side. The garden had grown dark and a little spooky. Rain pelted the leaves.

Unlike Frodo, Peaches didn’t care. She looked out at the storm, her eyes darting to the drops that hit the glass.

I rubbed Frodo’s ears and murmured comforting words, but I was thinking that the grand reopening was coming together nicely. If only Delbert’s murder could be solved so easily.

The thunderstorm continued. I hoped it would abate soon for Frodo’s sake. He became a Velcro dog when I went to the kitchen to make dinner. The fridge was beginning to look sparse. I noted that I really needed to stop by the farmers’ market for some goodies.

But for tonight, I had some chicken tenders to sauté. Frodo remained with me through the entire cooking process, occasionally sticking his nose between my knees in desperation.

I made a salad for myself, and added some chopped chicken tenders to Frodo and Peaches’s dinners. Not surprisingly, the storm didn’t dampen Frodo’s appetite.

At nine o’clock, the storm still raged. I longed to go to bed, but felt obligated to check on Mr. DuBois first. I didn’t dare leave Frodo alone in his hysteria. I latched a leash on his collar and dashed across the driveway through driving rain.

I had my key at the ready. We were inside the mansion in a matter of minutes, albeit damp on arrival.

The light was on in the kitchen but no one was there. I found the nurse in Mr. DuBois’s room, changing a bandage on his leg.

“He must have scraped his leg when he fell,” she said. “It’s a fairly nasty wound.”

The bandage she removed was hideous. The injury had to ache unbearably.

She placed a fresh bandage over the wound. Mr. DuBois didn’t flinch. In fact, his eyes were closed.

“Has he wakened at all?” I asked.

“Oh yes. He had a lovely bowl of soup for dinner.” She walked past me and whispered, “Don’t let him tell you he didn’t like it. He ate every bite.”

She left the shadowy room. It was lighted by a single lamp in a corner, which made it possible to see, but the room remained dim. I presumed that was to encourage sleep and calm. The drapes on the French doors had been opened. Rain pitter-pattered outside. It was a soothing sound that made me want to curl up in a chair and read.

I walked closer to Mr. DuBois. “Are you awake?” I whispered. Frodo neared the bed, wagging his tail and sniffing curiously.

At the precise moment that a bolt of lightning filled the air with light, Mr. DuBois seized my hand and sat bolt upright. “The ghost!” he wheezed.