Chapter 34
“The pearl,” said Jonquille.
I had picked up the pearl and examined it. “One of the people who broke in must have brought a woman along. Either Delbert or his murderer.”
“Delbert? From what I’ve heard about him, that seems unlikely.”
“I talked to a bartender from Club Neon who said he was popular at the nightclub. Maybe he meant to impress her. He probably bragged about inheriting the store one day.”
“Or did the killer bring a girlfriend? Maybe they planned some kind of heist together and were surprised when they discovered Delbert in the store?” suggested Jonquille.
“I wonder if he tried to call the police?” I said.
“Maybe not. He wasn’t supposed to be in the store, either. Or maybe they were friends of his, people who didn’t frighten him.”
“You mean all his bragging might have led to his death? He might even have brought them with him or opened the door for them. And then her pearls broke in the ensuing fracas. And one sole pearl remained behind, caught under the carpet.”
I breathed a little easier. It hadn’t been Veronica! Her pearls broke at Club Neon.
It was the dinner hour and Georgetown was slowing down. Fewer cars, fewer people. We walked back, thoroughly enjoying summer in the city.
When we reached the carriage house, Jonquille helped me carry in the cooler full of leftovers.
“This stuff smells great.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you along.”
“Was Norman obnoxious?”
“It was so uncomfortable that my mother apologized to me and won’t force the issue anymore. I think the only way to get rid of him is to find him someone else.”
“Now you’re going to be a matchmaker? That’s a tricky business.”
“Especially for a debonair guy like Norman.”
Jonquille poured sparkling lemonade for the two of us, and I fetched my sketchbook.
We sat in the garden while Peaches prowled in her jungle.
“Are you feeling the need to draw?” asked Jonquille.
“Always. But right now, that pearl really bothers me.”
“You said Helen bought new pearls.”
I flipped the sketchbook to the page with Helen.
“Wait. Not so fast. I was concentrating on the players you drew the other night. What are all these other things? Like this feather?”
“The bartender at Club Neon had a huge plume in her hair. She was afraid of some guy with a butterfly tattoo.” I pointed to the butterfly.
“I understand the spear and the shoe print. Those were at the site of the murder, but what about the clock?”
“Seven minutes before three Sunday morning a week ago, Delbert tried to open the French door of the carriage house.”
Jonquille chuckled. “I don’t have to ask how you knew that. I’ve never seen so many clocks in a home. But it’s key because it means he was still alive then, and that the murder occurred after three in the morning. And this?” He pointed to a necklace.
“The famous Maxwell emerald and diamond necklace.”
“Which is probably what the burglar was after,” said Jonquille. “And what’s with the two martini glasses and the cupcake? Wistful thinking?” he teased.
“On Monday, after the professor was arrested, Mr. DuBois was washing two martini glasses. I don’t know if Mr. DuBois and Maxwell are in the habit of having a martini together. I assume it’s more likely the professor had a guest the night before. Probably Emily Branscom. And the cupcake is meaningless. Scott and Lance had a box from Sugar Dreams Cupcakes when I visited them. A bank took over the building and the store moved.”
Jonquille sat back in his chair. “I’ve been trying to figure out why Emily Branscom’s name is so familiar to me.”
“You’ve probably seen her books around town. Or maybe you read about her in the newspaper. She’s pretty popular.”
Jonquille glanced over at me. “Would you be okay here by yourself for an hour or so? I’d like to check her out at the police station.”
“You’re going to bring her in for questioning?”
“No. I just want to check some paperwork is all.”
I walked him to the door, where he had a word with the guard.
But instead of going back into the carriage house, I marked the door with straw, locked it, and popped in on Mr. DuBois. A different nurse had arrived. She held a finger up over her lips. I tiptoed back to his room.
He slept peacefully. I sat down in the chair next to his bed. What had he been looking for in our little tour of the house? I leaned back, kicked off my sandals, and curled my legs up under me. Closing my eyes, I listened.
Birds still twittered outside, something crashed in the kitchen. The air-conditioning hummed softly. I didn’t hear anything coming from the bedrooms upstairs.
I decided to return later, after dark, to listen again. I stretched and ambled out to the kitchen, where my gaze fell upon a row of martini glasses inside a cabinet with glass doors.
I ran back to Mr. DuBois’s room and flicked on the light on the nightstand. “Mr. DuBois,” I hissed. Gently, so I wouldn’t alarm him, I shook his shoulder.
He opened one eye and his mouth.
“Who visited Maxwell the night of Delbert’s murder? Who had a martini with him?”
“Professor Maxwell isn’t home at the moment. I shall tell him you called.” He closed his eye.
He was drugged to the gills again. Giving up, I went home.
The guard wasn’t outside. I hoped he was around somewhere.
A man shouted at me from the driveway.
Large and muscular, he lumbered toward me holding the largest bouquet of roses I had ever seen. The sun glinted off his bald head. A huge black mustache covered his upper lip. He fit the description of the man who had frightened Sonja at Club Neon.
My heart pounded. Where was the guard? A person could hide a large gun under all those flowers. I jammed my key into the lock of the carriage house.
“Florrie Fox?” he asked. “These are for you.”
I braced myself for the bullet. He handed me a giant vase filled with red roses.
As he turned to leave, I spotted a butterfly tattoo covering his arm just above his elbow.
“Wait!” I cried. “Who are you?”
“Jerry. I work for Mr. Woodley.”
“Why were you asking questions about Delbert at Club Neon?”
He appeared surprised. “You know about that, huh? Mr. Woodley wanted to know what Delbert had been doing and with whom.”
“Mr. Woodley doesn’t believe that it was Professor Maxwell who murdered Delbert, does he?”
“Naw. He feels pretty bad about that.”
“Thank Mr. Woodley for the flowers.”
“Sure thing.”
Even though my hands were full, I checked for the straw in the door. It was still there when I unlocked it, assuring me that no one had entered that way. But when I stepped inside, I found Jacquie Liebhaber holding Peaches in her arms.