Chapter 5
“Dolly!” I shouted. I dropped her purse and rushed to her. Kneeling, I bent over her. “Dolly, what happened? Are you okay?”
I could hear Veronica calling 911 behind me.
Dolly’s lovely face was contorted as if she was in pain. Her eyes were open, but they didn’t appear to see anything.
While Veronica spoke to the dispatcher, I gently massaged Dolly’s arm, unsure whether she could feel my hand.
“They want to know if she’s breathing,” said Veronica.
I watched Dolly’s chest but couldn’t tell if it was moving. “Dolly! Dolly, can you hear me?” I grasped the hand close to her chest. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
Her fingers twitched so imperceptibly that I wondered if I had imagined it. “Veronica, I think she moved.”
“They want me to stay on the line with them,” said Veronica. “No, I don’t see any blood.”
I watched her chest for any sign of movement. “I can’t tell. Dolly? Can you give me a sign? Can you blink?”
Veronica spoke softly but there was an urgency in her tone. “The door. It’s open!”
The French door leading to the backyard was open and moved gently in a breeze. Beyond it, a lantern flickered on a table on the enclosed patio.
I jumped up and looked outside. I didn’t see anyone. The romantic light from the lantern revealed three champagne glasses and a bottle of bubbly. I stepped out and checked the latch on the gate. I opened it and by the light of the moon, I could see the dark shadow of a figure running in the alley.
I was not a runner at all, but I tried. As I loped along, I knew full well that I wouldn’t make it to the street in time to see the person before he disappeared into the night. Veronica, who thought sports involving running were fun, might have been able to catch up to the person. Panting like a worn-out dog, I stopped when I reached the sidewalk. I looked to the left. The street lay peaceful and quiet. Shade trees lined the sidewalks and beautiful old homes stood in a stately row.
Still trying to catch my breath, I stumbled back to Dolly’s house in haste. I banged my knee on the gate and limped into Dolly’s living room. She hadn’t moved.
Veronica crouched beside her, murmuring comforting words of encouragement. I kneeled on the other side of Dolly.
Veronica whispered to me, “I saw her eyelids flutter. I know I did.”
I didn’t want to, but I slid my hand under the collar of her blouse and felt for a pulse. I didn’t find one. “Her skin is warm,” I uttered hopefully.
I leaned toward her. “Dolly? Dolly!” Ever so gently, I shook her shoulder.
A commotion at the front door caused me to look up. Three emergency medical technicians strode in. Veronica and I rose and moved away from Dolly, making room for the two EMTs that immediately assessed her.
The third one asked us what happened. I was explaining when I heard my name. “Florrie?” Even without seeing him, I knew immediately who it was. My relationship with Sergeant Eric Jonquille was still new enough for me to tingle at the sound of his voice. I turned in haste.
The first time I had seen Eric, I was certain he was out of my league. After all, I was sort of mousey, not a bombshell like Veronica. But for some reason, I had gotten lucky with Eric. His chestnut hair tumbled in loose curls, and he had the most vibrant blue eyes I had ever seen. They were truly the shade of delphinium flowers.
“Eric!” I explained to both of them how we happened to be there and that we had found Dolly.
Eric and the EMT looked over at the purse I had dropped, and I realized that a tiny thing like that verified our story.
One of the EMTs on the floor was doing CPR on Dolly.
Eric coaxed Veronica and me out of the way of the EMTs. “Are you two okay?” Eric asked.
Tears welled in my eyes. “We will be if Dolly is all right. What on earth could have happened to her?” I wiped my tears away ferociously but more sprang up in their place. I sniffled, and Eric wrapped an arm around me. He slung his other arm around Veronica.
“The doors were open,” Veronica said, pointing toward the French door. “The front door was open and the door to the garden was open.”
“I ran outside and saw someone running along the alley. He turned the corner at the end of the alley.”
“Did you recognize the person?”
“I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was turned left.”
Eric frowned at me. “Did you see him leaving Dolly’s garden?”
“No. He was pretty far away.”
“So you don’t really know that he had been here?”
The EMT who had been doing CPR looked up at us and shook his head. “It was probably a heart attack.”
Another EMT rose to his feet and handed something to Eric. “She was holding this in the fingers of her outstretched hand.”
It was a brittle scrap of paper that was yellowed with age.
Eric shrugged.
“May I see?” I asked.
He pulled a tissue from his pocket, laid it on his palm, and placed the scrap of paper on top of it.
It was a tiny triangle, maybe two inches on the longest side. It appeared to be the bottom corner of a page that had torn off. I knew instantly what it was—a corner of a page from The Florist. I sucked in a sharp breath and peered at it more closely to be sure.
“Does this mean something to you?” asked Eric.
I told him about the valuable coloring book Dolly had scored at the Dumont yard sale.
“Published in 1700? Are you kidding me?” His brow furrowed, and he gazed around. “Do you see it? Is anything out of place?”
He was scanning the room, taking in every little detail.
Dolly’s apartment was decorated to the hilt. A stranger might have called it fussy. But I knew the truth. The items that cluttered the room so that the eye didn’t know where to land were all Dolly’s treasures. Louis the fifteenth and sixteenth chairs bore mismatched upholstery, yet they seemed to fit together in Dolly’s eclectic style.
Bookshelves lined two walls. Books packed the shelves, standing and in piles. More books stood in stacks on the floor. Paintings hung all the way to the high ceiling and even on the woodwork between the bookshelves. The zebra pattern settee was where I usually sat when she insisted I stay a few minutes for a cup of tea and a pastry. She used a round tufted ottoman as a coffee table, moving it about as needed. The ivory velvet fabric of the ottoman was a calm oasis in the middle of the cacophony of colors and patterns in the room.
As far as I could tell, it didn’t look any different than it usually did. That didn’t mean a book or some other new tchotchke that I didn’t know she had acquired wasn’t missing. She had amassed an astounding number of objects, but the only two I knew much about were the rare coloring book and the piece of coral. “Veronica, do you have the coral?”
“It’s in my bag.” Veronica sounded defensive. “She gave it to us, remember?”
I tried to smile at my sister. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just making sure that no one stole it.”
To Eric, I said, “Maybe her daughter would be able to tell you. Nothing jumps out at me.”
“I’m sure she was a nice woman,” said Eric, “but her shelves are so cluttered with stuff that it would be nearly impossible to tell if a piece were missing here or there.”
“Dust,” Veronica uttered.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m just guessing that she probably doesn’t dust those shelves constantly,” Veronica clarified. “You could tell if there were a spot that wasn’t dusty.”
“Eric”—I looked up into his lovely eyes—“I have a bad feeling that the missing item is The Florist. She posted about it on Facebook earlier today. In fact, we had an odd call from a Frederic van den Teuvel who . . . gave me the creeps. I didn’t know what to think of him. He was quite insistent about wanting to see the book.”
Eric shook his head like a wet dog. “Why do people blab on Facebook about valuables or vacations? It’s like sending an invitation to burglars. Not a good idea.”
“Do you think someone attacked her for the book?” Veronica asked.
It seemed obvious to me. “That makes perfect sense. Someone tore the book away from her and caused her to have a heart attack.”
“Not so fast, ladies,” Eric said in a kind tone. “Except for the paper, which could have torn because she fell, there’s no outward sign of an attack on her. We’ll know more after the medical examiner has a look. Of course, it’s worth noting that she had that piece of paper in her hand.” He cocked his head sympathetically and looked at me. “But the book could still be around here somewhere. This might just be a scrap of paper.”
A cluster of people arrived at that moment.
Eric said, “Sorry, ladies. I’m going to have to ask you to step outside so they can collect evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” asked Veronica.
“Evidence of what happened to Dolly.”
The newcomers said hello to Eric as they passed us and started their work in Dolly’s apartment.
When we walked into the foyer, Dolly’s tenants were clustered on the stairs, watching in horror.
Eric motioned to them. “Everyone follow me, please?”
He led the way out to the sidewalk.
Priss bawled. She pulled the sash tighter on her silky pink robe. Edgar removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans as though he had thrown them on in a rush.
“Florrie!” cried Olivia. “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry. Dolly died. She left her purse at the bookstore. When we brought it to her, she was on the floor.”
“I saw her eyelids move,” said Veronica.
“Are you sure she’s dead?” Priss ran to the gate and gazed at the house. “Maybe she’s alive but not able to move? I’ve heard about that happening.”
“I’m sorry, Priss. I don’t think so. We were hopeful, but . . .” I wanted to join her at the gate, but Eric asked her to move away so the investigators could get in and out.
“Nooo,” she sobbed.
Edgar appeared to be stunned. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “She was so happy this afternoon.”
“Who will call Maisie?” asked Olivia.
The words were barely out of her mouth when Eric asked who Maisie was.
“Dolly’s daughter.” I introduced him to everyone. It wasn’t like a social introduction, though.
He took each of them aside and asked them questions. When he was through, he joined the rest of us. “I gather Dolly wasn’t married,” he said. “How many children did she have?”
“Just the one daughter,” said Olivia. “Can we go into Dolly’s apartment? She kept Maisie’s phone number on her desk.”
“Sorry, I can’t let you in there yet. I’ll look for it when the evidence technicians are through.”
“What’s Maisie’s last name?” asked Eric.
“Cavanaugh. Just like her mom,” said Olivia.
Priss sniffled as she said, “Maisie was engaged once very briefly, but it didn’t work out.”
“I don’t understand,” blubbered Veronica. “If she died from a heart attack, what are they looking for?”
Eric wrote a note to himself as he answered her. “Sometimes there’s a cause of death that isn’t readily apparent. An injection site, for instance. And sometimes insurance companies ask for information after a death. So we have to be thorough.”
We watched silently as they brought Dolly’s body out of the brownstone on a gurney. I felt as though we were already part of a funeral procession as we followed Dolly’s gurney to the waiting ambulance.
The evidence technicians were still at work. Eric told us to remain outside, but he entered the building.
Neighbors began to collect and ask questions. Tears flowed from everyone. Dolly had been much loved.
Eric finally returned. “Thanks for your help. You can all go home now. They’re still working in Dolly’s apartment, but they’re done with the foyer. I found the phone number, by the way. I dread making this call.”
Olivia dabbed her nose with a tissue. “Don’t sweat it. Maisie wasn’t close to her mother.”
We said good night to Olivia, Priss, and Edgar, before setting off on foot with Eric.
“We don’t need an escort, Eric.” Veronica pulled her cross-body bag over her head.
“I don’t mind. Besides, it’s two in the morning.”
I gasped. “It didn’t seem like it took that long. Poor Dolly. It’s such a cruel twist of fate for her to die right before life would have gotten easier for her.”
“It’s so unfair,” wailed Veronica. “Which just goes to show that we should all live each day as if it’s our last—because it could be.”
Eric waited until Veronica was safely in her car and pulling out of the estate driveway before walking me to the front door of the carriage house and kissing me. “Are you going to be all right? I go through this a lot, but I usually don’t know the person. It must have been a big shock to you.”
“I can’t quite grasp that Dolly is gone. Just a few hours ago she was fine and happy.”
“I’m sorry I can’t stick around. I have to file my report.”
“No problem. I’m sure you still have a lot of work to do.”
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Veronica and I are supposed to meet our parents for brunch before work. In the evening, maybe?”
After one last long kiss, I shut the door. Through the window, I could see that he waited to hear the bolt drop in place before he walked away. Cops! They saw danger everywhere.
My cat Peaches yawned as she stretched.
“Hungry?” I asked.
She moseyed over to her bowl and looked up at me sleepily.
I filled the bowl with beef cat food. “Sorry about the late dinner.”
She didn’t seem too upset about it.
I changed into an oversized T-shirt in the colors of the rainbow that said, Color your cares away! I returned to the kitchen and contemplated a stiff drink. Wasn’t that what people did when they’d had a rough night? It didn’t appeal to me, though. I fixed myself a mug of steaming English Breakfast with milk and sugar, and curled up on my sofa with my sketchbook. What had Dolly said? She was blessed with beauty. Drawing Dolly’s face was simultaneously sad and cathartic for me.
As I drew, I realized that her face was quite oval, not round as one might have thought. Her likeness came together well, and I realized that she hadn’t been boasting. She must have been beautiful when she was young. Except for her few extra pounds, she had been remarkably pretty in her sixties as well.
She had amazingly symmetrical features. Her large eyes seemed too happy when I drew them, but that was how I had known her. They matched her bubbling personality. Through it all, the four husbands and the struggle to make a life for herself and Maisie, she had remained cheerful and optimistic.
I doodled the shape of the scrap of paper she had held at the time of her death. Was she holding on to it while someone ripped it away from her? Or had she fallen while looking through the book and accidentally torn the page? I itched to see the scrap again. Could a scientist tell what had happened by the way the margin had been torn? Probably not. A tear was a tear.
I paused to sip my tea and when I began to doodle again, I found myself drawing Jack Miller’s face. With all the excitement about The Florist, I had nearly forgotten about Jack.
It was his sharp jaw that I recalled most vividly. Thick walnut-brown eyebrows topped serious hazel eyes that canted down just a bit at the outer corners. I had trouble getting his nose right, but his thick hair was easy.
It had been a strange day. I wondered if he had made it home okay.
I finally drifted off, only to be awakened by the telephone at four in the morning. In my entire life, I had never received good news from a phone call between midnight and six a.m. Immediately alert, I seized the phone and said hello.