Chapter 12

I felt the wall for a light switch before entering. Hadn’t I seen a window from the outside?

I touched a wall switch and flicked it. An overhead light flickered as if the bulb might burn out soon. It was a Tiffany-style fixture that didn’t offer much light. I wondered if Dolly had scored it at a yard sale.

The ceiling had a steep pitch, which I had suspected from the roofline. The wall in the rear of the room was brick. To the front, the walls cut into the ceiling as though they led to a dormer window. But black plastic had been taped over the spot where a window should be. A corner was coming loose. I probably should have left it alone, but I pulled on it gently. The plastic gave way, and I could see a lacy curtain that had probably been white once. It was now buff, almost the color of parchment. It felt stiff in my hands. I suspected it had been there for a long time, and had been discolored by the sun. I stuck the tape back up as well as I could. Dolly had probably wanted to keep the cold out in the winter.

I turned around. The unit had clearly been a studio apartment at one time. A refrigerator, tiny stove, and cabinets lined one wall. A leather sofa in a warm ombre cognac thick with dust stood in the middle of the room. At the rear, the aged brick wall gave it a bohemian feel. An old library ladder was attached to a rod on bookshelves that ran across part of the brick wall.

It was actually a very cool studio apartment. I wondered why it wasn’t rented. Maybe it was too cold in the winter? I glanced around for radiators and spied an ancient one.

I ventured toward the ladder and tested it to be sure it would hold my weight. If the dust was any indication, no one had been up here in quite a while.

I climbed the ladder and began at the top. Dust filled the air when I blew at it. One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t find The Florist up here. Dolly would have disturbed the dust had she hidden it in this room.

Shelf by shelf, I unloaded books and set them in piles on the floor, differentiating between those of possible interest and plain old paperbacks that had been issued en masse.

As I emptied the third shelf, which was about three feet off the ground, I accidentally hit the back panel with my hand. It wobbled as though it wasn’t very strong. I made a mental note to be careful. I certainly didn’t want to damage anything.

I worked my way down the wall, clinging to the ladder and bringing down armfuls of books. Maybe Maisie could pay some neighborhood kid to pack them into boxes. The floor looked a mess with my finely curated stacks. While many of the books were old, few appeared to be of value.

I was getting tired and thinking about continuing after work the next day, but I climbed the ladder one more time and loaded my arms with books. As I leaned back a bit to make my way down the ladder, I swayed and in a desperate attempt to avoid falling, I rocked forward. Heavy books spilled out of my arms and crashed through the thin wall of wood backing the bookcase.

I grabbed the ladder with both hands to stabilize myself. What had I done? In horror, I peered at the damage. I would have to pay to have it repaired. Who would put such a flimsy backing on a bookcase in the first place?

There was a space between the brick wall and the back panel of the bookcases. I had read about secret hiding places along those lines. To the uninitiated, the bookcase appeared to be flush but there was usually a panel that slid open for access to a secret compartment.

I carefully dismounted the ladder, stood back, and examined the wall. Could Dolly have hidden The Florist up here without disturbing the dust? She surely hadn’t anticipated her sudden death, but might have thought it would be safe from anyone who would want to steal it.

I examined the floor. It didn’t show the same kind of dust that was on the shelves so there weren’t any tracks of shoeprints.

I studied the wall again. I hadn’t emptied all the shelves yet, but if there was a special door or moving panel, it should be accessible with most of the shelves loaded. Otherwise it would be a huge hassle to open it.

Stepping closer, I pressed the panel where I had emptied the shelves. The key to opening a secret compartment could be hidden by books on one of the other shelves. If a person knew which one, it would be a small task to move them.

For the next hour, I continued taking down books. When the entire shelving system was empty, I didn’t see anything that looked like a latch. For that matter, there wasn’t anything at all on the back panel.

I tried pushing against it in the hope that something might slide. It did. The panel I had damaged moved, and I was able to slide it across behind the other panel and see all the way to the brick wall where a skeleton looked at me, not six inches from my face.