Chapter 27
“Do you know if prints of your van Gogh sunflower were ever made?” I asked.
“Not to the best of my knowledge. It was bought by my great-grandfather in the late 1800s. I suppose someone could have arranged for the sale of prints during the ensuing hundred years, but I doubt it. Is it familiar to you? Have you seen it somewhere?”
I nodded reluctantly, my heart pounding. “I saw it or something very similar hanging on the wall in Olivia and Priss’s apartment.”
The creases between the professor’s eyes deepened. “Are you certain? I’m under the impression that they would not have the funds for something like that.”
“Maybe they don’t realize what it is. People are always finding famous paintings in garages and attics.”
“I’d like to see it. How could we arrange that?” he asked.
I was spared having to answer. Everyone grew quiet.
And then someone called, “Yoo-hoo! Florrie? Where are you?”
Veronica, the professor, and I were standing in the doorway to the parlor, watching as Mr. Moosbacher arranged his notes.
I knew that voice. Veronica whispered, “You’d better go shut him up.”
I hurried through the hallway. Sure enough, Norman stood at the checkout desk looking around.
I whispered, “Shh. We’re having an event. Why don’t you sit down?”
From the parlor doorway I watched him take a seat.
Mr. Moosbacher began to speak. “Since we are in Washington, the hometown of the Dumonts, I’m sure many of you have heard stories about them. In my book”—he held up a copy—“I sought to sort fact from fiction. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. For instance, who has heard about Ambassador Dumont’s son, Lawrence, driving through town in a convertible in the buff?”
At that moment, Lucianne Dumont marched into Color Me Read with a man in a suit and a police officer.
She strode into the parlor, turned to the audience, and held up a document. “I have in my hand a restraining order against the publication of Mr. Moosbacher’s libelous book about my family. It’s nothing but lies,” announced Lucianne.
Some of the audience appeared to be in shock, but a few of them snuck out of their seats. I knew where they were going and rushed to the checkout desk just in time to see someone who looked suspiciously like van den Teuvel leaving the bookstore. I had no time to peer out the window, though. People streamed toward the checkout desk. If Lucianne wanted to prevent people from reading the book, she had done the wrong thing. Now everyone would be itching to buy it. No one had shown me a restraining order. I was more than happy to ring up sales.
If Mr. Moosbacher was still speaking, I couldn’t hear him.
Lucianne wound her way through the crowd and shrieked when she saw me selling the book. The man dressed in a suit, whom I assumed might be an attorney, and the policeman broke through the cluster of people, too. And Norman was right behind them. I heard Professor Maxwell’s voice in back of me. “Keep selling, Florrie.”
Norman pushed his way to the counter. “Florrie, I have something to tell you.”
“Norman, I’m busy right now. Can it wait?”
“I’ll stay right here until you’re finished.”
Ack! He was in the way of everyone waiting to buy the book. “Could you tell me tomorrow?”
As much as he annoyed me, I felt terrible about the disappointed look on his face. And he was still blocking everyone and slowing us down. “Maybe you could wait for me in the parlor?”
He drifted away, sad as a dog on a diet.
I sold books as fast as I could. Veronica slid them into bags and passed them to the customers. As far as I was concerned, Lucianne’s restraining order was just too late. The horses were already out of the gate.
I could hear Professor Maxwell discussing the restraining order with the man in the suit and the cop. “We’re not publishing it,” said the professor. “This document makes no mention of a restraint on the sale of the book. Hundreds of bookstores around the country have this book in their possession and are currently selling it. We’re no different.”
Lucianne stared daggers at me. I had a very bad feeling she would make life hard for me if she could.
Mr. Moosbacher’s book sold out. We didn’t have a single copy left, which made me rather sad because now I was itching to know what was in it that Lucianne had fought so diligently to keep quiet.
When the hubbub died down and Mr. Moosbacher had left, I asked the professor, “What could it contain that would be so outrageous?”
“Every family has its secrets. I know mine does. The sad thing is that Ambassador Dumont was a highly respected man. His grandfather, however, made a penny every which way he could including a few highly questionable ways, and the ambassador’s son, Lucianne’s father, spent every cent he could. That’s not a secret. The man was a thief who considered himself above the law. My guess is that Moosbacher uncovered something wildly illegal that they did to build the family fortune.”
Veronica and Edgar packed up the leftover pastries while the professor and I locked up the store. I turned off the coffee and the music, then walked the basement and the first floor to make sure that no one lingered behind. I returned to the front door and flipped the sign to Closed. Only when I turned around did I realize that the baseball cap was gone. Someone had swiped it. I hadn’t seen van den Teuvel that night. Admittedly, it had been a zoo. And it was possible that the cap disappeared hours ago, but I hadn’t noticed until now. Chills rose on my arms when I was forced to acknowledge that Edgar’s assailant had been in the store.
The four of us walked back to the mansion together. While Edgar and Veronica told the professor what had happened to Eric, I was thinking about getting another look at the sunflower painting in Olivia and Priss’s apartment. When we reached the carriage house, I entered first to be sure Eric wasn’t sleeping.
He sat on the sofa with his leg up, playing poker with his two police friends and Mr. DuBois.
I waved at the professor, Veronica, and Edgar. “You can come in.”
We opened the package of pastries, the professor brought over a couple of bottles of wine, and we had an impromptu party.
I was in the kitchen when Eric limped over to me. He whispered, “Is it okay with you if Edgar spends the night?”
I shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t have anywhere for him to sleep.”
“Mr. DuBois has offered a camping cot that Maxwell takes on his adventures.”
“It’s okay by me. Is Edgar afraid to go home?”
“He’s scared that guy will come back. Homicide ran a background check on him. Everything he told us was spot on, right down to the sister in need of a kidney.”
“Did you ever question van den Teuvel about attacking him?” I asked.
“He’s slick, Florrie. Except for the accent, we haven’t got anything on him.”
The cops, Veronica, and Professor Maxwell finally went home. While Edgar accompanied Mr. DuBois to retrieve the cot, I collapsed in a chair, dog-tired. I thought it would be best to get a good night of sleep before I broached the subject of Rebecca.
“Did you change your bandage?” I asked.
Eric grimaced. “It looks awful. Thanks for putting me up. I won’t be in your way long, I promise.”
Maybe it was because I was exhausted or maybe I just couldn’t stand it anymore, I blurted, “So who is Rebecca?”
Eric didn’t squirm. He didn’t seem one bit uncomfortable about my question. In fact, he grinned. “She’s my Norman.”
“Norman!” I leaped to my feet. “I forgot all about him. He must have gone home.” I explained about him coming to the bookstore during the mad rush to buy a scandalous book.
“He’ll get over it,” Eric assured me.
“So Rebecca is your Norman.” I had not expected that response. I could understand and relate to that. “She’s not your fiancée?” I asked just to be perfectly sure.
Eric snorted. “Is that what she told you? Good grief. I hope she’s not telling anyone else that. I’d better check to make sure she hasn’t convinced my parents we’re engaged. Although I can’t imagine my mom not mentioning it. Rebecca is a friend of my sister’s and hangs out at my parents’ house all the time. In fact, she works at my dad’s restaurant. We joke about her adopting our family. We’ve all grown used to her being there.”
“So your parents called her when they heard you had been hurt?”
“They didn’t have to. Mom said Rebecca was the first to know. She had heard on the news that a police officer had been injured, and she drove over to their house. She was sleeping on the sofa when you called.”
I nodded. “That sounds like something Norman might do.”
Eric’s expression changed to worry. “Oh, Florrie. Did you believe her? I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would have explained sooner.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “For a couple of people who haven’t been going out very long, we’ve certainly encountered some bumps in the road.”
He scooched over, wincing when he moved. “Just to be perfectly clear, I’m not interested in seeing anyone else. I know you think you’re boring, but I think you’re pretty amazing.”
I was about to kiss him when Edgar barged in carrying a camping cot. I spent the next few minutes bringing him blankets and helping him get settled.
It was past midnight when I fell into my own bed with Peaches by my side.
I slept until nine in the morning. I bolted out of bed when I saw the time. I had to open the store at ten. No lingering for me this morning. Maybe Edgar could pick up some breakfast for Eric. I rushed into the shower. When I was dressing in a sleeveless periwinkle shirt and an icy-white skirt, I heard voices downstairs. Peaches was nowhere to be seen. The scent of coffee and bacon wafted up to me.
I slid my feet into white sandals and walked down the curving staircase.
Mr. DuBois was serving breakfast in my garden. Hampered by his crutches, he told Edgar where to place the dishes. Stacks of blueberry pancakes with pats of butter melting on top of them got my immediate attention. “Good morning, Miss Florrie. I have your tea waiting, just the way you like it—a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk.”
I sat down at the table between Eric and Professor Maxwell. I sipped my hot tea and pronounced it perfect.
Mr. DuBois beamed.
Eric was already eating pancakes. “Now we know how the other half really lives.”
At Mr. DuBois’s direction, Edgar passed me bacon and sausages.
Professor Maxwell appeared to be finished with his breakfast.
I checked my watch. “I would love to eat, but I need to open the store.”
Professor Maxwell placed his hand over mine. “Bob is taking care of that this morning. You and Veronica have the day off. Fear not. I have made the arrangements. Helen will be there to assist Bob.”
I looked at the professor. “What’s up?”
“I should like to visit Olivia and Priss’s apartment to see the sunflower.”
Eric stopped eating. “Is there something special about their sunflower?”
Professor Maxwell told them the story of Orso while I indulged in the fluffy pancakes and salty bacon. My teacup was instantly refilled when I drained it.
It was a gorgeous summer day and still early enough to be comfortable. Peaches roamed through her private jungle and birds twittered in the trees.
“You’re sure it’s the van Gogh, Florrie?” asked Eric.
I excused myself and fetched my sketch pad. I located my quick rendition of what I had seen.
Professor Maxwell was looking over my shoulder. “That’s it! Florrie, that’s the painting.”
“I don’t understand,” said Edgar. “Why would Olivia and Priss have a painting that was stolen?”