Chapter 33
Eric and Mr. Dubois waited for me on the sofa.
“Edgar didn’t come back?” I asked.
“And he still isn’t answering his telephone,” said Eric.
“I don’t like this, either, but he’s not a child. He’s an adult. Maybe he met a girl and they’re in a bar. Maybe he went to a movie and turned off his phone.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Eric.
“No.”
“Miss Florrie, over two thousand people go missing each day. There’s no telling what evil might have befallen Edgar.”
“You’re the cop, Eric. Should we report him missing?”
“I already have. It would help if we had a picture of him.”
“I can draw a larger sketch if that would help.”
“Wonderful.” Mr. DuBois smiled at me. “And I shall make tea.”
Fervently hoping that Edgar would return before I finished the sketch, I sat next to Eric and drew Edgar from memory. Even though the type of glasses he wore were popular, they would give him away immediately.
Eric looked over my shoulder. “That’s very good. I would recognize him from that if I saw him on the street. He took a photo of it with his phone and emailed it to the station. “I hate waiting.”
“I can call Zsazsa and Goldblum. We could canvass Wisconsin Avenue, look in bars and antiques stores.”
“Tea is served. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of serving it with your delicious little cheesecakes.”
“Thank you, Mr. DuBois.”
He sat down with us and sipped his tea.
“I think you’d better call Zsazsa and Goldblum. DuBois, do you drive?” asked Eric.
I held my breath.
“Yes. I have a driver’s license. But shouldn’t someone remain here in case he returns?”
Eric’s eyes met mine. “Good idea. I’ll phone Zsazsa and Goldblum.”
In the end, Zsazsa, Goldblum, and I split up, each taking a section of Georgetown. Eric drove my car, which I thought a bad idea given the location of his wound, but there was simply no stopping him.
At nine o’clock in the evening, we reconvened at the carriage house. Mr. DuBois had duck confit, roasted potatoes, and celery root puree waiting for us.
At that point, we were too worried to be hungry, but it didn’t stop us from gathering around the table in the garden. I made a point of lighting the candle in Dolly’s lantern.
“There’s just no sign of him at all,” said Goldblum. “I stopped by Dolly’s house to talk with Priss and Olivia, but they hadn’t seen him all day.”
“We ought to call his mother,” I said. “But who would have her phone number?”
“Anyone know her first name?” asked Eric.
“His sister is Lucy.”
Eric excused himself for using the phone during dinner. He called the station and asked for a phone number for Edgar’s mom. While he was on the phone, his face brightened. “Where?”
Eric hung up. “Eat up everyone, they found Edgar in Rock Creek Park. Sounds like he’s a little drunk. They’re taking him to the hospital.”
In much better spirits, we devoured Mr. DuBois’s fabulous dinner. “Now go get our young man. When you return, coffee, brandy, and chocolate mousse.”
Eric grinned. “You don’t have to bribe us to come home.”
“Maybe you should stay here and put your leg up,” I suggested.
“Not a chance.”
* * *
The waiting room at the hospital was all too familiar to me.
Goldblum paced back and forth. Zsazsa was the most patient among us, sitting primly and waiting.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Eric. “Did you have to wait like this for me?”
“I did. Except that night, this room was full of cops.”
“Really? You never told me that.” He smiled, clearly pleased that his buddies came to his rescue.
At long last, the nurse opened the door and called, “Sergeant Eric Jonquille?”
Eric, who had refused to bring his crutch, hobbled back to see Edgar. He returned twenty minutes later and sat down. In a low voice he said, “I want to tell you this before Edgar is with us. He tested positive for Rohypnol.”
“The date-rape drug?” asked Goldblum.
“That’s the one. He’s very groggy and doesn’t remember anything, which is typical. So don’t be surprised when you see him. He’ll be okay after it wears off. Other than some bruises, he’s not injured.”
Poor Edgar was able to walk, but I could see why the cops thought he was drunk. He wasn’t stable on his feet. We managed to get him into the car and home to the carriage house. He nearly fell into the cot and drifted off right away. I placed a blanket over him and joined the others out in the garden.
Everyone passed on coffee. Mr. DuBois served brandy and the most heavenly chocolate mousse topped with whipped cream. It was the perfect ending to a very strange day.
“Do you think he took the Rohypnol intentionally?” asked Goldblum.
I didn’t know much about the drug other than what I had read in newspapers.
But Eric shook his head. “Unlikely. I would wager that someone slipped it into a drink. But I can’t imagine why.”
“Clearly to knock him out,” said Zsazsa. “Look at him. You could steal his wallet or his car keys and he would never know.”
Edgar slept through the dinner and the night. When I rose in the morning, he was sitting in the garden watching Peaches chase butterflies.
I sat down with him. “How do you feel today?”
“Groggy. Did I black out or something? I don’t remember last night.”
“Someone slipped you Rohypnol.”
“Why? Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. To steal your cash or credit cards?”
He rose too quickly and had to steady himself by grabbing the table. But he walked into the house and returned with his wallet. “Cash is here. Credit cards are here.”
“I don’t know, Edgar. I’ll make some tea. That might help you feel better.”
I was in the kitchen pouring water into teacups when he lurched over to the counter and grabbed it. “It’s gone. The only thing they took was the picture of my father.”