A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery)

by Cate Price

  I sighed. A very deep sigh.

  Alice, over in her corner, gazed at me sympathetically.

  “I know, Alice. I’m trying to keep an open mind, but my heart’s just not in it.”

  With the weather turning colder, I’d need to change her outfit soon. Or at least add a jacket to cover up those bare fiberglass shoulders. “See, I want to keep the store but I don’t want to go through our entire savings to do it. Joe’s doing a good job of that all on his own.”

  I decided I would only turn on the lamp on the Welsh dresser and the one by the register. No sense wasting electricity. I should start riding my bicycle more, too.

  “Why the hell is it so dark in here?” Martha asked as she came into the store a few minutes later, with Eleanor on her heels.

  “I’m trying to conserve energy.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t be so cheap.”

  Fine for Martha to say. She’d never had to worry about money. Teddy Bristol had spoiled her for years and then left her very well-off. She didn’t have to work—apart from her volunteer activities and the Historical Society.

  Eleanor winked at me. “Daisy, I need some of your vintage lace.”

  While I pulled some pieces out of the dresser drawer, I told them about my visit to Tracy McEvoy’s studio with Joe.

  “Brilliant artist, but buying a painting from her was next to impossible,” Eleanor said. “She can be pretty tough to deal with. Almost rude, as a matter of fact.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, but you know how Joe gets along with everyone. Apparently she’s his new best friend and mentor.”

  Eleanor picked up one of the yards of lace and held it up to the stark light near the window. “And he’s still a good-looking guy.”

  “Yes, very handsome.” Martha sniffed. “You want to watch your back there, Daisy. She’s probably one of those babes looking for a father figure.”

  I thought back to the self-contained young woman who had built a house by herself, seemingly unaware of her primal allure even in an old T-shirt and jeans. “You know, I don’t think she’s looking for anyone.”

  I poured coffee into three mugs. “And Joe’s purchased every tool under the sun for this new hobby of his, even though he knows money will be tight. Although from the way Harriet Kunes carried on, maybe he’s not so bad.”

  Martha removed the lid from the rectangular tin she carried to reveal stacks of honey madeleines.

  “I’ve brought you something, too.” Eleanor fished in the tote bag she carried and brought the sad iron out with a flourish. “Figured it owes you. You can sell it and keep the five bucks.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I grinned at her as I set it down on the ground. “I think.”

  “We can’t stay long this morning,” Martha announced. “We have another excruciatingly boring meeting of the Hysterical Society. These things only used to be once a month. Now it seems like it’s every week.” She shuddered. “Oh, I can’t wait to go to the B and B with Cyril. I need to get away from all this hustle and bustle.”

  Eleanor and I looked out of the display windows to where the Main Street of Millbury slumbered like an old-time picture postcard. There was not a soul to be seen.

  “We’re staying at the Four Foxes. But Cyril says he can’t see the point of paying money to stay in your own backyard.” She picked up a French carriage parasol of duck egg blue cotton with ivory lace and twirled it around. “I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. He’s been acting kind of funny.”

  The front door jangled and Dottie Brown came bustling in. “Morning, all. Daisy, I brought you some flyers about my next class starting October first.”

  In addition to running the yarn and fabric store in Sheepville, Dottie also held knitting classes at night. “I could use some more of your business cards, too.”

  I handed her a stack. Dottie and I appealed to some of the same clients, and we supported each other as much as we could. “I saw your husband this morning,” I said. “Those pumpkins are really something.”

  “Oh, those damn things! You should have seen him in July when it came time to pollinate. He borrowed some of my stockings to cover the female blossoms so some stray bee couldn’t accidentally screw things up, pardon the pun.”

  Eleanor snickered.

  Dottie shook her head in despair. “And you should see my water bill these past few months. I bet he’s using a hundred gallons a day or more. But I suppose it keeps him out of trouble while I’m busy with my knitting ladies. See you all later.”

  As she was leaving, the front door opened again and Laura Grayling came in, carrying her green suitcase.

  “Laura! What are you doing here?” For a moment I wondered whether I had my days mixed up.

  “I have to replenish my display.” She opened the suitcase and brought out a velvet pouch. “I sold so many things last week.”

  “I’m glad you’re selling well. You deserve the success.”

  She flushed faintly under the freckles. “Thanks, Daisy.”

  “I might need you for an extra day on Wednesday if you can. I’m supposed to see more places with Marybeth.”

  “Sure, no problem. Here’s what I made with some of the stuff you gave me.”

  We admired the collection of necklaces and earrings. One in particular caught my eye. It was a long chain with green glass beads and vintage enameled buttons, featuring a gold monogrammed heart with the initials MAJ.

  “I don’t remember seeing this heart before,” I said. “It’s very pretty.”

  After fixing up her display, Laura left, telling me she’d see me on Wednesday. We were just settling down with our coffee again when the front door banged open.

  Chip Rosenthal strode into the store with the same bullet-like trajectory as before.

  “Got your message. Are you ready to sign?” he said, coming up to me, and ignoring everyone else.

  Martha planted both hands on her ample hips, and if Eleanor were a dog, the hair would be standing up on the back of her neck.

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that . . .”

  I struggled to remember my carefully prepared speech that had sounded so good in the first light of morning, but now fizzled from my brain like early snow landing on warm pavement.

  “You see, Chip, um, well, you know I’ve been a very good tenant and—”

  “Yes, yes, I believe we covered that already.” He pushed against a child’s rocking chair from the late nineteenth century, with high sides to guard against drafts. It creaked painfully back and forth against the wooden floor. “Are you willing to re-up or not?”

  “It’s too much of an increase. Can’t we work something out? I can’t afford such an astronomical rent.”

  He took a deep mucus-laden sniff as if to clear his sinuses. “If you don’t want to sign, that’s fine. I’m thinking about opening a wine bistro in here anyways.”

  “A wine bistro!” Eleanor’s face lit up, and then she quickly sobered as she caught my eye.

  Chip glanced around, as if already picturing the store cleaned out, and my quilts and linens replaced by wine barrel tables and bottle racks on the walls. “I think a restaurant is badly needed around here. Should prove much more profitable than some crappy old sewing store.”

  His phone rang and he whipped it out of his pocket. “Rosenthal. Yeah, let me call you back.”

  He reminded me of some students I’d had in my classes over the years, the ones who found history boring and had no respect for the past. Well, if you didn’t learn the lessons of the past, you were bound to repeat the mistakes.

  He clicked the phone off. “So, yeah, I don’t really care if you stay or not. Your choice.”

  Martha picked up a vintage Chinese paper fan and started waving it in front of her face.

  I glanced at Eleanor and saw the answering ala
rm in her eyes. An overheated or hungry Martha was a very bad sign. A combustible situation to be avoided at all costs.

  Danger! Danger! I visualized flashing sirens going off inside the store and opened my mouth to interject, but it was too late.

  Martha strode forward and poked Chip Rosenthal in his chest. Hard. So hard that he staggered back a step.

  “Now listen here, you little pipsqueak. How dare you waltz in here and speak to my good friend Daisy like that? You need to learn to mind your manners.”

  To his credit, Chip recovered quickly. He glared at her and straightened his tie. “I have no idea who you are, ma’am, but this is between me and my tenant. This lease is nothing to do with you.”

  Martha tossed her mane of fiery red hair. “Well I’m making it my business, snot nose.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Chip fumbled with his cell phone, as if hoping it would morph into some kind of Taser to zap her with.

  “Hey, I have a good idea.” She thrust her not inconsiderable chest out and towered over him in her leopard-print pumps. “How about you take your dumb lease and stick it where the sun don’t shine?”

  I finally found my voice. “Martha, please . . .”

  “Zip it,” Eleanor muttered, coming up and elbowing her sharply in the side.

  Two bright spots appeared on Chip’s sallow cheeks, and he pointed the phone at me. “You can call off your pit bull now. Either sign the lease or be out by the end of the month.” He spun around on his shiny brogue shoes and stalked out.

  The door crashed behind him, and we stood there in shock until the bell finally stopped jangling.

  Eleanor was the first to speak. “Mais oui. I think that went well.”

  “Sorry, Daisy, but he just made me so mad.” Martha picked up the fan again. “I might have gone a bit overboard, though.”

  Eleanor snorted. “No kidding, Captain Obvious.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Do you think he’s serious about a bistro? Is that why he wants to push me out?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure he’d get approval for it. Martha, do we know anyone on the zoning board? Don’t worry, Daisy, we’ll find a way to squash it. Make sure he never gets a liquor license.”

  Suddenly I remembered Marybeth talking about making it a point to stay friendly with zoning board members and developers. “I can ask Marybeth Skelton. She has some connections.”

  “What’s her motivation to help you?” Eleanor asked. “If you stay where you are, she gets nothing in commission.”

  “Oh, jeez, you’re right. Well, I’ll offer to pay her a fee.”

  “Bribery?” She picked up two of the honey madeleines.

  “No, no, I mean for the work she already did. For taking me out to the places she’s shown me. For her time.”

  I knew it would be more a matter of pride with Marybeth anyway. She was a savvy real estate agent who knew that if she took care of me, I’d recommend her to others or use her again someday. Real estate wasn’t a one-off kind of business.

  At that moment, PJ Avery bounced into the store like a skinny female Tigger. “Hey! What’s goin’ on? I was just passing by.”

  She frowned as she looked at us. “What’s the matter with you guys? Did someone else take a dirt nap?”

  “No. No one died,” I replied in a dull voice. “Well, not unless you count the death of my business, that is.”

  “Buck up, Daisy,” Martha said, with a worried glance at Eleanor. “That doesn’t sound like you. You’re usually Miss Glass Is Half Full.”

  My friends filled PJ in while I poured her a cup of coffee and proffered the biscuit tin.

  “This is becoming a habit,” Eleanor said. “Like feeding a stray cat.”

  “I know,” PJ said, her eyes closing briefly as she took an appreciative gulp. “I love this place.”

  I was sure she was smart enough to pick up on Eleanor’s sarcasm, but chose to ignore it. She must figure that if Martha and I wanted to spoil her, she’d be a willing participant.

  “Daisy, I almost forgot. I did some digging on the Rosenthal case,” PJ said. “According to my sources, it sounds like that stepdaughter was Sophie’s main caretaker, and after she left, Sophie’s health deteriorated rapidly.”

  Eleanor placed herself between the reporter and the madeleines. “It’s ironic that the person who looked after her the most was the one person who couldn’t inherit.”

  “Yeah, although actually I just found out she died abroad,” PJ said. “Some kind of tropical disease. Sad.”

  “What kind of disease? Where?” I asked.

  She picked up a brass egg-shaped thread holder with thimble attached and inspected it closely. “Not sure. Doesn’t really matter anyway, does it?”

  For someone who was supposed to be a reporter and in the business of getting facts and details straight, she seemed a bit vague.

  PJ sucked down more coffee. “So, like, maybe you could close this place, work online for a while, wait until one of the other tenants leave, and then take over their space?”

  “That’s not a bad idea, except I’d lose a lot of business. I’d have to start all over again.” I walked back to the counter and promptly stubbed my toe on the sad iron I’d left sitting on the ground. “Ow! Ow!”

  Martha glanced at Eleanor. “We’d better get to the meeting.”

  “Yes. See you later, Daisy.”

  I couldn’t speak, just waved as they beat a hasty retreat, with PJ close behind. When the throbbing in my toe subsided and I could walk without gasping for breath, I tried to think clearly about what I was going to do.

  I still had money in the store’s bank account, and a lot of valuable merchandise to liquidate. If I closed Sometimes a Great Notion now, I could walk away with a nice chunk of change, instead of risking it all on a new location and a higher overhead.

  “Alice, what do you think? Should I quit while I’m ahead?”

  Alice stared back at me, an uncharacteristically stern set to her mouth.

  I sighed. “You’re right. That’s not like me. I never give up.”

  • • •

  The next morning, I decided to ride my bicycle to Jeanne’s store to pick up the paint. She opened at 9 a.m., so if I got there on the dot of nine, I could still be back in plenty of time to open mine at 10 a.m. It was only two small cans and I could put them in the basket on the front of the bike.

  With the price of gas these days, I’d be saving the money it would take to buy the paint.

  Pleased with my logic, I set off.

  Sheepville was only about five miles away, but some of the turns and hills on River Road were a challenge. It felt good to push myself physically, to work off the tension and stress of the past weeks. The traffic was heavier than I was used to, with kids being back in school, and there wasn’t a whole lot of room for a bicyclist.

  It was a beautiful morning, with the temperature forecast to be in the sixties later on. As I cycled, my muscles warmed up and the bike hummed along. The more I rode, the more my mood improved. No matter what else happened, I was determined to finish this dollhouse, and I grinned at the thought of Claire’s reaction.

  After I stopped at Jeanne’s, I was feeling so good that I decided to swing by Meadow Farms before I headed back to Millbury. I didn’t have much of a plan in mind, except an urge to ride by Harriet’s house one more time.

  I pulled up to the guard house and gave the elderly sentinel my brightest smile.

  “Good morning. My husband and I are thinking about joining the country club. He’s such an avid golfer and he wants to teach me. I wonder if I can go in and check it out?”

  He looked dubiously at my ancient bicycle, but after having me sign in and show some identification, he let me in.

  I rode toward the clubhouse complex. Several golfers were already out on the course. It was a grea
t day for a game. Not much wind and a clear sky. The trees were all turning color now, and the riotous mix of scarlet, burgundy, orange, and yellow was breathtaking with the hills in the distance.

  A couple of women drove by over the greens in a golf cart, and I nearly fell off my bike.

  I was pretty sure that they hadn’t seen me, but what the heck were my real estate agent, Marybeth Skelton, and the artist Tracy McEvoy doing here together?

  Chapter Eleven

  What an odd couple. I would never have connected the two as friends, although I supposed they were from the same Easter basket in many ways. Both tough, competent, self-made women.

  Real estate and miniatures must certainly be lucrative to afford memberships here.

  I rode up to the clubhouse, and when I glanced back and saw the guard was busy checking someone else through, I sprinted toward the road that led to the residential area. I slowed down once I was around a corner and out of sight. Also because my heart was heaving painfully in my chest.

  Maybe Mac was the one who had done the dirty deed on Harriet? She had the electrical expertise, plus Marybeth Skelton was more the type to hire people to do stuff for her, not get her hands dirty herself. With those long fingernails, she could barely dial a phone, let alone handle intricate wiring.

  Harriet would know Mac and would let her in. Mac could have made up some story about bringing more miniatures over for her to see. And although the guard had said there were no other visitors except me, Joe, and the cleaning people that day, Mac wouldn’t even have to say she was visiting Harriet. She could just flash her membership card like she was going to the clubhouse, and who would be any the wiser?

  I reached Barnstead Circle and cycled slowly down the cul-de-sac. I took a quick look around and wheeled the bicycle across the grass and leaned it up against the side of Harriet’s house, nearest the trees.

  As I walked into the woods, the noise of the world faded away except for the chirping of birds high above and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

  What did I expect to find? A monogrammed scarf conveniently caught on a tree branch perhaps, or maybe Chip Rosenthal’s wallet that he’d dropped as he ran from the scene?