by Cate Price
As he ambled away, I grinned widely at Serrano.
Being the pack rat that Harriet was, there was still a chance. A slim one, but a chance, none the less.
“Oh, Christ.” Serrano sighed and stood up. “Come on. I’ll go with you.”
When we got outside, he slipped the front wheel off my bike and installed it in the trunk of his Dodge Challenger. “This is becoming a habit, me driving Ms. Daisy around.”
“Hey, I have good intentions.”
I clung to the armrest as he drove, even faster now he was in his own car. “I know why Harriet helped Chip, even though she despised him. It was so she could look for that missing will. Cross your fingers she kept something else that will help.”
We swung through the gates of Meadow Farms a few minutes later.
Angus’s pickup truck was parked outside the house, and a large van was backed up to the garage.
“What are you doing here, Daisy?” Angus asked as he came out onto the driveway.
I ran past him into the garage.
It was completely clean. Just a cavernous, bare concrete space. My heart sank down into the tips of my well-worn cowboy boots. As I stood there in despair, Angus and Serrano came up behind me.
“I was hoping that Harriet might have kept some stuff from Sophie’s house. Like an insulin pump?”
Angus shook his snowy head. “Don’t know as I saw anything like that in here.”
“Well, we didn’t touch the basement yet.” Birch Kunes walked into the garage, more rumpled than ever in his jeans and a pale blue pullover with a moth-eaten hole on the chest. “We had to clean out the garage first to be able to carry things through, but there’s still a bunch of stuff downstairs. Go take a look if you like.”
I hurried into the foyer, but paused for a moment, hardly recognizing the place. The staircase was bare, and across the foyer, all that was left in the study were two armchairs by the fireplace, an oriental rug, and a floor lamp.
“Marybeth said it would be better to leave some furniture here for staging purposes.” Birch’s voice echoed around the foyer.
Ardine appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a cardboard box packed with tissue paper. “Hi, Daisy. I’m helping pack the rest of the collectibles, now that the dolls are all sold.”
I mumbled hello and rushed toward the basement door. I clattered down the long flight of stairs into a vast unfinished space that ran the length of the house. I cheered inwardly to see rows and rows of cardboard boxes and totes lining the far wall. There was still hope.
Birch switched on a couple more lights and everyone came down into the basement. We began inspecting the first row of boxes, one by one. Christmas decorations, Tupperware, boxes of letters and postcards, heavy plastic crates full of hardcover books.
“Oh, this one says, ‘Mill Creek Road,’” Birch said, looking at the writing on the outside of one cardboard box. “She must have never unpacked from our last move.”
I glanced quickly at him, but all I could read was a wistful remembrance of better days gone by. He opened the box and began slowly inspecting each photo that he pulled out, one by one.
I gritted my teeth. Birch was not operating at the necessary speed.
“Working with Angus is so much more fun than my regular job,” Ardine whispered to me, as we waited for Angus and Serrano to pull the boxes down off the top of the next row. “I have about six weeks of vacation time coming to me, so when he asked for my help, I didn’t think twice.”
I had to smile at her in spite of my anxiety. I recognized a fellow busybody when I saw one. “Plus it’s fun looking around other people’s houses, too, right?”
Poking through the most intimate possessions of her old nemesis must be particularly sweet.
She gave me that toothy smile and took the box that Angus handed to her. “Basements are so much less scary in a newer house like this. Mine is horrible, all dank and dark. I never go down there if I can help it.”
Fifteen minutes later, we had gone through the second stack and were working on the last row against the wall. This was it. If we didn’t find anything soon, the mystery of Sophie’s murder would die with her.
Come on, Harriet. Help me out here.
“Here ya go, Daisy.” Serrano held up a box that said ‘Sophie’s House’ on the side in Harriet’s spidery handwriting.
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and lifted some items out, one by one, onto the folding table next to the washer and dryer. Eventually out came the insulin pump and then, to my dismay, the remote.
I stared glumly at the killer device, obviously left at the scene of the crime. I explained my theory to Angus, Birch, and Ardine that maybe someone had stolen Sophie’s remote, but now I was stumped because the house had been locked up tight when the body was found.
“We can check it for fingerprints though, right?” I asked Serrano.
He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
There were a few moments of silence while Birch flipped through some more photos with a bittersweet expression on his face and I paced up and down in front of the washer and dryer.
Wait a minute. “Hey, what if there was a second remote?” I said. “Is that possible?”
There was a pause while we all stared at each other.
Birch roused himself from his trip down memory lane for a moment and shook his head. “The problem is that you can only pair one remote to one pump.”
Ardine chewed at her bottom lip for a moment, deep in thought. “Well, it is conceivable, although the second one would have had to be in the presence of the pump at some point to synchronize them. You have to confirm pairing on the pump first and then on the remote.”
I stared hard at the washing machine, picturing the tree outside Sophie’s house, and imagining the inside of her bedroom, while the surroundings in the basement faded away.
“So, let’s say the killer gets into the house,” I said slowly, “and sets up the new remote with the pump, when Sophie has it disconnected while she’s in the shower or something. Once that was done, he leaves, and then Sophie locks up the place before she goes to bed.”
“Daisy, you’re so clever,” Ardine said, admiringly. “You’re so good at figuring things out that even the police can’t.”
I didn’t dare look at Serrano. “That oak tree is pretty close to the house. He could have been on a branch just outside her bedroom window. Later on he sends the signal to deliver the fatal dose.”
“You may have something here,” Birch said. “They can work up to about ten feet away. You don’t even need a direct line of sight as long as it can read the RF signal. It works on the same kind of frequency as your cell phone.”
“Birch, can’t you download the information from this pump and see if the serial numbers of the pump and remote match?” Ardine asked.
“Hey, that’s a great idea. I’ll get my laptop.” He jogged upstairs while it was my turn to gaze at Ardine in admiration.
“I forgot you sold medical supplies. You’re the genius, not me!”
“She’s our guru for all things now,” Angus said.
She flushed with pride. “Just glad I could help.”
“Wouldn’t there have been some kind of warning for an unusually high dose like that, though?” Serrano asked. “Some kind of audio signal?” He reached over and plucked a stray hair off Ardine’s coat.
I frowned at him. God, he was anal. And just because he was considered some kind of sex symbol in these parts, it didn’t give him the right to be so familiar with any woman he chose.
But Ardine only nodded eagerly. “Yes, there should have been. But the remote can clear alerts and warnings from both devices.”
Birch came back, attached the pump to his laptop, and I held my breath while the download processed. He peered at the screen. “Well, I can tell you that her last dose was definite
ly initiated from the remote and not from the pump. What’s the serial number on that one?” he asked.
I read the numbers off the remote sitting on top of the washing machine.
Birch glanced up, his face pale. “According to this data, that’s not the one that sent the final command.”
Angus scratched his head. “And no one picked up on anything funky at the time?”
“Well, it probably wouldn’t have seemed significant to the police, whether the dose came from the pump or remote,” Birch said. “By the way, we were never asked to help. We just assumed the police knew what they were doing.”
Again, I winced and refused to look at Serrano.
“One thing’s for sure,” Angus said. “I reckon if you find that second remote, you’ve found your killer.”
Chapter Seventeen
When I got home, there was no sign of Joe, and no note. I let Jasper out for his favorite game of chasing squirrels. As soon as they heard the door open, they hightailed it down the yard, and Jasper, in full-out pursuit, nearly crashed into the trees at the far end. He’d never caught a squirrel yet, but he never tired of the game either.
“Almost, Jasper. Maybe next time,” I called as he sniffed around the garden shed, christening the corner of it with a long stream.
“I’d better go and feed Cyril’s cat now,” I said when I brought him back inside. “I’ll have to take you for a walk later. Don’t think he’ll show himself if you’re with me.”
At Cyril’s place, I filled the cat’s bowl with fresh water and topped up the dry food in the dish. I took a good look around at the top of the fridge and the cupboards, on guard for the little dive-bombing feline, but there was no sign of him. I locked up the trailer and scanned the piles of junk. He was probably checking me out right now from behind a rusty hubcap.
Cyril had said not to worry, but I’d have felt better if I’d at least caught a glimpse of him.
It was kind of creepy being out here alone. I’d never noticed it much when Cyril was at home, but it really was a long way from the main road. I definitely wouldn’t fancy staying here at night by myself. I walked faster, imagining I was being watched, but it was probably just the cat.
I broke into a run as I got closer to the intersection of Main Street and Grist Mill, breathing a sigh of relief when I could see Millbury again. Cowboy boots aren’t the ideal running gear, and I slowed to a hobble. But I didn’t even make it to Sometimes a Great Notion before Eleanor rushed across the street to meet me.
“Daisy, did you see the paper today?” Her face was pale and serious, with none of the usual wry humor.
“No, I’ve been out all day. Why?”
She simply handed me a copy of the Sheepville Times.
My blood ran cold as I spotted my picture on the bottom of the front page with the caption “Chippy Did the Dirty on Me.”
“I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version and spare you reading the whole sordid thing. There are quotes throughout from Daisy Buchanan, basically talking about what an ass he is,” Eleanor murmured.
I ripped open the pages and scanned the vicious article anyway, with the byline PJ Avery. I cringed at the pointed inferences from one Daisy Buchanan that Chip Rosenthal had perhaps knocked off his aunt to reap the benefits of her estate, callously leaving his penniless stepsister out in the cold. It also talked about the mysterious demise of his aunt’s best friend, the person who’d raised inconvenient questions about the possible existence of a will. Now he was acting the part of the deadbeat landlord, with his usurious and untenable rent increase, ripping off an upstanding, elderly member of the community.
I gritted my teeth. Elderly?
I’d barely finished reading when a black Audi came screeching up beside us. Eleanor took a step back onto the sidewalk.
“How dare you?” Chip Rosenthal screamed as he jumped out of the car. He was wearing a black Lycra slim-fitting workout top and shorts, showing his skinny, but quite hairy legs. His face was unshaven and beet red, whether from fury or because he’d just left the gym, I couldn’t tell. I bet he’d been reading the paper on the treadmill and almost fell off when he saw the article.
“Look, I never actually said those things,” I protested, although my voice was missing some of the necessary conviction. How many times had I spouted off about how he was my prime suspect to all and sundry, trying him in the court of public opinion?
There you go again, Daisy Buchanan. You and your big mouth.
“Never mind raising the rent, I’m not renewing your lease now at any price!” There was a hysterical, Mickey Mouse note to his voice.
“But Chip—”
“You have until this time next Friday to get everything out. Screw you.”
He threw himself back into the car and tore off while we watched the taillights disappear into the distance.
“Jiminy Cricket, there might be another murder in town soon,” Eleanor said. “I should have let Martha have at him when she had the chance.”
I blew out a breath. “Well, I guess that’s it. No choice in the matter now.”
“Fancy a drink?” Her gray eyes were full of sympathy.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll go and break the news to Laura. May as well start packing, too.”
“I hate this, Daisy.”
I nodded, but couldn’t say another word.
When I walked into the store, Laura was in the midst of selling one of her vintage button bracelets to a customer. I watched her, while I swallowed against a pang so sharp it physically hurt.
God, I’d miss this place.
Once we were alone, I explained the situation, assuring Laura we’d figure something out, but when she left, I ran upstairs and into the room containing the box with the dollhouse. I pulled the covers off my treasure and collapsed in front of it, while tears streamed down my face.
Too bad I could never set foot inside. Within its rooms was a perfect little world with hand-sewn curtains, exquisite furniture, and permanent sunlight. A world where nothing could go wrong and nothing was out of place. A world where ceilings never leaked, dinner was always on the table, and people couldn’t say bad things about you and completely mess up your life.
Finally, after about twenty minutes of this, I was getting on my own nerves, so I struggled to my feet and headed downstairs. I would have to come to grips with the fact that I’d have to shut down my beloved store. A tiny part of me, a very tiny part, was glad I hadn’t shelled out money on a new alarm system, but the biggest part of me was one big, wrenching heartache.
Over in the corner, Alice surveyed me in her usual enigmatic fashion.
Buck up, Daisy. Other people in the world have real problems. You still have your health, your friends, your wonderful husband.
I stared at her. “You’re right, as always. And don’t worry. You’ll be coming with me.”
I made sure to lock the deadbolt when I left for the day and headed down Main Street toward home.
When I opened the door to our Greek Revival, I stood for a moment, imagining that Joe was cooking dinner for me, like in the good old days before he became obsessed with his miniatures. What could I smell? Boeuf bourguignon or some hot buttered crab, perchance?
Nothing. Just the usual woody, antique smell of a house that was over a hundred and fifty years old.
Jasper scampered up to me and stuck his wet nose into my hand.
“Oh, yes, and the best part when I’m counting my blessings? My dog.” I fell to my knees and threw my arms around him. He blew a warm breath into my ear and pressed his head against my shoulder. Jasper gave the best hugs.
Next, I found Joe in the basement and gave him the sad news.
“Don’t worry, Daisy. You should see all the orders I have to fill. I’ll make plenty of money to keep us afloat.”
“That’s not really the point, Joe.”
&nbs
p; He smiled at me above the whine of the table saw.
I trailed up the stairs into the kitchen, fed Jasper, and then looked in the fridge, hoping against hope for some tasty leftovers. There was a carton of eggs, a fruit drawer with two wizened apples in it, some vegetables, a gallon of milk, and a few condiments.
“There’s nothing to eat in here.”
I smiled wryly at the echo of my words. I sounded like Sarah in her teenage years.
Well, why don’t you make something, Daisy Buchanan?
I pulled out a cookbook for the first time in a long time, searching for comfort food. I found a recipe I remembered from years ago, when Joe and I were first married and counting pennies. After some scrounging around, I found a cabbage in the fridge, a packet of chicken-apple sausage in the freezer, and a couple of cans of white beans in the pantry.
“Yes, Jasper, we can do it! We have the technology!”
He gave me a high five with his paw, which he considered merited a treat. I slipped him a dog biscuit, washed my hands, and set to work.
Half an hour later, I was stirring a big pot of nourishing soup. I ladled out a bowl for Joe and carried it on a tray down to the basement, where he was engrossed in constructing an Empire chest of drawers. He murmured his thanks, although the appetizing smell didn’t even make him look up. As I walked back upstairs, I wondered if he would eat it before it got cold. I had an even stronger sense of what Birch Kunes must have gone through.
I’d saved a piece of the cooked chicken-apple sausage for Jasper, who devoured it, seemingly without the need to chew first. I ate a cup of the soup myself, and then put the rest into several plastic containers and stuck them in the fridge.
As I was wiping down the counter, a drop of liquid fell on my head. I looked up to see that it wasn’t just a small wet circle anymore. It was a large patch that was ballooning out and threatening to burst.
“Joe!” I ran to the top of the basement steps and yelled. There was no reaction. Gritting my teeth, I ran all the way down. “Damn it, Joe, we have a situation. Can you please pay attention for one second?”