A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (10 page)

His voice trailed off and out of the corner of my eye I could tell he was still carefully watching my expression.

My heart rate sped up again.

Come on, Angus.
How long was this going to take?

“Harriet and I had been living separate lives for a long time before she died, and long before I ever started a romantic relationship with Bettina.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I’m not quite sure how it happened, but my wife became an absolute bitch, through and through. Don’t think I’m an awful person, will you Daisy, but I can’t say I’m sorry Harriet’s gone. Maybe I’ll have a chance at some happiness now. Do you know what it’s like to live with someone who’s completely obsessed?”

I bit my lip as I remembered the other bedrooms and my near panic attack.

“She took great pleasure in telling me she would never give me a divorce. Deliberately stonewalling me and not letting me get on with my life.”

There was a moment of silence while he swallowed so hard I could see his Adam’s apple move in his throat. “Bettina is so different, so sweet. She’s pregnant. Did you know? Not quite what we’d planned, but I couldn’t be happier.”

If he’d killed Harriet, he seemed unusually open and willing to talk. He was obviously proud about the pregnancy, but in a quiet way.

Grudgingly, I felt my anger at his cheating fade somewhat and I looked at him for the first time that evening. “Will Bettina be okay? I mean, being pregnant with diabetes? Isn’t that a risk?”

He swallowed again. “She’ll be all right. She deals with her condition very well, and we’ll monitor her carefully.”

“I’m sure she’s in good hands,” I murmured.

Wait a minute. Diabetes.
“Did you know Sophie Rosenthal?”

“Yes, Sophie was my patient.” He slid his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m still upset that I didn’t realize how depressed she was. Perhaps I could have helped her more.”

“Could it have been an accidental overdose?”

“Suppose so, but it’s doubtful. Sophie was a type 1 diabetic, and had been for most of her life. She was very familiar with how to administer insulin correctly.” He slipped his glasses back on and blinked a few times. “Would you excuse me?” He gestured toward a row of wax dolls. “I’ve never liked those. Something funeral-ish about them. I’ll meet you guys downstairs, okay?”

After he disappeared, Angus and I made our way to the last guest room, which was full of nothing but bisques.

“Angus, these are Bru dolls. There’s about fifty of them at a quick count. They can go anywhere from a couple of thousand each to twenty, thirty, or more, depending.”

Angus scratched his head. “I’m running out of zeros on my calculator.”

I felt an overwhelming sadness. This type of manic spending was a sickness, even as beautiful as this vast collection was. “I have to get out of here soon, Angus.”

“Me, too. If I were still drinking, I’d go have a shot and a beer after this.”

There were four bedrooms upstairs, and two and a half baths. Much too big for one person, unless, like Harriet, they had enough merchandise to fill a chain of retail stores.

We found Birch Kunes downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, staring morosely at the pretty lilac dollhouse.

Angus explained that he could give Birch a more exact presale estimate once everything was back at the auction house and he could go through the items from the garage.

“I trust you, Angus. I don’t even know what the hell is in there anyway.”

“The garage alone will take a full day even if I bring a couple of guys with me. We’ll tag and inventory everything and give you a complete list for your records. My company is fully insured and bonded—”

Birch waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes. That’s fine.”

“It’ll be a specialized auction,” Angus said. “Give me some time to advertise in all the trades.”

“I don’t care when the auction is, as long as I can start marketing the house for sale,” Birch said. “But I need to get this crap out of here first.”

I had to agree. I’d heard real estate agents advise clients to declutter, but this was ridiculous.

“It’s a beautiful property,” I said. “It should sell quickly. But wouldn’t you want to live here? It’s such a great location—one of the best in the development.”

“God, no. Bettina would never agree to that.” He looked up at us. “I just want to hand over the keys to Marybeth and let her do her thing. I need to buy something else before the baby comes.”

I stifled a gasp. He was letting Harriet’s estranged sister list the house?

“Why don’t you guys go on out the front door and I’ll lock up.”

As Angus and I walked down the brick path, I hissed, “Angus, don’t you think that’s a bit weird? Harriet and Marybeth Skelton
hated
each other.”

He shrugged. “Well, she is the best real estate agent around here.”

“True enough. I just think it’s odd that Harriet’s husband would have no loyalty to his dead wife.”

“Yeah, and he’s on a real tight schedule, ain’t he?”

When we reached the end of the driveway, I looked back. Through the open garage doors, I watched as Birch set the alarm.

“It’s also funny that he still has a key to her house, and she obviously never changed the alarm code after he moved out,” I whispered.

Birch Kunes hit the garage door closure and made an athletic crouching run under the descending door like he’d done it a thousand times before.

I
t was a strange moon tonight. A full moon, but hazy and out of focus. Like a cracked meringue of the palest blue, tinged with rust.

It was close to eight o’clock when I trailed into our Greek Revival. I stood in the foyer and inhaled deeply.

My favorite game. Trying to guess what Joe was making for dinner.

I only had a moment, though, before Jasper came barreling down the hallway, showing no signs of slowing down or veering off course. I stepped to one side, barely escaping being bowled over. I dropped to my knees and submitted to a tongue licking that left my whole face slightly damp. It might be a bit messy, but this was pure, unconditional love, and after my depressing experience at the Kunes place, I didn’t mind one bit.

“Okay, boy.” I stroked his silky head and then dragged myself to my feet. I found Joe in the kitchen, wearing a striped apron, with a massive pile of chopped vegetables on the counter in front of him.

“Daisy, you’re just in time. I’m trying out a new recipe. Hot and Sour Chicken. You’re gonna love it.” Joe kissed me, too, albeit not as sloppily as Jasper.

I hugged him, reluctant to let go.

“Tough day?”

“Yeah.”

He poured me a glass of Riesling. I slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, put my feet up, and gave a sigh of thanksgiving that he accepted my one-word response without question.

Dear Joe.

I sipped the wine and watched him cook. He sloshed some sesame oil into a wok and when it was hot, added pieces of chicken. Next came fermented black beans and red pepper powder.

I had to monitor Joe with the spices because sometimes he got carried away if we were talking and would forget he already added the menu’s required allotment. And like the home repair purchases, he bought exotic ingredients that he’d probably never use again. There was a new bag from the hardware store on the table, too.

Joe and I would need to have a discussion about his spending habits, but not tonight.

Tonight I was too tired to say anything.

I thought about Harriet’s house and all those rare, expensive collectibles and wondered where my little dollhouse would have fit in. It wasn’t in the same league at all.

Joe gaily threw piles of green peppers, bamboo shoots, carrots, and celery into the sizzling wok. He finely chopped some fresh garlic and ginger, and then added soy sauce, vinegar, and wine.

I knew Birch Kunes was numero uno on Serrano’s list, and while I had also been more than ready to blame the good-looking but slightly nerdy doctor, too, he didn’t seem to have any real animosity toward Harriet. He didn’t even seem that concerned about how much she’d spent. More like simply worn out by her obsessions, and consumed by a desire to get on with his life.

Of course, now he was infatuated with Bettina.

Birch had said that if he and Harriet had had kids, things might have been different. When they couldn’t, that was the turning point, and she’d become addicted to miniatures. Before Sarah, I’d miscarried our first child and I’d become just as neurotic about our only daughter, trying to control every inch of her life until I learned that she could manage quite well on her own.

It took both of us nearly getting killed this past summer for me to realize just how strong she really was.

I drank more wine. Martha was obsessed with Cyril, Serrano was gunning for Birch Kunes, Sam Brown was passionate about his pumpkins, and the wine club woman was crazy about the hot detective. And me? I couldn’t stop thinking about Chip Rosenthal and the future of my store.

I shook my head.

“You okay, babe?” Joe glanced at me as he stirred some cornstarch into the mixture in the wok.

“I’m just sad for Harriet, I guess.” How many other women were out there, my age, whose husbands cheated on them with younger women?

There, but for the grace of God, go I.

And here I was, worrying about Joe buying some fermented beans, for Pete’s sake. I was an ungrateful wretch, that was for sure.

I got up, put my arms around him, and held him as tight as I could.

• • •

O
n Thursday afternoon, after a long day of looking at balance sheets and not much else, I decided I was sick of worrying. Some fresh air would do me good. I hung a
CLOSED
sign on the front of the store, went home and picked up Jasper, and drove to Ringing Springs Park.

Maybe I’d run into Bettina Waters and have a chance to chat. However beautiful and nice she seemed from a distance, she certainly had the motive to get rid of Harriet, the woman who had spitefully obstructed her future. She’d also had the opportunity to slip away from the medical conference, but what did she know about wiring a dollhouse?

I’d make those other snotty women say hello to me this time, too, including the terrifying Virginia Axelrod.

As it turned out, I found someone much more interesting to talk to.

I arrived at the dog park enclosure just in time to see a few of the wine club members, quite literally, turn their backs on Ardine Smalls.

She stood, unmoving, her hands shoved into the pockets of the camel hair coat she must have owned for decades, her head with its nest of wiry hair bowed against the cold.

I let Jasper off his leash and he bounded joyfully into the center of the pack. I moved over to stand next to her. “Which one is your dog?” I asked.

She looked around for a split second, almost comically, as if sure that I must be addressing someone else. Up close, her skin was pitted by years of long-ago teenage acne, and a dusting of dandruff powdered the shoulders of her coat.

“That one.” She pointed to a scruffy terrier type whose bottom teeth stuck out, making him look like a miniature boar. “He hates me.”

I glanced at her in surprise.

“He’s horrible, but I can’t get rid of him. He belonged to my mother. She passed away two years ago.”

She showed me the scars on her hands from bite marks. “I’m really scared of him.”

My lips thinned as I watched the nasty little brute. This dog needed some serious discipline. He snapped at Jasper, who danced away, taken aback by the unexpected aggression. Jasper was a bit like my husband, who’d never met a living thing that didn’t instantly adore him.

I recognized the two wine mooches, sour-faced Ginny Axelrod and floppy-haired Bobbie Zwick, sitting in the chairs among the array of coolers. There was another, matronly woman wearing a headband, long denim skirt, and red golf shirt. I bet the golden retriever belonged to her. The schnauzer with the permanent scowl was probably Ginny’s, and the two shih tzus had to be Bobbie’s, if the old adage that dogs looked like their owners was true.

Ruthie wasn’t here today, and neither was Bettina. A younger woman in tennis whites arrived towing a giant poodle, and an aristocratic older woman joined in with a pair of pugs.

Again, I was reminded of the cliques in high school. Me, Ruthie, and now Ardine were definitely
not
the cool kids.

As I watched Jasper gallop around, sticking his nose up everyone’s butt, I winced. If dogs’ personalities also matched their owners, then I was somewhat goofy and more than a little intrusive.

“I’ve brought some cider,” Ardine said, gesturing to the plastic bag she carried. “Would you like some? I don’t drink much myself.”

“Well you don’t
have
to drink in order to bring your dog here, you know.” I smiled at her as I held out my hand. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m Daisy Buchanan. I don’t think we’ve met. But I did see you win the dollhouse competition on Saturday. Congratulations.”

Ardine was wearing purple mittens with woolen balls hanging off the cuffs. “Were you there? Wasn’t it so exciting! I’m just sad that Mother wasn’t around to see me finally win.”

When Ardine talked, it was like the top of her mouth was fixed and immovable and the bottom half could hardly move either.

Her bright expression dimmed. “Although even if she
were
around, she would say the only reason I won was because Harriet Kunes wasn’t in the competition.”

“Well, I thought your dollhouse was terrific.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I saw Harriet’s Tudor mansion. Rather gaudy. I know you would have won anyway.” I didn’t know that for sure, but if it made her feel better, it was worth it to see the big smile reappear. “I’m refinishing a dollhouse myself at the moment. For a little girl’s birthday present. It’s an 1860s Victorian.”

“Ah! You know, those early dollhouses had a very rough notion of scale.” She chuckled and shook her head. “They didn’t worry about the typical one inch to one foot. Many old examples look ludicrous when you compare objects in the same room.”

Ardine’s eyes darted from side to side as if it was hard for her to look directly at me. “They’d have a two-inch-scale cup on one-inch-scale table, and so on. The important thing to remember is that it isn’t so much
what
the scale is, but that everything is in the
same
scale.” She waved her mitten-covered hands for emphasis.

Jasper came over to check in with me. Ardine reached out gingerly and patted him on the head. He sniffed her in a friendly way, but without his usual enthusiasm. I ruffled his ears and he galloped off again to crash into the pack of canines.

“Sometimes you look at the size of the bed, and you realize the person would have had to be a high jumper to get into it.” Ardine giggled, and I chuckled along with her. “Chairs reach halfway to the ceiling, and chandeliers were so low, a person would bang their head every time they stood up.”

Now she was gasping for breath because she was giggling so hard. I felt my smile becoming slightly frozen.

She glanced at me and quickly composed herself. “But for a child, you’re creating something that will be fun to play with, not like the dollhouses of the seventeenth and eighteenth century, which were intended to be seen and never used.”

“Do you want to sit down?” I gave up on my plan to ingratiate myself with the wine club. I could learn a lot more right here.

“Okay.” Her face lit up and my heart ached for her. It was the same pain I’d felt when I’d encountered students who were bright, but came from such hideous home environments that their surroundings obliterated their potential. As a teacher, you could only do so much to change the world, but I’d certainly tried.

Even though Eleanor had been a geek in high school, she’d developed confidence as she got older, whereas Ardine Smalls never had.

There was a bench in a sheltered spot by the wall and we made ourselves comfortable.

“You see, there are different schools of thought in dollhouse construction,” she continued. “Should they exactly duplicate full-sized versions? Should drawers and doors open? Should mortise-and-tenon joint construction be used?” Ardine was talking faster now, as if I was a mirage that might disappear at any minute. “Some people say yes—miniatures should be formed down to the minutest detail whether visible or invisible. Others, like Mrs. Thorne and Eugene Kupjack, say it’s not necessary.”

I had no idea who these people were, but from the reverent tone of her voice, I gathered they were icons in the field and I didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought.

Intrigued, I watched as she warmed to her subject. She was a good teacher. I could recognize the quality in another and found myself thirsty for knowledge, hanging on her every word. I wished I had a notebook with me.

“Miniatures are a wonderful way to preserve settings for all time. I know people who have recreated their house, say, before they moved, down to the exact detail, even the wallpaper.”

“The wallpaper?” I said.

“Oh yes, there are companies that make custom wallpaper. You could replicate the antique wallpaper in your dollhouse if you wanted.”

The wallpaper.
Was there some kind of clue in the design on the walls? Like a treasure map or something? Some kind of hieroglyphical clue? I’d go over to Cyril’s first thing tomorrow and check it out.

“What did you think of Harriet Kunes?” I asked. “What kind of collector was she?”

“Harriet was fanatical about being accurate in every detail. She was very scornful of those who mix and match items from different time periods.”

I bit my lip as I thought of my modern toaster oven.

“We used to argue about it all the time. When we were speaking, that is.”

“You were friends?”

“Oh, well, we were best friends once. In fact, I was a nurse at the same hospital where Birch did his residency. I introduced them.”

“Really?” Curiouser and curiouser.

“But Harriet changed. It’s sad. She became so competitive, she antagonized a lot of people.” Ardine played with her knotted dog leash. “In fact, I’m sure Harriet’s the one who sabotaged my entry at a show once by putting cockroaches inside. They scurried out when the judges opened the front panel and my chances of winning were doomed.”

“Wow. I can’t believe she’d do something like that.”

She looked directly at me for the first time. “You have no idea what those competitions are like.”

“And would Harriet be the type to confront a killer if she found something awry?”