A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (16 page)

I’d ride my bike more, drink cheaper wine, curtail Joe’s spending. It would buy me some time, in case someone else moved out and I could take his or her spot on Main Street. Or if nothing else, a year to adjust to the idea of moving to a different town.

Even if Chip went ahead with his bistro plans, he’d need time to get the zoning approval and apply for a liquor permit, and he would probably welcome another twelve months worth of significant rental income.

It was as if I could suddenly breathe again. Making a firm decision on what to do instead of all this uncertainty constantly buzzing around in my head felt like an elephant had stepped off my chest.

I pulled out my wallet. “Thanks, Ronnie. This is the best ten bucks I ever spent.”

She nodded and tucked the bill into her bra. “Who knows how long I can make it here anyway.”

Now she really
was
reading my mind.

“There’s plenty of people would like to see me fail. Brings down the standard of the neighborhood, they say.”

“I’m sorry. People can be so mean and thoughtless.”

“Tell you what, if I’m not going to renew my lease come July, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks, Ronnie. I appreciate that.”

We shook hands again. Suddenly her fingers tightened around mine, so hard that I couldn’t break free.

My heart rate accelerated and I stared at her. “What is it?” I whispered, but she didn’t answer, her eyes unseeing and almost opaque.

The skin touching mine turned ice-cold. I knew she wasn’t faking it, and my heart beat even faster. She was silent for so long, my hand was freezing by the time she finally let go.

“What?”

Ronnie shook her head, looking as shaken as me.

“Something. I don’t know what. But you’re in danger, Daisy Buchanan, there’s no doubt about that. Watch your back.”

• • •

O
n Saturday, Angus held the auction for Harriet Kunes’s vast collection. We all agreed to help out because he could use the extra hands on deck.

Martha and Cyril volunteered to man the snack bar, Eleanor said she would check people in and assign bidder numbers, and I offered to help move merchandise up to the stage. Betty Backstead would be logging in the winning bids on her laptop.

Joe had promised to come, too, but on Saturday morning when I was ready to leave, he decided he was too busy with his miniatures. After a brief, tense exchange, I walked out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

The auction building was situated on three pastoral acres just outside of Sheepville, across from the Backsteads’ white stucco farmhouse. It was a low corrugated metal building, and I was glad the weather had turned cooler because there was no air-conditioning inside, only a few ceiling fans. With the way some auctions and some bidders heated up, it could get brutal in there.

As I pulled into the lot, I glimpsed Eleanor’s red Vespa zooming up behind me in my rearview mirror. Cyril’s pickup truck was already parked outside. Eleanor and I walked into the auction house together, past the reception area to the snack bar, where Martha was setting up two large slow cookers.

“I’ve brought my famous buffalo wings and spicy meatballs today. That should keep the men happy.”

“Oh, aye? Tha’s a right spicy meatball tha sen,” Cyril growled, appraising Martha from the rear as he turned the coffee urn on to brew.

Eleanor made the motion of sticking a finger down her throat, and I chuckled as I walked on through to the main auction space. Rows of wooden folding seats that Angus had salvaged from an old theater sat in the center of the concrete floor.

“Yo, Daisy!”

I turned around as I heard the familiar husky voice of Patsy Elliott. She and her daughter came rushing up to me, and I bent down to give Claire a hug. She clung to me, unwilling to let go. I sometimes thought that even though we weren’t technically related, these two meant more to me than some of my real family members.

Patsy was tall, with dark curly hair and blue eyes, and lean curves that generated lots of tips at the diner. The classic healthy freckle-faced Irish girl. Claire had dark hair and would be tall, too, when she grew up, but that was where the resemblance ended.

Her heart-shaped face and huge eyes under arched brows would almost be too exotic for Millbury when she eventually blossomed into womanhood. Angus had nicknamed her “Legs” because she had the longest legs compared with her nine-year-old body.

“Sorry I haven’t stopped in your store in, like, forever,” Patsy said. “I’ve been run off my feet with waitressing, and helping with the auctions. Plus, do you have any idea how much freaking homework they give kids these days? I’d like to smack some of these teachers.”

“Daisy used to be a history teacher, Mom.” Claire grinned at me, her dark eyes shining.

“Oh, God, sorry again. Forgot about that. And I haven’t gotten around to sending out invitations yet, but will you come to Claire’s birthday party? It’s the night before Halloween.”

I smiled at Claire. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Mommy said we wouldn’t do it on my
actual
birthday, because all my friends would be trick-or-treating.”

“That’s true. And besides, you deserve your own special day. Can’t wait until you see what I got you. It’s a special present from me. And from Cyril, too.”

“Ooh! What is it? Can I guess?”

“Nope.” I exchanged a glance with her mother.
Especially not here, surrounded by dollhouses.
Too many clues.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Patsy winked at me. “You know, Daisy, Angus has been just awesome. I’m helping out more and more here lately. Thanks again.”

When Angus had been in prison, and then in the hospital, I’d suggested that Patsy step in and handle the bid calling in order to keep the business going. Betty Backstead was too nervous to get up on the stage herself, but Patsy turned out to be a natural auctioneer.

“In fact, I might be able to quit the diner one of these days and get that little place we’ve been dreaming of.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Patsy and Claire lived with Patsy’s sister at Quarry Ridge, in the same development as Serrano. They had the whole finished basement to themselves, but it wasn’t the same as having your own house.

Patsy put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Well, kid, let me get you that soda I promised you before the action starts. See you later, Daisy.”

They headed toward the snack bar and I spotted Ardine Smalls making last-minute adjustments to some of the dollhouses on display. I went over to her, and we walked around together during the presale inspection. She seemed to have a story about each one. Which competition it had won, and in which year, or at which auction Harriet had outbid her to buy that particular house.

The hall was filling up quickly, so I told Ardine I’d catch her later. I recognized some of her gray-haired compatriots from the competition milling around. There was so much to be sold tonight that Patsy and Angus were going to trade off the auctioneering, an hour at a time. I brought Claire backstage with me. We’d be in charge of lining up the dolls in the correct order for the assistants to carry out to the podium.

Once the auction began, I started marking my catalog with the winning bids, but after a while I gave up, stunned by the huge amounts. They were already way over what I’d thought, and the reserve prices Angus had established. Although as he’d often told me, it’s the marketplace that sets the market value, not the auctioneer. Ardine had spent a fortune herself by buying five of the bigger dollhouses.

During a break in the action, I went outside for some fresh air. The lot was jammed full, with cars spilling onto the surrounding fields. There were license plates from New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware, even as far away as New York and Ohio.

As I passed the snack bar on my way back inside, there was a long line of men laughing and joking with Martha as she served up the wings and meatballs as fast as she could go. Cyril was glowering and pouring sodas and hot coffee.

He stepped out from behind the snack bar when he saw me. “Could I have a word?”

“Sure, Cyril.”

I summoned my meager supply of patience as he worked his way up to whatever it was he wanted to ask.

“It’s me cat,” he said finally. “Martha and I are going to a bed-and-breakfast, or some such nonsense next week.” He looked as morose as if he’d said he was going to Dottie Brown’s knitting class.

“Could you look after the little feller? He has a cat flap so he can take off whenever he pleases, but if you could stop in every other day or so and make sure there’s food and water down, that’s all ah ask.”

“Of course, no problem.”

“I’ll give tha a key.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

This was a Big Deal for Cyril. As far as I knew, Martha didn’t even have a key to his place.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” I assured him. “Just enjoy yourself.”

He grunted and went back to serving coffee.

The auction, which started at 1 p.m. and was supposed to end at 5 p.m., finally wrapped up around 6:45 p.m., leaving us all exhausted and aghast at the fierce bidding. In addition to the packed auction hall, there had been lots of online action, which contributed to the astronomical winning prices.

I’d never seen Patsy Elliott cry in all the years I’d known her, but her eyes were full tonight as she ran over and gave me an even tighter hug than her daughter had earlier.

“Pats, what on earth’s the matter?”

She gulped in some air. “Angus told me before we started tonight’s auction that he was giving me a cut of the commission . . .”

Here she stopped and sucked down more air. “But I never dreamed we’d fetch prices like this. Those were
crazy
numbers. My God, Daisy, I think it’s enough for a down payment on a house. I can’t freaking believe it!”

As I hugged her, I felt tears coming to my eyes, too. Angus had confided to me that he was grooming Patsy to take over the place someday. There was a five-year survival rate for the type of tumor he’d had, and I hoped it was a hell of a lot longer than that, but you never knew.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Claire wrinkled her nose as she looked up at us.

“Because I’m happy.”

Claire shook her head at me and smiled. “Grown-ups are so weird sometimes.”

At that moment, I spotted Serrano at the entrance, so I excused myself and hurried over to him. Tonight he was in his casual, but chic mode. Black leather jacket, jeans, and white shirt.

“Are you here to bid on a dollhouse, Detective? Or perhaps a charming French bisque?”

“Very funny. I’m on my way home after my shift. Figured I’d stop in and see how things went. Where’s Joe tonight?”

I bit my lip. “It’s a case of ‘be careful what you wish for.’ I hoped he would find a hobby that he’d enjoy, but now all his time is taken up with making miniatures. He says he’s getting so many orders, it’s tough to keep up.”

I started to tell Serrano how amazingly well the auction had gone when his attention shifted to something behind me. I turned to see Bettina and Birch talking to Angus. They looked relaxed and happy, as Birch shook Angus’s hand and clapped him on the back. There was a brightness of spirit emanating from Bettina that even being around the wine club hadn’t tainted. They didn’t seem like guilty killers to me. Just a couple who were very much in love.

Serrano’s eyes narrowed as Birch placed a hand gently on her stomach.

“By the way,” he said, never taking his eyes off the father-to-be, “we checked Harriet’s phone records. Apart from your call that afternoon, there was one more. From a cell phone belonging to PJ Avery.”

“Well, I know she’d been interviewing Harriet for a series of articles on collectors.”

“That’s what she said. And she was supposed to meet up with Harriet that night, which might explain our two coffee mugs, but when she saw the flashing lights and commotion, she turned around and left.”

I frowned. “Isn’t that a bit odd? As a reporter, wouldn’t you think she’d want to be in the thick of the action? Getting the story?”

Serrano nodded, but he was still watching Birch Kunes. I felt like I was talking to a teenager engrossed in a video game.

“Serrano, there’s something else I need to tell you. Chip Rosenthal has some kind of major development deal going on. Apparently Sophie also owned prime waterfront acreage along the Delaware River. It blows my mind that she was a commercial property owner, yet never wrote a will.”

I made a mental note that I needed to nag Patsy to write one for Claire’s sake. I knew that mine and Joe’s left everything to Sarah, but what if she was gone, too? I should update it with a provision for Jasper, leaving a portion to Eleanor. She would take care of him.

I felt Serrano start to move on, and I touched his sleeve. The well-worn leather felt cool under my fingers. “Chip’s hired Marybeth as the broker for the development. I mean, inheriting my store was one thing, but this is big time. More motive for murder, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re really stuck on this guy, aren’t you?” He looked at his sleeve, and I could feel my cheeks grow warm. I dropped my hand.

“I checked the file again, Daisy. Nothing suspicious about the old lady’s death. No forced entry.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be if it was Chip. He lived there.”

“There
was
one thing, though . . .”

“What?”

“I couldn’t find an obituary of that stepdaughter who died abroad. No mention at all. It’s like she vanished off the face of the planet.”

At that moment, everyone else crowded around us. Martha groaned and pressed a hand to her back.

“Tired?” I asked.

“Tired isn’t the word for it. I think I’ve lost the will to live.”

“Fancy a drink, Detective?” Eleanor bestowed her best cat smile on him.

Serrano smiled back, a lazy smile, and I felt my heart twist. “Well, I was off duty as of 6 p.m., so yes, I will accept your intriguing invitation.”

“I do have some rather special absinthe back at home, as a matter of fact.”

He laughed. “I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

Eleanor slipped her hand into his. “Then come on over to the dark side.”