A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (21 page)

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 definitely 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.”

W
hen 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.”

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?”

He gazed up at me. “Yeah?” He hadn’t eaten any of the soup.

I grabbed his sleeve. “Just come with me.”

Joe took one look at the kitchen ceiling and headed for the upstairs bathroom. He felt around the base of the toilet and along the edge of the bathtub. “It’s dry here. I have a bad feeling that the leak’s coming from behind the wall. It must be the sewer stack.”

“What’s that?”

“The main drain that runs from the bathroom all the way down to the basement. We’ll need to get a plumber out here tomorrow.”

And with that, he disappeared downstairs again.

“Tomorrow?” I said to Jasper, who waved his plume of a tail at the sound of my voice. “That doesn’t sound like nearly soon enough for us, does it, boy?”

I called the local plumber, Wayne Troxel, but got his answering machine. Emergency service wasn’t always in the vernacular of the Millbury tradespeople. I left an urgent message, and then called Angus, who said he would retrieve the plumber from his customary stool at the Sheepville Pub.

Next, I placed a call to the insurance company, who said they would try to get someone out tomorrow, or more likely on Monday. However, the policy only covered whatever it took to gain access to the pipe and the resultant water damage from the leak, not the pipe itself. The deterioration of a hundred-and-fifty-year-old cast-iron drain was considered normal wear and tear. They advised me to get an estimate for the dismantling and replacement of the cabinets, to take pictures, and to save a piece of the sewer stack to show the adjuster.

Great.

Twenty minutes later, Angus and Wayne arrived, the latter reeking of alcohol and cigars.

Wayne scratched his striped shirt over a bulbous beer belly that reminded me of the giant pumpkin. He hitched up his pants and cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes. We’re going to need to rip out this here entire wall to be able to get to it. All these here cabinets will have to come down ’cause it’s right behind here.” He banged on the wall for emphasis. “You’re looking at a very expensive repair here. Oh, yes.”

I closed my eyes briefly. My beautiful recently renovated kitchen would be ruined.

Wayne got down on his knees and inspected the drain under the kitchen sink. His jeans, no match for his belly even when vertical, gave up the ghost and slipped halfway down his wide rear end.

“What else could go wrong today?” I said to Angus.

“Isn’t that what they always say in those B movies before someone bites the dust?”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to look at Wayne’s substantial plumber’s crack.

• • •

T
he next morning, in spite of Wayne’s condition the night before, he was back first thing with a contractor who would handle the dismantling of the cabinets. I took pictures of everything before he started, and by the time the insurance adjuster arrived in the afternoon, all the cabinets were down, the wall cut open, and the ancient cast-iron pipe exposed.

I handed the adjuster the contractor’s quote of $2,953 to remove the wall cabinets, countertop, dishwasher, and base cabinets to gain access. He would also patch the walls as needed, repair the basement concrete floor, reinstall everything, and clean up.

The adjuster nodded. “This sounds reasonable. I’ll make my own calculations and send you a final estimate of approved damages on Monday. Less your deductible of five hundred, of course.”

“Of course.” The cost to replace the sewer stack itself was $3,712, which would come out of our own pocket.

“Don’t worry, Daisy,” Joe said, as he made a brief appearance upstairs. “I’m telling you I’m going to make money with these miniatures.”

“Oh, well, seeing as I won’t be paying
store rent
anymore, we’ll have extra to spend on
sewer stacks
.”

“That’s my girl, Daisy.” Joe squeezed my shoulder. “Way to look at it as the glass half full.” And with that, he disappeared back down into the basement.