A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (20 page)

I kept going, past the cornfields and The Paddocks riding stables, a smile on my face.

I took the back roads to avoid heavy traffic as much as possible, and about 11:15 a.m. I rolled into Doylestown.

I parked the bike close to Kunes’s medical practice, and locked it to one of the antique black gas lamps. His office was on State Street, not far from the hospital.

I opened the glass door and walked into a large, open, and very modern reception area. The light fixtures were like flat neon spaceships overlapping on the ceiling. Orange and aqua armless sectional seating curved through the space in long wavy lines. What appeared to be a glass partition around the waiting room was actually a row of fish tanks, as tall as a man’s body.

I could imagine the same two words coming out of every kid’s mouth that came in here for the first time.
Wow. Cool.

“Hi, Daisy!” Bettina was at the circular front desk and she stood up and gave me a broad smile, showing those impossibly white teeth, with a hint of dimples. She was wearing a long black cowl-neck sweater and regular dress pants. If I hadn’t known, I wouldn’t have been able to tell she was pregnant.

“Wasn’t the auction so much fun? I’m still pinching myself at how well it went. I talked Birch into keeping a couple of the Barbie dolls, just in case we have a girl.”

She laid a hand across her stomach, the very picture of health, with glowing peach skin and thick, shiny hair. “He’s hoping it’s a girl, but I don’t mind, either way.”

I smiled back. “Yes, it was a great success. Have you found a house yet?” With the amount they’d made on the auction, they probably wouldn’t even need to wait for Harriet’s to sell.

“Yes. One that just came on the market. It’s a lovely farmhouse near Ringing Springs Park. It has a deck in the back that’s built around an old tree.”

“Hey, I know just the one you mean. That’s a gorgeous house.”

“You’ll have to come over in the summer. I’m sure we’ll do lots of entertaining out there.”

“I’d love to.”
Assuming your husband isn’t in jail by then.
“And how are the wedding plans coming along?”

“It’s a very small affair. Just a couple of people from this office, a few close friends, and my parents. Sixteen of us. We’re having dinner at a private room at the Bridgewater Inn.”

“You’re not inviting the wine cl—I mean, the ladies from the park?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. We’re keeping it very low-key.” She paused, as if trying to figure out if this was just a social call. “Birch is over at Meadow Farms with Angus right now doing the final clean-out of the house.”

At that moment, a teenage boy came up to the counter. “How are you doing, Jason?” she said. She handed him a small device and promptly knocked over a pile of files. “Whoops.” Bettina laughed at her own clumsiness as she gathered the papers together.

“I’m good,” he said, grinning at me. Jason was probably about sixteen or seventeen, with a hint of acne, and showing the slim, muscular build that would develop into a powerful physique when he matured.

Bettina picked up the mouse and glanced at the computer in front of her. “Only the nurse practitioner is here right now, Daisy. Did you need an appointment?”

“No, actually, I, ah, you see, I have this relative with diabetes and I was hoping to find out a bit more about it. You know, so I can help her out.”

I crossed my fingers inside the pockets of my windbreaker and hoped my good intentions would outweigh a little white lie.

“You should tell them to get a pump with a remote, like I have,” Jason said to me. “They’re awesome. Especially if you play sports.”

“Let me guess. Football?” With his blond hair and all-American good looks, I bet he drove the girls crazy at school.

He grinned again. “Yeah. It’s so much better than having to inject yourself all the time. It connects to a cannula under the skin. See? Here’s my site.” He whipped up his shirt and quickly reconnected the device. “The pump has a disconnect port so you can take it off to shower, or if you’re not allowed to wear it when you play. You just program it to give a tiny dose every few minutes. It’s easier to maintain your glucose levels ’cause you can adjust your basals on the fly.”

I smiled at him. Far from diabetes putting a crimp in his style, it seemed like he really got a kick out of his high-tech gadgets.

“You can hook it up to your computer, too, to see patterns of when you might need a higher basal. Then when you come into the office, the doctor downloads the pump data to see how your plan is working for you.”

“Um, I’m sorry, but what’s a basal?” I asked.

Bettina pushed the fall of her glossy hair over her shoulder. “There’s a basal dose that’s delivered continuously to maintain your blood glucose in target. A
bolus
dose, which is an extra amount, is given to cover the rise in glucose for meals or snacks, or because of a high reading. You can also use the remote to administer it.”

She smiled at Jason. “These remotes are great. I have one myself.”

“You do?” he said.

“Yup. I was diagnosed when I was younger than you. Although they didn’t have cool stuff like these pumps back then. Just remember, don’t stay disconnected more than one to two hours without any insulin.”

She showed both of us how her remote had features like a low-cartridge warning and a safety lock. “And don’t forget to carry your emergency kit at all times, Jason. It has quick-acting glucose tablets and spare batteries.”

I hoped Jason was paying attention. He looked a little lovestruck.

Bettina touched his shoulder gently. “I know it’s a lot to deal with, but you’re doing really well, and you have such a great attitude.”

“Thanks, Ms. Waters.”

I swallowed, seeing his face light up with a smile that could break a young girl’s heart. I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing. There was no way that Bettina Waters was a murderer. I’d stake my own life on it.

After Jason left, I cleared my throat. “Bettina, I was wondering what would kill a person with diabetes.”

She gave me a startled look.

“God, I’m sorry, that was a very indelicate question. It’s just that I’m so concerned about my—um—relative. She’s an older woman. Like Sophie Rosenthal, for instance, who died from an insulin overdose. You know how older people get things mixed up, and I can see that the treatment can be complicated. Could it have been an accident?”

“Not for that amount. It had to be suicide. What killed Sophie Rosenthal was a bolus—a big push of insulin she told the pump to deliver. Normally it would be because of a high reading during waking hours. Or at meal times. Not at 2 a.m.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Birch still blames himself. He thinks he could have done more for Sophie if he realized how close to the edge she was.”

I picked up the remote to inspect it, but Bettina quickly plucked it out of my hands with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just don’t want you to give me a bolus by accident, Daisy.”

“I understand. Don’t press the proverbial red button, right?” I chewed on my lip, thinking hard. “Hey, is it possible that someone could have stolen Sophie’s remote to deliver that fatal dose?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but they’d have to be close. Like in the same room.”

She gave me that kind, sweet smile.

“Diabetes can be a tricky thing, Daisy, especially for someone who’s had it for a long time, like Sophie. Even though I’m very careful, I had an episode myself back in February, right when she died. It gave me the shivers, let me tell you, when I heard what happened to her.”

I
got back on the bike and headed toward Sheepville. I cursed myself that I hadn’t brought my phone with me. I could have called Serrano, instead of having to ride all the way to the police department. Plus it wasn’t too bright of me to be out on the road without one.

As I rode, I wondered how the heck I was going to prove, months later, that Sophie Rosenthal had been murdered. She was dead and buried, the house cleaned out and sold, and her best friend, the only person who might have shed some light on the situation, pardon the pun, had been electrocuted.

The desk sergeant took one look at me and dialed Serrano without being asked this time. I hurried through the back room toward his desk, conscious of my leggings, windbreaker, and sneakers in the midst of all these male fashionistas.

Serrano leaned back in his chair. “What’s up, Daisy?”

I tried to control my breathing. “Can you pull the file on Sophie Rosenthal, please? Now? It’s urgent.”

He let the chair fall forward onto its legs with a crash and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Why the hell did I ever ask for your help? I must have been mad. Or delirious from lack of sleep.”

“Come on, Serrano. I need to see the part that talks about her insulin pump and remote.”

He exhaled and subjected me to that penetrating blue gaze.

I stared right back.

“You realize this is highly irregular,” he said, but he picked up the phone anyway.

When a sergeant brought the file, Serrano quickly flipped through the pages. “This shows that she gave herself a large dose at 2 a.m. Coroner said hypoglycemic shock and then brain death. Apparently when the blood sugar drops too low, a person simply never wakes up.” He read further in silence, while I squirmed on my chair. “They assumed suicide, but there was no note.”

“Yes, so what if someone stole her remote to give her the fatal dose?”

Serrano ignored me and kept reading. “She was also taking sleeping pills. A prescription from Kunes to help after the death of her brother. Sometimes those sleep aids make you do weird things. You ever hear of people sleepwalking, making breakfast, going for a drive, and they have no recollection afterward? She might not have known what she was doing when she gave herself that bolus dose.”

“Do you have a picture of Sophie’s house in the file?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Marybeth Skelton listed it for sale. I bet we can find it on the Internet.”

Serrano sighed, but tapped some keys on his computer. I scooted around to his side of the desk and we both stared at the pictures on the real estate listing.

“What are we looking for, Miss Marple?”

“Look! See that tree?” I pointed at the screen and the huge oak tree to the left side of the Tudor house, its great branches close to the upstairs window. “Was that Sophie’s bedroom? The killer could have climbed in through the window and stolen the remote.”

“That’s a lot of supposition, Daisy. Here at the police department we need to deal in cold hard facts.”

I sucked in a breath at his condescending tone.

“Plus a person would have to be pretty athletic to climb a big tree like that, shimmy along a branch, and pop in through a window.”

I thought of PJ Avery, hiking and climbing rocky cliffs up the sides of volcanoes in Nicaragua, but pushed the thought from my mind. Anyway, her passport stamp put her in the clear. “Does the report say if a remote was found on the scene or not?” I couldn’t help the hint of impatience that crept into my voice.

Serrano raised an eyebrow, but gestured to one of the detectives on the other side of the room. “Dodson. Come here.”

I recognized the detective who ambled over. It was one of Ramsbottom’s old cronies. Serrano had cleaned house when he took over, but Dodson was a holdover.

“Sophie Rosenthal,” Serrano said. “Insulin overdose last February. Remember seeing her remote anywhere? It isn’t mentioned in the report.”

“Yeah, it was there. On the bedside table.” Dodson splayed his legs apart and crossed his arms.

“Could someone have come in while she was sleeping?” I asked.

“Negative. The house was locked up tight.”

“Was the room cold when you went in? Colder than the rest of the house?”

“Yes, but—” Dodson blew out a breath, his eyes dark and glittering. “Look, I already told you. The house was locked up tight. Windows, too.”

“Who found the victim?” Serrano asked.

“Harriet Kunes tried to call her that morning and couldn’t get an answer, so she dialed 911. The victim’s nephew was away in Boston on business, so we had to break the door down.”

“Was there a visiting nurse or anyone else who might have had access?” I asked.

Dodson shook his head. “Sir, is that all? I’m kinda busy right now.”

I bit my lip. Sophie Rosenthal had died alone, in a locked-up house. Being an agoraphobic, she wouldn’t have gone into the outside world where someone could have had the opportunity to tamper with her insulin paraphernalia. The only people who had keys—PJ and Chip—were either out of the country or three hundred miles away.

“Where’s the stuff from the crime scene?” I demanded.

The husky cop glared at me. I probably wasn’t his favorite person for helping to put his old boss Ramsbottom in the slammer. He’d had a nice, cushy existence back then. Now he was actually having to put in a full day’s work.

“It wasn’t a crime scene,” he snapped. “There was no reason to suspect foul play, so we didn’t take anything.”

I slumped back in my chair.

Dodson smirked at me. “That Kunes woman helped the nephew clean a lot of the personal stuff out of the house. But she’s a goner now, too, so I guess you’re outta luck.”

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.