A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (26 page)

To my right were stacks of oil drums and the cap to a pickup truck, and to the left was an avalanche of iron bed frames, bathtubs, and stacks of wooden shutters. If I tried climbing over that lot, I’d be a slow, easy target.

Going back into the trailer wouldn’t work either. It would take too much time to unlock the door.

I stared into her eyes and realized how completely crazy she was.
But how could she kill me? We’d become friends, sort of.

“Why, for the love of God?” My breath was coming in short puffs, but I tried to keep my expression calm.

Ardine waved the syringe in the air. “Harriet and I were best friends once. Bestest friends. But when she met that bitch, Sophie Rosenthal, she discarded me like a used prophylactic. I couldn’t believe it. So I took Sophie down. I thought once she was out of the picture, things would go back to the way they were, but Harriet still wanted nothing to do with me.”

I glanced up the lane that led to the salvage yard. Even if I somehow got past her, I’d never make it to the main road. Ardine was an ungainly runner, but she was used to running, and much younger than me.

“So you snuck into Sophie’s house, paired up the second remote—”

“While she was in the shower, and then I climbed out the window. Instead of shutting it all the way, I left it open a crack so she’d notice the cold air and shut and lock it from the inside.”

“You’re so clever,” I said.

It’s often the guys who are too nice, too helpful, that you need to consider.
Serrano’s words came back to haunt me. Hadn’t she been such a great help the day we found the stuff at Harriet’s house?

“Don’t patronize me, Daisy.” Ardine’s voice was frigid, completely missing its usual nerdy tone. “I realized you were getting close. Too close to figuring things out.”

So you threw me the information about the serial number to disarm me.

“And Chip? Why did you kill him?”

She wrinkled her nose again. “I didn’t. Must have been someone else.”

“But you planted the remote in his apartment, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, a hideous smile. “Angus gave me the idea when he said that whoever found the remote would find the killer. And once Chip conveniently turned up dead, well, that wrapped things up very neatly. Except for one loose thread.
You
.”

“How did you get into his place?” I wasn’t sure why I kept her talking. It was the classic trite ploy you see in the movies, but I guess I didn’t feel like dying right that minute.

Raindrops began to fall, misty against my skin. How long before Ardine decided she didn’t want to get wet and ended this little chat?

I was also clinging to something else Serrano had said, which was that the two other killings were “hands-off.” Did she really have the nerve to kill me face-to-face?

“I rocked the Audi, and when the alarm went off and he came running down to see if someone was stealing it, he left his apartment door open,” she said. “I didn’t have time to find a great hiding spot, so I just tossed it in the bathroom cabinet.”

As she talked, I scanned the yard in the fading light, trying in vain to see a way through the rusty obstacle course.

Suddenly I had another horrible thought. “Ardine, did you kill your mother, too?”

She grinned. “I told you, she tripped and fell down the stairs. Now, I might have loosened the banister some . . .” She took another step closer, her arm raised with the deadly syringe, and her face twisted into a snarl. “The old witch was always after my money, always putting me down.”

Another hands-off killing.
Serrano’s cool, detached voice seemed to be speaking inside my head.
She doesn’t have the guts to do you in. You can take her, Daisy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of twin pricks of light in the gathering fog. Cyril’s cat was creeping along the top of a nearby bed frame, his eyes like flat green glass, muscles slithering in perfect unison as he stalked closer.

Control your breathing. Get ready.

Suddenly he dove past Ardine, a black flying shadow.

She screamed. “What’s that? A bat?”

I swung my pocketbook holding the hefty sad iron in a wide arc, bashing Ardine in the ribs. She moaned and staggered, but didn’t fall, still holding the syringe, still intent on stabbing me.

In that split second, I remembered hearing once that women were always afraid to hurt someone, even in a fight. Another body blow wouldn’t do much to stop her, but even so, I hesitated.

Daisy, she killed three people for Christ’s sake!
Serrano was practically shouting inside my head now.

I gritted my teeth and kicked Ardine Smalls in the crotch.

“Aargh!” With an unholy yowl she crumpled to the ground and I hauled the bag back again and gave one final smash, whacking her in the head and shoulder.

I didn’t wait to see how much damage I’d done as I threw the bag down and leapt over her. I ran harder than I’d ever run in my life, dodging old tires and engine parts as I headed for the road. I couldn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind me, but I didn’t dare look back.

In a couple of minutes, I was heaving for breath, and soaking wet from the rain. Halfway to the intersection with the main road, I slowed to a stagger, but I kept going, my lungs screaming in my chest. I prayed that I’d knocked Ardine out long enough to keep her down until I could reach the road and relative safety.

I’d almost made it when a car going about eighty miles an hour came flying into the lane, illuminating me in its high beams. It swerved and came screeching to a halt, spraying mud all over me.

A few seconds later, Serrano appeared through the fog and wrapped me in his arms.

I clung to him, trying to tell him about Ardine and the syringe, but all that came out was a garbled mess.

Serrano’s clipped voice cut through my incoherent babbling. “Calm down, Daisy. Where is she?”

I pointed toward the trailer with a shaking finger.

“Get in the car.”

“I’m all muddy.”

“
Come on
.”

I hobbled around to the passenger side, got in, and he took off at high speed. I gripped the armrest, thrown back against the seat as we nearly went airborne bumping over potholes. Behind us, I could see headlights in the wing mirror from two more cruisers pulling into the lane.

Serrano slammed the brakes on when the piles of salvage blocked our way and jumped out of the car, gun drawn. “Stay here, Daisy.”

The other officers followed him, splashing through mud, and I watched as they all ran over to where Ardine lay on the ground, not moving.

Holy crap
. Had I killed her?

Despite strict instructions to the contrary, I got out of the car. Serrano glanced at me, but didn’t tell me to go back as I stumbled up alongside him.

I gasped as I stared down at the body of Ardine Smalls, the deadly syringe still clutched in her hand, but now sticking out of the side of her neck.

A
few hours later, after a visit to the station to give my statement, and then a long hot shower, I was ensconced on our leather couch in the study, my foot bandaged and propped up on the steamer trunk. The toe wasn’t broken, just badly bruised. Eleanor and Serrano sat facing me on the other couch.

Joe was at the bar cart, fixing drinks. A bottle of Belgian beer for Serrano, an ice-cold Beefeater martini for Eleanor, and a glass of merlot for me.

“So, Serrano, how did you know to look for Daisy? How did you know she was in danger?” Eleanor asked.

“That hair I pulled off Ardine’s coat?” He nodded at me. “We’d found a few dog hairs at Harriet’s house, but of course she didn’t own any pets. I got the lab result back this afternoon and it was a match. Told you the killer always leaves something behind.”

He took a sip of his beer. “Then I got your message, Daisy, and everything came together for me. I called Joe and he said you’d probably gone to feed the cat.”

He chuckled. “What do you call that iron thing again that you planned to drop off at Cyril’s? We might have to institute a new standard-issue weapon for the department.”

I glanced at my bag sitting on the floor. “A sad iron,” I mumbled.

Eleanor narrowed her gaze at me. “You were getting rid of my gift?”

“Yes, sorry, I was, but I guess I should keep it now. After all, it did save my life. Actually it was Cyril’s cat who really saved me. He distracted Ardine so I could get in a good enough shot to whack her with it.”

The corners of Serrano’s mouth quirked up. “I would have loved to have seen that.”

“What the heck was in that syringe anyway?” I asked.

“A powerful muscle relaxant. Part of the cocktail they use for lethal injections. The part that leads to respiratory arrest.”

“Is there any kind of antidote?” Eleanor asked.

“There is, but it would have to be administered within a couple of minutes. If she’d stabbed you, I don’t think you’d be sitting here right now, Daisy.”

I took a large gulp of my merlot. And then another.

Joe shook his head. “I know this is going to sound weird, but poor Ardine. She had such a sad little life. Why did she have to kill herself?”

“She knew,” Serrano said. “Three murders and one attempted? It would be a case of simply throwing away the key, if not the death penalty. She just beat us to it.”

Eleanor popped an olive into her mouth. “I always thought she was wickety-wackety-woo.”

There was a hard knocking at the front door. Jasper leapt to his feet, barking. Joe went to answer it, and then a few moments later, PJ Avery sauntered into the study.

“Saw the Challenger outside,” she said to me. “Figured you were getting yourself into something interesting.”

She nodded at Eleanor and Serrano in curt acknowledgement.

“Well, that’s convenient,” I snapped, “because I wanted a word with you anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’s with printing all that crap in the paper and inferring that I said it? And what’s with the
elderly
bit?”

“Sorry. Drama makes for a better story?”

I glared at her, but suddenly, in a peculiar way, I felt like I was looking at a younger version of myself. Cocky and ready to take on the world, consequences be damned.

My daughter, Sarah, and I were nothing alike, but in PJ I recognized the same reckless passion I’d been fired up with in my youth. Heck, I was still like that, barging ahead without sufficient regard to my own safety. Was it possible that I could somehow help her not make the same mistakes?

“What’s your poison, PJ?” Joe asked cheerfully, pointing to everyone’s drinks.

I shuddered. “Joe, please.”

“Sorry.”

PJ shoved her hands in her pockets and rolled forward on the balls of her feet. “Tequila. Rocks. Lime. Salt. Thanks.”

Joe grinned at me, but he hadn’t even picked up a glass before the doorbell rang again in a long burst. I heard a commotion in the foyer, and Martha and Cyril came rushing in.

“Well, this is a fine state of affairs, I must say.” Martha couldn’t get out any more than that before, overcome, she enveloped me in her arms. I hugged her back, as much as I could from my seated position.

“What are you guys doing here?” I managed. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow?”

Martha sniffed. “Well. It appears that there has been an
inordinate
amount of murderous activity in this village so we came back early. Not that my two
best friends
bothered to let me know, mind you. And now come to find out, there’s a
party
going on.”

Joe handed Cyril a Newcastle Brown Ale and gave PJ her tequila on the rocks.

“Martha, I’m so glad you’re back,” he said to her. “I have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge that I’ve been saving for a special occasion, and I’d love an excuse to open it. Will you have a glass with me?”

God, he was good.

Somewhat mollified, she said, “That sounds delightful. Thank you, Joe.”

He hurried off into the kitchen.

Cyril took a swig of his beer. “Aye up, so old Chip fell off his perch, did he?”

I nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Let me tell you, I am not planning on going away again for a
very
long time,” Martha declared. “Of course, I enjoyed being with my dear Cyril for those few precious days, but it’s just so hard to catch up.”

Cyril winked triumphantly at me and I stifled a chuckle.

Joe came back in, opened the champagne with a gentle hiss, and filled two flutes.

After everyone had their drinks, I had to repeat the whole story that I’d already told to the police and then again to Eleanor, while PJ took a notepad out of her back pocket and scribbled furiously. We still called her PJ in spite of the fact that her name was really Margaret Jane, but she seemed to prefer it.

Cyril made me tell the part twice about his cat diving in front of Ardine to distract her. “Good old His Nibs. Ah’m right chuffed about that.” He pointed his beer bottle at me. “And yer a jammy dodger.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I think the gist of it was that I was lucky I’d dodged a bullet. Or a lethal syringe, to be precise.

“I allus thought that Ardine were a rum ’un.”

“Yeah, spooky,” PJ said.

“What about Marybeth?” I asked Serrano. “Did you get a chance to follow up on that?”

His bright blue eyes were full of amusement. “Daisy, I don’t think we even need a police chief now that we have you. Yes, I interviewed Marybeth Skelton this afternoon. Right after she got back to her office. At first she said she cut her hand while preparing a meal. But then one of our guys talked to the cleaning woman who couldn’t wait to rat on her. Marybeth mustn’t be very nice to the help. She said that Marybeth never cooks.”

He took a careful sip of his beer. “So while you and I were dealing with Ardine, they interviewed Marybeth again, and this time she folded like a cheap card table.”

“Why’d she do it?” PJ’s tone was razor sharp.

“Chip informed her, via a text message, no less, that he was cutting her out of the waterfront deal. He was giving the brokerage to a younger real estate agent. Some woman he was dating. Marybeth went down to the park because she knew he liked to hang out at the old mill. In a fury, she hit him with a wine bottle. Said she never meant to kill him, just knock some sense into him, but apparently her golf swing is pretty powerful. In the process, she managed to cut her hand.”

“Jeez,” I whispered. “She finally snapped. One last real estate deal gone wrong.”

“He managed to get away from her, ran bleeding through the woods, and eventually collapsed and died on the giant pumpkin. Marybeth drove to Millbury and threw a different wine bottle into the pumpkin patch. One that she’d carefully picked up using a plastic doggie bag from the supply container they provide at the park. None of her footprints would be in the pumpkin patch, either. Quite clever, if you think about it.”

“Class, today’s lesson is . . . be nice to your cleaning people,” I said.

Serrano chuckled as Joe came over and refilled Martha’s champagne glass.

“Thank you, Joe. Oh, impromptu parties are simply the best, aren’t they,” she declared, eyes sparkling. “Who knew murder could be such
fun
?”

PJ swiped at her eyes and downed the rest of her tequila in one swallow.

“Hey, PJ, are you okay?” I asked.

She glared at me. “I know Chip was a jerk sometimes, but he was the only one left.” Her voice choked up. “Everyone’s gone now.”

Martha was immediately remorseful. “Oh God, that was thoughtless of me. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

PJ’s bony shoulders slumped. “I’m all alone in the world.”

“No, you’re not. You have us,” I said firmly. “Come here.” I patted the sofa and she hesitated for a moment, but sank down next to me. I slipped my arm around her, and Jasper laid his head on her knee. Joe handed PJ a box of tissues and plucked the empty glass out of her fingers for a refill.

“You know, I’ve been noticing something lately,” Eleanor said. “About doll collectors, and pumpkin growers, and Romeos who sing under your balcony at night.
Isn’t there a lot of obsessive behavior in the world?”

I could certainly attest to that. “I wonder how poor Sam’s doing?”

“Oh, he’s okay,” Eleanor said. “I saw Dottie yesterday. She went with him to the weigh-in, just to see the other giant pumpkins and talk to the growers. They were all comparing sizes, and joking about whose is the biggest and so on.” She winked at me. “Anyway, the other guys felt so bad for Sam that they each gave him some of their prize-winning seeds. Next year, look out. There’ll be rampant pumpkin sex all over the place. Dottie said Sam is already drawing diagrams and figuring out which ones to mate together.”

There was another knock at the door.

“Boy, it’s like Grand Central in here tonight,” Joe said as he went to answer it. A few seconds later, he was back with Birch Kunes and Bettina Waters.

“Hi, Daisy,” Bettina said. “We heard what happened, so we stopped by. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just glad it’s over, and all the killers are either dead or locked up.”

“How about a drink?” Joe slapped Birch on the shoulder.

“Sure. Thanks. Those beers look good.”

“Bettina?”

“Just a ginger ale for me, please.”

“I heard the house is sold. Congratulations,” I said. “But wait—what happens now that Marybeth is out of commission? If you’ll pardon the pun.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

“One of the other real estate agents in the office will handle the sale until closing,” Birch said. “Angus is taking the rest of the furniture that we left for staging out in the next day or two. He’ll auction it off next Saturday.”

“Speaking of houses,” I said, “you should see the fantastic job that Cyril did on the dollhouse for Claire.”

Joe brought it in from the living room and set the restored dollhouse down on the steamer trunk to a chorus of various oohs and aahs.

Cyril hung his head, a slight flush on his cheekbones.

I explained how he’d added new shingles to the roof, repaired all the woodwork and balustrades, and refinished the floors.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Martha declared, “and ready in time for Claire’s birthday, too. She’s going to love it.”

“Let’s plug it in and see if it works,” Eleanor said.

“No!” Birch, PJ, and Serrano all exclaimed in unison.

I laughed. “It’s okay. Joe did the lighting. It’s safe.”

Joe plugged it in and the three fireplaces flickered to life as well as the sconces on either side of the mirror in the parlor. Every room was decorated and accessorized now, including the dining room, where Joe’s table gleamed in the light from the tiny chandelier above. The pretty lilac siding and yellow gingerbread trim were softly illuminated by the outside carriage lamps, and the hanging plants on the porch made it look like a welcoming, happy place.

“Enchanting.” Eleanor raised her martini glass in a toast.

Joe came over and hugged me, and I whispered in his ear, “Thank you. For everything.”

I showed everyone the fainting couch, carved rosewood bed, marble-topped parlor table, and Chippendale desk. “These things were already in the house when I bought it. Sophie would have a stroke if she could see my toaster oven, plus the upcycled things I’m going to make with Claire. She and Harriet were fanatical about being historically accurate.”

I picked up the Chippendale desk. “Look at the workmanship on this piece, for instance. Every drawer has mortise-and-tenon construction, and each one of them actually opens . . .”

I tugged on one of the drawers. “That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Serrano leaned forward.

“This middle drawer doesn’t open. Why would you make all the rest of them functional except for this one?”

PJ peered at the desk. “Hey, you know what else is funny? Sophie had a desk in our living room that looked exactly like that. I mean, a real, life-sized version.”

I sucked in a breath. “PJ, do you know where that desk is now?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Guess Chip got rid of it.”