Mourning In Miniature

Table of Contents

 

 

“There’s a card with each present, signed
Love, D. B.
That’s for David Bridges.” Rosie rolled her eyes. “Who else?”

I saw that we were all tiptoeing around a warning to Rosie that there was something not quite right about this reunion within a reunion.

“What if it doesn’t turn out the way you think, Rosie? What if he’s toying with your feelings?” Karen asked. “You said your first and only date didn’t go well. Maybe he’s setting you up for another fall.”

Rosie lifted her eyes from the tiny brush dripping with red paint from the last application of trim on the wall of the school hallway. She gave us all a deathly serious look.

“Then I’ll kill him,” she said.

“A tightly honed mystery.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

“Endearing characters and a fast-paced plot that will keep you guessing until the very end. Geraldine Porter and her ten-year-old granddaughter, Maddie, make a wonderful sleuthing team. I can’t wait for the next in the series.”

—Deb Baker, author of the Dolls To Die For Mysteries

MURDER IN MINIATURE
MAYHEM IN MINIATURE
MALICE IN MINIATURE
MOURNING IN MINIATURE

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

MOURNING IN MINIATURE

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / October 2009

Copyright © 2009 by Camille Minichino.

 

All rights reserved.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-14522-7

 

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Thanks as always to my dream critique team: mystery authors Jonnie Jacobs, Rita Lakin, and Margaret Lucke.

Thanks to my friend Brian Callahan, one of Boston’s finest chief engineers, who was an immense help in shaping the fictional Duns Scotus Hotel and its staff; and to the wonderful Inspector Chris Lux for advice on police procedure. My interpretation of their counsel should not be held against them.

Thanks to my sister, Arlene Polvinen; my cousin, Jean Stokowski; and the many writers and friends who offered critique, information, and inspiration; in particular: Judy Barnett, Sara Bly, Margaret Hamilton, Anna Lipjhart, Ellen Schnur, Mary Schnur, Sue Stephenson, and Karen Streich.

Thanks to my brother-in-law, Skip Polvinen, for insight into the construction business (it’s not his fault that I twisted his words to create a crime); to Jerry and Mil, who were generous with information on their Eichler home; to Mike Kaplan, who helped Maddie with her avatars; to Mark Streich, who introduced me to Maloof; and to mystery author Juliet Blackwell (aka Hailey Lind), who inspired me with her Alasita stories.

My deepest gratitude goes to my husband, Dick Rufer, the best there is. I can’t imagine working without his 24/7 support. He’s my dedicated Webmaster (
www.dollhousemysteries.com
), layout specialist, and IT department.

Finally, how lucky can I be? I’m working with a special and dedicated editor, Michelle Vega, and an extraordinary agent, Elaine Koster.

DUNS SCOTUS HOTEL LOBBY

LINCOLN POINT, CA

David Bridges checked the minibar in the suite for the
third time. He’d made a couple of special requests for the evening and wanted to be sure they’d been carried out. He assured himself once again that his staff had come through, right down to stocking a bottle of the best white wine the Napa Valley vineyards could offer.

He thought of the elegant Duns Scotus as his hotel. His position as chief engineer at one of the best-known hotels in San Francisco brought him high-level responsibilities and a great deal of respect. He oversaw the entire maintenance staff and was a member of the management executive committee, with a say in all the important contract negotiations for facility and equipment upgrades.

He’d cashed in on his status at the hotel and assigned himself this royal suite on the eleventh floor.

David tugged on his dark suit jacket, a little too snug around his waist these days, but on the whole he thought he kept pretty fit for a middle-aged man.

He congratulated himself on all his successes.

This weekend his high school classmates, his cheering fans, were coming to the city for their thirtieth reunion. David had arranged for everyone to get a good deal on rooms at the Duns Scotus, much lower than the rack rate. How many of the smart kids who made the honor roll and played chess could do that for their friends?

Three decades, he thought, like the snap of his fingers. He ran his hand along the silky floral comforter, a match to the drapes, and looked ahead a couple of hours. He had big plans for tonight, both business and pleasure.

He walked to the window, an entire wall of glass, and took in the sweeping view of the San Francisco Bay—a commanding view, the Duns Scotus brochure said—from his spot on a hill higher than any building in his hometown of Lincoln Point, California, an hour to the south.

This suite and every other room would be even more spectacular once he made sure the right contractor got the approval for the remodel.

David pulled his heavy trophy out of his luggage and held it up so the stone base was waist high. The cold eyes of the bronze drop-back quarterback met his, transporting him to his years at Abraham Lincoln High School three decades ago. The trophy and his jersey, number thirty-six, had been on display in an ALHS hallway all these years, but this weekend it would have center stage at the hotel as his whole class gathered to reminisce. He relished the idea of reliving his glory days.