“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.