A Dollhouse to Die For(108)

            Jasper came back over to my side and I casually picked up his leash.

            “Money doesn’t mean much to Margaret,” he said. “When she finally settles down and stops traipsing around the world, I have money set aside to help her buy a house. She thinks she’s so tough, but she’s gullible, like her mother. I’m protecting her interests, whether she realizes it or not.”

            He stopped pacing and faced me. “By the way, I talked to your lawyer. I was thinking, how about a one-year lease at double what you’re paying now? Would that be acceptable? That is fair market rent, you know.”

            I gasped. “Wow, yes, that’s great, thank you very much.”

            From my recent experience, I knew that was exactly what I should be paying to be in line with the market.

            We shook hands and I decided to end the conversation while things were still on a relatively even keel. “Okay, well, it’s been very nice talking to you, and I look forward to a pleasant relationship over the next year.”

            I hesitated for a moment before I walked away. “I don’t know if you’ll think this is impertinent of me, but I think you have a lot of potential, Chip Rosenthal.”

            He smiled shyly at me and I felt as if I was back in high school, talking to one of my students. “You’re well on your way to being successful, not just in business, but in your life.”

            “Thank you.” He nodded, his gaze serious.

            I walked off in the direction of Millbury, leaving him standing by the broken-down mill.

            When we came out onto the end of the Browns’ property, Georgia was covered up and tucked in for the night, resplendent in the grass. The sight of her plump body, motherly and welcoming, was like coming home.

            • • •

            By some miracle, Joe had roused himself from his miniature making long enough to call for a pizza, which had just been delivered by the time I walked in the door, chilled and starving.

            He opened a bottle of Shiraz, and ignoring the ripped-apart kitchen as best as we could, we headed for the study carrying our impromptu picnic of the pizza, a handful of napkins, a couple of glasses, and the wine. We snuggled up on the leather couch, and while he poured, I told him about my adventure in the woods.

            “I still can’t believe it, Joe. I’m trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m going to be able to keep the store and not have to pack everything and move out.”

            “That’s great, Daisy.”

            We clinked glasses.

            “By the way, I have some news, too,” he said. “I signed up for a jewelry-making class that Mac recommended. It’s going to be held at the artist’s retreat on Burning Barn Road, two nights a week.”

            Two nights a week, eh? And no discussion with your wife before you made that kind of commitment?

            I sighed. As much as I didn’t want to spoil the mood, now was probably as good a time as any to have a discussion with Joe about his spending habits and the amount of time he was devoting to his new hobby.

            I drew a deep breath. “Look, Joe—”

            “No, you look, Daisy.”

            I stopped in surprise at the sharp tone in his voice.

            “I’ve been as supportive as I possibly could about Sometimes a Great Notion, letting you do your thing and whatever else you wanted.” Joe jumped to his feet. “Now it’s the time for me to do something I enjoy. To be a little selfish for once in my life.”

            I stared at him, my mouth open. Dear, dependable Joe was standing over me, dark eyes intense, his mouth firm, the very picture of resolve and purpose.