A Dollhouse to Die For(11)

            Martha frowned, and placed her hands on her ample hips. “What victim? Who’s dead?” She was used to being the purveyor of news, not the last to know.

            “Harriet Kunes,” I said. “And she offered me a ridiculous amount for it, and now she’s been electrocuted.”

            “Good God.” Martha sniffed. “Well, I know who my main suspect would be if I was investigating this case.”

            Serrano’s gaze met mine and I hid a smile. “Pray tell,” he said.

            “Harriet’s estranged husband, Dr. Birch Kunes, of course. He wanted a divorce to marry Bettina Waters, his receptionist, but Harriet refused to give him one.”

            “Wasn’t Harriet a lot older than him?” I asked, picturing Harriet’s lined, scowling face, and the good-looking endocrinologist with a practice in Doylestown.

            “Yes. By at least ten years. She put him through medical school. They didn’t have any kids. And get this—even though Birch moved out of the house, he’s still renting a townhome in the same development because he wants to belong to the country club and play golf with his friends.”

            Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of weird.” She cut a piece of cheesecake even larger than Serrano’s and placed it on one of my nineteenth-century Rockingham floral plates.

            Martha rolled her eyes at me and cut herself the barest sliver. Eleanor ate whatever she wanted and never gained an ounce, which was a never-ending source of frustration for her friends.

            “I gotta agree with you, Martha,” Serrano said. “Kunes is the number one suspect in my book, but he seems to have an alibi. Says he was at a medical conference for three days and just got back this morning. But a cheating husband is, by definition, a liar. And once a liar, always a liar.”

            He dinged the tines of his fork against the plate. “I’m going to ride him hard. Make the good doctor account for every minute of every hour of every day. And not just yesterday, but the whole fricking week.”

            Eleanor shivered. “Ooh. What passion. What dedication.”

            Serrano glanced at me again, but this time there was more of a plea in his eyes.

            I grinned. “So tell me. How does a person get a divorce if their significant other won’t give them one?”

            “Good question, Daisy. Under Pennsylvania law, Birch Kunes would have had to wait two years before he could request the court to finalize a divorce without Harriet’s consent. That might just have been two years too long.”

            “Did you find anything at her house?” I took a bracing sip of the strong coffee. “Any evidence at all?”

            He shook his head. “Nah. With the rain, there wasn’t much that we could get in the way of footprints. No prints on the dollhouse either, apart from hers. The breaker was wiped clean. Not much to go on at all apart from looking for someone with muddy shoes.” He chuckled, but without much humor. “There’ll be something though. You know what they say: the guilty party always takes something away, and leaves something behind.”

            Serrano paused to shovel a section of cake into his mouth while we watched in fond appreciation.

            “Fascinating,” Eleanor murmured.

            He nodded. “It’s a tough one. The trick will be to find out when the dollhouse was tampered with. And who had the electrical knowledge to work on it? We questioned the cleaning people, who swear the house was locked up tight when they left earlier that day.”

            Martha cut another sliver of cheesecake. “I don’t think Harriet had many friends. And she hadn’t spoken to her sister in years.”