A Dollhouse to Die For(124)

            I fumbled for my phone and when I got Serrano’s voice mail, I blurted out my findings on both Ardine and Marybeth.

            I hurried to the Subaru, eager to get out of the bitter chill, and drove back to Millbury. When I reached the house, I’d barely opened the front door before Joe came rushing out.

            “Glad you’re here, Daisy. I need to get to the hardware store for some more supplies before it closes.”

            Bemused, I waved good-bye as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

            “Looks like it’s going to be raining cats and dogs here soon,” he called as he drove off down Main Street.

            I went into the sunroom and gathered together my finds from the flea market. I wanted to give Laura the skeleton keys before she left for the day.

            Cats and dogs.

            Holy crap. Cyril’s cat! When was the last time I’d fed him?

            A chill ran through me as I struggled to remember. Sunday? Yes, Sunday, that was it. And now it was Tuesday afternoon. Cyril had said he’d be fine on his own for a couple of days, but still . . .

            I was a horrible person and a worse pet sitter. I’d go see the little guy right now.

            I raced down to the store with my armful of vintage treasures. Laura was just about to lock up, so I gave her the antique keys and told her I’d see her on Friday.

            After she left, I put the squid vase in the front display window and was scurrying to set the linens down on the Welsh dresser when I tripped over the sad iron.

            Aargh!

            Stars danced around inside my eyeballs and I huffed out a long series of agonized breaths. As if that could seriously dull the almighty pain that stabbed through my big toe. I’d be lucky if the damn thing wasn’t broken.

            Why wouldn’t someone buy this stupid thing already? And why the hell did Laura keep moving it around?

            My toe throbbing, I hopped around some more, conjuring up all the choice words I could remember from my days in the high school teachers’ break room.

            Alice didn’t exactly raise her eyebrows, but I could clearly see the reproof in her eyes.

            “Sorry, Alice,” I gasped. “It’s just that I’ve banged my toe on this freaking thing for the last time. I can’t take it anymore.”

            I know. I’d bring it with me to Cyril’s. It would feel at home there with the other old crappy rusty things. Screw the five bucks I might get by selling it. It wasn’t worth all this agony.

            I dumped the offending item in my bag and tentatively tried taking one step, and then another. The sooner I got back home and put some ice on my foot, the better.

            The walk to the salvage yard took a lifetime. The sad iron skulking in my pocketbook had increased its weight by at least a hundred pounds and the strap cut savagely into my shoulder. This had to be the most ludicrous idea I’d ever come up with.

            Finally I opened the door to the trailer, set my bag on the kitchen floor, and picked up the container of dry cat food.

            I knelt down and poured some kibble into the dish and suddenly my heart almost stopped as I heard the magnificent sound of a cat purring.

            I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. The tiny black cat padded closer to the bowl. He paused to rub slightly against my side before he delicately lowered his head and began to eat. I smiled as I heard the soft crunching noise between his little teeth.

            I’d never heard anything so wonderful.

            I hadn’t killed Cyril’s pet. Thank God. He even had some water left.