A Dollhouse to Die For(128)

            “Is there any kind of antidote?” Eleanor asked.

            “There is, but it would have to be administered within a couple of minutes. If she’d stabbed you, I don’t think you’d be sitting here right now, Daisy.”

            I took a large gulp of my merlot. And then another.

            Joe shook his head. “I know this is going to sound weird, but poor Ardine. She had such a sad little life. Why did she have to kill herself?”

            “She knew,” Serrano said. “Three murders and one attempted? It would be a case of simply throwing away the key, if not the death penalty. She just beat us to it.”

            Eleanor popped an olive into her mouth. “I always thought she was wickety-wackety-woo.”

            There was a hard knocking at the front door. Jasper leapt to his feet, barking. Joe went to answer it, and then a few moments later, PJ Avery sauntered into the study.

            “Saw the Challenger outside,” she said to me. “Figured you were getting yourself into something interesting.”

            She nodded at Eleanor and Serrano in curt acknowledgement.

            “Well, that’s convenient,” I snapped, “because I wanted a word with you anyway.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. What’s with printing all that crap in the paper and inferring that I said it? And what’s with the elderly bit?”

            “Sorry. Drama makes for a better story?”

            I glared at her, but suddenly, in a peculiar way, I felt like I was looking at a younger version of myself. Cocky and ready to take on the world, consequences be damned.

            My daughter, Sarah, and I were nothing alike, but in PJ I recognized the same reckless passion I’d been fired up with in my youth. Heck, I was still like that, barging ahead without sufficient regard to my own safety. Was it possible that I could somehow help her not make the same mistakes?

            “What’s your poison, PJ?” Joe asked cheerfully, pointing to everyone’s drinks.

            I shuddered. “Joe, please.”

            “Sorry.”

            PJ shoved her hands in her pockets and rolled forward on the balls of her feet. “Tequila. Rocks. Lime. Salt. Thanks.”

            Joe grinned at me, but he hadn’t even picked up a glass before the doorbell rang again in a long burst. I heard a commotion in the foyer, and Martha and Cyril came rushing in.

            “Well, this is a fine state of affairs, I must say.” Martha couldn’t get out any more than that before, overcome, she enveloped me in her arms. I hugged her back, as much as I could from my seated position.

            “What are you guys doing here?” I managed. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow?”

            Martha sniffed. “Well. It appears that there has been an inordinate amount of murderous activity in this village so we came back early. Not that my two best friends bothered to let me know, mind you. And now come to find out, there’s a party going on.”

            Joe handed Cyril a Newcastle Brown Ale and gave PJ her tequila on the rocks.

            “Martha, I’m so glad you’re back,” he said to her. “I have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge that I’ve been saving for a special occasion, and I’d love an excuse to open it. Will you have a glass with me?”

            God, he was good.

            Somewhat mollified, she said, “That sounds delightful. Thank you, Joe.”