A Dollhouse to Die For(130)

            She glared at me. “I know Chip was a jerk sometimes, but he was the only one left.” Her voice choked up. “Everyone’s gone now.”

            Martha was immediately remorseful. “Oh God, that was thoughtless of me. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

            PJ’s bony shoulders slumped. “I’m all alone in the world.”

            “No, you’re not. You have us,” I said firmly. “Come here.” I patted the sofa and she hesitated for a moment, but sank down next to me. I slipped my arm around her, and Jasper laid his head on her knee. Joe handed PJ a box of tissues and plucked the empty glass out of her fingers for a refill.

            “You know, I’ve been noticing something lately,” Eleanor said. “About doll collectors, and pumpkin growers, and Romeos who sing under your balcony at night. Isn’t there a lot of obsessive behavior in the world?”

            I could certainly attest to that. “I wonder how poor Sam’s doing?”

            “Oh, he’s okay,” Eleanor said. “I saw Dottie yesterday. She went with him to the weigh-in, just to see the other giant pumpkins and talk to the growers. They were all comparing sizes, and joking about whose is the biggest and so on.” She winked at me. “Anyway, the other guys felt so bad for Sam that they each gave him some of their prize-winning seeds. Next year, look out. There’ll be rampant pumpkin sex all over the place. Dottie said Sam is already drawing diagrams and figuring out which ones to mate together.”

            There was another knock at the door.

            “Boy, it’s like Grand Central in here tonight,” Joe said as he went to answer it. A few seconds later, he was back with Birch Kunes and Bettina Waters.

            “Hi, Daisy,” Bettina said. “We heard what happened, so we stopped by. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

            “I’m fine, thanks. Just glad it’s over, and all the killers are either dead or locked up.”

            “How about a drink?” Joe slapped Birch on the shoulder.

            “Sure. Thanks. Those beers look good.”

            “Bettina?”

            “Just a ginger ale for me, please.”

            “I heard the house is sold. Congratulations,” I said. “But wait—what happens now that Marybeth is out of commission? If you’ll pardon the pun.”

            Eleanor rolled her eyes.

            “One of the other real estate agents in the office will handle the sale until closing,” Birch said. “Angus is taking the rest of the furniture that we left for staging out in the next day or two. He’ll auction it off next Saturday.”

            “Speaking of houses,” I said, “you should see the fantastic job that Cyril did on the dollhouse for Claire.”

            Joe brought it in from the living room and set the restored dollhouse down on the steamer trunk to a chorus of various oohs and aahs.

            Cyril hung his head, a slight flush on his cheekbones.

            I explained how he’d added new shingles to the roof, repaired all the woodwork and balustrades, and refinished the floors.

            “It’s absolutely perfect,” Martha declared, “and ready in time for Claire’s birthday, too. She’s going to love it.”

            “Let’s plug it in and see if it works,” Eleanor said.

            “No!” Birch, PJ, and Serrano all exclaimed in unison.

            I laughed. “It’s okay. Joe did the lighting. It’s safe.”