Joe plugged it in and the three fireplaces flickered to life as well as the sconces on either side of the mirror in the parlor. Every room was decorated and accessorized now, including the dining room, where Joe’s table gleamed in the light from the tiny chandelier above. The pretty lilac siding and yellow gingerbread trim were softly illuminated by the outside carriage lamps, and the hanging plants on the porch made it look like a welcoming, happy place.
“Enchanting.” Eleanor raised her martini glass in a toast.
Joe came over and hugged me, and I whispered in his ear, “Thank you. For everything.”
I showed everyone the fainting couch, carved rosewood bed, marble-topped parlor table, and Chippendale desk. “These things were already in the house when I bought it. Sophie would have a stroke if she could see my toaster oven, plus the upcycled things I’m going to make with Claire. She and Harriet were fanatical about being historically accurate.”
I picked up the Chippendale desk. “Look at the workmanship on this piece, for instance. Every drawer has mortise-and-tenon construction, and each one of them actually opens . . .”
I tugged on one of the drawers. “That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” Serrano leaned forward.
“This middle drawer doesn’t open. Why would you make all the rest of them functional except for this one?”
PJ peered at the desk. “Hey, you know what else is funny? Sophie had a desk in our living room that looked exactly like that. I mean, a real, life-sized version.”
I sucked in a breath. “PJ, do you know where that desk is now?”
She shrugged. “No idea. Guess Chip got rid of it.”
“Or maybe it’s still at Sophie’s house, knowing Marybeth’s penchant for staging,” Birch suggested. “A nice piece like this would look great for showings.”
I struggled to remember the scene when I’d peeked in the window to see Marybeth and Chip arguing. There was certainly furniture in the room, but I couldn’t be sure if there was a desk there or not.
Serrano and I looked at each other, the now familiar spark of understanding zinging between us.
He was already moving off the couch when I said, “Serrano—let’s go!”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Where are we going?” Eleanor grumbled. She didn’t like to be separated from her Beefeater martinis.
“Sophie’s house,” I yelled over my shoulder, hobbling toward the front door.
Bettina took Birch, PJ, Martha, and Cyril in her car, and Serrano, who’d barely drunk a quarter of his beer, drove Eleanor, me, and Joe.
Serrano called the real estate agent who was handling Marybeth’s listings and asked her to meet us at the house.
When she arrived and unlocked the front door, we all raced past her into the living room and stumbled to a halt in front of the actual Chippendale desk. I pulled on the drawer that corresponded to my miniature, but it was locked, and no sign of a key.
“Damn it.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Now what?”
Cyril pulled a hairpin out of Martha’s red hair, watching spellbound for a second as a curly red tendril fell free. He bent down, wiggled the pin inside the lock, pushed against the other drawers for a minute, but it was still stuck fast. He bent down, took the pin out, licked it, and stuck it in again.
“This clue was staring us in the face all along,” I said, watching him work. “God, I’ve been so stupid. Harriet would have picked up on this in a second if she’d bought that dollhouse.”