A Dollhouse to Die For(2)

            “A thousand dollars. My final offer. You know that’s an exorbitant price.”

            I almost felt like throwing myself across it to protect it from her avaricious gaze. I’d gone through a lot at the auction to win this particular dollhouse, bidding against another determined, maniacal woman. I wasn’t about to let it go now.

            Harriet paced up and down in front of the Walker seed counter with its loading bins full of old sewing patterns and unused French ribbons. I could see where she must have been a beautiful woman at one time with her high cheekbones and arched brows, but years of constant scowling had driven deep grooves into her sallow skin. Her hair was a faded blond. Actually not even blond, more like no color left in it at all. Angry suspicion in her eyes leached away whatever spark of beauty remained.

            Even though I never wore much makeup myself, I longed to soften her skeletal features with a dusting of blush. She wore a pale blue bouclé suit, which had to have been an expensive designer outfit when first purchased years ago, but was now so out-of-date it was almost retro.

            Harriet’s hands reached out as if she ached to grab the house and run. Instead she gripped the edges of the counter. “You must sell it to me,” she hissed. “What kind of businesswoman are you anyway?”

            I shook my head. Some things just weren’t for sale.

            Calling on my many years of teaching experience, I dredged up the voice I’d used on recalcitrant students and inserted the appropriate amount of steel. “For the last time, the answer is no!”

            With one last death ray glare, Harriet Kunes stormed out, letting the door bang shut. I winced, praying the old panes wouldn’t break.

            As the doorbell continued to jangle violently, I stared after her, wondering what the heck that was all about.

            I’d bought the little dollhouse at the Saturday night auction in Sheepville, from the estate of Sophie Rosenthal, a local woman who’d passed away last February. I admit I’d lusted after it myself when I first saw it, but the sum Harriet had offered me was just plain crazy. Was it really worth more than I’d thought?

            Intrigued, I checked comparable items on the Internet again. Nope, it wouldn’t fetch more than a few hundred dollars at best in its current condition. It still needed a thorough cleaning, plus all the repairs to the gingerbread trim, roof shingles, and boards on the porch.

            Why hadn’t Harriet gone to the well-advertised estate auction herself if she wanted it that much? Why the sudden interest?

            The whole thing was very odd. Maybe she was just one of those people who, once they decide they want something, have to have it at any cost.

            I shrugged and busied myself with arranging some items from a recent yard sale. An accordion-style sewing box I’d picked up for ten dollars would make a great display for the latest notions I’d found, and I arranged them to look as though they were spilling from one drawer to the next. I hung an assortment of tea towels on a wooden drying rack, and grouped a collection of calico needle cases next to a Greist buttonholer attachment.

            I also filled some orders off my website. Even though my store was situated in a sleepy nineteenth-century village where time had ground to a halt, I managed to keep in touch with the present day.

            Thanks to my business, I’d become quite the estate sale and auction junkie, always on the hunt for unique items to pass along to another good home. In fact, the idea for my store had been born after one of my trips to the auction. I’d bid on an old steamer trunk that turned out to be packed to the brim with a bounty of sewing notions and exquisite fabrics.

            And luckily for me, people around here passed their farms and houses on from generation to generation, and when they finally cleaned out their attics and basements, there was a treasure trove of perfectly preserved merchandise that had been sitting in storage for decades.