A Dollhouse to Die For(37)

            “There is something you can do for me in return, though. Tell me what you know about Chip Rosenthal.”

            She rubbed at her eyes as if the purple contacts irritated her. “Not much. I know Harriet Kunes didn’t like him.”

            I sighed. “Damn it. I wish Sophie had written a will. Then maybe Chip wouldn’t be the owner of this building.”

            PJ frowned. “Actually, during our interview Harriet said that Sophie did write one, but no one knows where it is.”

            “Really? Wouldn’t there be a copy filed with Sophie’s lawyer?”

            “No, there isn’t, but I did some research. In Pennsylvania a holographic, or handwritten, will is still legal.”

            “I guess working as a reporter makes you an expert in a lot of things.”

            Her strangely colored eyes sparked with intelligence. “Trust me, I know more now about collecting miniatures than I ever wanted to know.”

            “Why didn’t Harriet say anything to the authorities?”

            PJ twirled a bundle of German button mushrooms with toffee-colored stems as she paced to and fro. “She didn’t want to tip her hand. She wanted to find it before Chip did, because she knew he’d destroy it.”

            It was as if a swarm of mosquitoes were after her and she had to keep moving to avoid being bitten. I was feeling slightly seasick and had to avert my eyes. No wonder she was so thin. It was all that nervous energy. “Do you have any idea what the will said?”

            “No. I wish I did,” she said vehemently. “Harriet was getting ready for the show, and I made some comment, and she suddenly goes, Of course! Why didn’t I think of this before?”

            “Well, what did you say?”

            “No idea.”

            I told myself to muster my meager supply of patience. “Think, please.”

            She arched an eyebrow at me as if to say that’s all she ever did.

            “I was looking at her Tudor mansion—so perfect and proper just like her. I mean, it was beautiful and everything, but there was no soul to it.” PJ glanced around Sometimes a Great Notion and ran a hand through her jet black hair. “Not like this place. This has character, you can feel it. You can tell something about the owner the minute you walk in the door.”

            I looked at my eclectic collage of merchandise and Alice the mannequin in her psychedelic dress and bit my lip. What the heck did my store say about me?

            “Kind of how a book says a lot about its author, even though the writer might think they’re not revealing anything personal about themselves?” Eleanor said.

            PJ gave her an odd look, and I wondered again what went on in that lively brain.

            “Yeah. Something like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Hey, that’s it! I talked about how a house tells a story about the homeowner, and Harriet stares at me and goes, My God, it’s the only place I didn’t search! And then she quickly ended the interview, and I assume, came rushing over here.”

            I blew out a breath. “Well, if Sophie Rosenthal wrote a will, she definitely didn’t hide it in my dollhouse. It’s been taken completely to pieces, with all its secrets revealed.”

            “Oh, yeah? Well, there’s more.” PJ looked around as if to make sure there were no customers in the store. “Something else I’m working on . . .”

            She clicked her lighter a couple of times, making us all jump. “Harriet thought that the housebound Sophie was murdered.”