He frowned and switched the hanger holding the black chiffon gown so that it was next to the other two black gowns on the rack. “These should all be together. Right?”
I stifled a smile. “Sure. That’s fine. Now, Harriet came to my store when I’d just opened. Did she pick up her dollhouse right after that?”
“Yeah. Then she brought it home. The cleaning people from The Dazzle Team said it was just after they got there, around noon. She left them in the house and went to Tracy McEvoy’s place to pick up some custom pieces. Interestingly enough, Mac was the one who recommended that Harriet use Larry Clark in the first place.”
“Hold on a minute. Why couldn’t one of the cleaning people have messed with the dollhouse?”
“They could have, except Harriet put the fear of God in them to never, ever dust the collectibles. They all swore they never touched it.”
I pictured Harriet coming in with her groceries late that afternoon, not even stopping to put them away, bursting with anticipation to check out her perfect dollhouse, and install the finishing touches that she was sure would win her first prize in the competition.
I frowned, remembering the mugs and the bags on the counter. “What time did it say on her grocery receipt?”
Serrano grinned. “Nice, Daisy, you’ll make a good detective yet. 4:32 p.m.”
I smiled back. I’d felt a sudden kinship with him the moment we’d met, and it wasn’t just because we were both transplanted New Yorkers. Joe and I had lived in the city for most of our lives, until we sold the condo to Sarah and retired to Millbury.
I appreciated the fact that Serrano trusted me with confidential information, and I considered my role of his sounding board as providing good community service. Although I didn’t know whether to be flattered that he valued my friendship or mortified that I was apparently so old and safe that he felt comfortable with me.
He flicked a glance toward the window.
“Let’s go into the prep room,” I suggested. “No one can see us there from the street.”
He followed me and sat down at the maple two-piece dovetailed workbench that had a recessed portion in the middle for sorting and separating items.
“According to the guard at the gate, Harriet arrived home about twenty minutes before you and Joe,” he said. “There were no other visitors.”
I flashed back to the scene outside the house and I gasped. “Wait a minute. I forgot to tell you this before. I saw a movement in the woods when we were standing outside. I only caught a glimpse—it could have been a person or a deer—I’m not sure. But that could have been our perp.”
“I hate to break it to you, Daisy, but real cops don’t say perp.”
“Oh. Well, what do you say, then?”
“Just the guy.” There was a bag of vintage buttons on the bench from a recent box lot I’d bought at auction, and while he talked, Serrano didn’t seem to be able to help himself. He tipped the bag out, and started moving the Czech glass with their iridescent finishes to one side, the ivory buttons to a separate pile.
“As far as alibis, Birch Kunes was one of the featured speakers at the medical conference he was at, so it’s easier to account for his movements, but his girlfriend might have had the opportunity to drive back and forth. He got kinda prickly when I brought it up, though. He’s real protective of her.”
I was concentrating on the cut steel and the Bakelite, but I looked up from my button sorting. “Did you know she’s pregnant? I mean, I probably shouldn’t say anything as I don’t know for sure, but . . .”