A Dollhouse to Die For(56)
“Harriet came over here to pick it up?” My voice sounded as raspy as the scratch of the sandpaper.
Mac frowned. “Yeah. And I already told that annoying cop everything. What a pain in the butt he is.”
Was Mac the only female on the face of the planet who was immune to Serrano’s innate sex appeal? Heck, I ramped up the air-conditioning in the store whenever he stopped by, no matter what the weather. Was she gay? Was Harriet?
Suddenly nervous under her glare, I chattered on about my dollhouse and how I was fixing it up and having trouble choosing what to put in because there were so many choices.
She eyed me closely. “Many miniaturists allow one style to predominate. But in real life, people often have a variety of pieces they’ve inherited and accumulated. If you’re trying to document an historical record, it’s probably best to keep the same period together, but otherwise, do what feels right.”
I pictured our house, with its mix of modern, antique, and what was actually authentic for a Greek Revival. The old steamer trunk in the study, the butcher-block table in the kitchen from the turn of the century, and the modern leather couches.
She turned to Joe. “The fine-grained woods are best. Oak is too coarse, so you want to use birch to look like oak.” She gestured to the tools on the bench—the pliers, files, tweezers, and chisel. “You have these, right?”
Joe nodded eagerly. Like me in my conversation with Ardine the other day, I could see that he was trying to soak it all in.
She showed him some drawer pulls made with a jeweler’s lathe and carvings done with dentist’s burrs. “These tools are delicate enough for the most intricate work. It would probably be good for you to take a jewelry class at some point.”
Oh, great. Something else to spend money on.
She slipped on a pair of head magnifying glasses. “You need a hell of a passion for detail to do this type of work. You might be able to get away with an imperfection in a larger piece, but not in miniature.”
“I don’t know if my big old fingers will get in the way,” Joe said.
Mac grinned at him, and as she worked, she relaxed even more. “You could specialize, too, Joe, depending on what you’re drawn to. One guy I know makes ship models, another woman only makes wing chairs. The world of miniatures uses almost every craft from pottery to textiles.”
“Why were you mad at PJ for writing that article about you?” I asked. Nice transition. Smooth, Daisy. I could practically hear Serrano’s mocking voice in my ear. “Um, it’s just that I would have thought more business was a good thing.”
“I was mad because I specifically asked her not to,” Mac said, slowly and carefully. “She went off and wrote the damn thing anyway. I don’t like having to turn customers away.”
I blinked. This Amazon struck me as someone who wasn’t afraid of saying no.
“Many craftspeople have more orders than they can handle.” She nodded at Joe. “In fact, I have some leads I can turn you onto when you feel you’re ready.”
Joe smiled at her, his dark eyes glowing.
“But it was the fact that PJ plowed ahead like a steamroller, intent on her own agenda, that pissed me off. The fact that she didn’t take no for an answer.”
I winced. She could have been describing me. I didn’t dare look at Joe. I knew the corners of his mouth would be turning up.
“She just gets into everyone’s business, she’s nosy, and—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I snapped.