A Dollhouse to Die For(62)

            My friends filled PJ in while I poured her a cup of coffee and proffered the biscuit tin.

            “This is becoming a habit,” Eleanor said. “Like feeding a stray cat.”

            “I know,” PJ said, her eyes closing briefly as she took an appreciative gulp. “I love this place.”

            I was sure she was smart enough to pick up on Eleanor’s sarcasm, but chose to ignore it. She must figure that if Martha and I wanted to spoil her, she’d be a willing participant.

            “Daisy, I almost forgot. I did some digging on the Rosenthal case,” PJ said. “According to my sources, it sounds like that stepdaughter was Sophie’s main caretaker, and after she left, Sophie’s health deteriorated rapidly.”

            Eleanor placed herself between the reporter and the madeleines. “It’s ironic that the person who looked after her the most was the one person who couldn’t inherit.”

            “Yeah, although actually I just found out she died abroad,” PJ said. “Some kind of tropical disease. Sad.”

            “What kind of disease? Where?” I asked.

            She picked up a brass egg-shaped thread holder with thimble attached and inspected it closely. “Not sure. Doesn’t really matter anyway, does it?”

            For someone who was supposed to be a reporter and in the business of getting facts and details straight, she seemed a bit vague.

            PJ sucked down more coffee. “So, like, maybe you could close this place, work online for a while, wait until one of the other tenants leave, and then take over their space?”

            “That’s not a bad idea, except I’d lose a lot of business. I’d have to start all over again.” I walked back to the counter and promptly stubbed my toe on the sad iron I’d left sitting on the ground. “Ow! Ow!”

            Martha glanced at Eleanor. “We’d better get to the meeting.”

            “Yes. See you later, Daisy.”

            I couldn’t speak, just waved as they beat a hasty retreat, with PJ close behind. When the throbbing in my toe subsided and I could walk without gasping for breath, I tried to think clearly about what I was going to do.

            I still had money in the store’s bank account, and a lot of valuable merchandise to liquidate. If I closed Sometimes a Great Notion now, I could walk away with a nice chunk of change, instead of risking it all on a new location and a higher overhead.

            “Alice, what do you think? Should I quit while I’m ahead?”

            Alice stared back at me, an uncharacteristically stern set to her mouth.

            I sighed. “You’re right. That’s not like me. I never give up.”

            • • •

            The next morning, I decided to ride my bicycle to Jeanne’s store to pick up the paint. She opened at 9 a.m., so if I got there on the dot of nine, I could still be back in plenty of time to open mine at 10 a.m. It was only two small cans and I could put them in the basket on the front of the bike.

            With the price of gas these days, I’d be saving the money it would take to buy the paint.

            Pleased with my logic, I set off.

            Sheepville was only about five miles away, but some of the turns and hills on River Road were a challenge. It felt good to push myself physically, to work off the tension and stress of the past weeks. The traffic was heavier than I was used to, with kids being back in school, and there wasn’t a whole lot of room for a bicyclist.

            It was a beautiful morning, with the temperature forecast to be in the sixties later on. As I cycled, my muscles warmed up and the bike hummed along. The more I rode, the more my mood improved. No matter what else happened, I was determined to finish this dollhouse, and I grinned at the thought of Claire’s reaction.