A Dollhouse to Die For(65)

            “Want a ride?”

            I nodded. To heck with my pride. “Yes, please.”

            Serrano picked up my bike, slipped the front wheel off, and slid it into the vast trunk of the Crown Victoria. I was worried about him getting grease on his suit, but before I could even voice my concern, it was completed with one smooth movement. The way he did everything.

            I pulled a leaf out of my hair before I got into the car. Serrano didn’t need to know that I had been poking around in the woods. God forbid he’d infer that I didn’t think the police could handle their jobs.

            The passenger seat was well-worn and comfortable, and I relaxed against it as the cruiser ate up the miles between the environs of Sheepville and Millbury.

            “Hey, guess who I saw golfing together?” I said. “Tracy McEvoy and Marybeth Skelton. What do you make of that?”

            “There’s no law against playing golf, Daisy.” There was a weary note to his voice.

            I frowned. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all. “But one of them, most probably Mac, could have been the person that Harriet was expecting that night. As members of the club, they wouldn’t have had to sign in as her visitors.”

            “Or it could have been Kunes,” he said. “He knew the code, and was used to running under the garage door. He rents a place in the development. He wouldn’t have to sign in as a visitor either. And he has the best motive of all the suspects.”

            “I don’t know, Serrano. He seems like a nice guy.”

            “Sometimes the obvious suspect is so for a good reason. And it’s often the guys who are too nice, too helpful, that you need to consider.”

            “Look, I really think you’re barking up the wrong tree here.”

            He made no answer. Serrano was as immaculate as ever today, but there were fine lines at the corner of his eyes, and he was so perfectly shaved, it was as if he’d taken extra trouble with his appearance.

            “Do I look okay?” he inquired.

            I blushed. “Yes, you look very nice.”

            He exhaled. “God, I’m tired. I found a strange woman waiting for me in my bed last night when I got home.”

            He looked so glum about it that I had to cough against the laugh that rose up in my throat.

            “She was wearing nothing except high heels and a frilly black apron, and she was holding an apple pie.”

            “An apple pie?”

            He frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

            “Well, I would have thought chocolate mousse was sexier.” A grin escaped that I couldn’t hold off anymore.

            Serrano shook his head, but there was a trace of an answering smile as he glanced at me. “All right, Ms. Buchanan, you can mock, but it was a severe invasion of my privacy.”

            “How’d she get in?”

            He sighed deeply. “She told the cleaning people that she was my sister, and seeing as burglars usually don’t bring pies, they let her in. My Spanish is limited, but I think I got through to them not to do it again.”

            “Did you arrest the woman?”

            “I told her to get dressed and then I escorted her out of the development. Then I went home and washed the sheets.”

            There was silence in the car as we swung up onto Sheepville Pike.

            “So, did you ever check out where Chip Rosenthal was on the day of Harriet’s murder?” I asked.