A Dollhouse to Die For(70)

            I noticed a woman with a Great Dane heading off toward the woods, towing it slowly behind her like a small pony. “Where’s she going?”

            “Oh, didn’t you know?” Alice said. “That path takes you all the way to Millbury. It comes out near that house with the big pumpkin patch. It’s about a mile and a half walk if you’re up to it.”

            “That’s great.” I wouldn’t have to take the car anymore and use precious gas. Why hadn’t I figured this out before? Grist Mill Road twisted around on its route from Millbury, but I could see now how this path could cut straight through.

            Today I’d have to drive the car back, but next time I’d give it a try.

            I got up, gave Ruthie a hug good-bye, and called to Jasper.

            More of the wine club drifted over, including Ginny Axelrod, who ignored me as usual.

            “Heard that Marybeth finally found a buyer for the Rosenthal place,” she said to the group. “It’s always tough when someone died in a house. Turns buyers off.”

            I bent down, pretending to adjust Jasper’s leash.

            “With the age of the places around here, there’s a good chance that someone died in them at some point in time,” Alice pointed out in a reasonable tone.

            “Where did Sophie live, anyway?” someone else asked.

            “Up on Cook Hill Road. A Tudor-style house,” another woman replied.

            Thanks for the information. I stayed in my half-crouched position. I think they’d forgotten I was there.

            “Yes, Marybeth is doing very well for herself,” Ginny said. “Apparently there’s a new waterfront development in the works and she’ll be the broker of record.”

            The talk moved back to cleaning services and the troubles with their particular employees. I straightened up, one painful vertebra at a time, and strolled to the car with Jasper.

            As I was pulling out of the road that led from the park, I jammed on the brakes as a black Audi came flying by, with a white Mercedes on its tail, both occupants driving like maniacs.

            “Jeez. Coincidence?” I said to Jasper. “I think not. Where are those two going?”

            I followed as closely as I dared, hanging back on the corners like I’d seen in the movies, and when Chip Rosenthal and Marybeth Skelton pulled onto Cook Hill Road, I kept going past the street and then doubled back.

            A minute later, I drove down Cook Hill, keeping a constant speed and slumping down in the driver’s seat as I passed Sophie’s house, where Marybeth was already attaching a SOLD banner to the sign on the lawn. In my rearview mirror, I saw Chip jump out of the Audi. He was wearing a black knit cap, gray hoodie, and black sweatpants.

            I banged a hand on the steering wheel when I saw the knit cap. Gotcha.

            Once I was far enough away, I made a U-turn and parked in the shade of some trees growing close to the road.

            “Jasper, I’ll be right back. Be good, okay? Just for a few minutes?”

            He panted at me and began whining. As I opened the car door, he gave a sharp bark. “Oh, come on then, but please keep quiet. Good boy.”

            We crept slowly up the road, lingering behind a privet hedge on the next-door neighbor’s yard. I strained to hear their conversation, but it was hopeless. I was too far away.

            Okay, genius. Now what? What would Serrano do?

            The property was a fine old Tudor, but in need of some major landscaping and TLC. There was a huge oak tree to the left side of Sophie’s house, its great branches almost touching an upstairs window.