A Dollhouse to Die For(87)

            Too bad that monogrammed heart wasn’t the right letters. So close, but no cigar.

            Suddenly I gasped and almost slapped my forehead. “Oh, silly Daisy! The initials do fit.” On an old-fashioned monogram, the center letter signified a person’s last name. “So MAJ is Margaret Jane Avery. And she must have been the one who broke into my store that night.”

            The sergeant gave me a quizzical look, and I realized I’d spoken out loud.

            Finally he opened the gate and gestured for me to go down the hallway toward Serrano’s office. It wasn’t really an office, more like a corner of a large room, but it looked a lot different from the last time I’d been here. Back then I’d had to run the gamut of detectives lolling around, chatting, some giving me curious once-overs as I hurried to where the former detective in charge, Frank Ramsbottom, reclined in his chair in slothful splendor.

            Now the walls had been repainted, desks straightened up, and this crew looked like they were auditioning for the pages of GQ. They were on the phone, on the computer, all on point.

            It was true that management style trickled downhill.

            Even though Serrano was as immaculately dressed as his men, the haunted look in his eyes was more apparent than when I’d seen him outside Meadow Farms. I hoped one day he would trust me enough to tell me about the demons that tortured a man who seemed to have everything else going for him.

            “Serrano, I found a picture in the library of Charles Rosenthal’s stepdaughter. I’m convinced it’s PJ Avery.”

            My words tumbled over each other as I explained to the bemused detective about bumping into Laura with the box of jewelry remnants and how she’d picked everything up off the floor, including the monogrammed necklace. “PJ must have lost it while trying to steal the dollhouse. At first I thought it was Chip who broke in, because he has a black knit cap, too, but then I realized the person I saw that night was too short and too thin to be him. It had to be PJ.”

            “So what do you wanna do, Daisy? Arrest this chick for breaking and entering?”

            I sighed. “Not really. I just want to find out what’s going on. I mean, why would someone go to such lengths to conceal their identity? And by all accounts, she was the one who took care of Sophie the most. She would have known the ins and outs of her insulin routine.”

            Although I hoped against hope that PJ had nothing to do with Sophie’s death. I’d grown fond of the quirky reporter.

            Serrano frowned at his pencil. “I heard she did some time in the Peace Corps. Wonder if she picked up some electrical training there? And perhaps some B&E skills, too.”

            Now it was my turn to frown. “It might make sense that PJ would kill Sophie, assuming she thought the woman planned to leave her something in her will, but once she found out there wasn’t one, it doesn’t make sense to do away with Harriet as well. After all, Harriet was trying to find the proof that might make PJ the heir, and not Chip.”

            I slumped back in my seat.

            There was silence between us for a few moments.

            “So. Did you have a good time at Eleanor’s the other night?” I asked.

            I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

            The lazy smile flashed, but only for a moment. “She’s an interesting woman. Very interesting.”

            • • •

            When I got home, there was a note from Joe on the kitchen counter saying he’d gone with Tracy McEvoy to her studio so she could help him finish up an order. He advised me not to wait up, and that she would give him a ride home.

            I glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 p.m. I let Jasper outside and he peed for about two minutes straight. “Poor puppy,” I said, gritting my teeth and taking the leash off the wall.