A Dollhouse to Die For(89)

            “I can handle the lighting for you.”

            “Are you sure?” I asked. “You have so much else going on.”

            His mouth was firm. “Yes. I need to know it’s done right. For Claire.”

            I got up, wrapped my arms around his neck, and drew him back down onto the bed.

            • • •

            The next morning, I was standing in the kitchen spooning coffee into a filter, when a drop of water landed on my head. I looked up to see a small wet patch forming on the ceiling.

            I ran upstairs to see Joe coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Joe, there’s water coming through the kitchen ceiling.”

            “Hmm, okay, I’ll take a look at it.”

            He didn’t sound particularly motivated. I knew he was anxious to get down to the basement and work on his projects, and after last night, I didn’t feel like nagging. I wanted to prolong the relaxed afterglow as long as I could.

            After he jogged downstairs, I took a quick look at the bathroom floor. Joe was a sloppy bather. Sometimes he forgot to close the shower curtain all the way, or he jumped right out, splashing water everywhere. Oddly enough, it looked dry today. I shrugged and hurried to get ready for work.

            I’d barely opened Sometimes a Great Notion when Martha swept in with Eleanor and Debby in her wake. She was wearing a beige traveling suit, with a creamy-colored tank top underneath, and miles of pearls and gold chains around her neck. Her red hair was twisted up into a chic knot.

            “Cyril and I are leaving within the hour,” she announced. “I’ve baked you extra goodies. You can freeze these bars and brownies and take them out as you need them. Same with the cheesecake.”

            I grinned and gave her a big hug. “Thanks, Martha. I was worried I was going to lose those last ten pounds while you were away.” She’d stocked me up. Not just with the treats to put in the freezer, but with shortbread and gingerbread in airtight tins.

            “How did you sleep last night?” I said to Eleanor as I handed her a mug of coffee.

            “Like a baby, as a matter of fact.” She wrinkled her nose. “Strangely well, now that you mention it.”

            “No Tony Zappata singing outside your window?”

            “No,” she said, and then she gasped. “Oh, God, is he all right?”

            “He’s fine. Look, Eleanor, I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, but I think he’s found a new love. Her name’s Gloria, she weighs about eight hundred pounds, and she’s orange.”

            “What?”

            I told her about my brainwave to have him sing to the giant pumpkin.

            Martha and Debby roared with laughter.

            Eleanor pouted in mock dismay. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Passed over for a pumpkin!”

            “I walked by the house this morning,” I said. “She must have put on another fifty pounds overnight. I think Sam Brown stands a very good chance in this year’s competition.”

            “Daisy, you never called me to tell me what happened after you left the library yesterday,” Debby said, dancing up and down in excitement.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, there’s been so much going on.”

            “Like what?” Martha narrowed her gaze at me. “What’s going on?”

            “Well, get this. I figured out that PJ Avery is really Margaret Jane Rosenthal, or actually Margaret Jane Avery, Sophie’s long-lost relative. I imagine she’s down at the Sheepville Police Department as we speak.”