A Dollhouse to Die For(90)
Martha’s mouth dropped open. “Well. It’s a fine thing when people don’t confide in their best friends, I must say. The whole town probably knows by now.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think anyone else knows,” Debby as-sured her.
I winced as I saw a flush creeping up Martha’s neck, and I moved in between them to protect the innocent. Eleanor and I knew enough not to answer back. “Look, Martha, this only just happened yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone.”
“So what’s this all about? Why did she hide her identity?” she demanded, hands on the hips of her elegant suit.
“That’s what I’d like to know. But I hate to think she might have had anything to do with Sophie’s death.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Serrano said her passport was date-stamped two weeks before Sophie died. She was out of the country, so there’s no way she could have done it. He had nothing to hold her with, seeing as you didn’t want to press charges about the break-in.”
Martha swung her attention to Eleanor. “And you. What the hell are you doing with that young detective? There has to be a twenty-year difference in your ages at least.”
Debby stared at Eleanor with what looked like a mixture of disbelief, jealousy, and awe. She was always dreaming of a white knight to sweep her off her feet and carry her away. Serrano fit the bill perfectly. “Oh, my, he could put his slippers under my bed any day,” she sighed.
“It’s ridiculous.” Martha smoothed a stray hair back into her bun. “This isn’t like a May-December thing. More like January to December. You’re not even a cougar. More like a ratty old mountain lion.”
“Or a honey badger?” I offered.
“He’s not as young as you think,” Eleanor snapped. “Besides, we’re just friends. He appreciates a mature woman who can sit and have an intelligent conversation with him instead of hiding behind a tree with an apple pie.”
I’d seen Eleanor in action with men before. She had this mysterious appeal to the opposite sex. Something remote, yet attractive, like the push/pull of a magnet.
It was the way she carried herself, I decided. That kind of been there, done that, world-weary attitude, like nothing would surprise her, yet she seemed ageless, with a quirky way of expressing herself.
“I learned a long time ago that people will think what they want, regardless of the facts. Just live your life so you can look yourself in the mirror every day. That’s my motto. We enjoy each other’s company, and apart from that, it’s nobody’s business.”
Debby helped me carry the baked goods back into the kitchen. “Do you suppose they, you know . . .” she whispered to me. “Serrano and Eleanor?”
“Let your imagination be your guide,” Eleanor called. She might be in her early sixties, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing.
As I put some of the brownies in the freezer, I mused that when I was young, I thought sex must end at forty. I simply couldn’t imagine older people doing it. Boy, was I wrong. In some ways it was even better as I got older—slower, yes, but more in tune, more relaxed, more fun, in fact. Although I preferred to believe that Eleanor and Serrano were just friends.
“Have you figured out what to do about the store?” Eleanor asked as I came back up to the counter.
“I’m staying. Or at least, I hope I am. I need to convince Chip Rosenthal to let me sign a lease for twelve months. I’ve left him a couple of messages, but he hasn’t called me back yet. If I’m careful, I think I can make it, even with the crazy rent. And a lot can happen in a year. Maybe something else will open up on the street.”