“Sounds like a plan.”
I didn’t tell them about Ronnie. I wasn’t a very good liar, and with my luck, I’d spill the beans on what she’d said about my infatuation with the hot detective.
Martha twisted the chains around her neck. “God, I can’t wait to get away so Cyril and I can reconnect,” she burst out. “I haven’t seen him since Saturday. He never answers his phone. He could be dead for all I know.”
“Oh, I saw him yesterday. He’s fine,” I said blithely until I was forced to suck in a breath because Eleanor was treading on my right foot.
There was a tense pause.
“You know, because he asked me to watch his cat,” I managed, through clenched teeth. “He had to give me a key.” Desperate, I picked up the carafe. “Would anyone like some more coffee?”
Debby held out her mug, Eleanor stepped back, and I rushed over to fill it.
“Aargh!” I stubbed the already injured foot on a hard, immovable object on the floor, and looked down to see the sad iron. “That damn thing!”
I’d set it on the counter, but Laura must have moved it back to the floor.
“Jeez, would you look at the time?” Eleanor said, glancing at her wrist although she never wore a watch.
Martha sniffed, still quivering with injured pride. “Yes, I must be going, too. I just hope Cyril arrives to pick me up.”
“Have a good trip,” I said as I hugged her, even though she was only driving six miles away. Debby said she had to go, too, and they all hurried out. I had just finished cleaning up when the door to the store banged open.
A sullen PJ Avery stood on the threshold.
Chapter Fifteen
“Thanks a lot, Daisy.” She scuffed her way toward the counter, glaring at me with eyes that were now a greenish hazel, no longer the ugly purple. “Thanks for ratting me out to the freaking cops.”
From force of habit, I opened my mouth to apologize. My daughter, Sarah, had trained me well throughout her teenage years to tread lightly around angry, emotional people.
But the events of this past summer had taught me that the fear of confrontation could actually be worse than the standoff itself. I took a deep breath. “Hey, you should be thankful that I didn’t press charges for breaking into the store and smashing up my dollhouse. How did you get in here, anyway?”
PJ shrugged one thin shoulder. “Didn’t take much to pop the lock on that old door. Just used a credit card. You really should get an alarm system.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Thank you so much for the information.”
She sighed and slumped down on the counter with her elbows propped on top. I saw her gaze travel to the coffee carafe.
“Look, PJ, what the heck is going on here?” I said, my voice softening. “Why did you leave? Or more important, why did you come back in disguise?”
I poured her a mug of coffee, and she reached out to snatch it with both hands.
“I came back to pay my respects. Chip never even bothered to let me know that Sophie had died, the jerk, so I missed her funeral.”
“And no one’s recognized you this whole time?”
She slugged down some coffee, and glanced up at me, her eyes still cold and wary. “Nope. No one except for Harriet. She used to see me when she came over to the house to visit Sophie, so perhaps she knew me better than most.”
Or maybe she was used to paying attention to detail from working with the miniatures.