“Weren’t you worried about leaving Sophie?”
PJ rolled her eyes. “She wasn’t as bedridden as she made out. She could cope pretty well on her own. She just liked the attention and being waited on hand and foot. Plus she had Harriet coming over every day.”
“What happened to her? To make her shut herself away from the world like that, I mean.”
“She got mugged. When she was shopping in downtown Philly one afternoon. The guy beat her up pretty bad. Her cheekbone was crushed and had to be rebuilt. She looked fine, but she was always self-conscious about it, and she was afraid to go out in public again.”
PJ concentrated on finishing the shortbread. “Sophie could be difficult in her own way,” she mumbled, mouth full. “Demanding, clingy, but she wasn’t half as bad as that witchy Harriet. I can see why they got along. I was on my way over to Harriet’s that night to make plans to get your dollhouse back. It was lucky I didn’t go in or I might be zapped now, too.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “Do you think Chip would know how to rewire a dollhouse?”
“Not sure. He’s not exactly handy. He could have hired someone to do it for him, I suppose.” Her hazel eyes flashed, and she punched a fist in the air. “I do know he’s a soulless jerk. Sophie kept asking him to arrange for the lawyer to come to the house so she could write a will, and he kept promising, but he never did.”
She looked straight at me, intense and unwavering. “Now he’s screwing you, too, with raising the rent on your store. Yet another example of what a creep he is. But I’m going to find a way to fix him.”
“PJ, please don’t do anything illegal.”
“Don’t worry about it, Daisy.” She grinned at me with a touch of the old cockiness. “Hey, I’m just glad I don’t have to wear those freaking contacts anymore.”
• • •
After she left, I decided it was time to sort out my future once and for all. I called Warren Zeigler and asked if he would intercede for me with Chip Rosenthal, who wasn’t returning my calls. After the last fiasco, maybe it would be better to let a professional handle it. Not only was he a very good lawyer, but if anyone could finesse Chip without ruffling his feathers, it would be Warren, with his quiet old-fashioned courtesy.
“I was going to be in Millbury today, anyway,” he said. “Do you want to take me to that nice three-course lunch at the Bridgewater Inn you promised me and we can discuss?”
“Um, how about the diner?”
He chuckled. “That’s fine, too. See you at noon.”
Warren arrived precisely at twelve o’clock, and I hung a CLOSED FOR LUNCH sign on the door and we walked up to the Last Stop Diner. I normally didn’t like to leave the store, but desperate times called for desperate meals.
The former trolley car was doing a roaring business, but we found a booth near the back, and slid onto the lumpy red vinyl seats. I tried to perch on a spot where I didn’t sink down into a hole. Warren looked bemused by the menu that was six double-sided pages long.
“Yo, Daisy, Warren. What can I do you for?” Patsy came up to our table and leaned against the side of his seat. Her face was slightly flushed, and people were still coming in and lining up at the front counter. There would be no time for idle chitchat today.
“Egg salad on rye, please,” I said. “And a side of curly fries and an iced tea.”
“Is the corned beef exceptionally lean here?” Warren asked.
Patsy raised an eyebrow. “Are there mustaches in Mexico?”