I should call 911. I should call Joe. That expensive Jean Paul Gaultier summer dress is completely ruined now.
That bullet could have gone straight through my own flesh-and-blood body.
I cupped a shaking hand around my left breast, at which moment Eleanor opened the door and picked her way over the broken glass.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Oh God, Eleanor.” I couldn’t say any more.
She came over and put her arm around me. “It’s okay, Daisy. I already called the police.”
“What are you doing here?” I shook my head, frozen in place, barely able to think, let alone talk.
“I was working late in my shop. On a dress for a bridezilla’s wedding at the end of the month. Heard the gunshots and here I am.”
“Did you see anything?” I whispered. “Did you see the truck?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just saw your car outside and the damage to the window.”
She must have called Joe and Martha, too, because they came rushing in the door next. Joe managed to get in a quick hug before Martha grabbed me and enfolded me against her pillowy chest. “Good God. Thank God it was just the doll that got shot, and not you. Now sit down.”
“Martha, I’m not hurt.” I dug up a smile for Joe, but I could read the worry in his eyes. And all the unanswered questions.
“Yes, but what a shock it must have been.” She pushed me gently down onto the stool. “Sit, sit.”
“Poor Alice,” I murmured. “She’s the one’s who’s injured.”
Martha kindly ignored the fact that I was talking about Alice as if she were human. She kept hovering, feeling my forehead and patting my back, but I let her. It was kind of nice to be fussed over for once.
“Why the hell would someone do this?” Eleanor asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Joe said with a grim set to his mouth.
A few moments later, the whine of sirens split the air.
A tall stranger strode in, dressed in a light gray tropical-blend suit that fit him as if it had been custom-made for his lean, muscular body. His hair was salt and pepper like Joe’s, but his face was a lot younger. I’d guess this guy had to be in his mid-forties.
“Detective Tony Serrano.” He flashed his badge and slid it back inside his jacket in one smooth motion. “Who’s the owner here?”
“I am. I’m Daisy Buchanan.” I slid off the stool and stood up on legs that were still trembling.
A couple more police officers followed him in, already moving over to the window, and snapping pictures.
“Is there another room we can use while my guys do their inspection, Ms. Buchanan?”
From the way he said there and here, I detected a distinct New York accent. What was this sharply dressed guy doing out in the sticks of Millbury?
Martha, springing on point at the sight of a fine-looking male, took charge of the situation. “No problem, Officer, sir. Follow me.”
“Are you new in town, Detective?” Joe asked as we all followed Martha to the prep room.
“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
I swallowed. “Um—look—Detective Serrano—before we get into what happened in the store tonight, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
I quickly gave him the rundown of my outing to the Perkins place, avoiding any eye contact with Joe, especially when I got to the part about spying on the illegal card game through the window, bumping into bloodstained Bobby Perkins, and running like hell for my car.
Detective Serrano stared at me for a split second before he said, “Excuse me,” and whipped out of the room, barking commands into his phone as he went.
A couple of minutes later he was back, and sat down at the head of the table. “Well, I can tell you that little card party on the farm is about to break up. The guys are picking them up as we speak.”
He looked thoughtfully around the room. His eyes were a brilliant blue, striking against the pale suit and gray hair. I had the impression that he was taking a quick snapshot of each of us for his memory bank.
“Oh, yeah, Martha,” I said wearily. “We’ll need to find someone else for the tractor pull at the fair. Henry Moyer was there.”
“Dear little Henry Moyer!” Martha placed a manicured hand over her chest. “I can’t believe it!”
Serrano fixed his gaze on me, shifting slightly in his seat. I picked up on his impatience.
“Martha, I could really use a cup of coffee,” I said. “Would you mind very much making some for us?”
“No problem. I’m on it. Good job I brought refreshments, too. Those young officers are going to need some sustenance.” She lifted a tote bag from the floor and swept out of the room.