A Dollhouse to Die For (A Deadly Notions Mystery) Read Online Free

was she still holding on to it? Why didn’t she feel the shock and let go?” Serrano asked.
    “A high enough current can cause a spasm that makes the person grip and be unable to release.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “You know, it’s funny. Guys can sometimes survive a super high-voltage shock, like from a power line, because it throws you back. It’s not so much the voltage, but the
current
. Household current is especially dangerous because it exceeds the ‘let-go’ threshold.”
    An officer came into the kitchen, and waited patiently until Serrano glanced at him.
    “The house is locked up tight, sir, except for the front door. No signs of breaking and entering.”
    “Thanks.”
    I thought about Joe almost smashing the window. “So could it have been someone Harriet knew and she let them in?”
    Serrano nodded toward two mugs set out on the counter. “Looks like she might have been expecting a guest.”
    “But she just got home,” I said. “And how could anyone mess with the dollhouse while Harriet was here? Even if she went to the bathroom or something, or left them in the study while she went to make tea, I doubt they’d have had time to work on it. Joe, what do you think?”
    “It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t know how they could have gotten down to the basement as well to mess with that breaker.”
    After we finished giving our statements, Joe and I decided we were exhausted, and it was too late to go out for dinner. Plus it was pouring now, so the outside veranda wouldn’t be open. We headed back to our 1842 Greek Revival on Main Street. It was situated a block down from Sometimes a Great Notion, where the stores stopped and the houses began. It had been our vacation home for thirty years, until Joe convinced me to take early retirement from teaching.
    To the casual observer, our house might
appear
to be in reasonable shape, but after three decades of never-ending restoration, it was almost time to start over with some of the earlier tasks. Like repainting the huge living room with its twelve-foot-high ceilings, original millwork, and six-over-six windows. Even when we were younger, it had taken close to a week to finish the whole thing, but now, the prospect of a big job like that was overwhelming. I didn’t even want to think about the state of our basement. Fortunately, Joe was very handy around the house, because there was always something that needed attention.
    While I set out some honey goat Gouda and creamy blue Stilton on a cedar plank, together with flatbreads, Marcona almonds, and dried apricots, Joe selected a bottle from the wine rack.
    Jasper, our goofy golden retriever mix puppy, sat at high attention, his ears pricked, eyes never leaving the board of cheese and crackers. He wasn’t technically our dog. He actually belonged to my daughter, Sarah, who’d rescued him off the streets of New York. She worked in film production as a script supervisor, and seeing as she was in Spain on the set of her latest movie, he was staying with us. Secretly, I hoped it would turn out to be a permanent arrangement.
    Jasper panted and a drop of drool landed on the floor.
    “Have a heart, Daisy, give him some cheese,” Joe said as he uncorked the wine.
    “Do you have any idea what this cheese
cost
?” I shook my head, but cut a tiny sliver, put it on a cracker, and held it out to him. “Ow. Jeez, Jasper. You nearly took my fingers off.”
    We sat and sipped our wine at the butcher block table under the glow of the schoolhouse light fixtures. Sometimes home really was the best place to be.
    Joe had remodeled the kitchen a few months ago, inspired by an unfortunate incident when Jasper chewed up part of the linoleum. One thing led to another, and now I had new hardwood floors, cherry cabinets, granite countertops, and an island for our cookbook storage.
    “I never get tired of looking at this kitchen, Joe. It’s so beautiful.”
    “Hopefully this is the last and final big project