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

Fueled by anger and adrenaline, my feet barely touched the ground.
    There was a corrugated iron fence at the end of the alley. The guy was small and slim, not much bigger than me. When I caught up with the creep, I’d let Jasper have at him first and then whack him with the umbrella. I’d teach him to try to steal a little girl’s birthday present.
    With one glance back at us, he vaulted up and over the fence in one smooth move and was gone.
    Heaving for breath, I stumbled to a halt. As frustrated as me, Jasper hurled himself up against the fence a few times, making the old metal clang and shudder.
    I doubled over, praying that I wouldn’t cramp up. “Okay, boy, it’s over. Stop, Jasper. Stop.”
    Gasping, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called 911. Then I called Joe and asked him to meet me at the store.
    A few minutes later, after I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Joe that I hadn’t intentionally put myself in danger, Detective Serrano pulled up in his black Dodge Challenger, a throwback to the muscle car of the seventies. He gave me a tight smile when he jumped out.
    “I gotta tell you, Daisy, much as I like seeing you, this is getting ridiculous.”
    “I know, I know. What can I say?”
    After the store’s front and back doors had been fingerprinted, as well as my poor dollhouse, we went inside. Chilled to the bone now, I gave Serrano the lowdown on what had transpired.
    “How’d he get in?” Serrano asked. “Again, no sign of forced entry. Did you lock the deadbolt on this front door when you closed up at the end of the day?”
    “Yes, of course. I always do.” But then I remembered the passionate kiss Joe and I had shared before we left, the raindrops, and our hurry to get to dinner. Had I only turned the bottom lock on the doorknob and pulled the door shut? I couldn’t remember. “Well, um, I’m not
absolutely
sure I did tonight.”
    “So there’s no alarm system here?”
    “No, there isn’t,” Joe interjected. It was a sore point between us. He’d wanted one for ages, and I never wanted to make the investment.
    “Was anything else taken?”
    I quickly cataloged the more expensive items in the store. The French silks, the Amish quilts, and antique jewelry. All still there.
    I shook my head. “Not that I can tell.”
    We stared at the wreck of what used to be a beautiful dollhouse. The plate glass windows were smashed, the chimney was broken, one of the doors was lost in the melee, and the back panel that swung open to reveal the rooms inside was hanging off, damaged beyond repair.
    Tears pricked at my eyes, which was sort of funny when I’d been so tough before.
    “Don’t worry, Daisy. We can sort this out,” Joe said, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
    Serrano cleared his throat. “So. What’s the big attraction with what you say is a relatively inexpensive toy?”
    I bit my lip. “I wish I knew.”
    • • •
    T he next morning, there was a commotion at the entrance to my store. The voluptuous redhead who swept in first was Martha Bristol, my best friend. She was carrying a vintage cake carrier of pink metal with a pinecone design.
    “Good God, that doll gives me a funny turn every time I come in here,” she said, as she always did, referring to my salvaged mannequin in the corner.
    “It’s not a doll, it’s a mannequin,” I responded, as I always did. I’d named her Alice, and dressed her up in clothing appropriate for the season. She surveyed Martha impassively now from under her long fake eyelashes.
    Eleanor Reid, my fellow store owner, was next. She wore her usual outfit of all black. Black shirt and black pants. Her white hair was cropped short, and she was almost mannish in appearance, except for her sparkling gray eyes and elegant fingers with a pale pink manicure.
    “You guys say the same thing to each other every day,” she said to Martha and me. “You know that’s a sign of getting old, don’t you? When you keep repeating