Dolled Up for Murder Read Online Free

bad memory. “I don’t recommend it, but it’s probably better than those pretentious megaweddings, all staged pomp and no personality. Better to be with people you love, and no one else. Fifty people sounds about right.”
    The chimes sounded as Sasha stepped inside.
    As soon as she saw Alice, she said, “Sorry,” her voice barely audible, as if she’d intruded into a private conversation and expected to be chastised.
    â€œNo problem,” I said, just for something to say.
    Sasha’s manner changed as abruptly as if a switch had been flipped the second she spotted the eleven dolls lined up on her desk. Place an antique in Sasha’s orbit and she was transformed from scared mouse into confident expert.
    â€œWow!” Sasha said. “Are these from the Farmington collection? They’re gorgeous!”
    â€œEric just left to get the rest.”
    â€œI’m buying them all from Prescott’s,” Alice said.
    â€œWhich means that appraising them is your new top priority,” I told Sasha.
    â€œOkay,” Sasha said with a quick smile. She tucked a strand of lank hair behind her ear.
    â€œSo where do you start?” Alice asked her.
    â€œBy authenticating and valuing each doll.” Sasha picked up a character doll, another Bru. “She’s spectacular, isn’t she?”
    â€œWell, I look forward to calling them my own. Right now, though, I’ve got to mosey. I’m off to my lawyer’s office, no doubt to hear more bad news. Are you sure you don’t want some earnest money to guarantee that I get first dibs? I don’t want someone else to swoop in while I’m not looking.”
    I laughed. “You collectors! There’s no need.”
    â€œI insist,” she said. “I’ll sleep better if I leave a deposit. How about if we label it a refundable right of first refusal, so if there’s some problem with provenance or you discover one of the dolls had been owned by Queen Victoria, or something equally lofty, you’re not on the hook for any certain price, or even to sell it at all, and if I change my mind for whatever reason, I’m not committed to buy something I no longer want.”
    I thought about it for a few seconds. Until I knew which way the prosecutorial wind was blowing, I didn’t want to commit to selling her the dolls even with a we’ll-figure-it-out-later price, and this seemed to be a face-saving, nonconfrontational way to achieve that objective.
    â€œDone!” I said.
    She pulled a brown leather checkbook folder from her purse and sat at the round guest table to write out the check. I asked Gretchen to prepare a receipt. The second Gretchen’s eyes were fixed on her computer monitor, I turned to Cara, caught her attention, and winked.
    â€œI have an errand,” I said and winked again. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
    Cara, her blue eyes twinkling, winked back. She knew what I was up to—I wanted to find some Hawaiian-themed goodies for Gretchen’s surprise bridal shower. I had ten days, but I didn’t know how much trouble I was going to have finding what I had in mind, so I wanted to check out the local party store pronto.
    â€œThanks,” Alice told Gretchen as she accepted the receipt, tucking it in her purse without even glancing at it. “Now I have bragging rights.”
    The wind chimes sounded. A tall green bean of a man with a mane of sandy brown hair and earnest brown eyes walked in. I knew him by sight; everyone did. He was Pennington Moreau, the intrepid adventurer, award-winning athlete, and on-air legal personality for Rocky Point’s TV station, WXFS. Penn, as he was known, was as well regarded for his record-setting, multimillion-dollar, long-distance balloon rides, iron man triathlon wins, and high-stakes poker games as he was for his illuminating commentary. Penn had a gift for translating complex legal issues into common