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

and arm.
    I looked over at the front door in desperation.
Hold on
. Was it not quite shut all the way? I ran over and grabbed the knob.
    The door swung open, revealing a magnificent two-story foyer with dual staircases, one curving up on each side. Dolls sat on every step, as far as the eye could see.
    Joe dashed past me, dropping the brick on the entry mat and heading for the study. I ran after him.
    Harriet was clutching the Tudor mansion with both hands as if someone were trying to take it from her.
    “Harriet!” I skirted between tables with more dollhouses and displays, trying to find a passageway through.
    “Don’t touch her!” Joe shouted. He grabbed a Queen Anne chair and shoved it at Harriet like a crazed lion tamer. Her body crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap.
    I gasped. “My God, Joe, what’s the matter with you?”
    He ignored me, frowning at the dollhouse. “I’ll call 911,” he snapped. “You start CPR on her, and don’t touch
that
damn thing.”
    With one last jab of his forefinger at the Tudor mansion, he jogged back out to the foyer. A moment later I heard his footsteps clattering on the stairs down to the basement.
    Harriet stared up at me with sightless eyes.
    Oh, boy.
    I kicked off my high heels, hitched up my dress, and dropped to my knees, swallowing against a spike of nausea. Leaning forward, I touched my mouth to her thin, almost nonexistent dry lips and started rescue breaths.
    Come on, Harriet. Only the good die young.
    A minute later, Joe was back, his face grim. “The circuit breaker was jammed.”
    He picked up the chair again and knocked out the plug that attached the dollhouse to the wall socket. He frowned as he inspected the back of the house. “Something’s wrong with the wiring here.”
    “How did you know to warn me?” I gasped, looking up at him in between breaths and chest compressions. “How did you know just by looking at her?”
    “Some kind of sixth sense, I guess.”
    Joe had been shop steward for his electricians’ union in New York before we retired and moved to Millbury for good. “You know, Daisy, like you can tell if something’s a real antique or not at a glance? And how it would all look the same to someone else?”
    Sirens wailed outside, and it was with a feeling of raw despair that I moved aside a few moments later to let the EMTs take over. As they bent down to start working on Harriet, I saw the look that passed between them.
    It’s hopeless.
    Joe reached for me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Someone tampered with the transformer that runs the dollhouse lights, Daisy,” he murmured. “Harriet Kunes received the full charge of one hundred and twenty volts coming directly from that wall socket.”

Chapter Two

    W e stepped aside to clear the scene, now apparently a crime scene.
    A good-looking man, early forties, with gray hair and smoky blue eyes, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, strode through the front door.
    “How’re you doin’, Daisy? Joe?” he growled, in a New York accent.
    Detective Tony Serrano and I enjoyed a pretty good rapport, seeing as I had helped him solve a case not long after he arrived in town. Kudos for Serrano, and for me, a new friend in the police force. The local female population had been whipped into a frenzy over him ever since.
    I explained about the eyeglasses and the faulty wiring in Harriet’s dollhouse.
    “Daisy, sounds like you might have been one of the last people to see her alive.”
    I stared at him. “Am I a suspect?”
    “Everyone’s a suspect ’til I figure things out.” His expression softened. “Relax. I do need a statement from you, though. You too, Joe.”
    His eyes scanned the room, as was his habit. I imagined the whir and shutter close of a long-range camera lens.
Click
. Body on the floor, noting position and appearance.
Click
. Number of persons present.
Click.
Condition of the room. Curtains open. Lights on. Any sign of a struggle?
    I quickly pointed out that the