Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (24 page)

I
dove to the floor, covering my head, until I heard the screech of tires outside. I scrambled to my feet and, through the gaping hole in the store window, glimpsed a truck that looked like Jimmy’s, or the one I’d seen at the Perkins farm, careening off down Main Street.

What just happened?

Glass lay everywhere, all over the floor, sparkling in the light from the lamp on the Welsh dresser. I glanced over toward the register, which was directly in the line of fire.

“Alice?”

I rushed over to the ten-drawer seed counter. Alice lay sprawled on the floor behind it, an ugly hole blown straight through one of her impossibly high and pointed fiberglass breasts.

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.

Eleanor gave her statement first, and then me, although apart from my fleeting sight of a truck speeding away, but no license plate number, I’m not sure how much useful information we provided.

“Normally I’d have asked if you could think of anyone who might harbor a grudge against you, but I guess we have a whole building full of candidates now.” Detective Serrano set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “We’ll be checking the bullets we find against any firearms owned by those guys we nailed tonight.”

There was a pause in the conversation. I pictured Ramsbottom being taken into custody at that moment. It was odd. I should have been triumphant, but all I felt was vaguely depressed. He had a wife and son, too. How would they cope?

“So you’re from New York?” Joe asked.

Serrano nodded. “Originally.”

Jeez. It was like trying to pull personal information out of Cyril.

Martha came into the prep room with a tray. “They found a bullet lodged in the Walker seed counter!” she announced breathlessly. She set five mugs down on the table, plus sugar, cream, and a plate of her maple pecan tarts.

Eleanor took two tarts. One for safety, I guessed.

I sipped my coffee black, sighing as the bracing taste steadied my nerves. “Detective, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Jimmy Kratz murder, but there were rumors that Jimmy was also involved in the gambling ring. I don’t know whether there’s any connection between that and his death.”

Detective Serrano jotted a note on his pad. “I’ve been assigned to the Kratz case, so I’ll check into it. It definitely makes more sense than killing him over some old fountain pens.”

“They’re not just some old pens,” I blurted out. I sounded like Fiona now. I took a deep breath. “I’ve seen photos of them. I know it might sound crazy, but they are truly beautiful. Works of art, in fact.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Detective Serrano finished his maple pecan tart with relish. “I’ll tell you what
is
a work of art. This fricking pastry.”

Martha winked at me.

“So what’s new with the case?” I asked as casually as I could. And why had
he
been assigned to it?

“Well, for one thing, I’m pissed off at the way things have been handled with this whole fricking murder investigation. Sorry, ladies, excuse my language.”

“It’s okay.” I liked this guy. He was plainspoken, but I appreciated his candor. He looked elegant and conservative, but he spoke like a true New Yorker.

He leaned forward and took another tart. “First off, they should never have lifted prints from the barn beam on-site. Prints from a rough surface like unfinished wood need to be done in the lab. Second, I’ve speeded up the results from the autopsy. They should have been back by now. Ridiculous. Third, I’m going over every inch of this case. Every interview, every step of crime scene procedure, and all the way along the chain of custody.”

I grinned as I set down my coffee mug. I
really
liked this guy. Maybe Angus would stand a chance now with a new detective on the scene.

“Mom! Mom!” Sarah rushed into the room with Peter close behind. “Oh my God! I just got Daddy’s message. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Poor Alice is a little worse for wear, though.”

Detective Serrano stood up. “Well, I think we’re done here. I’ll leave you folks to it.” He handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“Thank you.”
Oh, I will.
Don’t you worry about that.

There was so much I hadn’t told him yet. About the oil change and proof that Angus didn’t drive back to Jimmy’s. About Ramsbottom’s vendetta. About Carla and her crazy ex-boyfriend. And of course, there was the pen, wrapped in my handkerchief at the bottom of my pocketbook. Explaining how I came to be in possession of it would have been beyond the limits of my energy tonight.

“Do me a favor, Ms. Buchanan. I’ll place an extra patrol along the street, but don’t be here by yourself late at night. Maybe shorten the store hours for a while until we figure this thing out.”

Joe smiled at the detective and shook his hand.

After the police left, Martha grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the broken glass. Joe took the tarp that Peter had brought along and tacked it up over the shattered window. Eleanor picked up Alice and set her back in her familiar corner.

The sight of the bullet hole in the mannequin that someone obviously mistook for me suddenly made my head swim. I grabbed hold of Sarah for support.

“Mom, are you okay?”

Who could possibly hate me enough to try to kill me?

Eleanor glanced at me, took off her own cardigan, and put it on Alice, buttoning it up to the neck.

“I’m fine.” I blew out a breath, patting Sarah’s arm. “Now, how was your day?”

Peter smiled at me. “Well, not as eventful as yours, obviously. Although I thought I was useless with home repair, but Joe’s a good teacher.”

“Joe’s good at a lot of things.” I slanted a glance at my husband, who grinned at me.

“Now, Daisy, no flirting in front of the kids.”

Peter looked around. “This store is incredible, too. I love all the antiques. What a fantastic atmosphere.”

Sarah made a mock scornful face. “He’s just trying to suck up to you.”

*

“T
he first thing I noticed when Joe and I walked into our house was that the plastic was gone from the end of the hallway, and I caught a glimpse of a real kitchen floor.

I hurried to the doorway and then walked slowly into the room, lost in wonder.

“I installed a couple of the base cabinets so you can see what it’ll look like when it’s all finished,” Joe said.

The Brazilian cherry hardwood floor gleamed under the glow from the new light fixtures hanging overhead. The warm tones in the floor and the cabinets were a perfect complement to the rustic charm of the brick wall, one of my favorite features.

“Oh, Joe, it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

The lighter wood I’d had in mind would have been much too modern.

Joe opened the dog crate and Jasper bounded out to greet me. As I bent and ruffled his ears, I glanced up at Joe. “You think we can trust this guy in the new kitchen?”

“Oh, Jasper and I had a long talk. He assured me he won’t do it again.”

I must have looked doubtful, as Joe paused for a moment and then burst out laughing. “I picked up some stuff at the hardware store that’s supposed to taste bitter to puppies. It’s all over the bottom corners of the cabinets.”

“I love the schoolhouse light fixtures, too.” The domed lights hanging down over the butcher block table were another welcoming touch.