Dolled Up for Murder by Jane K. Cleland Read Free Book Online

hard-ass.”
    â€œThat’s about right,” I said, “but she was also funny and generous. You know how many charities she supported.”
    â€œSo which was she mostly, good or bad?”
    â€œYou can’t simplify people like that, Wes. They’re too complicated.”
    Wes sighed again, signaling his impatience. “This is just between us, Josie. I won’t quote you. Was she a good egg or a rotten one?”
    I thought it over. “Good,” I said. “I don’t think she was a paragon, but no way was she rotten.”
    â€œYou’ve been wrong about people before, Josie. Lots of times.”
    I swallowed hard. Wes was right. I wasn’t infallible. Still, I was way better at summing up personalities and character flaws than most people. In my business, I had to be.
    â€œLet me know when you find out who inherits, okay?” I asked, skipping a response that would only sound defensive.
    Wes promised he would. “Catch ya later!” he said and hung up.
    My neck and shoulder muscles had been so tense for so long, they felt like twisted bands of steel. I watched the maple leaves shimmy in the breeze and raised, then lowered my shoulders in a futile effort to ease the stiffness. I wished I could skip going to the police station, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to call Eric, too. Might as well get it over with, I told myself and dialed his cell phone.
    He answered on the second ring. It was four thirty-seven.
    â€œHow’s it going?” I asked.
    â€œGood. The dolls and tools are packed. I’m finishing up the glassware now.”
    â€œYou’ve made great time,” I said. I took a deep breath and jumped in. “Something’s happened, Eric. I need to tell you about it.” I kept my tone neutral and stuck to the facts as I reported Alice’s murder and repeated my admonition about talking to the police and the press. He didn’t respond. I could hear him breathing. I waited several seconds. “Are you okay, Eric?”
    â€œI don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
    â€œIt depends on how you feel. Prescott’s is officially closed. Some people find that getting away on their own helps them process tragedies like this. Other people prefer to work. Which means that if you want to continue packing up the glassware, that’s fine. If you’d rather wait until tomorrow or even the next day to finish up, that’s fine, too.”
    â€œI’ll stay and work,” he said without hesitating even for a second.
    â€œAre you sure? You don’t have to.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOkay. I’m going to be leaving now. I don’t know if anyone will be here when you get back. I expect I’ll be in tomorrow, but maybe not. If you decide to take the day off, just let me know.”
    â€œSure,” he said. “If I’m the last one there, I’ll make sure Hank is all squared away for the night.”
    What a great guy he is, I thought as I hung up the phone. What you see is what you get, and what you see is an uncomplicated, hardworking, all-around stand-up guy. I sighed, wishing everything in life were as simple to understand.
    Downstairs, I made a beeline for Hank’s area. He was curled up in his basket, asleep. I squatted beside him and stroked under his chin, his favorite place to be rubbed. Second favorite was his tummy.
    â€œHank,” I cooed, “you’re such a good boy. Are you a good boy, Hank? Yes, you are. What a good boy.”
    Hank’s fur was mostly silver with charcoal and apricot highlights. His vet called the color chinchilla. Hank had lived at Prescott’s for just over a year now, ever since Gretchen had spotted him wandering around outside. We hadn’t been able to find his owner, so we’d adopted him. It had taken him about a minute to settle in. It had taken me about two minutes to fall in love with him.
    â€œI’m leaving a little early,