Dolled Up for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

confusion of a bad dream.
    â€œJosie?” Gretchen whispered. I hadn’t heard her approach. She touched my elbow, and I opened my eyes. “Are you all right? Can you stand up?”
    I allowed her to help me up.
    Two police vehicles, one a blue patrol car, the other a black SUV, roared into the lot, their lights flashing. ROCKY POINT POLICE DEPARTMENT was emblazoned on both, white text outlined in gold. Police Chief Ellis Hunter stepped out of the SUV, took in the scene at a glance, nodded at me, then jogged toward the paramedics as they lifted Alice onto a gurney I hadn’t noticed them bring out of the ambulance. They wheeled her to the back of their vehicle, then joined Ellis in a loose huddle. Alice is dead, I thought, sickened by shock and sadness. If she’d been alive, the paramedics wouldn’t be taking time to chat; they’d be rushing her to the hospital. I looked away, tears striping my cheeks. Gretchen stroked my arm.
    â€œThank you,” I said without looking at her, grateful for her quiet support.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said.
    â€œNo. It’s not.”
    â€œYou’re right. It’s not.”
    Ellis turned in my direction. He was tall, with regular features, weathered skin, knowing eyes, and a confident stride. He wore a lightweight tweed jacket and a brown tie. His scar, a jagged line near his right eye, looked bloodred under the midday sun. He’d been Rocky Point’s police chief for about two years, ever since he retired as a New York City homicide detective. He explained that he’d taken the job to see if Norman Rockwell had it right about small towns. Ellis, who’d been dating my landlady, neighbor, and best bud, Zoë, for almost as long as he’d been here, was my friend, but he didn’t look friendly as he walked toward me, his eyes boring into mine; he looked purposeful and stern.
    â€œYou’re not injured?” he asked.
    â€œNo. Alice’s dead, isn’t she?”
    â€œYes. I’m sorry, Josie.”
    I clamped my eyes closed. “The shooter aimed at her, Ellis. No bullets even came close to me.”
    â€œHow far away were you?”
    â€œFar. Five car lengths. More.”
    â€œDid you know her well?” he asked.
    â€œSure. Did you?”
    â€œNo, not personally.”
    It took a second for his meaning to register. “Of course … you’ve been helping the attorney general investigate her.”
    â€œYou should go inside and clean up,” he said, deftly turning the subject, revealing nothing, as usual. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.” He nodded at Gretchen, telling her without words to escort me inside, to help me cope.
    â€œCome on, Josie,” Gretchen said, and I let myself be led away from the bloody, deadly scene.
    *   *   *
    Twenty minutes later, wearing a Prescott’s T-shirt and the spare pants I keep in my office since my slacks always seem to get dirty crawling under furniture or traipsing through dusty attics, I sat on my yellow love seat. Ellis sat across from me in one of the wing chairs sipping coffee. I held a cup of tea, grateful for the warmth.
    In response to his questions, I told him what little I knew about the shooting.
    â€œHow would you describe Alice’s mood?” he asked.
    â€œShe seemed remarkably even-keeled about her legal troubles. Way more calm than I would have been.”
    â€œWhat did she say about the situation?”
    â€œShe was upset, thinking she was about to be arrested and that Penn was going to talk about it on air.”
    â€œHow long have you known her?” he asked after I’d repeated as much of our conversation as I could recall.
    â€œFor years. She was a good customer. She bought five rare dolls at various auctions over the last six years. One from Frisco’s in New York. That’s my old firm. She had me bid on her behalf.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œBidding