Spangled to Death, page 1
Spangled to Death
Barbara Schlichting
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Barbara Schlichting
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Enjoy these books by Barbara Schlichting
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter twenty-one
Chapter twenty-two
Chapter twenty-three
Chapter twenty-four
Chapter twenty-five
Chapter twenty-six
Author’s Note
Enjoy these books by Barbara Schlichting
AN EXPERIENCED GOODS DETECTIVE SQUAD SERIES
THE FORGER
ILA LOOKING OUT
THE GIN GAME
FICTION
THE BROKEN CIRCLE
Mystery Series
SPANGLED TO DEATH
WORD TO DEATH
CLUED TO DEATH
SUFFRAGETTE TO DEATH
HISTORICAL FICTION
BODY ON THE TRACKS
POETRY
BIKE WITH ME
BLOOD RED
PICTURE BOOKS
RED SHOES by Barbie Marie
Martha Washington: HER FIRST FEW DAYS AS FIRST LADY
NON-FICTION
IMMIGRANT SNAPCHAT-history of the postcard
THEATER SCRIPTS
CORRESPONDING LIVES 2023
FROM PEN TO HEART 2024
Chapter one
I felt slightly giddy when I dug my key out to unlock the back door of my White House Dollhouse store. The First Ladies were my passion and my shop’s specialty. Emails arrived inquiring about various First Ladies, their personal quirks and characters—even questions asking how many affairs their husbands had while in office. I loved answering the questions. It’s bittersweet. What if a time comes that I can’t answer the question?
After stepping inside of the workroom, I flipped on the light and proceeded to remove my coat and cap and place my bag filled with store stuff upon an open spot on the counter. I clicked on the coffee machine, turned up the thermostat, and headed out into the store.
The store was located on a city block in downtown Minneapolis. It was across from the main shopping area on the other side of the Mississippi River near St. Anthony Falls. There were plenty of old eating establishments that dated to the early part of the twentieth century. The old Pillsbury Flour Mill was nearby as well as the Stone Arch Bridge. The street that ran down the front of the store was cobblestone—thus the rumbling of cars and trucks messing with my wall hangings and sometimes screwing up the electrical wiring. On the corner was Inga’s Antiques. She has known me since I was a little girl and was friends with my grandma. The other side of Inga’s was an old eating and drinking establishment, Dumpy Grumpy, dating back to 1930. The Dumpy Grumpy used to be a speakeasy and from its basement, the buildings on the block were all adjoined. The basement was where Al Capone and John Dillinger plus the rest of the gangsters used to hangout when in Minneapolis. Between Inga and The Dumpy Grumpy was Mikal who read handwriting and on the other side of me was a small coffee shop, Swizzle Stick. Each business presided in an individual brick building, a brownstone, but were connected underground in a city block.
With plenty of time before the store opened, I checked the window display of our newest addition, the infamous rose garden. First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy had had it restored and updated to the beautiful flowers we all see from time to time on the news or in person. The brisk November wind blew outside, rattling the windows. I shivered and thought of a good hot cup of coffee.
I circled to the wall where the shelf of my Penny dolls was. Every so often, a heavy truck rumbled past and one of the dolls would move slightly. Next in line, was the First Ladies pictures that are hung. Sometimes they shifted because of heavy traffic.
“Why are you crooked, Barbara?” I stopped to straighten the first Mrs. Bush. “Don’t worry, ladies, I’ll return shortly to properly coif your hair. Mrs. Carter, I hope last night was worth it. All that Billy Beer.” Something isn’t right. Mrs. Carter has never been this tipsy. “Don’t worry, ladies, you’re back to looking good.”
Grandma embroidered a replica of the sampler she has displayed at home, so it can be hung on the wall near the First Ladies pictures. We believe the sampler was originally embroidered by Dolley Madison. It has a border of strawberries but in one corner there is a flag, which I thought was odd since it was the only flag. The embroidered center had birthdates and the marriage date of Dolley and President Madison. Grandma was a direct descendant of Dolley, which means so am I.
I winked while moving on toward the dollhouses.
I glanced over at the clock above the cash register and computer and saw there was plenty of time before a dollhouse buyer from New York City, Jackie from New York, planned to stop and view the houses. I always started my morning rounds with the Madison White House and the two miniature dolls, Dolley and James.
“Good morning, Dolley! Did you sleep well? You’re still my favorite,” I said, certain she loved the attention. I fell in love with Dolley early on, before learning we were kin. My mother loved her too. I’d crawl into bed, and Mommy would tell me the story about how Dolley had saved the White House. The best was for my birthday when Mommy offered Dolley Madison cakes to all the guests along with my cake and ice cream.
“Ladies, listen up!” With my hands on my hips, I glanced around the room. “You have to all be good today because we have a special visitor. Be on your best behavior. That goes for the men, too. Mr. Clinton? Mr. Kennedy? No chasing the female staff around the Oval Office. Got that? Good.” I waited a beat. “Then we’re set for the day. This person is going to propel the store into the national spotlight so be good.” I gave them the evil eye.
I made sure I dressed up in a new pink dress to match Dolley’s inaugural gown. After two months showing interest in several White House dollhouses for her store’s toy department, Jackie Newell was coming to get a firsthand look. When I searched for her, I found her store located near Central Park. When combing through the store’s website, I realized she had stores around the world—England, Scotland, Ireland, and Canada. For me, it meant the possibility of international recognition and sales. She was scheduled to arrive within the hour, which left me with just enough time to spruce up the showroom and ensure that my 1814 White House dollhouse arrangement was in perfect shape. This was my chance to make the big time.
“There, there, now Dolley,” I said. I straightened her up because she’d tipped slightly. “Mr. Prez? You need to be on your best behavior today. No chasing Dolley around the house with my perspective buyer coming soon! No pinching her bum.” I wagged my finger at him.
“Mrs. Lincoln? You’re looking marvelous today, per usual. How’s the headache after that awful carriage ride? It was an attempt on your life, wasn’t it?” I’d had an awful headache after the car accident that killed my parents when I was eleven. I thought the pounding inside of my head would never quit. Now it was an ache in my heart, still—twenty years later.
After making a circle around the final few dollhouses, I went to the workroom once again to retrieve a hot cup of coffee. I poured my cup full before having a seat near the workbench. My employee Max usually sat at this spot and carved the dolls’ heads. Now was my chance to take a closer look at the heads. He’d labeled each one by number on a notepad with a sticky note beside each head. The Madison heads were slightly askew on the stand, which didn’t seem right since Max always left the doll heads upright so he could get a hard look at them as he entered the room. It helped him notice distinctive flaws in the carving.
I wanted to recount the number of dolls in the cabinet, to make sure my inventory book was in order. It showed six of each Madison dolls. The clothes for each was the same count. When I counted the dolls, there were six of each Madison dolls, six Dolley inaugural dresses but only five of James Madison’s outfits. What’s going on? I must’ve miscounted the last time. I recounted the number of historical dollhouses sold and dolls from the inventory, which added up correctly. I definitely was short Mr. Madison’s outfit. How could that be? Who would want that little outfit, especially without the doll?
I texted Max, Do you recall how many James Madison outfits we should have? I thought six. Me.
I wasn’t sure when he’d respond because he worked other places besides for me. He could be sound asleep, also.
Max texted, Should be six.
Max’s response perplexed me even more. Something was not right.
My neighbor, Mikal was not only a handwriting expert, he was also part psychic. I wondered if he could make some sense of this mishap. I also wondered if he’d seen anyone lurking about. I had thirty minutes until Jackie was expected, so I w
“Liv, what’s wrong? You look perplexed. Are you locked out?” Mikal walked toward me with a client following. “Another mouse?” He grinned and glanced at his client. “Stephanie, my neighbor, Liv.”
“I don’t have time for this stupidity.” The short, stocky client peeked out from behind Mikal, narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her flat chest. “Listen, missy. I was in the middle of a reading. It was just getting good! I found out about my husband’s little girlie friend with the big boobs. Now this!” She threw her arms in the air. “My reading is botched. I want a refund.”
“You haven’t paid.” Mikal glared at her.
“I won’t either.” She marched away but not before giving me the finger.
“Hey! Loser! Don’t blame me for your stupid husband!” Just because I’d evicted a live-in mouse family from my shop a few weeks ago didn’t mean it was back. “I think someone has been in my shop. Have you seen anyone lurking about?” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, called Aaron and left a message.
“Sit down, right here and explain,” Mikal said.
“The inventory says I should have six Mr. Madison outfits, but I only have five. I’ve added everything up correctly. It’s odd. Do you get anything psychic about this?”
“I haven’t seen anyone lurking nor do I feel a sense of doom. Aren’t you expecting an important client from New York City?”
“Yes. She owns a chain of department stores across the country and Canada.” Just then, Aaron returned the call. “Aaron, someone has been in the store and stolen an outfit but not the doll.” I sank into the given chair. “The outfit was for a James Madison doll.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I’m going to mention it to the detective. Are you in the store?”
“No, I’m at Mikal’s. I’m going back now. I wondered if he’d seen any weird looking person lurking around.”
“I’ll stop by before I begin my rounds. It should be pretty soon.” Aaron disconnected.
“I’m going back.” I headed for the door. “I’m not sure if there was a break-in. Minnesota Nice had been by recently and checked the code pad, and that was in working order. Maybe earlier, I hadn’t counted correctly? It’s always possible that an outfit was sold without the doll.”
“That’s true, but it doesn’t make any sense,” Mikal said. “Do you want me to walk you back and look around?”
“No, but thanks. Max should be coming down soon. I’ll send you a text if anything else catches my attention.”
“Okay. I can be there in a jiffy.”
“I’ve got to get back to the store.” I had to protect the ladies. The First Ladies had already been through so much in their lives, and now it was up to me to make sure nothing else happened to them. Mommy always said they were special, like being the Nation’s Mother. In addition to hosting foreign dignitaries and formal dinners, the First Ladies made sure the President looked out for our interests.
I texted my best friend, Maggie, as I walked out the door. My feet crunched in the snow, and I started to shiver.
Max Johnson worked part-time for me and rented the apartment above the shop. He should be around here someplace, but who knows? Max often gambled away his money. I was always getting cryptic messages from parts unknown, asking how to reach him, presumably to remove body parts.
A reassuring chuckle from behind made me grin. Max’s voice boomed from above. “Livvie! Now what? Another mouse in the house?”
My headache suddenly grew to the size of Texas. I glanced upward and massaged my temples.
“Come down to the workroom. I want to talk to you about a missing item.” Max may have seen someone during the night or an unknown car in the lot.
Aaron’s squad car drove up and parked.
The cold sliced through me. Aaron’s presence was slightly warming.
Aaron and his partner, Tim Dahl, climbed from the car.
“Once I’d told the detective about the missing item, he said he’d be by and ask questions,” Aaron said as he walked over toward me.
“Why?” I asked. “I’m not positive I’m missing anything.”
“Hold on. I want to hear what’s happening,” Max called, walking down the outside steps. He gave me a puzzled look but stood near me. “What’s missing?”
“An outfit for the James Madison doll. It makes no sense. Did you happen to sell one outfit? Usually, if someone needs more doll clothes, they’ll purchase a set. You know, one for both the Mr. and Mrs.”
“I don’t recall selling it. You might want to question Dorrie.”
“I will when she arrives. There isn’t much time until Jackie Newell of New York stops by.”
“That’s right.” Max took a moment and said, “I forgot to put on a decent shirt. I’ll be right back.” He left for his apartment to change clothes.
I noticed two plainclothes officers approaching, one older with gray hair, the other younger and blond.
“We’ll take over. There’s been a rash of burglaries in the area, centering around patriotic memorabilia,” the detective stated, showing his badge. “Detective Mergens. Ms. Anderson? Olivia Anderson?”
“Aaron is my neighbor and I had told him about it. I’m Olivia, Liv, Anderson.”
“Detective Erlandsen,” the other officer said, showing his badge. “We’re curious about this possible theft.”
“Let’s go inside for some privacy,” Detective Mergens said.
“I’ll follow.” My phone buzzed, and I read Maggie’s message. Stay safe. Keep me updated.
Quickly I sent her an emoji of “ok.”
“How does the showroom look?” Mergens asked.
“Great, actually. This morning is very important to me.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and went back to the front window. “Jackie Newell from New York is due here in less than an hour. She owns a chain of department stores that are located all over the country and in Canada and beyond. She’s very well known and her houses are highly praised.” I smiled. “I hope her interest in the houses will spike sales.”
“Never heard of her, but I don’t play dolls,” Mergens said. He rolled his eyes.
“You use a key for entrance,” Erlandsen said. “How many people have a key?”
“For sure Max and my other employee, Dorrie, plus my grandparents. The temp office that sends the cleaning ladies has it. That’s about it.”
“Let’s jot down names,” Mergens said.
“Do you have items of much value?” Erlandsen asked.
“Plenty. Look around the room. I have my Penny dolls and First Lady photos, and they sell for several hundred dollars, at least.” I nodded at them, placing my hands on my hips. We stood by the glass counter in front of the register and computer. I swung my attention back to the officer’s question. “Max carves doll heads in the workroom or his apartment at night. He sets his own hours. I tell him what style of house I need and which First Lady. The pieces need to be glued and, in some instances, stapled together. They’re fragile, but sturdy. He fills in when needed.”
“You trust him?” Mergens asked.
“Yes. He has a key. He lives here. I’ve known him for years.” I crossed my arms.
“I see.” Mergens wrote down information. “Was he home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where do you live?”
“With my grandparents, Marie and August Ott.” I scratched my head. “Dorrie takes care of customers when I’m too busy sewing the gowns.”
“Any cause for alarm?” He studied me. “You know. Anything unusual. Pattern change such as misplacing a key?”
“We want this Dorrie’s info,” Erlandsen said.
“I can’t think of anything unusual at the moment.” I shook my head. “I keep my purse in the workroom, and it’s usually hung on the clothes tree.” I looked up Dorrie’s contact information from the list beside the computer. “Here’s her info. Can we hustle here? I’m expecting my very important client pretty soon.”
“One more question.” Erlandsen held up a finger. “Anyone you might have a beef with?”
“I can’t think of anyone.” I frowned, massaging my chin. “Unless this has something to do with Max. He gambles and often loses.” I thought a moment. “Why are you guys so concerned over a small item that I’m not sure was stolen?”
