Read Online Malice in Miniature by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online

know, Alan, I’d forgotten how passionate collectors can be, and how single-minded. It’s almost frightening. I’m sure he loves his miniatures more than anything else—or anyone.”
    â€œMrs. Lathrop thinks so, too,” said Alan, nosing the car out past the huge clumps of dripping rhododendrons and craning his head both ways before turning onto the main road.
    â€œMrs. Lathrop! What d’you mean?”
    â€œDidn’t you notice? If there does not beat beneath that ample bosom the throbbing pulse of unrequited love, my years of training in observation have been in vain.”
    â€œGoodness! What
have
you been reading, Barbara Cartland? You could just be right, though, even if your prose has turned somewhat purple. I thought that little outburst of hers was just a demonstration of authority, but it makes more sense your way. And it could be one reason why she’s so hateful to Meg—who represents, to Mrs. Lathrop, the collection, the rival for Sir Mordred’s affections.”
    Alan smiled indulgently at my piece of two-bit psychology and slowed down for an especially large and threatening puddle that stretched across the narrow road.
    â€œBut really, Alan, what an unlikely romance! I’m not at all sure he’s interested in women, for one thing, and when I saw the two of them together, he acted scared half to death of her.” I started to giggle. “Oh, Alan, if you’d
seen
him! He’s about half her size. The picture of them in a tender embrace—his arms wouldn’t go around her, and his nose would end up somewhere near her—” I collapsed in helpless giggles.
    â€œAt any rate,” I said when I could speak again, “if
la belle
Lathrop cherishes a secret infatuation for the lord of the manor, she’s wasting her time being jealous of Meg, who’s in love with the gardener.”
    â€œThat’s one
I
didn’t notice.”
    â€œAha! You didn’t have the advantage I did, though—you didn’t see them quarreling together. But that involvement aside, Meg made it discreetly obvious that she has very little use for Sir Mordred. She’s conscientious about her job, and he’s absentminded, always forgetting to tell her about new acquisitions. He also offends her ideas about proper curatorial practice by actually fixing houses that need fixing, and replacing furniture that’s disappeared.
    â€œBy the way, apropos of nothing, why didn’t you want them to know who you are?”
    â€œObeying your implicit commands, my dear. As you said, people dry up in front of a policeman.”
    â€œOh, yes, I’d forgotten. Well, but they didn’t exactly stream with information for me, either. I got a sort of basic picture of the peculiar inhabitants of Brocklesby Hall, but I didn’t learn a thing about ‘The Case of the Missing Miniatures.’”
    I settled comfortably into telling Alan all about it. One of the very nicest things about a good marriage is having someone to tell all about it, whatever “it” is.
    â€œSir M. took me around the museum himself, and I admit I did find it intriguing. The only dollhouses I’ve ever seen have been rather crude, just toys for children. I’d never realized they could be so detailed, with such fine workmanship. Some of the room settings are so perfect you forget you’re seeing something small. They need a thimble or something in a corner to remind you of the scale.
    â€œAnyway, I’ve got half a notion to buy a dollhouse and start furnishing it. It might be fun. Do you suppose one of your granddaughters would like such a thing as a Christmas present?”
    I thought I was being subtle, but Alan grinned at me. “Michelle is the youngest, as you know perfectly well. She’s thirteen, and interested only in horses and dogs, according to Beth’s latest bulletin. Boys will be entering the field any day now, but dolls’