Read Online Death of a Toy Soldier by Barbara Early - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Early
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toy on your cell phone.”
“That I do, but I’m not sure where you’re going with this. Are you suggesting I now chauffeur you around while you put yourself in danger carrying out your own investigation? Why can’t you be satisfied being a toy store owner?”
“Well, Lizzie.” I could feel his eyes on me. “Seems to me that in the past few days, it’s not been much safer in the toy store, has it?”
That man’s logic was infuriating. “And I’m supposed to wait in the car and hope for the best?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could come in with me. In fact, if that assistant curator is there, you could do the talking. I think I scare her.”
I circled the block while I debated the matter. Should I humor him and help him with his investigation? Or take him back to Parker and Cathy’s house, in which case he’d likely sneak out on his own at the first opportunity. At least this way, I could keep an eye on him. I found a spot on the street. I’m not the best parallel parker, but after a few embarrassing attempts, I managed to wedge the Civic between two cars and the curb.
Moments later, we walked into the small storefront that served as the town’s toy museum.
I loved the old place, once a tailor’s shop. Instead of tile floor like our shop had, all the layers of flooring had been removed until the original plank subfloor was revealed. Stained and full of holes, it screamed, “I’m historic!” The museum was jammed from front to back with display cases, all bought secondhand so none of them matched. In each of these were old toys, many manufactured in the area. Dad and I had an annual membership, so we didn’t have to pay an admission fee. And Dad was like a kid in a, well, toyshop.
He stopped to examine a tin Lone Ranger figure. The masked crime fighter was mounted on a rearing Silver, and his lasso was complete and in the air. “This is nice,” Dad said, practically on top of the display case.
“Isn’t it?”
I jumped at the unexpected voice but fortunately didn’t knock anything over in the process. I whirled around to face the assistant curator, my heart thumping. Not that she was inany way scary. Jillian Hatley was one of the least scary people around. She had straight blonde hair, a meek expression, and a voice that couldn’t be heard above the average toaster. Seriously, when she did a tour, you needed to be right next to her in order to hear. I’m convinced people in the back just nodded and then went to their doctors for a hearing test.
I tapped Jillian’s forearm. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” A few seconds later, she smiled. Jillian didn’t lack a sense of humor, but she was the one at the movie theater laughing five minutes after the joke. “Have you come in to see the newest items in our collection? I’m afraid there are only a few recent additions.” She cast a nervous glance over at my father.
Maybe there was some truth in Dad’s impression that he scared her. He walked farther back into the museum.
“I hope you might help me with something.” I pulled out my cell phone. “Did you hear about the man who died in our shop?”
A few seconds passed. “Was that your shop? The radio said one of the shops on Main. I thought maybe it was that new tattoo parlor.” She wrinkled her nose. Whether it was over the death or the thought of tattoos was anyone’s guess. “Dreadful. Was it somebody you knew?”
“No. I’d met him earlier in the week, but he gave me a fake name. He wanted an appraisal on some toys. I took a picture of one of them. It seems it’s rare, and Dad couldn’t find it in any of the books.”
“Perhaps Peggy . . .” she began.
“Well, maybe,” I said. “Is she here today?” I felt a pang of guilt for asking a question I was pretty sure I already knew theanswer to. And if Jillian couldn’t give us any leads on the toy, perhaps we’d have to try Peggy. Or I would have to try Peggy. I think Dad was considering a
“That I do, but I’m not sure where you’re going with this. Are you suggesting I now chauffeur you around while you put yourself in danger carrying out your own investigation? Why can’t you be satisfied being a toy store owner?”
“Well, Lizzie.” I could feel his eyes on me. “Seems to me that in the past few days, it’s not been much safer in the toy store, has it?”
That man’s logic was infuriating. “And I’m supposed to wait in the car and hope for the best?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could come in with me. In fact, if that assistant curator is there, you could do the talking. I think I scare her.”
I circled the block while I debated the matter. Should I humor him and help him with his investigation? Or take him back to Parker and Cathy’s house, in which case he’d likely sneak out on his own at the first opportunity. At least this way, I could keep an eye on him. I found a spot on the street. I’m not the best parallel parker, but after a few embarrassing attempts, I managed to wedge the Civic between two cars and the curb.
Moments later, we walked into the small storefront that served as the town’s toy museum.
I loved the old place, once a tailor’s shop. Instead of tile floor like our shop had, all the layers of flooring had been removed until the original plank subfloor was revealed. Stained and full of holes, it screamed, “I’m historic!” The museum was jammed from front to back with display cases, all bought secondhand so none of them matched. In each of these were old toys, many manufactured in the area. Dad and I had an annual membership, so we didn’t have to pay an admission fee. And Dad was like a kid in a, well, toyshop.
He stopped to examine a tin Lone Ranger figure. The masked crime fighter was mounted on a rearing Silver, and his lasso was complete and in the air. “This is nice,” Dad said, practically on top of the display case.
“Isn’t it?”
I jumped at the unexpected voice but fortunately didn’t knock anything over in the process. I whirled around to face the assistant curator, my heart thumping. Not that she was inany way scary. Jillian Hatley was one of the least scary people around. She had straight blonde hair, a meek expression, and a voice that couldn’t be heard above the average toaster. Seriously, when she did a tour, you needed to be right next to her in order to hear. I’m convinced people in the back just nodded and then went to their doctors for a hearing test.
I tapped Jillian’s forearm. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” A few seconds later, she smiled. Jillian didn’t lack a sense of humor, but she was the one at the movie theater laughing five minutes after the joke. “Have you come in to see the newest items in our collection? I’m afraid there are only a few recent additions.” She cast a nervous glance over at my father.
Maybe there was some truth in Dad’s impression that he scared her. He walked farther back into the museum.
“I hope you might help me with something.” I pulled out my cell phone. “Did you hear about the man who died in our shop?”
A few seconds passed. “Was that your shop? The radio said one of the shops on Main. I thought maybe it was that new tattoo parlor.” She wrinkled her nose. Whether it was over the death or the thought of tattoos was anyone’s guess. “Dreadful. Was it somebody you knew?”
“No. I’d met him earlier in the week, but he gave me a fake name. He wanted an appraisal on some toys. I took a picture of one of them. It seems it’s rare, and Dad couldn’t find it in any of the books.”
“Perhaps Peggy . . .” she began.
“Well, maybe,” I said. “Is she here today?” I felt a pang of guilt for asking a question I was pretty sure I already knew theanswer to. And if Jillian couldn’t give us any leads on the toy, perhaps we’d have to try Peggy. Or I would have to try Peggy. I think Dad was considering a
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