The Curse in the Carousel Horse by Patti Larsen

Author:Patti Larsen [Larsen, Patti]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Patti Larsen Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Seventeen

After a fitful night, I rose at dawn, yawning over the coffee pot while Chunk had her breakfast, managing a piece of toast and half an orange before heading out to the shop to get to work on the china set for Jenny. The sleep I did manage helped, at least, though the occasional loud sound made me jump. Thank goodness I had something to focus on, the box waiting for me on the counter where Michael left it.

To my surprise, I realized it was open, the front panel already removed and simply propped up against the sides to make it appear as though it hadn’t been touched. In a flare of temper that had me upset all over again, I examined the set inside to make sure no damage had been done. Because if there was a single cup out of place…

Luckily for the Virginia State Police forensics team, the set appeared intact and ready for a final inspection before I reboxed it and took it to Jenny’s. As I pulled out the full set, however, I noted an empty space in the packing material near the top right and though I counted and recounted the set—four cups, four saucers, creamer, sugar dish and teapot with lid—I couldn’t come up with a reason for the gap. Did the techs find something inside and take it with them? Had Michael mispacked another piece only to pull it and not adjust the packing strips of brown paper and foam peanuts compacted into a rounded shape? Odd, but since the set was complete, it seemed inconsequential.

And yet. I texted Louisa out of concern. If something had gone missing, a piece I wasn’t expecting, the last thing I wanted was to be held accountable for it. She immediately responded with, I’ll check, and left me to stew while I carefully looked over the set before returning it to the box and using my trusty power drill to close it up again.

As long as the pieces Jenny requested were intact and ready to go, that was all I could do for now.

It was a quick drive to her house, the adorable country-look cottage frothing over in back with an elaborate garden my lovely ex-pat British client adored. She squealed in delight as I brought in the box, even hugged me, her softness a comfort after everything I’d been through.

“My dear,” she said in her lovely accent, “how terrible for you. Tea?”

I turned down her offer and left her homey house, always feeling like I’d walked out of an English country estate when I left her property. I’d needed a win, and this felt like the renewal I’d been hoping for.

Short-lived, despite the positive outcome. Because when I returned home, I was left to pace and fidget and worry over the carousel horse and Norman Ryanette’s anger, not a single client left on my ledger to take my mind from things. Of course, I could have gone on a spec shopping trip to my

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