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1
Chapter
1
October,
1964
The
TV camera closed in on Hugh Downs' amiable face. "Please
welcome our next guest, Bradley Williams. Mr. Williams is
the corporate manager of Merryweathers' Toy Shoppe and he
has some exciting news for us this morning."
The studio audience,
peppered with small children, clapped politely.
Mr. Downs turned
toward Bradley. "It's nice to have you on the Today show,
Mr. Williams. What's your plan for Merryweathers'?"
Watching from
the green room along with the store's characters, who were
in full costume, I smiled when the camera shifted to my
dreamy boss, Bradley.
"Thanks, Hugh.
Your viewers may know that Mr. and Mrs. Merryweather decided
to retire to Florida and sell the city's favorite toy store.
Our company offered the elderly couple something others
didn't. We agreed to keep their store as they envisioned,
complete with all the store characters New York families
have come to love. Not only that, but today marks the opening
of Merryweathers' Toy Shoppes in Chicago and Los Angeles."
Bradley's words
were met with hearty applause. I nodded to myself. Bradley's
business sense was admirable. His strategy had worked. He'd
said the company would lose customers and money if the old
store were modernized. Instead it should be kept just as
everyone loved it.
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2
And
Bradley's legendary charm could work a crowd-or a girl's dress
off her back. I should know. He'd almost done it to me.
"Viewers
in Los Angeles and Chicago, you're in for a treat," Hugh spoke
to the camera before it swung back to Bradley.
He
nodded modestly. I almost dropped the bagel I had snagged
from the catered breakfast I'd ordered for everyone. Modest?
Bradley? Confident, man-about-town, never-missed-the-cocktail
hour Bradley?
"I
plan to do everything in my power to see that Merryweathers
maintains its fun, friendly traditions. In fact, all our customers
and their friends are invited to the store today for a special
celebration. We're holding a Fortieth Birthday Party-"
At
that moment, the store clown raced onto the set. The tall
man crouched on his little tricycle pedaling in mad circles.
He honked the tricycle's red horn, tossed out candy to the
audience, and paused to strum a snippet of music on his ukulele.
Boys
and girls in the studio audience erupted into cries of joy.
"Mr. Skidoo! Mr. Skidoo!" they screamed. Parents half-heartedly
tried to control their shouting and jumping children.
Dressed with an
Edwardian flair, the clown wore the same costume as all the
Mr. Skidoos since 1924: White face paint with an ornately
drawn black mustachio curling over red lips, black top hat,
black tails over bright blue and green striped pants, a red
shirt, white bowtie, white gloves, and white spats over highly
polished black shoes. Everyone loved Mr. Skidoo.
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3
Except
me.
With
a flick of my wrist, I threw my half-eaten bagel into the
trash can. Behind me, the store characters waited for their
turn to go on air. Although I didn't know them particularly
well yet, I couldn't help but notice that they had all turned
their attention away from the TV monitor when Mr. Skidoo
appeared.
The
clown reveled in the adoration he received on set, throwing
kisses to the audience and bowing to them. On stage with
Mr. Downs and Bradley, Mr. Skidoo steered his tricycle over
to Bradley, disembarked with a flourish of his coattails,
and sat on the next chair.
"I
hope Mr. Skidoo doesn't try any of his tricks on your boss
while they're on air, Miss Bennett," grunted the store Pirate,
Mr. Geedunk.
I
turned to the beefy Pirate and gently petted the large green,
red and yellow parrot perched on his shoulder. "Surely Mr.
Skidoo wouldn't do something like that on national television."
Privately, I was thinking that's exactly what he would
do.
The
parrot squawked. "Kill the clown!"
Muffled
laughter filled the green room.
I
raised a puzzled brow at the Pirate, hoping for an explanation,
but none was forthcoming.
The
store manager, Mr. Mallory, dressed in a chalk-striped dark
blue suit and bowler hat, pointed his walking stick to the
room in general. In a stiff English accent he said, "I won't
tolerate any public rudeness toward Mr. Skidoo. He has been
the store's mascot for forty years. You must respect the
clown currently representing him."
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4
Respect
is earned, I thought, but kept quiet and turned back to the
TV monitor.
Bradley
smiled with good nature when Mr. Skidoo squirted water in
his face from a flower pin. Whisking his white, starched handkerchief
out from his suit jacket pocket, Bradley made a swipe at his
face, then spoke. "We'll have birthday cake, punch, and the
first one hundred girls under ten years old will receive a
Raggedy Ann doll. The first one hundred boys under ten years
old will get their own dye cast police car."
The
studio audience yelled its approval.
Mr.
Skidoo squirted Hugh Downs.
The
anchorman laughed and said, "We'll be right back after these
words from our sponsor."
That
served as a cue to the rest of the store characters who began
to file out of the green room.
"Break
a leg, everyone," I said.
They
passed by me: The Cowboy, the Princess, the Pirate and his
parrot, the Train Conductor, Raggedy Ann, the Toymaker, the
Teddy Bear--who served as the store greeter--and finally,
the store manager, Mr. Mallory, his nose in the air.
Everyone
gathered behind Mr. Downs and Bradley, except Mr. Skidoo.
The clown was front and center, playing a miniature white
tuba.
I
stood off camera to one side of the stage.
After
the commercial break, the camera focused on the group shot.
The store characters smiled and waved to the crowd.
"Thanks
for watching everyone. Please be sure to tune in tomorrow."
Mr. Downs could barely close the show over the noise from
the children and Mr. Skidoo's tuba.
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5
The
lights on the set dimmed.
Bradley
shook hands with Mr. Downs, exited his chair, and strolled
over to me. "Everyone happy backstage, Miss Bennett?"
I
looked into the bluest blue of all-Bradley's eyes--crossed
my fingers behind my back, and fibbed. "Yes, Mr. Williams.
The catered breakfast went over especially well."
We
had returned to formal address over the summer after I
had almost lost my virginity to him last spring.
He
walked with me back to the green room. "Good. You're a
superb executive secretary. I wouldn't have asked you
to come with me from Ryan Modeling if I didn't think so.
Thank you for saying yes."
A
tidal wave couldn't have stopped me. "Of course."
Deliberately,
I raised my right hand to waist level and pretended to
examine my Tiffany's gold charm bracelet, the gold typewriter
charm sparkling in the light. Bradley had given it to
me one sunny day before he'd turned into Mr. Strict Boss.
My
mind flashed back to the end of spring. While I had thought
Bradley was on the brink of selecting that perfect diamond
engagement ring from Tiffany's, he'd spent the summer
locked in his all-business attitude, disabusing me of
any such notion. Now the leaves on the trees were red
and gold and he still wore the shield of a professional
relationship. A James Bond fan, I wondered if I were destined
to play Miss Moneypenny to his James Bond forever. Although
with my past record of solving murder cases, I was more
the investigating type than Bradley.
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6
My
pride demanded that I behave in a similar professional,
aloof way, but it didn't stop me from wearing the perfume
that drove Bradley crazy, My Sin.
We
moved into the green room. "You're certain you can handle
your secretarial duties and keep an eye on the sales floor?"
I
stood as tall as my five foot seven inches could stretch
next to his lean six foot build. "I'm perfectly capable
of balancing my duties. I'm pleased you approved my plan
to bring Danielle with us when we left Ryan Modeling. She
can take over for me when I'm downstairs and help out when
I'm at my desk."
"Good.
I want someone I know and trust to report what our employees
are like and spot any potential problems." Bradley tugged
his starched white cuff and glanced at his watch. "We have
less than two hours before the birthday party begins."
"Won't
it be groovy? Who can resist a party with lots of children?"
He
closed his eyes briefly and inhaled a deep breath. "At least
no one will be murdered," he said, his handsome face stern.
I
blushed, a bad, if involuntary, habit of mine. Bradley knew
I had an uncanny knack for getting involved in murder investigations.
He'd forgotten the last one where he'd been the prime
suspect and I had found the killer.
"Why
on earth would anyone at a children's toy store be murdered?
I don't know how you can even say such a thing."
He
shrugged one muscled shoulder. "Gather the troops and meet
me at the store. We have to get ready for the little devils."
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7
The
street door to the green room swung closed after him.
I stood for a moment, twirling a strand of my hair,
another bad habit. At least I didn't frown. Mama had
long ago warned me about how frowning lead to wrinkles,
something no woman wants.
Bradley's
attitude toward children was new to me and I didn't
think it was cool. When we got married, I wanted at
least two children, a boy first, then a girl. The whole
plan was written in my secret notebook along with my
goals of fun things to accomplish in New York City.
Hmmm. Maybe Bradley didn't want to ruin his reputation
as a man about town by ruffling a little boy's hair
or curling a girl's ringlets around his finger. Yes,
that was it. He would feel differently about his own
children. I chewed my thumbnail.
Lost
in thought, I didn't hear the door from the studio open.
Suddenly
I felt my skirt being lifted from behind. I whirled
around to see a leering Mr. Skidoo on his tricycle,
one hand grasping the hem of my black and white checked
skirt. I jerked the material out of his gloved hand.
This wasn't the first time he'd been unspeakably rude
to me.
He
grinned and tooted his horn. He had a certain way of
tweaking that horn managed to sound dirty. "Come on.
Don't be a spoil sport," Mr. Skidoo said in a sing-song
voice. He spoke to everyone, adults and children alike,
as if they were five years old. "How about it baby?
I think you'd dig what's under this face paint . . .
and the clothes."
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8
I
shuddered, totally creeped out. His hand reached for the
horn again, but I placed mine over it and glared down
at him. "Do not speak to me that way ever again, Mr. Skidoo.
I've made it clear that I'm not interested in anything
other than a business relationship with you."
The
store characters filed into the room.
Mr.
Skidoo gave me the once over and said, "I'm a star. You'll
come around."
"Don't
bet your ukulele on it," I whispered fiercely.
"Hey,
betting's not my bag but I get turned on by the thrill
of the chase. It's gonna be fun in the swing-set
for us, if you know what I mean!" He winked.
I turned on
my heel and marched over to wrap up the leftover food.
The only swing-set I'd get on with Mr. Skidoo would be
one where I could swing him off the Empire State building.
* * *
Located
on Forty Seventh Street near Fifth Avenue, Merryweather's
Toy Shoppe gleamed with a floor to ceiling glass front
which had been the Merryweathers' last modern change to
the store built in 1924. When I arrived, there was already
a crowd gathered out front even though we had an hour
until opening. I struggled to get to the front door, saying,
"Store employee, please excuse me!"
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9
The
Teddy Bear-what was his name? I had trouble remembering
everyone's names. Complicating the problem, on the
job everyone called each other by their character's
name.
Mr.
Bob Runion-that was it-in furry brown bear costume
gave silent instructions via gestures to two workmen
who hung a white banner underneath the Merryweathers
Toy Shoppe sign. The banner read: "Happy Fortieth
Birthday!" in red letters. The Teddy Bear entertained
the crowd by indicating to the workmen to move the
sign a little to the left, then, a little to the right.
The workmen shook their fists at the Teddy Bear in
mock anger. The crowd laughed at the antics.
Mr.
Mallory, a few steps ahead of me, paused and nodded
to the Teddy Bear. I saw a white envelope pass from
the Teddy Bear's furry pocket to the store manager,
who quickly slid it inside his jacket.
When he
saw me approach, the Teddy Bear hurried to grab one
polished brass handle and open the door for me. I
smiled my thanks-so far the Teddy Bear had not broken
character and spoken to me---entered the store and
looked around the sales floor. From hidden speakers
issued instrumental arrangements of popular songs.
I recognized an acoustic version of We'll Sing
In The Sunshine and suppressed a giggle. Most
of the store characters had returned and were busy
tying red, white and blue balloons in their respective
sections.
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10
The
Merryweathers' Helpers, or salespeople, fussed over
a five-tiered chocolate cake displayed on a red, white
and blue topped table in the center of the first floor.
Representations of each of the store's famous characters
had been created in colorful frosting. Party hats and
horns were piled high next to the confection, ready
for the children. A large crystal punch bowl filled
with a red liquid was set up on a separate table along
with Dixie cups, plastic forks, napkins and small paper
plates.
Two
more Helpers rode the elevator down from the Reading
Corner upstairs, each carrying a big cardboard box.
The Helpers were all female and wore blue uniform dresses
with tan smocks decorated with an embroidered likeness
of Mr. Skidoo's smiling face.
I saw Bradley
talking to Betty Winston, our Raggedy Ann Doll. Betty's
domain included the dolls, dollhouses, dollhouse furniture,
a child-size English tea table set for two, doll buggies
and more. Even in her Raggedy Ann costume, red yarn
wig and painted face complete with red triangle nose,
Betty was a pretty girl with an excellent figure. But
although Betty flirted with her long black eyelashes,
Bradley wore his pleasant, cool-but-unapproachable look.
The Strict Boss attitude he'd mastered over the summer
appeared to apply to everyone.
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11
I
looked over at the two Helpers carrying the boxes,
Linda and Jane, as they struggled to reach the front
door without spilling the contents. I put my
purse
and folder on the floor and hurried over to help.
"Let's place one on either side of the open doors.
Will you be able to manage handing out the dolls
and police cars by yourselves? I could find you
some help," I offered.
Both women
smiled at me, but before either could answer, Mr.
Mallory appeared at my side. He looked down his
nose at me and spoke in his clipped English accent.
"Miss Bennett, I am indebted to you for being so,
er, helpful, but I've already given Linda and Jane
their instructions."
Just
a spoonful of sugar . . . I wanted to say, having
seen the new movie Mary Poppins in August.
Instead, I inclined my head at Mr. Mallory, retrieved
my black purse and folder, then made tracks for
the escalator that led upstairs.
I stepped
onto the moving stairs, saw Mr. Skidoo watching
me from below, and averted my gaze, looking up-and
who should be six steps above me but Bradley! With
one hand over my mouth, I suppressed a giggle at
the sexy view he presented from behind and I almost
lost my balance on the escalator. Bradley must have
heard me because when I reached the elevator on
the second floor which led to our third floor offices,
he stood waiting.
"Why are
you coming upstairs, Miss Bennett?"
"I need
to put my purse in my desk drawer, and I thought
you'd want coffee since you wait for a cup every
day."
"Give
me your purse. I'll put it away and make my own
coffee. I want you downstairs."
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12
I
want you to chill, I said silently to myself.
"Very well." I passed him the items. "Would you be
so kind as to place this folder on my desk? It contains
clippings and notes on our advertising in today's
Times."
He
accepted purse and folder and let his arm drop dramatically.
"Good Lord, what have you got in this bag? A boulder?
Part of Fort Knox? An entire Lindy's cheesecake?"
"That's
none of your business." I choked back a laugh at the
sight of masculine Bradley carrying a purse.
"Okay, kid.
I'll be on the phone most of the day with the managers
of the other two stores, so have Danielle come up."
"Yes, Mr.
Williams."
Kid, kid,
kid. Would he ever stop using that stupid nickname
for me? I'd be twenty-three in December. So what if
he was nine years older than me?
Grasping
the handrail of the down escalator, I thought again
of Bradley carrying my purse and chuckled all the
way to the first floor until I noticed that Mr. Skidoo
was still watching me.
*
* *
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13
By
three o'clock, I wanted to tear my dark brown
hair out by its roots. Having eaten only a tiny
piece of cake washed down with punch, I heard
my stomach growl and my ears rang from the constant
noise
of hordes of children with cake-smeared faces.
Their
parents, many of whom knew each another, saw the
event as a social occasion and chatted while their
little girls slathered "makeup" on their faces
in the Princess' area, left the dressing rooms
a mess after trying on sparkly costumes, pushed
one another out of the way to sit at the tea table,
and scattered dolls in Raggedy Ann's section.
The
boys ran around, tripped over blue trucks, silver
airplanes and red fire engines dropped in the
aisles, shouted for the harried Train Conductor
to make the trains run faster around the track,
fought with each other for a good place in front
of the Toymaker's workbench and had mock dagger
fights in the Pirate's area.
The
parrot ate treats supplied by Mr. Geedunk's loving
black-gloved hands, then promptly did his business
on the navy and red patterned carpet. The Pirate,
busy telling tales of the high seas to an enthralled
group of boys, didn't notice the bird's misbehavior.
As I
made my way to fetch some paper towels from the
back room, I stopped dead and turned in the direction
of a familiar voice.
"Miss
Bennett, I heard you and Williams had taken over
here, and I raised a bottle of Bud in relief.
Even you two couldn't find trouble in a toy store,"
Detective Finelli said.
"Bud
is a beer, right, Daddy?" a five-year-old boy
with a crew cut that matched his father's asked.
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14
"Of
course it is, stupid," his brother, wise at the
age of seven, answered. He had a crew cut as well.
Both
boys were dark haired like their father, dressed
alike in rust-colored sweaters over white collared
shirts and tan corduroy pants.
The detective
butted their heads together in what seemed a frequent,
roughhouse gesture of affection. "Beer is for grown-ups.
Both of you say hello to Miss Bennett, then go get
some cake."
"Hello,
Miss Bennett."
"Hello,
Miss Bennett."
They raced
off before I could answer or ask their names. I
knew their ages from a previous adventure that involved
the detective, but I'd never met them. I smiled
at Finelli and he half-smiled back. Though he'd
been madder than a cat in a bathtub full of water
when I'd "interfered in police business" during
prior murder investigations, all that was in the
past. Heck, when I almost died during the last case,
and was in the hospital, he'd even brought me chocolates.
"Truce,
Detective?"
"Gotta
say yeah. Jeff and Robbie love this place and that
clown. Costs me a fortune every time I come in here
with them."
"I'm sure
you enjoy it as much as they do. There's a little
boy in every man."
He raised
an eyebrow. "All I know is if I let the wife bring
the kids, she finds her way to Fifth Avenue and
shops."
"I'm sure
she deserves to shop, what with the anxiety of having
you as a husband and two boys to watch over," I
said and laughed.
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15
My
laughter was cut off by Mr. Skidoo, winding
his way around my ankles on his tricycle. The
clown handed out candy from his enormous trouser
pockets to nearby children, then looked at me
with a twisted grin. "Now I know your secret!
Maybe I'll tell everyone!" he sang, giving my
skirt hem a tug with each word. He beeped his
horn three times and drove toward the Pirate.
The
parrot's head turned to one side, one beady
black eye on Mr. Skidoo. He squawked, "Kill
the clown!"
Mr.
Skidoo whipped out a small air gun and shot
the parrot, causing the bird to reel backward
on the Pirate's shoulder.
Mr.
Geedunk stopped himself from yelling at the
clown in front of the children, but I saw him
bristle and give Mr. Skidoo a look that promised
he'd deal with him later.
Detective
Finelli looked at me in the inquisitive way
I knew too well: His eyes narrowed slightly,
his expression stoic. "What secret, Miss Bennett?"
I
avoided his gaze. What did Mr. Skidoo think
he knew about me? In a flash, I remembered him
watching me watching Bradley on the escalator.
He may have even seen us on the floor above.
There was only a clear glass wall on the second
floor so that people downstairs could clearly
see the Reading Corner. I grimaced. My facial
expressions were usually easy to interpret unless
I made a point of covering them, something had
I begun working on over the summer when Bradley
turned chilly.
Had
my personal feelings for Bradley been obvious
as I ogled him on the escalator? Had the leering
clown discerned my attraction for Bradley correctly?
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16
Darn
Mr. Skidoo!
"Miss
Bennett?"
Detective
Finelli had been waiting for me to answer, but
rescue arrived in the form of his boys. They ran
to him, each with an armload of toys, cake crumbs
on their mouths and sweaters.
"Happy
shopping!" I exclaimed and, face warm, escaped.
I
paused beside the Jungle, a grouping of tall,
expensive stuffed animals, sofe of them life-sized,
next to the escalator--a giraffe, grizzly bear,
tiger, lion, zebra and even an elephant. The cutest
monkey I'd ever seen hung suspended between two
leafy trees, giving the impression he was jumping
from one to another.
I
bent over to push straw around the animals' feet,
listening to the soft recording of jungle sounds
that played constantly in the area. I told myself
I was not hiding from Finelli, though as I saw
the detective leave the store, boys in tow, I
breathed a sigh of relief.
Beyond
the Pirate's area a door marked "Employees Only"
led to a storeroom where I grabbed some paper
towels and a bottle of Mr. Clean. I returned to
Mr. Geedunk's area intending to wipe up the parrot's
mess.
In
character, the Pirate bellowed, "Ahoy, matey,
swab the deck!"
I
saluted him and made quick work of my cleaning.
The
children laughed and one young voice rang out,
filled with contempt. "She's a girl! Girls can't
be on pirate ships. They're bad luck!"
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17
The
Pirate roared, "Then she'll walk the plank
if she doesn't leave our ship." For my ears
alone, Mr. Geedunk said, "That clown isn't
bothering you, is he?"
"Well…."
I rolled my eyes. "I hope your parrot is okay."
The
Pirate petted the bird as he spoke to me.
"Junior is fine. Be on your guard with Skidoo.
He's a bad one."
I
nodded and, after finishing my chore, returned
to the back room, throwing away the dirty
paper towels and using the ladies room to
wash my hands. Trying not to think about the
irritating clown, I smiled at Mr. Geedunk's
name for the bird: Junior. The Pirate certainly
did treat the bird like a spoiled child.
Finally
at five o'clock it was closing time, though
it took over half an hour before all the customers
left.
"I
know Mr. Williams will be impressed with the
store's profits today, Mr. Mallory," I said,
trying to thaw the manager out a little.
Mr.
Skidoo, high from all the love and attention
lavished on him during the day, was still
on his tricycle, riding around like a madman.
He overheard my words, looked at the puffed-up
Mr. Mallory, and said, "Would you bet on it,
Mr. Mallory?"
Busy
closing out the old-fashioned cash registers,
Mr. Mallory spoke without looking at the clown
or me. "In the seven months I've been here,
Merryweathers' has always done well. I expect
nothing less."
What
a crab! Then I looked around and realized
that all the employees appeared to be exhausted.
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18
The Helpers disappeared out the front door first,
their job done for the day. The Teddy Bear came
inside and locked the door, leaving the keys
in the lock so employees could exit. Trying
to give Mr. Mallory the benefit of the doubt,
I figured he must be tired too. Heck, I was
more than ready to flop down on my bed at home
and listen to one of my Beatles albums.
Mr.
Mallory, finished with the four cash registers,
stepped into the center of the sales floor and
addressed the store characters. "Thank you for
your efforts today. I know everyone wants to
go home, put their feet up and have a cup of
tea. Please do so. Report at eight-thirty in
the morning and ready your area for the day
then."
A
chorus of "Thank you, Mr. Mallory!" greeted
his words.
The
Train Conductor, an older man with bushy white
sideburns wearing the traditional blue and white
striped overalls, matching cap and white shirt,
said, "I won't leave my display until it's exactly
the way I want it. Those children knocked my
trees over, upset my bridge-"
Mr.
Skidoo rode to the elaborate display and picked
up a female figure. Looking at me sideways,
he addressed the Conductor. "I'll take this
lady home with me tonight, unless I get a better
offer, Mr. Kirchhoff."
I
gritted my teeth and picked a few dolls off
the floor. What would it take to stop the clown's
unwanted attentions?
"You
are to call me Conductor," the train man hissed
at Mr. Skidoo. He ripped the figure from the
clown's hand. Mr. Skidoo laughed and pedaled
away.
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19
"You
can fix everything to your liking in the
morning, Conductor," Mr. Mallory said. "I'm
turning the main lights out for the evening."
The
Conductor's gaze ran over his small world
and he wrung his hands.
Eager
to get away from Mr. Skidoo, I took the
escalator, then the elevator up to the executive
offices. Danielle was gone. There was no
sign of Bradley either, though his light
was on. Disappointed, I sat at my desk-a
heavy wooden thing, surely dating from 1924-and
scanned the messages Danielle had taken.
Twenty minutes later I retrieved my purse
from one of the squeaky wooden drawers and
turned out all the lights except one rose-patterned
china lamp on the coffee table.
I
stepped off the elevator on the second floor,
spared a glance for the scattered books
in the Reading Corner, and walked over to
the escalator. The machine had been turned
off for the day, so I grasped the handrail
and began to walk down the steel steps,
my heels clacking nosily.
All
the lights were off except for the faint
clear night bulbs that lined the bottom
of the big glass front window. The night
lights bathed the store in an eerie glow.
I pulled my store keys out of my purse in
case someone had taken the ones out of the
front door.
About
halfway to the bottom of the escalator,
a flood of uneasiness came over me as my
eyes fixed on the dolls, especially the
ones of Mr. Skidoo. They seemed to look
back at me. Scolding myself for being childish,
I nevertheless moved my gaze to my Jungle
friends.
The
giraffe had toppled over onto its side.
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20
The
tiger lay on top of the lion.
The
cute monkey had disappeared. One tree leaned
against the other.
What
happened to them? Hadn't the Jungle been tidy
before I went upstairs?
My
glance slid to the front door. Something made
me want to get out of there.
I
reached the first floor and hesitated. The
music was off. The store was completely silent.
A tingle went up my spine as if a ghost had
touched me, not that I believed in ghosts.
Except Casper, the friendly ghost.
I
hastened my steps, then stopped just shy of
the front door. I reminded myself that I was
a strong, independent city woman who would
not be intimidated by, of all things, dolls.
Disgusted
with myself, I placed my purse on the floor
and went over to the Jungle. I would prove
I wasn't afraid by taking the time to straighten
the animals.
I
found the monkey and propped him next to the
tree that was standing. On tiptoe, I pushed
the fallen tree back into position.
"Poor
Mr. Giraffe," I whispered, righting him to
his great height.
Great,
now you're talking to stuffed animals.
I
made swift work of putting the tiger on his
feet, then grabbed the lion by either side
of his fluffy mane, saw what was beneath him,
and started screaming.
Mr.
Skidoo was sprawled on the floor with one
of the Pirate's toy knives stuck in his chest,
his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
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