The Disappearing Dollhouse

Written by Moe Zilla, Published on 10/10/2008, Re-published on 3/26/2010

Fiona Winston was famous, and Fiona Winston was beautiful. Now she was crying on my telephone.

Through the tears, I gathered the details. She'd wanted to know who'd stolen her dollhouse.

The first clue was her address - a gigantic house on top of a hill, where Fiona was throwing a party. Yesterday she'd sung her newest song on television, and today she'd invited some guests to celebrate. Just 300 of her closest friends. . .

Thankfully, the party hadn't begun - it was scheduled for that night. Her enormous lawn was completely empty, with nothing but perfectly trimmed grass and a driveway a half-mile long. It looked expensive, and a little lonely.

An iron gate blocked the driveway's entrance, but a security guard emerged from a small shack in front. Fiona's estate was surrounded by a thick hedge of 10-foot high bushes.

But could someone sneak over the hedge to steal Fiona's dollhouse? I asked the security guard, who didn't say a word. He just pointed his head towards a security console with over 30 monitors, each showing a different section of the hedge. A light blinked below one, indicating its motion detectors had registered a tiny bird landing on the hedge. Nobody could sneak in without being detected.

However, there were five people already inside. When I rang Fiona's doorbell, its chimes played her famous song, and Fiona answered the door in a bright red gown. I recognized her sad face immediately as millions of people would.

As she led me into the enormous room, her high-heeled shoes clicked loudly on the marble floor. "I had my cleaning women come yesterday,” she said, "so my place could be spotless tonight.”

Was there any chance a cleaner could be your thief?

She seemed hurt by the question. "No,” she insisted. "So many people want to use you when you're famous. And not just for autographs. There's crooked business operatives and industry parasites. . .”

"But I wouldn't let that happen to me. Even when hiring my cleaners, I chose people I could trust. They're friends I've known since childhood. Some are even members of my family.” I felt bad as I started to say that you can't rule out any suspects. But then she gave me another clue.

"It couldn't have been any of them, because the dollhouse was here when I woke up this morning. Then an hour later, it was gone!"

The only thing stolen was Fiona's exotic Russian dollhouse with a lonely history all its own. Princess Katarina had received it 400 years ago, facing her own medieval parasites trying to befriend the famous. A powerful Russian lord assembled a dozen jewel-setters to decorate its eight rooms, each carved out of a rare black wood. Each room was a different color, its walls filled with gorgeous jewels - green emeralds, red rubies, and even sparkly white diamonds. Its huge financial value was matched only by its historic value.

Fiona thought it was worth "at least ten million dollars” -- but she hadn't had it appraised.

We cross the marble floor to a tiny den where the dollhouse had been displayed. It had no other exits or windows. Neither did the enormous room we'd just crossed, except for a kitchen on its right, and a wide staircase curling down from the second floor above. A fresh bouquet of unhappy sun-less flowers was resting on the den's floor.

I called the guard's shack at the entrance to Fiona's driveway. Was there anyone else who had already left the house?

No, the guard replied firmly.

I replaced the phone, then told Fiona I had some bad news. "That means the thief must be one of the four people still in your house. We'll have to figure out who could've stolen your dollhouse. Can you tell me anything about them?"

"Well first, there's my boyfriend Kyle.”

I'd seen his picture in the paper. (There had been a small scandal when late one night he'd crashed his car.) Maybe the reputation he got was unfair, but just being here today also made him a suspect. Could he also be seducing the singer, in order to steal from her?

Also in Fiona's house was Lucius Oswald, the chief caterer. He was well respected throughout Hollywood as a brilliant but strange servant to the stars. Lucius arrived that morning on an exotic bicycle from Sweden, and Fiona escorted him to examine the kitchen for his twenty-person catering crew, who were scheduled to arrive that afternoon. I immediately wondered if he had a side business selling the occasional stolen antique!

Lucius was hired by suspect #3, a party planner named Julia. She'd become famous herself for being able to organize a party for 300 people overnight. Julia was smart, energetic, and very serious about her career, and when you hired Julia, she'd guarantee a wonderful party with the best caterer in town. But maybe she was secretly bitter after planning hundreds of parties for other people.

Everyone there was a glamour-industry professional except one. His name was Reg, and he had dark eyes above thin lips that didn't smile. He acknowledged that part of him didn't even want to be here, saying he felt out of place in the houses of the rich and famous. But when Julia had seen his gorgeous bouquets, she'd insisted he be her party's florist. Reg had dutifully loaded 40 bouquets into his van to decorate all the rooms in Fiona's house. He didn't usually fill orders involving this many bouquets, and he'd obviously feel more comfortable back in his flower shop. But had he grabbed a souvenir?

"I want this solved quickly,” Fiona moaned.

"So do I,” snapped Julia, bringing Lucius and Reg into the room from the kitchen next door. Kyle heard their footsteps echoing across the marble floor, and came down the staircase from the second floor. He had long, glamorous hair, and wore an expensive looking shirt.

Seizing the moment, I asked: who was the first person to arrive?

The night before, after Fiona's television appearance, she'd had a date with Kyle. She picked him up in her famous red Ferrari and drove him back to her estate. Kyle said in a lazy voice, "So I've been here since last night.”

"I wasn't,” Julia added. "I had Reg start delivering the flowers early, and then sent Lucius over to begin preparing the kitchen.”

Were you in the kitchen all morning? I asked Lucius.

"A caterer has to know what kind of facilities he has,” Lucius insisted defensively.

I have to ask you all a very important question, I told the suspects. Was anyone here carrying anything when they arrived?

"Not me,” said Kyle.

"Just one of my clipboards,” said Julia.

"And your purse!” Kyle challenged.

"Search it!” Julia said sharply, holding her purse open for all of us to see. "There's no Russian dollhouse in here!"

"Julia,” I said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to search your car.”

"Go ahead!” she said furiously. "I've got nothing to hide!"

We searched Julia's car, and sure enough, we found nothing inside except another clipboard. As the four suspects stared, I turned and announced: "I'm ready to identify our thief.”