Dolled Up for Murder (14 page)

“And I would have, too, if someone hadn’t rammed into the back of the car. I lost control and flew right off the road.”

Detective Albright waited in the lobby. Gretchen could feel his anger saturating the climate-controlled hospital air, his face tight, the space around him crackling with static tension.

“Who are you?” he said to Nacho, his voice as controlled as the air-conditioning. He made a point of ignoring her.

“My brother?” Nina managed to croak.

“You need to say that with more conviction. If I didn’t know you so well, I might think you made it up,” Matt said to Nina. He grabbed Gretchen by the arm and steered her away from the others. “I need to speak with you.

“I could charge you with obstruction of justice,” he hissed when they were out of earshot.

“I could charge you with police brutality.” Gretchen wrenched away from his grasp.

“I can’t believe you called the cops on me.”

“It was a case of mistaken identity. I didn’t know it was you.”

“We seem to have a lot of mistaken identities as well as disappearing acts going on.” Matt ran his fingers through his hair. “Who’s the colorful character?”

“A friend of Daisy’s.”

“We had an agreement to share information, remember?”

“That was your idea, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, we’re on opposing sides.”

Matt leaned in. “We both want the same thing. We want to see this case closed.”

“We differ in the end results. I care about the outcome.” Gretchen glanced over at Nina and Nacho. What could she tell him that would help her mother? Nothing. What could she say?
Excuse me, but the latest facts are a little puzzling. You see, my mother conspired with these nice homeless
people to conceal her movements in an effort to throw off pursuers and evade capture.

She glanced at Nacho. What other bits of useful information could she share?

Then there’s the note I found scribbled on a photocopy of a doll. My mother hid a French fashion doll and asked her coconspirators to hide a valuable doll trunk, which they did. Oh, and by the way, I stole the trunk from them.

The situation kept getting better and better and her involvement deeper and deeper.

Gretchen thought of one thing she could tell him that might help. She wondered how much information Daisy would willingly offer the authorities. Based on her lifestyle, probably not much.

“Daisy had the car accident because someone rammed into the back of my mother’s car,” Gretchen said. “Since the Birch women don’t believe in coincidence, let’s assume it was intentional. This means that someone was trying to kill Daisy or someone was trying to kill my mother.”

With one last scathing look, Matt headed for the elevator.

Caroline stood inside a Western Union on the south side of Chicago and counted out the money in her hands. Thanks to her sister-in-law’s generosity and her amazing ability to stifle her ususal runaway curiosity, Caroline would buy a change of clothes, splurge on a hot meal, and check into a modest hotel room for a much-needed shower.

She had had no choice but to appeal to someone for help, and her late husband’s somewhat cantankerous sister, Gertie, had been the right choice after all. No questions asked. Beyond the limited information Gertie was offered, she had a certain innate understanding of the complex circumstances that controlled Caroline’s actions.

Of course, she’d wire the money.

Caroline left Western Union and hastened along, her laptop an extension of her arm, anxious to find a private place to search the Internet once again.

Hurry up. And wait. Hurry up. And wait.

This whole unpleasant business was taking much longer than she anticipated. Without a strike soon, she was doomed. Like a broken doll consigned to the waste heap.

She fervently hoped she was right and that his greed would compel him to sell another one. It could as easily be a woman, she reminded herself. She had no idea who her antagonist was. Male or female, it didn’t matter at all.

The time had come, she decided, to call her daughter.

17

Collectors have as many ways of displaying their collections as their unique and creative personalities allow. Some like to be surrounded by their dolls, in the kitchen, halls, and covering every available space throughout their homes. Some collectors dedicate one room to their dolls, practicing strict temperature control and avoiding humidity fluctuations. Some use cabinets to keep the dolls free from dust and other airborne particles. Some hide their dolls in locked rooms, guard them jealously, and live in constant fear of break-ins.

—From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Gretchen had many questions for Nacho, but he became withdrawn and uncommunicative without Daisy to prompt him along. His eyes grew fearful, his glance darting, searching for an escape route like a trapped animal.

It was the thunder that did it.

They stood in front of the hospital and watched the sky. The wind had picked up speed, roaring to the south. Rain clouds were visible on the horizon and moving toward them.

“I thought it didn’t rain in Phoenix in July,” Gretchen said to Nina. “Maybe the storm will bring cooler weather.”

Nina snorted. “Don’t count on it. This isn’t the East Coast. Arizona is a planet of its own, like Mars or Jupiter, and it’ll stay stifling hot with or without rain.”

Lightning speared into the desert floor somewhere in the distance, and Gretchen could feel static electricity snapping through the air.

“The monsoon,” Nacho muttered, with increased agitation.

“Flashflooding,” Nina said.

Nacho turned to Gretchen. “You have to take me home. Quickly.”

“Lead the way,” she said, feeling she was finally breaking through a barrier.

The storm moved in behind the Impala as they traveled from Scottsdale into Phoenix’s central city. Nacho led Gretchen past the Southern Pacific Rail Yard and the freight trains that brought lumber and building materials into the construction-crazed city. They drove along the Black Canyon Highway on an elevated viaduct and exited with the first drops of rain beginning to splatter on the windshield.

The monsoon, Nina explained as they drove, started in July and ended sometime in August. It brought torrential rains and damaging hail, water that the hard-packed earth couldn’t absorb and the inadequate drainage system couldn’t transport.

Streets could become rapidly moving rivers, tearing out trees and destroying buildings.

“Surely, you’re exaggerating,” Gretchen said, her eyes wide.

Nina shook her head. “Six inches of fast-moving water can knock you right off your feet. I’ve seen cars swept away.”

Gretchen glanced back and saw black sky outdistancing them and swirling clouds approaching fast. Ahead, in the boulevards, palm trees bowed under the increasing force of the wind.

Nacho directed them to pull off beneath a freeway viaduct. As soon as the car stopped, he bolted out the door and ran down into a shallow wash. Nina and Gretchen followed, stumbling on the rough ground. Nina, who thought shopping at the mall qualified as strenuous exercise, scrambled to keep up, and Gretchen slowed to wait for her.

“How do we know he isn’t dangerous?” Nina puffed. “He could have killed Martha and lied about helping your mother.”

“I’m willing to take that risk if it means finding her.”

The sky gave way, and rain pounded down, hammering the car and everything else in its path. The bridge overhead saved them from the deluge.

“This isn’t too bad,” Gretchen said. “We can wait out the rain right here.”

“You have a lot to learn,” Nina said, tripping along. “It’s a good thing I’m around to protect you. This dry wash will be underwater in no time at all. You’re standing in the worst possible place.”

Gretchen looked back at the rain, then turned in time to see Nacho disappear into the side of a large beam that supported the viaduct. One minute he was running toward the support beam, the next minute he was gone. She opened her mouth in surprise and started running. Rain trickled past her feet. Over the roar of the wind, she thought she heard her cell phone ringing on her belt clip. She let it ring and kept running in the direction she had last seen Nacho.

On closer inspection, his shelter under the cover of the bridge was a work of genius. Nacho had created a facade around the beam, a false wall of cardboard made from several refrigerator boxes. He had painted the cardboard a slate gray to match the color of the beam and brought the pieces together with gray duct tape, effectively concealing his makeshift home from prying eyes.

Gretchen found the opening and pushed through. Inside, Nacho leaned against Daisy’s shopping cart and took a long draw from a cheap bottle of wine. He offered her the bottle, and she shook her head. He raised it to his lips and drained what was left. The shopping cart, filled to overflowing, took up most of the room in his hand-made shelter. An old piece of outdoor carpeting covered the ground.

Gretchen knew enough about the plight of the homeless to feel a deep empathy for Nacho and Daisy. Through the years the homeless had been herded from a visible presence in tent cities to old warehouses where they huddled conveniently out of sight. The few social programs still operating couldn’t support the growing numbers, and now jails were becoming the new shelters of the future. Nacho had found an alternative to living on the street and an alternative to abiding by the rules of the government-funded shelters.

The gale-strength wind threatened his newfound home. The cardboard rattled violently, and Gretchen wondered how much longer the duct tape would hold.

Nina slid through behind her. “We have to get out of here,” she said, an edge of panic in her voice. “This wash is a death trap.”

“I can’t leave without my stuff.” Nacho’s arms swept to encompass the tiny room. “And Daisy’s cart.”

“The cart won’t fit in the car,” Gretchen said. “We’ll wheel it up to the top of the wash and unload the contents into Nina’s car. Maybe we can tie the cart to a girder so the wind won’t blow it away.”

“This entire wash is going to be a running river before you get done talking about it,” Nina screamed into the wind as they pulled the cart along. A large black lawn bag filled with Nacho’s possessions bounced behind him as he half carried it, half dragged it along.

Water rose over their shoes.

The rain pelted Gretchen’s arms and face as they hurriedly stuffed the contents of Daisy’s shopping cart into the trunk. Nacho tossed his bag into the backseat and ran back down into the growing water swell. He called out, but the wind lifted the sound away from her. Gretchen watched him splash through the growing swell, then he disappeared inside the corrugated board.

When she moved to follow him, Nina grabbed her arm. “Stay here. He’s a fool.”

“What’s he doing?” Gretchen wiped her wet face with her good hand. So much for staying dry. Her clothes were soaked. Ignoring Nina’s advice, she decided to follow him. What if he refused to abandon ship? She would drag him out if necessary.

She slipped into his shelter and he seized her from behind, pining her arms against her side, his breath foul on her neck. She realized how isolated she was. Nina couldn’t help her from the top of the wash. If he had killed Martha, he would kill her without hesitation. Then what? Would he go after Nina? No one knew where they were; it might be days before someone discovered their bodies. Victims of flashflooding. Who would guess the truth?

His hold was strong, and she bent forward, twisting and pushing up to free her arms. When she began to struggle, he released her and backed up. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said with dark, emotionless eyes.

“I came to help,” she said, breathing hard.

He shoved her. “Get out while you still can.”

The same words he had spoken to her outside of the restaurant. At the time, she assumed he was threatening her, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe, then as now, he was warning her away from a dangerous situation. He was a strange man with abrupt and edgy mannerisms. Not quite right by society’s standards, a little off.

Gretchen burst through the opening and glanced back to see him following. Nacho kicked through the flowing water, carrying another bag.

Six inches of water, Nina had warned. Strong enough to bowl you over and sweep you away. They struggled through the water, not running now. Walking thickly, off-balance with each step.

“Follow the flow,” Nacho said, close to her ear. “And angle toward the embankment.”

They had no choice but to turn away from Nina and the car. Gretchen felt the calf-deep water pulling her along. She quit fighting against it, accepting it instead, but edging slowly at an angle toward the embankment. She glanced back and saw Nina waving her arms frantically.

Gretchen felt firm footing below, less pull from the current, as Nacho rose ahead of her on the hill, clutching the bag. She looked back at the swelling river then loped all the way back to the car.

“Martha’s,” Nacho said, peering intensely at Gretchen and pushing the bag at her. She took the bag from him and threw it in the backseat.

“We don’t have anything to secure the shopping cart,” she said with rain pouring down her face. “We’ll have to abandon it.”

“It’s not like she can’t get another one,” Nina shouted.

Nacho wedged it between the face of the concrete ramp and a metal pole, and Nina pulled away just as the whirling water ripped apart Nacho’s home.

Lightning struck, closer this time, and Gretchen envied Wobbles and the canines for their dry and protected home. Water from her soaking clothes pooled on the floor around her, and the seat felt squishy and wet.

Nina ground the car to an abrupt halt.

A sign loomed ahead. Do Not Cross When Flooded. The street ahead looked like the inside of a whirlpool with all the jets at full blast.

“I can show you a way out,” Nacho said, pointing to the right. “Go that way.” And Nina swung the wheel.

Ten minutes later, at Nacho’s insistence, they dropped him at the Rescue Mission. He heaved his own large bag out behind him, and after another piercing look at Gretchen, he ran for cover.

“I feel like I’m letting him get away,” Gretchen said. “I have so many questions, and he’s the only one who might be able to answer them.”

“We know how to find him,” Nina said.

“He knows so much more than he’s telling us. I can feel it.”

“That’s the Birch psychic intuition finally coming out in you.” Nina grinned. “It’s about time. That’s a good thing.”

“At least he left all this other stuff in the car.”

Nina wrinkled her face. “That’s the bad thing.”

They passed a car caught in flooding in a wash along the side of the street. Two men sat on the roof of the car, and rescue vehicles were parked at the curb on higher ground. Firemen attended to the men and directed traffic away from the area. Gretchen saw a helicopter overhead, scouting for stranded motorists and dangerous situations.

“We’ll get home eventually,” Nina said. “The long way. Those two unlucky men will be ticketed under the dumb motorist law.” She laughed wryly. “Phoenix has a campaign called ‘Turn around, don’t drown.’ That could have been us if we hadn’t obeyed the signs.”

Gretchen was mesmerized by the freak of nature she was witnessing. Actually, everything about Phoenix seemed otherworldly. First the intense heat that scorched the land creating a crisp, brown, leafless environment hostile to most life-forms. Then the sky opened up and torrential rains flooded the entire city, virtually drowning the parched land.

She remembered the call that she had ignored while pursuing Nacho under the freeway bridge, and she reached for her phone. The clip was empty.

“Pull over,” Gretchen said. “My phone’s missing.”

“I’m sure it’s in here someplace,” Nina said. “Wait until we get home, and you can look around without getting soaked.” Nina slid a glance at Gretchen. “Too late for that, I guess.”

“I don’t think it’s in the car. I might have lost it while pushing Daisy’s cart up to the car. We have to go back.”

“Sorry, dear. Anything left behind is gone by now, and I wouldn’t risk going all the way back anyway.”

Gretchen searched the seat and floor around her then crawled in the backseat and rummaged around under the bag Nacho had said belonged to Martha.

No cell phone.

As soon as they stopped in her mother’s driveway under the carport, she dug through the trunk.

No cell phone.

How, she wondered, could she live for even one day without her phone?

Caroline stared at the bleak motel walls. Close enough to O’Hare for a fast flight out, far enough away to escape the steep prices associated with instant airport accessibility.

Twenty-six calls from her daughter in the past few days, mostly from Gretchen’s cell phone, a few made from Caroline’s house. At least the same number of calls from Nina, received and also ignored. Now, when she needed so desperately to warn her daughter away from Phoenix, she couldn’t locate her.

All her calls to Gretchen had gone unanswered.

She sat alone in a musty room with a foul odor clinging to it, the smell of too many years of cigarette smoke and too many untrained pets. The first thing she did on entering the room was to yank the bedspread off the bed and toss it into a corner.

Planes continuously roared overhead, drowning out the television, turned on but unwatched.

Caroline considered leaving a message on Gretchen’s voice mail, but what would she say? Explain too much or too little, and she couldn’t predict the extent of the damage to herself or to Gretchen.

She had failed. She could tell Gretchen that. Her laptop hummed on the scarred dresser top, but it hummed off-key, the music Caroline had hoped to hear never played.

Wireless Internet, even in this dilapidated sorry excuse for a motel.

She tried calling her house. No answer.

With any luck, Gretchen was back in Boston and wouldn’t need a warning.

Nacho should have called by now. Hah, he should have called a long time ago. He was her only link to the events taking place in Phoenix, and he was as unreliable as always. Self-medicating inside a wine bottle to numb the pain or to calm his nerves, or to render inactive the voices only he could hear. Who knew what really went on inside that misshapen head?