Dolled Up for Murder (4 page)

“We’ve lost April,” Gretchen said, looking back.

“She knows where we’re going. Let’s hope she makes it there without an accident. You saw the condition of her car. She’s crash prone,” Nina said. “Don’t worry about her. Worry instead . . .” she ground through the gears, “. . . about Wobbles and Tutu alone in the same house. I can’t believe restaurants won’t allow dogs. In France everyone dines with their dogs.”

“Paris streets are also dotted with clumps of doggy doo-doo. It’s everywhere like goose crap around a pond.”

“That’s why we have to introduce the French to wee-wee pads. A fortune could be awaiting us.” Nina peeled into a driveway and deposited Rosebud with the pup’s anxious owner.

When they arrived at Richardson’s Restaurant and entered the cool and dimly lit interior of the restaurant, they found that April had already made herself comfortable in a deep-seated booth. They sipped margaritas and ordered tomatillo toast and green chile stew.

Gretchen dug in her purse for her cell phone. She checked for voice messages, hoping for word soon from Steve or her mother. Nothing.

“Nina tells me Caroline is missing,” April said through a mouthful of tortilla chips.

“I really expected a call from her by now,” Gretchen muttered, absently playing with her mother’s bracelet on her wrist.

“Call your answering machine in Boston,” Nina suggested. “Maybe she’s trying to reach you. She couldn’t know you’re in Phoenix.”

Gretchen called her apartment to check for messages. Nothing. She hid her disappointment. She was on the verge of a full-scale search for her mother, and her mother’s silence wasn’t making her choices easy. She keyed in her mother’s cell phone number and left a message on her voice mail asking her to call back immediately.

“I’ve been leaving messages all day,” Nina said.

“Maybe you should file a missing person report,” April suggested.

Gretchen had considered going to the police but quickly rejected the idea. What if Caroline didn’t want to be found? That thought and its implications had played through Gretchen’s mind most of the day.

Apparently Nina had been thinking the same thing. “No,” she said. “It’s too soon. We’ll ask around on our own. Someone has to know where she is.”

“The police must already know that she’s gone,” Gretchen said. “Haven’t they been to the house?”

“I don’t know,” Nina said, shrugging. “I’m avoiding getting involved with the police and their barrage of annoying questions. They’re always trying to blame the first person they stumble across.”

“Try the China Doll Shop,” April suggested. “Julia and Larry hear a lot of scuttlebutt at the shop.”

“We’re headed there next,” Nina said.

Steaming bowls of stew arrived filled with green chiles, chunks of tenderloin, potatoes, cheese, and a rich and flavorful sauce. Gretchen ate with renewed appreciation for Southwestern cuisine. She had forgotten how wonderful the exotic flavors could be.

After dinner April left with a promise to make discreet inquiries about the assortment of doll paraphernalia found with Martha, and Nina wandered off to the ladies’ room. Gretchen walked outside into the early evening heat and stood on the curb.

She smelled him before she saw him. The same odor of unwashed clothing that she remembered from working in homeless shelters during summer breaks from school. The memory of that smell of human decay and rancid hopeless-ness never left her.

He must have been lurking on the side of the restaurant. When Gretchen whirled, she stared directly into his blood-shot eyes. Saw his scruffy beard and dark patches of dirt ground into his face. She wasn’t afraid. From her experience, she knew most of the homeless were harmless, tortured souls who shunned the responsibility of their existence, preferring isolation. Their only wish was to be left alone.

Gretchen moved aside to let him pass, but he stood motionless and stared at her. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and she noticed he clutched a filled garbage bag. All his belongings carried in his arms.

He staggered forward a step and spoke, so low Gretchen almost missed what he said. “Get out,” he hissed. “Right now. While you still can.”

Gretchen watched in astonishment as he trotted away with his bundle, casting one last menacing look back at her.

Caroline made her way through O’Hare’s crowded terminal. Herded along toward baggage, she warily studied the travelers around her. No one looked familiar. She clutched her laptop securely against her chest and turned on her cell phone with one hand, hearing its reassuring beep.

She stopped at a vacant gate, sat down in a quiet corner, and dialed a number she had committed to memory. After four rings, a voice answered.

“I’m at the airport,” Caroline said. “May I come right away? It’s important.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice said. “But Mr. Timms was called away on business. I’m afraid he can’t meet with you.”

“That’s impossible.” Caroline clutched the phone, staring out at the vast concrete runways. “I’ve come so far.”

“He asked me to express his regrets. Good day.”

“No! No! Don’t hang up.”

Caroline stared at the cell phone. The connection terminated. Then she seemed to crumple across her laptop like a broken marionette doll, her head touching her knees.

And Caroline Birch began to sob.

4

Doll shops offer an array of services for the doll aficionado: appraisals, repairs, dolls, clothing, wigs, and doll-making classes. Since modern molds are made from actual antique heads, many casual collectors are content to own a well-executed reproduction. Doll shops offer classes in porcelain doll making to those who find it an enjoyable hobby and to doll dealers who hope to establish a profitable business in reproductions.

-From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Gretchen leaned against the exterior wall of the restaurant for support. She heard the rush of diners’ voices as the door swung open, and Nina appeared at her side.

“No rest for the wicked,” Nina said lightly, breezing by. “Onward and upward.” She marched toward the Impala. Her steps slowed when she realized Gretchen wasn’t behind her. She swung around. “What? What is it?”

“A man,” Gretchen stammered. “A man just threatened me.”

“Where is he?” Nina said, rushing back.

“Gone.” Gretchen gestured down the sidewalk. “He told me to get out while I still can. Then he ran away down the street.”

“What did he look like?” Nina asked. “Did you recognize him?”

Gretchen shook her head. “He was unkempt, dirty, a street person, I think. Shabby clothes. Hairy cheeks. He had a growth of some sort on the side of his head above his ear.” She cupped her hand over her ear to show Nina what she meant. “Like a knob.”

She didn’t say that he looked like he had lost himself inside his head, that he had the tormented eyes of the mentally ill. The homeless. The renegades of society, unequipped for the demands of everyday life. She would never understand their choices to live without the steady assurance of food, water, and a safe place to sleep.

“Sounds like a ranting lunatic to me,” Nina said. “Unfortunately, even Phoenix has its share of crazies. Who knows what he meant. He probably doesn’t know himself. Forget about it.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Gretchen said, not sure at all but moving in step with Nina toward the car.

Nina tucked her arm through Gretchen’s. “Let’s stop at Starbucks on the way to the China Doll Shop. You look like you could use a little caffeine boost.”

Gretchen laughed weakly. “Any more surprises like the one I just had, and I won’t need jet fuel to keep me going.” She was uneasy about the encounter with the stranger. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t discount anything that might lead to her mother. His sudden appearance on the sidewalk challenged Gretchen’s resolve to remain calm and focused. Tomorrow, in the light of day, she would try to find the man and question him.

“It’s cooling off,” Nina observed as they sped away.

Gretchen felt hot and sticky. She didn’t think the evening temperature had changed much since the sun vanished in a fiery orange blaze. Night descends quickly in the desert. The sun is high and hot one minute, gone the next. Gretchen thought the desert should cool off at sunset. It certainly wasn’t true tonight. The Impala’s thermometer registered ninety degrees outside, and Gretchen was grateful when the car’s air-conditioning kicked in.

Armed with two fully leaded espresso frappuccinos, they zipped along through the Arizona night with a steady running commentary from Nina on life’s mysteries.

“For example,” Nina said. “Can you tell me why teddy bear collectors look just like the bears they collect?”

“Nope,” Gretchen said, slurping the iced coffee. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true, you know. Next time we’re at a doll and bear show, pay attention to the bear collectors. And men . . .”

“Let’s not go there.” Gretchen tugged her cell phone from her purse and checked for missed calls while Nina wove expertly through traffic. She sighed heavily when she saw that no one had called. Not Steve. Not her mother.

“I don’t mean men in general, I’m talking about male doll collectors,” Nina continued. “They spend more money than women do. They demand good quality and are very detail-minded. Why is that? Your mother loves to work with male clients on restoration projects.” Nina downshifted for a traffic light. “Your current abode is on the way, well nearly on the way. I called the shop from the restaurant, and Julia promised to stay open tonight until nine, so we have time to pick up Tutu. Let’s see what the two new friends are up to.”

At the house someone had obviously had a rip-roaring good time, with special emphasis on rip. The first clue that something was amiss was Tutu’s lowered head and downcast eyes when she greeted them at the door. A sure sign of guilt. Gretchen, leading the way, stepped in the second clue.

“Yuck,” she said, lifting her foot. She glared at the perpetrator and slipped out of her shoes. “You can clean this mess, Nina. And my shoe. You forgot to put down one of those dog pads before we left. I’m checking on Wobbles.”

“I’m sure this isn’t all Tutu’s fault,” Nina called after her.

Without responding, Gretchen stalked past an overturned lamp and stepped around globs of stuffing pulled from a sofa pillow. She found Wobbles in the laundry room, buried in a pile of her folded clothes on top of the dryer. The bowl of dry cat food she had left on the washing machine was almost empty.

“Did you have anything to do with that mess?” she asked him.

Wobbles stretched luxuriantly and meowed a soft hello.

Gretchen stroked his back. “I’m glad you didn’t cave in to peer pressure,” she said. “The canine is in big trouble.”

She could hear Nina reprimanding Tutu. “Naughty Tutu. Shame on you.”

Gretchen dialed Steve’s home number from the laundry room to allow Nina plenty of time to clean up. “Hey,” she said brightly when he answered. “Finally, I found you.”

“It’s been a long day,” Steve said. “You know the drill. Work around the clock. How’s it going?”

“Things here are complicated. I don’t know where to begin explaining the situation to you.”

“It’s late here, you know, and I have an early morning meeting,” Steve said, yawning. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Gretchen said, disappointed. She had waited all day to speak with Steve, and now he was putting her off. That seemed to happen more and more these days. “How was dinner?”

“Schmoozing and boring.”

“Who went with you?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“A few partners, one of the interns.”

“An intern?”

“Courtney. Why?”

Gretchen felt her old nemesis, jealousy, roaring through her veins and zapping her system like an electrical shock.
Zip. Zap. Alert. Attention.
She tried to ignore it. “No reason,” she said.

“Gretchen, I know what you’re thinking. But it’s nothing like that. She’s a kid. You met her, remember? It was strictly business, Gretchen. She rounded out the table.”

Gretchen remembered Courtney. The dumpling with the broad, beaming, innocent smile and the glint of determined ambition in her eyes. Gretchen was good at reading eyes, and Courtney’s said,
I’m on the prowl, and I’m looking for the man who will help me get ahead.

Was she the woman Steve had slept with whose name he had conveniently forgotten?

Gretchen heard background music playing through the phone gripped at her ear. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stay cool and composed. She could hear Nina calling her name from the front of the house.

“I’ve got to go,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Call me when you have a chance.”

“Will do,” Steve said and disconnected.

Nina peeked into the laundry room. “Oh, oh,” she said when she saw the expression on Gretchen’s face and the phone in her hand. “What happened?”

“Steve took his summer helper to the charity dinner tonight.”

“I thought you had conquered the jealousy issue years ago.”

“Apparently not.” Gretchen stabbed the power button on her phone, and it beeped off.

Nina grinned. “You had it worse than anyone I ever knew. You couldn’t share your dolls or your friends. You always thought someone would steal them away. Any time other little girls tried to play with you and . . . What was your best friend’s name? . . . Oh yes, Katie Hachett, you’d figure out how to get rid of them. Remember?”

“How does my shoe look?” Gretchen said, changing the subject.

“Like brand-new.”

“Then let’s go.” Gretchen pulled on her shoes. “And please take Tutu with us. She’s banned from the house until further notice.”

“I missed my little poochy poo,” Nina cooed while Tutu again attempted to usurp the front seat of the Impala.

Without new job prospects in the foreseeable future, a rental car wasn’t an option. If she was forced to share transportation with Nina, she had to work out a compromise with Tutu. Based on Tutu’s recent antics, Gretchen felt she had the upper hand. She refused to take a backseat to a dog, literally.

She lifted the red-collared dog and deposited her in the rear seat.

Nina pulled out of Caroline’s driveway, geared up, and slid a sideways glance at Gretchen.

“My shoe,” Gretchen reminded Nina before she could complain about Gretchen’s treatment of Poochy Poo. “Don’t forget my shoe and my mother’s pillow. Tutu crossed the line, and there’s no going back.”

Nina, for once, had nothing to say.

After several failed attempts to jump into the front and a stare-down contest that Gretchen almost lost, Tutu yawned in defeat and turned her attention to the world whizzing by outside the rear window.

The China Doll Shop was located on Thirty-fourth Avenue, nowhere near Caroline’s house, as Nina had implied earlier. “It’s almost nine,” Gretchen said, checking her watch. Almost midnight in Boston. She needed sleep soon. “We better hurry, or the shop will close.”

Gretchen knew Julia and Larry Gerney, the shop’s owners, through her mother, who considered them friendly competitors. Caroline made very little money cleaning and restringing dolls, rebuilding fingers, and replacing eyes. The work that allowed her mother to live in relative monetary comfort at the base of Camelback Mountain was the details she could furnish: providing the perfect antique shoes, making new mohair wigs, and replacing teeth. The wealthy doll collectors of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley paid whatever it took to round out their collections, so competition for their business and the ensuing financial rewards was fierce.

Nina slid into a small strip mall and turned off the ignition. She attached a pink leash dotted with tiny red hearts to Tutu’s lacy collar.

Gretchen noticed that two of the shops in the mall were vacant. Untenanted shops, she knew, meant empty parking spaces and a feeling of decline that would keep customers away. The mall seemed to be slowly dying. Not a good sign for Larry and Julia, who counted on business from casual drop-ins as well as from established clientele.

“How is their business doing?” Gretchen asked Nina. They were waiting by the side of the car for Tutu to take advantage of a wee-wee pad.

“They put on a good front,” Nina said. “But business is dropping off. The developers overbuilt, and as Phoenix expands west, everyone wants to set up shop in the new malls. I don’t think Larry and Julia can afford to pay those kinds of rents.” She balled up the used pad and tossed it on the floor of the backseat. “Watch what you say in front of them. They feed on gossip like buzzards on dead meat.”

Julia Gerney met them at the door. She looked like a bulldog, short and stout, with an oversized lower jaw and a personality like artificial sugar. Not the real thing. “Sweet as snake venom,” Gretchen’s mother once said in the true spirit of gameswomanship.

“Gretchen, how goooood to see you,” Julia gushed, every vowel exaggerated. Abruptly her broad smile faded and her eyes narrowed. “Does Tutu really have to come in?”

“It’s too hot in the car,” Nina said, watching Tutu prance ahead on the tips of her hairy toes. “She’d roast to death.”

Julia’s steely glare seemed to say that roasting Tutu would be a solution, not a problem. “Keep her on the leash, and don’t let her bother my customers. If my allergies kick up, she’ll have to go.”

Two gray-haired women sat at a large studio table painting doll heads. Large display cabinets lined the sales counter and contained doll supplies: paints, brushes, patterns, and books. More cabinets framed the room and held samples of Julia’s reproduction dolls: American Indian dolls, china dolls, and a variety of fashion dolls from the 1950s.

“Our doll-making classes have been a huge success,” Julia said, heading for the back storage room, which doubled as an office. “But it’s been a trying week.” She arranged herself on a folding chair with her feet tucked neatly under it. “The air-conditioning unit isn’t keeping up. Larry needs to call the repair service before our customers start complaining. He’s been out of town attending a few doll auctions, but I expect him back any minute.”

Julia didn’t ask them to sit down, although Gretchen realized, scanning the room, there wasn’t an inch of extra space. Every corner was crammed with boxes; every tabletop was stacked high with doll parts and clothing.

“Caroline is gone,” Nina said from the doorway, shortening Tutu’s leash to keep her close. “She didn’t say a word to me before she left, and we’re hoping you have some idea where she might be.”

“I certainly don’t know,” Julia said. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. Last time I saw Caroline, probably three weeks ago, now that I think about it, we were both bidding at an auction in Apache Junction.”

Yes, Gretchen thought, her mother put a lot of miles on her car chasing deals. Was she simply following another sale? Had Nina overreacted? Nina tended to incite hysteria at will, and this wouldn’t be the first time she had led Gretchen astray.

“Caroline would never have gone off without telling me,” Nina insisted.

Julia laughed lightly. “She’s a grown woman, Nina. She doesn’t have to report in to you.” She glanced at Gretchen. “Your mother is a very spontaneous woman, prone to rash impulses in spite of what Nina says.” Julia looked pointedly at Nina. “She’s chasing a bargain. Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Gretchen said. “Or why she isn’t here. But she disappeared after Martha was found dead, and I have to find her.”