Dolled Up for Murder (5 page)

Julia gasped. “You don’t think there’s a connection between Martha’s death and your mother’s disappearance, do you?”

Too late, Gretchen remembered Nina’s warning about Julia, the turkey vulture.

“Most of the Phoenix Dollers weren’t very fond of Martha, and I’m sure your mother was part of that group,” Julia went on. “Martha had a bad habit of alienating people with disparaging comments. For example, she called me the Tasmanian Devil behind my back.”

“Maybe she meant it in an endearing way,” Gretchen suggested.

“You remember the cartoon character,” Julia said. “It had an enormous mouth and, when it wasn’t whirling out of control, it slobbered and made grunting noises. I can’t find anything endearing about that.”

Before Gretchen could respond, Larry’s booming voice filled the doorway behind Nina. “What am I missing? Is this a club meeting?”

He wore standard Southwestern attire: shorts, polo shirt, and leather sandals. He’d lost the paunch Gretchen remembered from her last visit to Phoenix, and he looked fit and trim. But he still had the involuntary facial tic that caused him to squint and blink as though the sun was shining directly in his face.

“Caroline is missing,” Julia said to him. “And Gretchen thinks she was involved in Martha’s death and is running from the police.”

Gretchen stared in astonishment at Julia. “That wasn’t what I suggested at all. Please don’t repeat that to anyone. It isn’t true.”

“Of course not,” Julia said. “There’s a logical explanation in spite of the incriminating note the police found in Martha’s hand.” Julia smiled sweetly.

Larry squeezed past Nina and Tutu, blinking rapidly, and bent to kiss his wife on the cheek.

Tutu chose that moment to tug the leash out of her owner’s grasp. She ran through the shop trailing the leash, with Nina in hot pursuit.

Julia shot out of the folding chair, squealing. She scurried after Nina and Tutu. “That’s it. My eyes are beginning to itch. Out of the shop with Tutu!”

Gretchen started to follow, but Larry put a hand on her arm. “Wait, tell me what’s going on,” he said. “How long has your mother been missing?”

“Only since yesterday. But the timing isn’t good.”

“You mean because Martha died yesterday?”

Gretchen nodded. She felt weary and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up to a new day and fresh energy. Maybe tomorrow everything would be clearer.

“Your mother is fine,” Larry reassured her. “She’ll turn up, and she’ll wonder what the fuss is about.”

Gretchen idly fingered a stack of doll clothing lying on Julia’s desk. She picked up a doll with a repair tag around its wrist—a Schoenhut wooden doll—and admired the expertly carved face. The enamel face paint was slightly cracked around the nose, but the doll was in good condition.

“Nice,” she said, noting the spring joints and maneuverability of the parts before she carefully returned the doll to the desk. She glanced up and saw Larry studying her. She looked away. His eye spasms seemed worse than she remembered. “I better find Nina,” she said.

The shop was empty when Larry and Gretchen joined Julia in the studio. Nina was nowhere in sight. Julia stood like a guard dog at the front door, blowing loudly into a tissue.

“She takes that animal everywhere she goes,” Julia complained. “I know she’s your aunt, Gretchen, but others don’t appreciate Tutu quite as much as Nina does. She’s waiting outside for you.” Julia fanned her face with her hand. “Martha’s suicide has taken quite a toll on me. What a terrible tragedy.”

“Martha’s entire life was a tragedy,” Larry said. A hardness edged in his jaw. “She turned into a bitter, pathetic drunk. She used to come into the shop, but she scared away business with her alcoholic theatrics. Julia eventually threw her out.” Larry pulled the plug on the Open sign in the window. “I’ll stop by in the morning. Maybe something in your mother’s workshop will give us some idea where she went. What about her customers?”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t answered her business line. Anyone calling about repairs will get her machine.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. Julia nodded and kissed her on the cheek, and Gretchen walked slowly into the parking lot, where Nina waited in the coolness of the running car.

“What an absolutely horrible woman Julia is,” Nina said. “And did you see that face problem Larry has? Your great grandmother had one of those tics, and it got worse when she was tired or excited or under a lot of pressure. Poor Larry has to be constantly stressed living with that woman. His eye was blinking like one of those airplane warning lights on top of a cell tower.”

Gretchen struggled to stay awake on the ride home, not even caring that she shared her seat with Tutu. When she was dropped off in her mother’s driveway, she muttered good night and stumbled inside. She fumbled for the light switch and saw Wobbles peeking at her from the laundry room.

“Bedtime,” she said to him, too exhausted to think anymore. She shed her clothes and collapsed into her mother’s bed. The last thing she remembered before falling into a dreamless sleep was Wobbles snuggling up to her bare feet, purring loudly.

Caroline wanted to use a credit card, but she couldn’t take the risk. She hunted through her purse and found a twenty dollar bill folded inside a side zipper. She added it to the bills in her wallet. Sixty-six dollars left after paying cash for her airfare. Not nearly enough to rent a hotel room for the night and still have enough for a cab and a meal tomorrow. Three credit cards, all useless to her, but invaluable to a pursuer if she was foolish enough to charge anything.

This wouldn’t be the first time she’d slept in an airport terminal. Once, on a Midwestern flight, a blizzard had shut down flights and stranded her overnight.

Caroline bought a Chicago-style hot dog from a kiosk and devoured it while she searched for a quiet, unused gate to spend the night.

At precisely ten o’clock her cell phone played Pachelbel’s Canon, and she answered after checking the caller ID. Calls from her sister and her daughter had gone unanswered all day, but she took this one.

Caroline listened, and what she heard caused her to reel. She felt weak with shock. It couldn’t be possible. What was her daughter doing in Phoenix? Was it a calculated trick to lure her back? No. She sensed Nina’s hand in this turn of events, and she mentally chastised herself for failing to anticipate her sister’s response to her disappearance. Caroline’s lack of foresight would get someone else killed if she wasn’t more careful.

“Get her out of there,” she said into the phone. “Whatever it takes, get her out of the way before something happens to her.”

The doll was more important now than ever. Tomorrow she would find it, even if she had to resort to drastic measures.

5

What makes one doll more valuable than another? Top prices are paid for swivel-head dolls created between the 1860s and the early 1900s by famous dollmakers such as Bru, Jumeau, and Kestner. Collectors look for European dolls with swivel heads made from an unglazed porcelain called bisque. Add a kid-leather body and original wardrobe, and the value climbs significantly.

Closed-mouth dolls are worth twice as much as open-mouthed dolls.

—From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

The man standing at her mother’s front door wore khaki cargo shorts and a “Running Strong for American Indian Youth” T-shirt. Poking her head through the partially open door and hiding behind it in cotton boxer shorts and a skimpy camisole, she did a quick mental check of her appearance: no makeup, hair in its usual early morning tangle, sleep lines probably creasing her face. Perfect. Great start to the day.

Gretchen had to squint in the radiant light shining from his smile. She shaded her eyes with her hand and caught a whiff of Chrome cologne, one of her favorites.

“Yes?” Gretchen produced a weak smile.

He flipped a badge and held it close to her face. Her tentative smile faded.

“Detective Albright,” he said. “I’m looking for Caroline Birch.”

“You’re Bonnie Albright’s son. Matt.”

He flashed another dazzling smile. “And you must be Gretchen Birch from Boston.”

“News travels fast.” Gretchen raked her fingers through her unruly hair. “Did my watch stop?”

“No, it’s six.”

“Six o’clock on Saturday morning?”

“Correct.”

Gretchen edged further behind the door. “Seems a little early for official business. My mother isn’t home right now.”

“I’ve heard that news, too,” he said. “I was hoping it was a rumor.”

“You aren’t what I expected.” Gretchen imagined his mother. Bonnie of the red flip hairdo and uneven penciled eyebrows. The man looming on the other side of the door had dark wavy hair and a body builder’s biceps. He must take after his father.

“What did you expect? Bald and beastly?”

“Where’s your uniform?”

“I’m undercover.” His eyes slid past her head. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t think so.” She wedged a bare foot against the door. “Do you have a search warrant?”

He grinned. “Do you have something to hide?”

His smile was disarmingly charming, but Gretchen felt sure that he was acting. She had an overwhelming urge to protect her mother. The role reversal seemed awkward and unnatural. Her mother had always been
her
shield against potential danger.

“Look,” he continued, sliding his badge into his wallet. “I’m investigating a death, and your mother’s name came up. This is all very routine. If she didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to hide.”

Gretchen hated logic, especially from a cop. “Who said I have anything to hide?”

“You did.”

“I did not.”
See how a cop will twist your words until you don’t recognize them anymore,
Gretchen thought, glancing past his shoulder and watching a neighbor walk her dog past the house. Six A.M. Didn’t these people sleep in on Saturdays? She lowered her eyes and met his gaze. Neither one of them flinched or looked away.

“If you know where she is, you should tell me,” he said. “I’m trying to help. She’s one of my mother’s friends.”

Gretchen carefully considered the possible reasons why he would be searching for her mother. She thought she detected a hard, determined glint behind the detective’s sunshine eyes. After the note found with Martha’s body, the police would want an explanation, and Gretchen wasn’t sure her mother had one.

“Come back when you have a warrant,” she finally said and closed the door. A few minutes later she heard his car drive off.

Wobbles was talkative, meowing and rubbing against her leg. Gretchen poured cat food and water into two bowls she found in the cupboard, made a piece of toast, and started a pot of coffee. She ate the toast while she waited for the coffee to perk, then poured a steaming cup and called Nina.

“What time is it?” Nina’s husky voice sounded thick with sleep.
Payback time,
Gretchen thought.

“After six. I need to borrow your car today.” Gretchen sipped the fragrant coffee and felt it coursing through her body, rejuvenating her spirit in spite of her early morning visitor. “I’d like to do a little shopping. I brought only a small amount of cat food with me, and there isn’t much people food in the house either.”

“Six in the morning?”

“You can go back to sleep in a minute, but I need your car later.”

“We’re having our hair done at eleven,” Nina said, yawning. “You can drop us at the salon. That will give you a few hours.”

“We?”

“Tutu and I.”

Gretchen choked back a chortle, but a small titter slipped out. Nina could make her laugh even in the most trying situations.

“Go ahead,” Nina said. “Laugh all you want.”

The light moment passed, and Gretchen related the conversation she had with Matt Albright. When she paused, Nina asked, “Did you tell him about the doll shawl and photograph you found on the mountain?”

“I didn’t even think of it. I was more concerned about why he was here.”

“That’s good,” Nina said. “He doesn’t need to know right now.”

“Is the shawl still in your car?”

“Still wrapped up and stowed away,” Nina said. “I’ve been thinking this through. According to April, the French fashion doll is worth a lot of money on its own, but it’s worth twice as much with the trunk. If we can find them, we might have our answer to Caroline’s whereabouts. I’m still convinced that Martha didn’t jump willingly, and Detective Albright snooping around means that the police aren’t so sure either. I’ll give Bonnie a call and find out if she knows anything more.”

Gretchen poured another cup of coffee. “Remind April to keep the news of the trunk to herself, at least for a few days.”

“April keeps everything close to her chest.”

There was a discernible pause. Nina broke the silence. “This doesn’t look good for your mother. You know that, don’t you? What if she has the doll? What if she’s involved in something dangerous?”

Or deadly.
Gretchen couldn’t express the thought aloud. Her emotional strength came from believing that Caroline would reappear and explain her absence. That Martha had committed suicide. That there was a logical explanation in spite of Gretchen’s growing sense of distress.

After finalizing plans to borrow Nina’s car, Gretchen changed into shorts and a tank top and pulled on her hiking boots for a brisk walk up Camelback. She again checked for messages on her answering machine in Boston and on her cell phone. Other than a few greetings from friends, she found nothing from Steve or her mother.

Sliding open the glass patio door leading to the pool, Gretchen was surprised to find the door unlocked. She must have forgotten to lock it yesterday before she left with Nina. She scolded herself for her carelessness.

The morning temperature was tolerable, and Gretchen wondered if she was already acclimating to the harsh desert summer. She loped easily up to the trailhead and slowed to a steady jog, appreciating the sanctuary around her.

Gretchen had learned long ago that the natural world could bring her needed serenity when her thoughts were troubled, and hiking trails had provided the perfect solution. In the area around Boston she had discovered the Blue Hills and Skyline Trail, then Middlesex Fells. After that, she delighted in every quest to find interesting and unique paths to explore.

Even in the center of a densely populated city like Phoenix, she could find refuge.

Summit Trail reminded her of Martha’s fall, so she stayed on more accessible paths, jogging along Bobby’s Rock Trail. Mesquite and staghorn lined the path. She heard the chatter of birds, and catching movement from the corner of her eye, she spotted a roadrunner on an old, overgrown trail.

As she ran she felt all her worries and anxiety falling away on the path behind her. After the refreshing and mind-clearing exercise she would be ready to face the uncertainty of a new day.

When she returned to the house, Larry Gerney was waiting in his red convertible in the shade of a blue palo verde tree. He unfolded his long legs from the tiny car and greeted her with a paper bag in his hand. “Thought I’d bring breakfast,” he said, following her into the kitchen. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, which saved her the effort of pretending that she didn’t notice his tic. “Have you heard anything yet?”

Gretchen shook her head and poured a cup of coffee for each of them. Larry sliced bagels and heaped them with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and alfalfa sprouts. Wobbles, smelling the salmon, joined them and was rewarded with a slice of his own.

“I never saw a cat with three legs before,” Larry said. “But he seems to get around fine.”

“He’s amazing,” Gretchen agreed. She nibbled at the bagel. It tasted wonderful.

“I think we should check your mother’s business line and listen to her messages.” Larry wrapped the leftovers and stored them in the refrigerator.

Of course, he would want to check her messages. Was his request a sincere offer of help or a devious way to gain a client list? She studied his features, hoping for a clue to his motives. Reluctantly, she nodded and led the way.

Gretchen experienced a sense of loss when she entered her mother’s workshop, the same sense of emptiness she had felt the day before.
It is so easy to forget how much you love someone,
she thought,
until you realize that you might lose them.

Gretchen and Larry listened to twelve messages, each caller inquiring about the progress on various doll repairs. Several expressed concern about their dolls being ready at a specific time, and all wanted return phone calls. None gave Gretchen the impression they knew that Caroline was unavailable.

“This is hopeless,” Gretchen said. “What am I going to do?”

Gretchen hadn’t worked on a doll since college, when she’d spent summers in her mother’s workshop performing the simpler repairs. She could disassemble, clean, and re-string an antique doll, but her mother was the expert when it came to restoring eyes, refurbishing wigs, and sealing cracks. Not only did Gretchen lack the expertise to satisfy these customers, she didn’t have the time.

“You are going to let me handle it,” Larry said firmly. “I’ll work on the most immediate problems and delay the rest.”

Gretchen wondered what her mother would say if she knew her competition had access to her workshop, but his offer would free her mind and would keep the customers happy. If he ended up stealing customers, it was a small price to pay. “I couldn’t possibly impose . . .”

“This won’t be entirely free,” he said, clinching the deal. “I’ll expect to be paid for my services.”

Larry was returning phone calls before Gretchen left the room. She showered and dressed, and looked around for her mother’s cancer awareness bracelet. She found it on top of the dresser and frowned. Hadn’t she placed it in the bathroom next to her own last night? Well, she had been exhausted and under pressure yesterday. Gretchen slid her mother’s bracelet on her wrist next to her own bracelet, vowing to wear it until she personally handed it back to its owner.

The doorbell rang as she finished, and she opened it to see Matt Albright standing on the porch with two uniformed police officers behind him. “Search warrant,” he said, waving a document and handing it to her.

“That was fast.”
Bravado, Gretchen. Face your adversary with confidence.

“I had it earlier, but I decided that I needed backup. You looked scary.”

“Is that what they taught you in detective school? How to be as annoying as possible?”

Gretchen examined the warrant. Her words were light, but she swallowed through an enormous lump in her throat. She felt sure that they wouldn’t find anything incriminating in their search, because her mother hadn’t done anything wrong.

“May I ask what you are looking for?”

Matt slid past her and gestured to the officers to follow him. “You may, but I can’t tell you. Where does your mother repair dolls?”

“Through there.” Gretchen pointed to the back of the house, and her uninvited guests thundered off in that direction. She walked into the kitchen and sat down hard, her heart skipping.

From her vantage point in the kitchen she saw the two cops stride into the workshop, the detective watching them from the hallway. Gretchen heard Larry’s voice, questioning and bewildered. Then he joined her in the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “They’re tearing everything apart.”

Gretchen shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know.” She slumped deeper into the chair and waited. Larry paced in front of her.

Fifteen minutes later, Detective Albright entered the room, and Gretchen noticed that he’d lost his authoritative pose. Instead, he was several shades paler than earlier. The officer behind him held an antique doll in one latex-gloved hand and a sheet of paper in the other. “Put them on the table,” the detective said to the cop. “Check the bedrooms next.”

“You’re going to search the entire house?” Gretchen knew something was seriously awry when she saw the doll on the table.

“It’s covered in the warrant,” he answered, a professional tone in his voice much different from the casual banter of earlier. More abrupt. “Do you know anything about these?”

He motioned to the doll on the table and took a step back, and Gretchen reached to pick it up.

“Don’t touch that,” he bellowed. Gretchen jerked her hand away.

Gretchen, hands in her lap and a sick feeling in her stomach, leaned forward to observe the doll. It was an excellent white-faced parian, sixteen inches high, with a beige dress and leather shoes. “My mother restores dolls professionally,” she said. “She has many dolls in her care.”

“How about the document?”

Gretchen stood up and leaned forward to scrutinize the paper, while Larry read over her shoulder. Its contents shocked her. “It’s ah . . . it looks like an inventory of Martha Williams’s doll collection. At least that’s what it says.”