Goodbye Dolly (7 page)

April shrugged. "I just heard." She reached in a pocket of her enormous muumuu and grinned. "Here's the petition. It won't be circulating anymore."

"Someone's going to shoot Ronny one of these day,"

Nina said, grabbing the paper and reading the names. "I heard he went from table to table insulting the doll dealers with outrageous accusations and comments, trying to rile them."

"He'll do anything to sell papers," April said, working on her third hot dog and her second bag of potato chips.

"Even if he has to make things up."

"Don't I know it," Nina said.

Gretchen watched April eat. The woman would have to go to Curves several times a day to work off the huge quantities of food she liked to consume. No wonder she was broke. She spent all her money on unhealthy snack food.

Gretchen took a bite of the hot dog and avoided Nina's eyes, which reminded her of Tutu's when the schnoodle begged at the kitchen table. Nina was bound to fall off her vegan diet by the end of the day.

"At least Steve knows he has some competition," Nina said. "But Ronny? Gag me."

Gretchen stared at her aunt. "I really mean it, Nina. I'm not going back to Steve."

"Even if he wants to fly to Vegas for a quickie wedding?"

"Especially not then."

"Just checking to see if you changed your mind. I saw you talking to him. You seemed cozy."

"He's pressuring me," Gretchen said. "I don't want to talk about him."

Nina broke a nacho chip in half and nibbled. "I know why Detective Albright's helping out at the doll show."

Gretchen raised her eyebrows.

"He's working on his doll problem." Nina looked at April. "Probably for Gretchen's sake."

"He can ask her out anyway," April said. "Who cares if he doesn't like dolls."

"He's off duty today," Nina said. "And he's hiding from his soon-to-be ex. She'll never think to look here. He spends five minutes at a time walking the aisles, looking at the dolls, then he takes a break in the back room to recover."

"He seemed pretty uncomfortable when I saw him last,"

Gretchen said.

"And hot," April added. "As in sexy hot."

"I heard Matt's wife is a nutcase," Nina said. "His mother has plenty of stories to tell about her. Speaking of, here comes Blabby Bonnie."

Bonnie bustled up, her red wig slightly askew. "Gretchen, I'll watch your table for a few minutes. You have to go see the Boston Kewpie Club's table. You know Kewpies are my specialty, but even I haven't seen anything like their combined collections."

The Bostonians' table overflowed with Kewpie dolls. All had knobs of hair on their crowns and long wisps of hair tumbling over their foreheads. Tiny molded blue wings protruded from bare pink shoulders.

Most Kewpies didn't wear clothes. Some in the Boston collection wore scarves or sunbonnets and clutched bouquets of flowers or waved flags, and the rest performed their spirited deeds fully exposed for all to see.

"Kewpie is short for Cupid," Margaret Turner, of the sensible walking shoes, was explaining to a cluster of curious shoppers.

"This one..." Eric selected a Kewpie from the table.

"... is called Always Wears His Overshoes. And this one is a Kuddle Kewpie. Note the cloth face and soft body."

"I have a Kewpie Dog at home," someone said.

"That would be Doodle Dog," Margaret said. "Or Kewpiedoodle Dog. He was modeled after the original designer's Boston terrier."

"Who was the original designer?" someone asked.

"Ruby O'Neill," Milt Wood replied.

"No, it was Rosie O'Neill," someone else said, correcting him.

"That's right," Margaret said. "Her name was Rosie O'Neill. Let me show you a few more."

Several of the club's members wandered back from lunch. Gretchen, relieved that Steve was nowhere in sight, nevertheless kept a sharp eye out for him. Nimrod yipped from the purse on her shoulder. She took him out and cuddled him in her hands. Eric held up another Kewpie for the group. "Kewpie Carpenter," he said. "He uses the hammer in his belt to fix things."

"Here's a Blunderboo," Margaret added. "Note how he's rolling down a hill."

Gretchen considered the Kewpie in Margaret's hand. A far superior design to the one from Duanne Wilson's box. Much more detailed and of higher-quality material. More importantly, it was the real thing, not a badly botched reproduction.

"I have a reproduction Blunderboo Kewpie with me,"

Gretchen found herself saying to what had now become a large gathering of doll collectors. "It belongs to..." The box of Kewpies in her trunk would involve a long explanation she'd rather not get into. Why did she even mention it?

"... a friend," she said. "It's not nearly as nice as this one."

That was the understatement of the year.

As she finished speaking, she spotted a man moving through the packed hall ahead of her. Something about his stride and his white hair seemed familiar. Could it be Duanne Wilson?

"Excuse me," Gretchen said to the group of collectors.

"I need to get back to my table."

Still carrying Nimrod, she turned and followed, weaving through the crowd as fast as she possibly could.

The man ahead of her must have been moving almost as fast, because she wasn't gaining quickly enough. She walked faster, clutching Nimrod to her chest, his tiny ears flapping wildly.

Determined to catch up with the man, she jostled her way down the aisle. She called his name, but he didn't turn around or give any sign that he'd heard.

That has to be him. I'll get my Ginnys back yet.
He stopped at a table, his back still to her. Gretchen came up behind him and grabbed his sleeve, cradling Nimrod in her other arm.

The man turned, and Gretchen stared into his eyes. She'd never seen him before.

"Man, those doll collectors in there are a bunch of kooks,"

Ronny Beam says. He leans against the side of his car, eating a salami sandwich he pulled from a cooler in the trunk. Sandwich in one hand, can of iced tea in the other. What he really wants is a sip of whiskey from the coffee mug in the front seat, but that will have to wait, considering present company.

" 'Sweet cheeks,' I say to them, 'upchuck some juicy gossip for my paper,' but they're a tight-mouthed bunch. Tight something else, too, if you ask me." He waves the can in his hand. "Look at you, stuck out in this parking lot all day with the sun hotter than a cattle brander. What a job you got, huh?"

Ronny grins and takes another bite. Chews.

"I have it on them, though. Something bigger than anything I got so far. Somebody made a lot of money in the black market during Double-U Double-U Two. The big one. I happen to know there's a treasure hidden away. And guess where?" He nods knowingly and pops the last of the sandwich into his mouth. "Inside dolls, that's where. All's I need is a little more background, and it goes to press," he says through packed cheeks.

Ronny realizes he has raised his voice. He looks all around, hoping no one has overheard.

"That's all the preview I can give you for now. Better subscribe to
Phoenix Exposed
if you want to read a Pulitzer Prize-winning story."

He pushs away from the car. "One thing I know. Hanging around inside doll shows with a bunch of doll nuts sure beats standing in a parking lot all day wearing a uniform like you have to do."

He takes a swig of the iced tea. "Tough job you got. You'd think they could hire a kid to watch the lot for a few bucks instead of wasting taxpayers' money. You should be busting bad guys. Maybe someday I'll write something good about you. Let me get you one of my business cards. Here, hold this."

He pops the last of the sandwich in to his mouth and hands over his empty can, then pulls his wallet from a back pocket and picks through it. He extracts a card.

"Here ya go. Whew, it's hot out."

- From
World of Dolls
by Caroline Birch

"Here comes a mailman," Nina called from her table. "I didn't know they delivered at doll shows."

"Looking for the doll repairer, whatever that means. Someone over by the door said that's you?" the man said, stopping at Gretchen's table and holding a small package.

"The world is filled with weirdoes. No name, and they think I'm a magician." He tipped his head back and looked down the length of his nose at Nina. "And we aren't mailmen anymore, in case you haven't noticed. I'm a postal carrier ever since you women libbers changed everything."

"I guess that's me," Gretchen said, taking the package and looking at the address on the label. "That's all it says.

'Doll repairer' and this address. Who sent it?" 'Fragile' had been stamped across the package in bold red lettering. The postal carrier shrugged. "What you think I got? A crystal ball? I just deliver the stuff."

He walked away.

"Friendly sort," Nina muttered.

"Open it," April said eagerly. "I love presents."

"Must be from Steve," Nina surmised. "A take-me-back gift."

"Too big," April observed.

"Steve would have addressed it directly to me,"

Gretchen said.

"Oh, right," Nina agreed.

The smell of Chrome cologne distracted Gretchen from the package. She laid it on the floor next to a cardboard box that was quickly filling with damaged dolls in need of repair. She knew before she looked up that Matt would be standing in front of her.

Up close, the blue T-shirt had a darker blue and white dream catcher etched into it.

"I'm investigating an altercation," he said. "It appears that you are the cause of a major disturbance. I'll have to take you down to the station and drill you unmercifully."

Nina sighed loudly from the next table. "You're such a tease," she called to him.

Matt's eyes riveted on Gretchen.

"Drill me instead," April said. "I give in easily."

"Rake her over the coals," Nina said. "She
is
easy."

Therapy must be helping.
Gretchen had seen firsthand what the presence of a little doll could do to the muscular cop. He'd been reduced to a pale, sweating shell of the man who stood before her. But the large number of dolls surrounding him hadn't stopped him from walking directly down the aisle today.

"Ronny Beam's on a rampage, Nina," said the new, improved Matt. "He just lodged a formal complaint against you at the same time that he filed one against Gretchen's... um... friend, Steve."

"A complaint for what?" Nina looked surprised.

"An alleged pepper spray attack yesterday. Unprovoked, according to Ronny."

"Unprovoked!" Nina fairly shouted. "That worm is spreading rumors about me, and he was leaning on my Impala. I'll have to have it washed to get the crud off."

"Then you admit the charges."

"I admit nothing. His word against mine."

Matt flipped through a notepad. "He went into Curves after the alleged incident, and he's listed thirty-nine witnesses who, he claims, saw the whole thing."

"Oh," Nina said, suddenly subdued. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"I'd gladly haul you in if I was on duty today." Matt closed the notepad. "I covered for you with the responding officer, so you owe me. Now..." He turned to Gretchen. "I
did
think about arresting Steve Kuchen. What do you have to say about that?"

Gretchen shrugged. Matt's idea certainly would buy her time. It was an intriguing solution, even if it was only in fun. "Can I think about it for a while?"

Matt attempted a grin. "Sure. In the meantime, I have to get out of here. The dolls are closing in. When I come back, I'll track down Ronny and escort him out before he gets himself hurt. Has anyone seen him?"

Nina shivered. "He's around here someplace. He's like a boomerang, keeps coming back every time you try to throw him away."

Milt Wood leaned his solid body against Gretchen's table. A high school wrestler, Gretchen guessed. And a middle school bully.

"I insist," he insisted again, the gums above his teeth exposed from the stretch of his good-natured smile. Gretchen's eyes wandered to Nina and April's table in a hopeless appeal for interception, but both women were involved with potential clients. April paged through one of her value books, her reading glasses edging closer to the end of her nose. A Shirley Temple doll lay before her, and a woman and young girl waited patiently. Nina held Sophie while Nimrod entertained several dog-loving fans, including the two waiting for the appraisal. Gretchen sent a silent plea to her so-called psychic aunt. But Nina was apparently on break from mind reading, because she demonstrated Nimrod's hiding trick without even glancing at Gretchen.

A customer approached, and Milt hovered off to the side as Gretchen sold a Ginny doll.

"Mr. Wood," she said, when the transaction was complete. "I really-"

"Please, call me Milt."

Gretchen forced a smile. "Why would you want to buy a doll that you've never seen?"

"Fine. Fine. I'll take a look at it if that will make you happy, but from your description, I know it's exactly what I need to finish off my collection."

"The Blunderboo isn't for sale," Gretchen repeated, knowing that no collection is ever really finished off. Most likely, Milt Wood was an amateur collector trying to keep up with a group of experts, and his inexperience was showing.