Goodbye Dolly

by Deb Baker

  “He’s not my boyfriend!”

  ****

  “How’s the doll show going?” Caroline asked over the phone. Her voice was light and airy. California agreed with her. Or maybe it was all the excitement of the book tour.

  “Wonderful,” Gretchen said, forcing the same lightness. “I’m selling quite a lot of dolls.”

  Even though the show ended early because of Ronny Beam’s murder.

  Gretchen would tell her mother everything when she came home. Not now. She would only worry, or worse, abandon her tour.

  “I knew you could do it,” Caroline said. “Is Nina helping out?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s the highlight of the show.”

  Caroline laughed. “And Steve? Did you give him a big sendoff like you said you would?”

  “A big sendoff? That’s one way of putting it. I wish he hadn’t come to Phoenix.”

  “I have to tell you, I thought you two might get back together. And I wasn’t pleased at the prospect.”

  “I thought you liked Steve.”

  “I could see what initially attracted you to him, but he’s changed. More self-absorbed, more easily angered, and less considerate of you. He’s forgotten what’s important in life.”

  “I think he’ll find time soon to reflect on what’s important,” Gretchen said.

  “I hope so. I wish him well.”

  “Me, too.”

  ****

  Nimrod and Sophie hammed it up for their expanding audience, easily drawing the biggest crowd of the show to Nina and April’s table. Who needed dolls at a doll show to create a buzz when you had cute, miniature puppies?

  Gretchen could hardly focus on the dolls she needed to repair. She even considered removing the sign that offered her restringing services. Customers pored over her remaining Ginny dolls and the new batch of Barbie dolls, yet all Gretchen wanted was privacy to sort through her emotions.

  She had filled Nina in on the morning’s events when she arrived at the hall, and they had agreed to keep Steve’s situation a secret from the other doll dealers for the time being. And from her mother, who didn’t need distractions from home to interfere with her tour.

  Gretchen couldn’t get the sound of the wailing sirens from this morning out of her head. She couldn’t forget Steve’s pale face peering out at her from the back of the squad car.

  “That’s him?” Steve had asked in disbelief right before being unceremoniously escorted into the squad car. “The guy who’s replacing me? The Boy Scout from the doll show?”

  This was so embarrassing. And awkward. “I never said I had a replacement for you. Nina did.”

  “I recognize the name. Matt Albright. This cop who’s threatening me is the guy you’re dating?”

  “We aren’t dating.” Gretchen glanced at Matt in time to see a raised eyebrow and amusement playing at the corners of his lips.

  “Can we discuss this later?” she said. “The police think you might have something to do with Ronny’s murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Steve turned to Matt. “I demand my rights.”

  Matt sighed. “I don’t have to read you your rights,” he said. “You aren’t under arrest. Yet.” He held up a pair of handcuffs. “I would use these if I was arresting you.”

  “I demand representation,” Steve had said. “Gretchen, you need to follow us and post bail for me. Gretchen--”

  “She doesn’t have to post bail for you.” Matt’s voice held an edge of annoyance. “You aren’t under--”

  “Gretchen. Wake up, Gretchen.”

  Gretchen blinked and found herself at the doll show. April hovered over her. “This woman wants to buy a doll,” she said.

  “Oh, sure.” Gretchen fumbled through the exchange.

  Afterwards, she showed April and Nina the piece of paper she had found inside the Kewpie doll.

  “Wag the Dog,” Nina said. “The movie?”

  “Dustin Hoffman starred in it,” April said.

  “And Robert De Niro,” Nina added.

  “Don’t forget Anne Heche,” April said.

  Gretchen frowned at both of them. “Now that we’ve established the cast, can someone tell me what the movie was about?”

  “What movie?” Bonnie appeared out of nowhere, followed by Milt Wood, clutching a shopping bag in his right hand.

  “Wag the Dog,” April said. “Gretchen found a message.”

  “What message?” Milt asked.

  “It’s about a scandal and the presidency,” Bonnie explained, chattering right past Milt’s question. “Robert De Niro is a spin doctor who creates a war to draw attention away from a scandal involving the president. It’s a good movie.”

  “What does Wag the Dog mean?” Gretchen asked.

  “What message?” Milt tried again.

  Nina waved her arm wildly above her head. “I know. A dog should be smarter than its tail. If the tail is smarter, then the tail wags the dog.”

  Gretchen looked down at Tutu, Nina’s frivolous schnoodle. Brain the size of a pinhead and she still managed to wag her tail. “I don’t get it.”

  “What’s going on?” Bonnie said. “What message did you get?”

  Gretchen showed her the piece of paper. Bonnie’s penciled eyebrows zigzagged. “There’s a comma right here.”

  “Where?” Everyone leaned toward the paper.

  “See that little mark right there?” Bonnie said, pointing.

  “I thought that was a spot of dirt,” Gretchen said.

  Bonnie shook her red-wigged head. “That changes the message.”

  “‘Wag, the Dog’ means something different than ‘Wag the Dog’?” Gretchen asked.

  “I’m the Kewpie expert around here, remember?” Bonnie said. “Chief Wag is the leader of the Kewpies. He has a flag with a capital K in his topknot.” Bonnie stuck a hand on top of her head for effect, but Gretchen thought she was making more of an L than a K. Sign language for loser.

  Gretchen stared at Bonnie. “Really?” she said. “Wag is the name of a Kewpie doll?”

  “Really. So the dog must mean Kewpiedoodle Dog. He has wings, too, just like the other Kewpies.” Bonnie beamed. “Got to go. If you need any more help, just call.”

  “I’m still searching for a special Kewpie to take home with me,” Milt said. “Let me know if you see anything.”

  Gretchen watched them stride down the aisle. She was no closer to understanding the message inside the Blunderboo Kewpie than she had been when she first discovered it. Whether she read it as “Wag, the Dog” or “Wag the Dog” didn’t matter.

  Her cell phone rang. The number on the caller ID was unfamiliar. She answered.

  “I haven’t been charged with anything,” Steve said. “But your boyfriend is holding me on suspicion.”

  “Can he do that?” Gretchen asked, ignoring the boyfriend reference.

  “My fingerprints on the knife, and a public fight with Ronny right before he was killed aren’t helping my case.”

  “I’ll find you an attorney.”

  “Not yet.” Steve sounded stressed but cautiously restrained. “I haven’t told the police everything, if you catch my meaning.”

  “You have to tell the truth, Steve. You’re an attorney. You should know that.”

  “I’m committed to you, and I won’t put you in a bad spot.”

  “You’re the one who took the knife. You have to explain how it got in Ronny’s back.”

  “If I tell him that I gave it back to you, you’ll be the one sitting in jail instead of me. Unless going out with the detective assigned to the case exempts you from the suspect list.”

  Gretchen rubbed her weary eyes. “What are you talking about? You took my knife.”

  “I was sort of tinkering with it on your worktable and became distracted by our conversation, and later I found it in my pocket. But during the doll show I threw it down on your table. You know that.”

  “I know nothing of the sort.” Gretchen thought about the clutter at the repair
end of the table. Was he telling the truth?

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you as long as I can.”

  “I don’t need protection. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “If you didn’t kill Ronny, you better find out who did, because I know I didn’t, and one of us is in serious trouble.”

  “Tell the truth, Steve. That’s all I can recommend right now.”

  “Gotta go. Your boyfriend’s back.” Steve disconnected without hearing Gretchen’s last comment.

  “He isn’t my boyfriend,” she said into the dead phone.

  Chapter 14

  Tulip Ray shades her eyes with the back of a tattooed hand. “I don’t usually, like, get involved. Nothing personal. I like to, y’know, like, mind my own business.”

  “Just a few questions.”

  “Maybe someone else can, like, answer them. I have to get to work.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Tulip sighs heavily for the dramatic effect. All right, she hopes the sigh implies, but you’re taking up my valuable time.

  “What?” she asks, tapping a foot against a privacy wall. Hurry up, the foot implies. Make it quick. She watches a lizard slink up the wall and duck behind a withered vine.

  “You were standing on the curb?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Not much. The deed was done when I looked out in the street.”

  “The deed?”

  “That’s an expression. I didn’t, like, see a thing.”

  “How about the box? Did you see the box?”

  “What kind of box?”

  “Cardboard box.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe? Either you saw it or you didn’t. Which is it?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Yah, I saw a box. That guy who got killed had a box when he ran up.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “You said this would only take a minute.”

  “We can continue our conversation downtown.”

  “Some other guy picked it up.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Like he’s been sleeping on park benches for about a hunnert years. He had a bunch of blue clothes on, y’know? Smelled, too.”

  “Ever see him before?”

  “Do I look like somebody who’d know a bum?” She kicks aimlessly at the curb, then looks down at her black toenails.

  Man, how she hates cops.

  Chapter 15

  Everyone at the doll show was talking about Ronny Beam’s murder in the parking lot. The vendors spoke quietly among themselves so their customers wouldn’t overhear. Nothing like murder to draw people together, Gretchen thought, observing a renewed camaraderie among the competitors. People lined up for admission, many of them arriving out of curiosity. Thrill seekers.

  Nina bought the Sunday newspaper, and they quickly scanned it together behind Gretchen’s table. “Murder among Dolls.” Ronny, always in search of the story of a lifetime, had finally found it. Page one, front and center.

  Many of the customers wanted to know the sordid details, hoping to hear more at the doll show than they’d learned from the local news. Gretchen kept her ears tuned to the rumor mill, hoping to learn something that might exonerate Steve.

  If only he’d stayed in Boston.

  At the first chance she had since arriving at her table, Gretchen keyed a number into her cell phone.

  “Howie Howard, please,” Gretchen said.

  “Speaking,” he said in that big booming auctioneer’s voice. “Who is this?”

  “Gretchen Birch, remember me?”

  “Any relation to Caroline Birch?”

  “She’s my mother.” Gretchen thought again of the responsibility her mother had given her, and how she’d botched the task of acquiring the Ginnys.

  “Wonderful woman.”

  A customer picked up a Barbie doll, lifted its dress, and peeked under. What was the fascination with Barbie’s bottom? Nearly every potential buyer had to see what she had on underneath.

  “You were at the auction at Chiggy’s, he said. “I saw your name on the registration list.”

  “I’m sorry about Brett. I know how close you two were.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

  A customer approached with an armful of dolls, and Gretchen signaled Nina for help. Nina trotted over with Nimrod under her arm, and Gretchen turned away so she wouldn’t be overheard.

  “I wanted to confirm an address on the registration list,” she said. “I must have written it down wrong. Brett gave me the wrong box of dolls, and I’d like to return it.”

  “You can give the box to me. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “It would be easier if I handled it myself so I can get my Ginny dolls back. I was hoping to sell them today at the show. Besides, you have more important things…” Gretchen let the sentence dangle awkwardly. More important things to do. Like planning a funeral and burying a friend.

  “Suit yourself,” Howie said. “What’s the name of the guy you’re looking for?”

  “Duanne Wilson.”

  “Let me get the registration list.” After a short pause, Howie came back on the phone and read off the address.

  “That’s exactly how I wrote it down,” Gretchen said, disappointed. “The address doesn’t exist.”

  “Then I can’t help you,” Howie said.

  “Did he pay with a check? If he did, his address might be written on the check. I’m sure it was just copied down wrong.”

  Gretchen heard pages rustling on the other end of the line.

  “You’re fresh out of luck today. He paid cash.”

  Gretchen sighed heavily. She was at a dead end in her quest to recover the dolls.

  “I have an idea,” Howie said. “Maybe he lives on Forty-third Avenue, not Forty-third Street. Someone could have written down street instead of avenue.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “You bet, little lady. A big one. Aren’t you from around here?”

  “I moved to Phoenix a few months ago. I’m still learning my way around,” Gretchen said, perking up.

  Howie chuckled. “We have numbered streets all the way down to Central Avenue, and then they turn into avenues. What you need to do is drive along Camelback Road and keep going. It’s a long way.”

  “Thanks,” Gretchen said. “You’ve saved my career.”

  She’d check it out after the show.

  ****

  “Mailman,” April called out. Gretchen looked up and saw Eric Huntington of the Boston Kewpie Club heading her way with a brown-wrapped package between both his beefy hands.

  The package was small and square, exactly the size of the one delivered yesterday.

  Eric stopped in front of Gretchen’s table and smiled at Nina, who said, “I can already tell, you’re much friendlier than yesterday’s mailman.”

  “This package is a special Sunday delivery addressed to the doll repairer,” he said.

  Gretchen stared at the package. “Do I have to accept delivery?” she asked.

  “Afraid so,” Eric replied. “The label is very specific.” He set the package down on the table and ran his finger along the address. “See. ‘The Doll Repairer’ in capital letters. That can only mean you, since you’re the only one here.”

  “Mail doesn’t run on Sunday,” Nina pointed out, stuffing Sophie in her travel purse and slinging it across her shoulder. She plopped Nimrod down on Gretchen’s lap.

  “It is an enigma,” Eric said. “Someone shoved the package under the club’s table, of all places, then ran off. Rather scruffy character, probably earned a few coins to delivery it. I’m surprised he was allowed in.” His eyes followed Nina. “Where are you off to?”

  “I need a cup of coffee,” she said. “I’ve only had one jolt so far this morning, and I need another.”

  “I could use one myself,” Eric said. “Mind if I join y
ou?”

  Gretchen watched them walk away, Tutu in the lead, straining against her leash, and Sophie watching the show’s action from Nina’s purse.

  Nimrod settled into Gretchen’s lap, and she bent down to rummage through her tools for the perfect doll hook to slice through the strong packaging tape.

  She scanned the front for information. No return address. No postal stamp. Yet she recognized the same handwriting as the last package: large, loopy letters.

  If this was someone’s idea of a joke, the timing couldn’t be worse.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” April peered at her from the next table, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. A purple muumuu covered her enormous body like a pair of drapes.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Want me to do it?”

  “No, I need some fresh air first. Can you watch my table?”

  “Sure. Without Nina’s dog act, business is light. I’ll sit at your table. But don’t stay out there too long. This heat will suck every bit of moisture out of your body.”

  Gretchen opened Nimrod’s purse. His tiny tail beat madly in anticipation of a ride.

  The tail thing.

  If the dog isn’t smart, the tail wags the dog.

  Gretchen and Nimrod strolled through the hall, taking the show in for the first time. Yesterday’s lunch break and a visit to the Boston Club’s table had both followed the shortest, quickest routes.

  Doll dealers nodded and greeted her, although most didn’t know her well. Two months wasn’t much time to establish contacts with the entire doll community. They accepted her because of her mother. Caroline was the center of everything related to dolls in Phoenix. She was an active member of the Dollers Club, a dealer in quality dolls, a successful author with the publication of World of Dolls, and she had a reputation as a gifted restoration artist.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “When’s she coming back?”

  “What about Ronny Beam? Wasn’t that awful?”

  “Come check out my Betty Ann dolls.”

  “Cute dog.”

  Gretchen made her way down each aisle, stopping to talk, offering up a willing Nimrod for infinite head pats. Finally she skirted the line of people coming into the hall and burst through a rear door used by the exhibitors, welcoming the late-morning sun reaching out to her. She closed her eyes and turned her face upward, enjoying the warmth permeating her skin after the chill of the air-conditioned hall.