by Deb Baker
Gretchen, startled by the request, felt hopeful that Daisy was moving in the right direction, away from her destitute life. It was the first time she had ever reached out for help.
"Sure," she said. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Daisy shook her head. "There's something ugly happening on the street right now. This could have been me," she said, taking back the picture and waving it at Gretchen. "I've been advised to find a safe house for the time being. But I have to bring my shopping cart."
Gretchen looked at the cart, then at the trunk of the Echo. "I can get your things inside, but the cart itself is too big." Then she realized she hadn't emptied the trunk last night after the doll show. Daisy's so-called treasures would have to fit in the backseat.
"I can't leave my cart. I'll find someplace else to stay."
Daisy stood up and smoothed her dress, defiance in her stance and in the sharp glint in her eyes.
"Wait," Gretchen said. "I have an idea."
Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, she called Nina. "I have a favor to ask."
"Okay," Nina said. "I don't mean okay, I'll do it. I mean, okay, tell me."
"Daisy needs a place to stay and insists on bringing her shopping cart along. It won't fit in my car."
"I'm taking back every single okay that I've ever uttered. I know what's coming next."
"So…"
"I hate sentences that start with so."
"I thought you could run down here and pick her up."
"How thoughtful." Nina let out a noisy sigh. "This is going to cost you big time."
"Anything."
"All right, I'll bring her back home with me. Karen Phelps wants me to start training her pup, and I've been putting her off because I haven't had time. Ask Daisy if she's willing to help."
Gretchen relayed the request, and Daisy broke into a wide grin.
"I guess that's a yes," Gretchen said, giving Nina directions and sealing the deal. As Gretchen drove away, she saw Daisy give her a shy five-finger wave and sit back down.
She also saw the black Jetta pull out right behind her. At first, Gretchen didn't think anything of it. Traffic along Central tended to be tight and congested, and even here in this valley of incredibly intense sun, black cars weren't an exception, and Volkswagen Jettas were the car of the moment.
What drew Gretchen's attention to the tail was the proximity of the other car. Any closer, and they'd be sharing the same rearview mirror.
Now what? Should Gretchen call the police or try to lose the car? Maybe she should drive to the police station, but her pursuer might drive past, and Gretchen wouldn't be any closer to identifying her.
At that moment the driver must have realized that she had breached the imaginary line between a comfortable following distance and extreme road rage, because the Jetta blended back into the obscurity of traffic.
What a dope Gretchen was. She should get the Jetta's license plate for starters. Gretchen checked her mirror, but the car had allowed some distance to separate them. Paper and pen within reach, Gretchen slowed, waiting for the other car to creep forward. Still, it was too hard to get a license number while looking through a mirror with one eye and scoping out the flow of traffic ahead with the other. Not to mention the license number appeared backward in the mirror, making it that much harder to read. And the traffic was as thick as a flock of migrating geese. Ahead, a light turned red, and she eased to a stop. The Jetta was once again right behind her, now too close to read the number.
Impulsively, Gretchen set the brake, jumped out, and ran to the back of her car. She read the license number with no time to spare for glancing at the other driver, and jumped back into her own car as the light changed. As she drove, she wrote down the number.
The Jetta stayed right behind her. She switched lanes. So did the Jetta.
Maybe jumping out at the light hadn't been the smartest move she'd ever made. What if the driver had shot her? Or tromped on the accelerator and crushed Gretchen against her own car?
What did the woman hope to accomplish by following her? Gretchen wanted to pull over, stomp back to the other car, and demand answers to a growing number of questions. Did the Jetta driver want the box of Kewpie dolls? It just happened to be in her car's trunk at this very moment. If she gave it up, the scare tactics might stop. The lethal scorpions and mysterious packages with creepy messages inside might go away. It made sense to get out of the middle, wherever that was. Let them know she wasn't a threat any longer and didn't want anything to do with the Kewpies. Aha! She had a plan.
At the next intersection, Gretchen stopped abruptly when the light turned to red, and she trotted to the back of the Echo with her hands up in classic surrender position. The Jetta driver's mouth dropped open at the same time that Gretchen popped the trunk and removed the box of broken Kewpie dolls. She placed it on the hood of the Jetta, directly in front of the driver's window. Relieved to note that she wasn't facing the barrel of a pistol, she managed a weak wave and ran back to her car just before the light turned green.
As she turned onto Lincoln Drive, she watched the woman leap from her car and grab the box. Horns blared behind the Jetta as the light changed again, and the traffic hadn't moved.
Gretchen dug in her purse for her cell phone.
"I'd like to report an incident of road rage," she said when the Phoenix Police Department's dispatcher answered. She filed the report, giving all details including the numbers of the Jetta's license plate and her own cell phone.
"I'd like to know who that car is registered to."
"We'll send a car. We have one close by," the dispatcher said.
"I just want the name of the driver."
"That's not up to me. I'm a police dispatcher, not your personal information clerk."
Whatever happened to the courteous, helpful public servant of the past?
"Go about your business," the dispatcher advised.
"We'll be in touch."
"Sure," Gretchen said, with no idea why she'd bothered calling the police. All she wanted was the name of her pursuer, and she couldn't even get that. Once her complaint passed through enough red tape to produce the information she needed, she would have died of natural causes. Or unnatural causes.
Ten minutes later, she was driving home with an alert eye out for the Jetta and a bag of green chile burgers from a fast-food drive-through in the passenger seat. Her cell phone rang.
"I hear you had a close encounter," Matt said.
"Of the third kind," Gretchen responded cautiously, the photograph of Albert vivid in her mind. "News travels fast. I didn't know you hung around dispatch centers."
"I don't. This one requires special attention, so they notified me."
"I should be flattered." For the first time, Gretchen realized the power of his position. Was he having her watched? As a detective in the Phoenix Police Department, his authority extended further than that of an ordinary patrol cop. He had access to everything and everyone. Frightening, once Gretchen really thought about it.
"Just tell me what happened," he said, sounding concerned.
"This car has been following me in a very aggressive way. It almost hit me. Whoever it is, is trying to scare me. It's working."
Matt asked her to repeat the license number.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then Matt told her the name of the person registered to the black Jetta. Her turn for a long pause. He must have thought she hung up, because he said, "Hello? Are you still there?"
She groaned audibly.
"This is extremely embarrassing for me," he said.
"Great. Just great. I'll leave you to handle it. If it happens again, I'm filing harassment charges."
Gretchen hung up.
She had just given her box of dolls, the one she hoped to use in negotiations; to Matt's crazy, estranged wife.
"Well," Nina said from the other end of the line. "Bonnie told us she was a psych case. Now we know for sure."
Gretchen swun
g into her carport just as her ear, pressed against the receiver, was beginning to hurt. She made a mental note to add more minutes to her cell phone plan and buy a headset. "Why me? She doesn't have any reason to follow me."
"She must have caught on."
"Caught on?" Gretchen turned off the ignition.
"It's obvious to everyone but you that Matt's hot on your heels, and it isn't because he wants to give you a speeding ticket."
"That can't be true."
"It is. You both have foolish smiles on your faces whenever you run into each other. Stop fighting against it and go with the flow."
"Do you think Bonnie told his wife about me?"
"It isn't a long shot. I bet that's exactly what happened. Blabby Bonnie's been trying to set you two up for a while now." Gretchen imagined Nina grinning widely. "You and Matt want to go out with Eric and me tonight?"
"Give it up, Nina. I'm not dating Matt. He hasn't even asked me out."
"This is the twenty-first century. You don't have to wait for him to ask you. Turn the tables. Get aggressive."
"Butt out, Nina. I'm still trying to extricate myself from one man."
"I'll put a bug in Matt's ear."
"Don't you dare." Gretchen knew her aunt certainly would dare. The idea might have appealed to Gretchen yesterday. Today, after seeing the photo of Albert Thoreau, she had too many doubts about Matt.
She decided not to tell Nina about Albert's beating until she had concrete information to back up her fear that Matt had attacked the homeless man. She hoped it wasn't true. It seemed so out of character for him.
Of course, she had badly misjudged Steve. She had believed in him, too.
"Did you pick up Daisy?" Gretchen asked.
"She's working with Karen's dog right now."
"What should I do about the box of Kewpies? I can't believe I gave it to the wrong person."
"Forget about it," Nina said. "You'd have to ask the queen bee for it back, and you know what the queen does if she spots a new queen emerging?"
"I don't want to know."
"She kills the new queen."
On that positive note, Gretchen signed off and grabbed the bag of green chile burgers. They smelled wonderful. One for now, and two for snacks later. She had to find time to cook a healthy meal one of these days, instead of existing on junk food. Like two days of hot dogs at the doll show and these cholesterol-soaked burgers.
She rounded the corner of the carport and dug for her house keys, wishing again that her purse was more organized. Everything she needed always seemed to rest at the very bottom.
When she stepped onto the porch, she saw it.
A package propped up against the door, positioned so she couldn't miss it.
Postal stamp-Phoenix, Arizona.
Handwriting-the same.
Gretchen thought about ignoring it. Maybe if she didn't acknowledge its existence, it would vanish.
She looked up and down the street, a tiny sliver of fear traversing her spine.
She made another phone call, gave the package wide berth when she entered the house, and sat down to wait for April to arrive.
26
This hundred-year-old baby is a collector's dream. In addition to the Kewpie doll, you can find Kewpie paper dolls, stickers, plates, postcards, salt and pepper shakers, and mini babies. They're af- fordable and fun. Most popular are Kewpies in action poses, those holding unusual items, and Kewpies with animals. Add one to your collection, and you'll be hooked for life.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
"Why me?" April said, her voice expressing flattered pleasure. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a big scrunchy and another tent-sized muumuu, royal blue this time and patterned with hummingbirds.
"That's what I've been saying to myself ever since these packages started arriving," Gretchen replied. "Why me?
The answer continues to elude me."
"I mean, why did you call me instead of Nina? You two are usually tight as a pair of jeans on a teenager."
"I called you first because you've been in the doll business your whole life, and I need an experienced, critical eye."
"You also want me to open this package, and you know that Nina would have wimped out, leaving you to do it yourself. One more hidden message, and she'll fall apart."
"Will you just open it, April?"
"What if it's a mail bomb?"
"None of the others were." Gretchen began to regret her decision to ask April for help, but she couldn't have faced the task by herself.
Both of them eyed the package. The first two Kewpies had been delivered to the doll show. This one had her name on the label and, worse, her home address. No escaping the fact that this one was meant exclusively and irrefutably for her. No generic "current resident" feel to it like the ones at the show.
"Sent on Saturday. The day you got the first one." April ripped brown paper away to reveal a square, dirty-looking box. "Don't worry, this is the last one you're going to get."
"How do you know that?" Gretchen's eyes were riveted to the box.
"Everything comes in threes."
"You've been hanging around with my aunt again."
"I always believed in the rule of three." April ran her fingernail under a piece of tape holding the top of the box closed, opened the cover, and peeked inside. "For example,"
she said, removing an object wrapped in a brown paper bag.
"You've received three packages, so this is the last one, and there have been three deaths, Ronny, Brett, and this Percy fellow. Three murders, so we're all done with those."
"That's reassuring."
"Unless another set of threes begins." April didn't attempt to open the paper bag. "And you could be the first in the new trio."
"April, you're a breath of fresh air," Gretchen said with only a mild hint of sarcasm. "Now, open it before I explode."
"That's why my parents named me April. I was born in April on a fine spring day." She tried to hand the wrapped object to Gretchen. "You finish opening it. I've done my fair share." When Gretchen refused to take it, she set it on the table between them.
April said, "You're approaching this from a very negative angle, like you think something evil is lurking inside. I think the exact opposite; someone is trying to help you find the truth."
"Then that person could just speak up. Ring me on my cell phone and lay it all out. That would be the way I'd handle it."
April put her hands on her hips. "Well, everybody isn't like you. Maybe this person is scared of retribution or retaliation."
"Retribution is the same as retaliation."
"Are you going to open it or not?"
Gretchen gingerly picked at the bag, lowered her head to the edge of the table, and looked inside.
"It's Doodle Dog, isn't it," April said knowingly, impressed with her own analytical skills. Gretchen pulled out a Kewpie dog, a replica of the one that Rosie O'Neill had sketched for the first time almost one hundred years ago. Doodling rough drawings of her beloved Boston terrier the Kewpie dog had materialized under her guiding hand.
White with large black spots, one big spot on the top of his head. Happiness radiated from his glowing little face. A happiness Gretchen was finding it hard to share.
"Well," she said, shoving the dog at April. "Is it worth anything?"
April grabbed the reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck, placed them on the tip of her nose, and tilted her head. "Interesting." She took the dog and turned it over. "It's not bisque, so it isn't one of the original pieces. This one's made of porcelain, rather than hard plastic. Hmm…"
She removed her glasses. "Wasn't worth much even before someone snapped off the back leg. See right there?"
She ran her hand along the dog's haunches. "Glued back on."
Gretchen groaned and covered her eyes, elbows spread wide on the table.
"Are those green chile burgers I smell?" April said, sniffing the air, returning Doodle Dog to t
he table, and zeroing in on the bag lying on the kitchen counter.
"Help yourself," Gretchen said, splaying her fingers helplessly and studying the Kewpie dog.
"You want one?" April asked, cramming the burger in as if she hadn't eaten for a week.
Gretchen waved her over, and they sat and ate and stared at the Kewpie dog.
"Kind of cold," April observed, taking another big bite.
"I forgot I had them once I found the package."
"It's okay. Kewpies are fascinating," April said, one cheek bulging. "In the early 1900s, women would pluck their eyebrows to imitate Kewpie brows. Kind of like surprised dots. That's how popular the dolls were."
Gretchen chewed but couldn't taste the burger. All she could think about was what they would find inside the doll.
"You look white as a ghost," April said.
"I don't want to open the dog. I don't want anything to do with this series of murders and packages. It gives me the creeps to think that someone is watching me."
"You have to face your fears."
"Easy for you to say. You aren't the target."
"I still have that hammer in the car," April said. "Want me to get it?"
"No, we can use my tools in the workshop."
"Are you going to eat that other one?" April seized the last green chile burger in one hand and the Doodle Dog in the other and followed Gretchen into the workshop. Wobbles appeared from nowhere, as usual, stretched himself long and lean, then rubbed against Gretchen's legs. She stopped to give him just enough love and attention to hear his satisfied, deep-throated purr.
She missed Nimrod and wondered when Nina would return with him. A few months ago she would never have believed that she could adapt to a dog in the house. She wasn't exactly canine friendly, preferring the solitary company of Wobbles to any yappy, attention-seeking dog. But there was something about the little guy…
"Are we going to do this, or are you going to play with your cat?" April dug through the toolbox, and before Gretchen could intervene, the woman had smashed the Kewpie dog wide open on the worktable. Bits of porcelain fell to the floor.
