by Deb Baker
"April, I wanted to preserve as much of it as I could."
"Wasn't worth anything," April insisted.
"Maybe we shouldn't have touched it. The police could have dusted it for prints."
April held up her hands in surrender. "We can stop right now and call Detective Albright." Then she grinned. "He might have to perform a body search in case we're withholding more evidence. That would be sweet."
"Continue on, Miss Marple," Gretchen said, wanting no part of Matt Albright. "We really don't need the police."
April extracted a piece of paper from inside the Kewpie dog and turned pale as she read it. She handed it to Gretchen.
"History repeats itself. You're next unless you start thinking outside the same old box."
Gretchen thought she might faint. The piece of paper floated to the floor, and April bent and picked it up. "Do you still think someone's trying to help me?" she asked April. "This…" she motioned at April's clutched hand.
"… couldn't be more threatening."
The series of cryptic notes that had been delivered specifically for her carried a frightening message. A message she had to figure out. The first one, "Wag, the Dog"; then a name, "Percy O'Connor." The napkin with the bold, startling word, "Pushed!" Now this, the most menacing of all: "History repeats itself. You're next unless you start thinking outside the same old box."
"What box is the note referring to?" April asked.
"I'm dead," Gretchen said. "I gave away the box."
"I'm really confused." April sat down on a stool slowly, as though testing it in case it couldn't hold her weight. Gretchen filled in the missing events for April, describing the street chase and her decision to surrender the box, only to find out that the pursuer was Matt's soon-to-be-ex-wife.
"I'll never get it back now," she moaned. "The woman probably threw it out when she found out it was only a box of broken doll pieces."
"It's gone for sure. She must think you're the nutcase."
April reread the note. "But this says to start thinking outside the same old box."
"That's the only box," Gretchen pointed out.
"What about the other box, the one with the Ginny dolls?"
"Gone."
"Maybe that's the one you should be looking for."
Gretchen heard the front door open and the familiar tapping of dog paws running down the hall. "Hey," Nina called out. "Daisy and I are moving her things into Caroline's spare bedroom, if that's okay?"
"Great," Gretchen called back. "Join us in the workshop when you're finished." Nimrod rounded the corner and literally jumped into her arms. "Welcome back, bud."
A few minutes later, Nina appeared. "Why does everyone look so glum?"
"Tell her," April said.
Nina's eyes grew wider when she spotted the smashed Kewpie dog. April handed her the message. Gretchen took a deep breath and related the parts Nina had missed. The only thing Gretchen left out of her accounts was Daisy's story about the homeless man's savage beating by a cop. She didn't know why she was keeping this to herself. Maybe she was protecting Matt's reputation until there was more proof. Once certain members of the Phoenix Dollers heard, the news would travel like light rays in space. Besides, he was the club president's son, and Bonnie deserved advance warning.
"I still think you should take what you know to the police," Nina said. "Someone's threatening your life."
"Not necessarily," April said, and repeated her theory that someone was trying to help solve the crimes. "One of the messages had Percy's name inside. Right?"
"Right." Gretchen was beginning to catch up with April's reasoning now that the shock of the third package had subsided. "Why would the killer give me a clue like that? It doesn't make sense." She banged her open hand on the worktable. "April's right. Someone's trying to help."
"Must be a mental case," Nina said. "An escapee from the loony bin."
Gretchen managed to shake a playful finger at her aunt.
"Another socially unacceptable comment. Remember your pledge to be more sensitive."
"I don't remember making any such pledge." Nina stooped and caught Nimrod as he ran past. "Want to see what he learned? This is amazing. He's so smart for a puppy."
Without waiting for a reply, she held him up and looked into his eyes. "Nimrod, parade." She put him down and he bolted for the door leading to the pool, pushing through the tiny pet door. Gretchen could hear him barking. He continued to bark until he slid back through the opening and tried to climb up Gretchen's ankles.
"What was he doing?"
"Parading around the backyard strutting his stuff," Nina said. "Isn't it cute?"
"My neighbor is going to have a fit," Gretchen said.
"She complains about me every chance she gets. And I don't see the point."
"Lighten up, niece, it's for fun."
April stood up. "Let's go to Curves and catch up on gossip. Maybe we'll learn something new."
"And let's bring Daisy along," Gretchen said, confident that Daisy would eventually share more information. Gretchen had only to wait long enough and keep her close by.
"She can be my guest," April said. "I need the points."
"She has to join before you earn them," Nina pointed out. "Based on her current income, do you really think she might sign up?"
"I'm taking my own car," Gretchen said. "I have errands afterward."
"She's ditching me again," Nina said to April. "I just know it." She looked at Gretchen. "Daisy can ride over with you. Until she takes a shower and washes her clothes, I'm keeping my distance. Even the dogs noticed. We had to ride over here with the windows open."
"She's showering right now," April said. "Can't you hear the water running?"
"We'll wait for her." Gretchen opened the patio doors leading to the swimming pool and cabana. "I have something that will fit her until she washes a load of laundry."
As the women gathered their purses, dogs, and other paraphernalia, Gretchen waited in the workshop doorway, staring at the remnants of the porcelain dog that Rosie O'Neill had hoped would bring happiness to all who encountered it.
27
Lilly Beth Straddler stands in her front yard watering the miniature roses she has just planted. That landscape spe- cialist really knows his stuff. Heavenly Days, that's what he called this particular type of rose. Loves heat and sun and never goes dormant, he promised her.
She wipes a thin line of perspiration from her forehead. Must be a hundred and twenty outside, and here we are in October.
Lucky for her she decided to water them right away before they wilted, or she might have missed the whole thing. What with all the privacy walls surrounding the homes, it is almost impossible to keep up with what goes on in the neighborhood.
Hard to know what the neighbors even look like, no one being especially friendly. Walls everywhere. Not too conducive to chitchat from one yard to another. Of course, she notices the truck parked on the street, and right away she knows it doesn't belong to a repeat customer, although with that doll business they have going over there, anything is possible.
Why, she herself has personally filed a complaint over them operating out of the house like that. This subdivision isn't zoned for retail, and that's exactly what she said to the commissioner. Let them take their business where it belongs, she'd said. Dragging down property values, she'd argued. Setting a precedent. If it wasn't stopped, pretty soon you'd have all kinds of business signs sprouting up on the lawns, and that would be the end of the neighborhood. Not that they had a doll sign out front, but who knew what they'd come up with next?
But it all fell on deaf ears. Probably bought off the judge.
She has finished soaking the roses when the police officer walks toward her from the other side of the house next door. Lilly Beth drops the hose, a wild jet of spray jumping back at her. She sidesteps and scurries over. What could it possibly be? A breakin? In this neighborhood? Lord help us.
"They just left," she says, "that Birch gir
l and a bunch of other women. People traipsing in and out of that house at all hours, it's a wonder they made it this long without trouble."
She hears barking on the other side of the Birches' door. Several different pitches of barks, which means a houseful of dogs. The noise from those animals! Lilly Beth wonders what the local rules are regarding pets. How many are legal? One? Two? Tomorrow she'll follow up. She taps her head with the palm of her hand. What is she thinking? She can follow up right this minute, since the proper authority is standing right before her.
"I think they own too many dogs. Do you know how many are… what's the word… legal?" she feels disappointed when he shakes his head. "Never mind, I'll call down to the local station. Are you from the local station?"
The police officer strides forward, arms swinging loose and with authoritarian hands, she thinks, wide and powerful.
"Oh, hello, Lilly Beth," someone calls from the sidewalk. Drats, now all the other nosy neighbors are spilling out of their homes like ants following a crumb line. Janice Schmidt waves a greeting, glances at the police officer, and continues to move past, an extra-wide stroller rolling ahead of her with two sleeping toddlers inside.
Lilly Beth notices the police officer stop abruptly when he sees Janice, like the fizz went out of him or like he'd been bent on a task and then changed his mind.
"You need to go back in your house, ma'am," he says, flashing a badge just like in the movies. "This is a homeland security issue, highly classified. Talk about it to anyone, and you risk prosecution."
"Oh, my. Well, yes, of course, Officer." He guides her along, pushing on her back, a little too hard, she thinks.
"Anything I can do to help, you just call me. I'm a patriotic American, not like some I could mention." She gives a meaningful glance back at the Birch house.
She opens her door. What a pushy officer. "I'll keep close tabs on them for you," she says. "Don't you worry."
He continues to stare at her house even after she backs away from the window. Then he gets into the truck and drives away, probably to return later with reinforcements. Strange that he didn't drive a squad car, but maybe that was too obvious for homeland security. He wouldn't want all the neighbors wondering why a police car was parked out front.
She hopes she hasn't interfered. She does tend to rush in impulsively without thinking things through. If she had stayed on her own side, maybe he would have crashed down the door with one powerful, bionic-like leg and seized evidence that would implicate her neighbor in some kind of international spy operation. She vows to stay close to her window in case things heat up.
28
On the way to Curves, Gretchen tried to steer the conversation back to Albert and his brutal beating, but Daisy's single-track mind was zeroed in on her future acting career and her chances of success. As hard as Gretchen tried, there was no rechanneling the woman's focus.
April and Nina led in their own cars, forming a caravan through the Phoenix streets. Even though Gretchen thought she knew the way, she gunned her Echo through a questionable light rather than risk abandonment by the other two.
She followed them into the parking lot. Mondays were always high-usage days at Curves for Women, after all those extra pounds added in the pursuit of weekend pleasures.
"It's the holidays coming up," April commented.
"Everyone's trying to get in shape for Thanksgiving so they can go at it again."
Bonnie, Rita, and several other doll club members had already begun their workouts. Gretchen and her group jumped in wherever there was room and called out to each other as they exercised around the circle of machines. April stayed close to Daisy so she could show her the equipment.
"You're new here," Bonnie said to Daisy. "Where do you live?"
"Close by me," Nina said quickly. "Right down the block."
"Hear you have a big date tonight," Rita called to Nina.
"That's right. Eric's taking me out to dinner at the Phoenician, where the Boston Kewpie Club is staying."
"Wow," April said.
"The resort has eleven restaurants," Nina said.
"I've eaten there," homeless Daisy said, her legs pumping up and down on the stepper. Nina threw her a warning glance.
Gretchen thought Daisy handled the equipment and the workout better than most of the longtime members and once again wondered about her background.
"Steve's out of jail," Bonnie said, a sly look on her face. Her eyes slid to Gretchen. "But of course you knew that."
Gretchen continued running on a platform.
"Really."
"Tell her the rest," Rita urged. "Everyone else knows."
"Steve can't talk to you anymore. He met with his lawyer, and he said Steve's to have no contact with you."
"Why on earth…" Nina began, frowning.
"Only thing I can think of," Bonnie said, all innocence,
"is that his defense is going to be that you did it. Remember, it was your knife."
"The knife didn't kill him," Gretchen said.
"Bonnie, you know better," Nina scolded. "Gretchen had nothing to do with Ronny Beam's death."
"That's the truth," Daisy said with conviction. Gretchen whirled to look at her, but Daisy seemed oblivious, preoccupied with shoulder presses.
"Change stations now."
Nina bumped into Gretchen, who hadn't moved. "Pay attention. You're supposed to move."
Gretchen saw all eyes on her, all waiting for a response to the news about Steve.
What could she say?
To change the subject, Gretchen said, "Anyone else going to Brett Wesley's memorial service?"
"When is it?" April asked.
"Tomorrow night."
"Haven't heard a thing about it."
"Me, either."
"I wasn't invited," Rita said.
"Maybe," Nina said, "the service is for those who were at the auction that day?"
April nodded agreement. "Someone put the invites together from the registration list."
Gretchen sincerely hoped that all the bidders were invited. Maybe the memorial organizers had Duanne Wilson's correct address. Maybe he would show up. She had a few questions for him. For that matter, she had a few questions for Howie Howard. She crossed him off her mental to-do list for today. Tomorrow night at the memorial would be soon enough.
Peter Finch, the photographer, lived in South Phoenix, according to the address on the business card he'd given her at the auction. With South Mountain as a backdrop, Gretchen drove down Fifty-first Street and turned onto Southern Avenue. She gazed at the dilapidated apartment building on her left, slowed, and pulled to the curb.
She made her way along the sidewalk leading to the building, stepping over and around an assortment of toddler trikes. A drape in the closest apartment moved slightly, and Gretchen saw fingers in the shadows grasping the heavy material.
Where was Nina when she really needed her? Probably having her hair done again, or her nails repaired, or Tutu's nails polished.
Her niece's life might be in jeopardy, and Nina was off primping.
What had she been thinking to call the number on Peter Finch's card and agree to meet at his apartment? He could be Jack the Ripper incarnate for all she knew. Gun toting was legal in Phoenix as long as the weapon wasn't concealed. Instead of a gun she had Nimrod, although that didn't make her feel any safer.
Gretchen rang one of six buzzers on the outside of the building, the one labeled P.F. She saw Peter's bony, unshaved face peek out at her from a door pane. Then he unlocked the door and ushered her into his apartment. Gretchen sized up the room. Sagging couch, weathered wood breakfast table, small refrigerator, no stove, hot plate on the counter. No obvious sign of weaponry, no piano wire coiled on the table. Aside from the ratty furniture, he owned a sleek forty-two-inch flat-screen television and one of the fanciest computer and printer combinations Gretchen had ever seen.
What his space lacked in basic luxuries, he made up for in electronic gadgetry.
A bachelor, for sure.
Gretchen looked around for signs of a woman's touch. Not a thing.
"Over here," Peter said, leading her to the computer. "I shoot digital all the time. It's so easy. I'll show them to you on the monitor, if that's okay."
"Sure." Gretchen moved closer.
Nimrod's tiny face poked out of his poodle purse, and he seemed inquisitive rather than threatened. Possibly a good sign.
"Is that a real dog?"
Nimrod's ears perked up as though he knew he was the center of attention.
"Never saw a dog in a purse before."
"I hadn't either until my aunt started training them."
"What did you have in mind? Just dolls from that auction?"
Because Peter Finch had snapped pictures of dolls lying on the flatbed truck, she had used that fact to set up this appointment. A ruse.
She wasn't interested in doll pictures, unless…
"Did you take any pictures of Ginny dolls?"
"Refresh my memory," he said. "What does one look like?"
Gretchen described the doll and the box the best she could.
"I didn't shoot anything already packed in boxes." He started up the computer, and Gretchen heard the motor kicking in. His fingers flew on the keyboard, and photographs began popping up on the screen. "Grab a seat," he said, motioning to a chair next to him.
She sat down next to him with Nimrod still in her shoulder bag, and for the first time wished he was larger and more intimidating. A German shepherd or pit bull would be good.
"To be honest," she said, "I'm not really interested in the doll pictures."
Peter pushed back in the chair. "Well, what then? All I take is pictures of dolls."
"Yes, well, I was hoping you took a few pictures later when Brett was struck by the car. People pictures, maybe of the accident scene. You said on the phone that you were still at the auction when it happened."
"Awful, what happened. Unbelievable."
"Don't you have some pictures of the accident?"
Gretchen asked again. "Any at all would help."
"I know what you're thinking. I'm supposed to be a professional, and a professional would have taken pictures. But, frankly, I was so stunned I completely forgot. Brett was a friend. I still keep seeing it happening all over again in my head."
