by Deb Baker
“Aunt Gert says hi,” Gretchen said after disconnecting.
“I heard the whole thing,” Nina said, indignant. “The woman’s voice carries like a bad virus.
The shuttle squealed to a halt on Michigan Avenue, and Caroline joined the crowd of travelers surging to the sidewalk. The drops of rain had turned into a windy squall but subsided as quickly as it came, and Caroline was grateful for the reprieve. She walked briskly away, ducked under a breeze-way, and cut into a department store entryway. Clutching her laptop securely to her, she waited against the wall. No one appeared to be following.
Good. She had taken too many precautions to lose now. They would find her car soon, if they hadn’t already. The car, parked far from the Phoenix airport, would buy her more time. Time. Everything depended on her speed and perfect, exquisite timing. She considered calling her sister, but Nina could be unpredictable. A wild card in this game of skill could upset her lead. No. Nina had done enough damage by bringing her daughter to Phoenix.
Thinking of Gretchen drove her back onto the wet sidewalk, and she turned away from Lake Michigan and headed in the direction that would lead her to the doll. The Chicago air hung thick and humid in spite of dark clouds spinning overhead.
She steeled herself for the long walk ahead.
7
Although an imprint is not always a foolproof indication of authenticity, many antique dolls were marked with a letter or number to identify the maker and country where the doll originated. These identifying symbols were incised on the back of the head, under the wig, or on the back of the shoulder. The early Bru doll bore a circle and dot on the back of the neck.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
“No,” Nina said, hanging up. “Bonnie says the only thing Martha had in her possession when she died was the parasol, the note, and the clothes on her body. And she knows that for certain, because she identified Martha for the police.”
“Okay, we have a starting point. We have to find out where Martha kept her belongings, if she had any, and we have to find the man who threatened me.” Gretchen said, watching Nina select two of her mother’s Shirley Temple dolls from a cabinet and arrange them on a bench next to the front door. She fluffed their costumes and carefully placed them in position.
“Do you think it’s wise to approach someone who recently threatened you?” Nina stood back and admired her handiwork.
“Do I have a choice?” Gretchen responded. “If you have a better idea, please share it.”
Wobbles made a brief appearance but stalked away when he spotted Nimrod and Tutu. If he was developing a friendship with the dogs, Gretchen couldn’t detect it.
“What are you doing?” Gretchen asked, staring at the dolls.
“Preparing in case Bonnie’s son shows up here again. Detective Albright is in for a little surprise. No more hiding while his backup crew does his dirty work for him. With these dolls as sentinels, he won’t dare step foot in here again.”
“Like gargoyles? They’ll scare him away?”
“Exactly.” She rubbed her hands together and checked the watch on her wrist. “Heavens! It’s two o’clock. We missed lunch, and I’m starving. Let’s see what we can come up with. Come, Tutu and Nimrod, for a leg stretch on the patio.”
They bolted off, and Nina returned while Gretchen poked in the refrigerator and pulled out the leftovers from Larry’s visit that morning. Nina sliced a papaya. They made bagel sandwiches and a pot of herbal tea and ate in silence.
When Gretchen let the dogs back in the house, she saw that Nimrod was soaking wet. “Nimrod fell in the pool,” she called to Nina.
“Oh, no. I forget that poodles are water dogs.” Nina thumped her head in exasperation. “I bet he jumped right in. Now I’ll have to have him groomed before he goes home.”
After towel-drying Nimrod and complaining about the stench of chlorine and other pool chemicals, Nina set off with the promise to return in a few hours for the trip to the Phoenix Rescue Mission. Gretchen checked the answering machine after she noticed its red light flashing. “I’m making progress on these repairs.” Larry’s voice boomed through the room. “If Caroline turns up, give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll keep at it.”
Gretchen was grateful for Larry’s help, whatever his underlying motives might be. Meeting deadlines was an important part of restoration. Again she went through the motions of checking for messages at her apartment in Boston, but the effort felt mechanical and wasted. Whatever her mother was up to, it didn’t include confiding in her family members.
She changed into her swimming suit and lowered her body slowly into the blue, sparkling water. Wobbles, a true sun lover, basked contentedly on a lounge chair. He lifted his head to the sun’s rays with dreamy eyes, and Gretchen envied his relaxed, worry-free existence.
She thought about Steve and their future together. She had lost her job permanently and her mother temporarily, and now she had to face Steve’s lack of commitment to her. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the events that sent her to Phoenix or the details associated with her mother’s disappearance.
For the first time in seven years, she realized that he marginalized her, that he thought his concerns and worries and actions were more important than hers.
If she didn’t call him, how long would it take him to call her? Interesting, she thought, to conduct a test.
The doorbell rang, interrupting her calculated decision to outwait Steve. She stepped from the pool, wrapped a beach towel around her waist, and padded through the house, trailing chlorinated water. Matt Albright stood on the porch.
“Come in, Detective,” Gretchen said, swinging the door wide after passing the two Shirley Temple dolls. Nina and her pranks. But he deserved it after his cold, callous handling of the search and his false friendliness.
He seemed surprised at Gretchen’s warm greeting, took a step forward, and smiled. Once again Gretchen admired the way his face lit up. “I caught you in the pool,” he said. “And call me Matt. Our mothers are good friends. No need to be so formal.”
When he saw the dolls on the bench, the smile slid from his face, and he stopped in his tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen said with mock concern. “Are you ill? You look feverish.” He did look pale and slightly unsteady. Panic flickered in his eyes.
How could a buffed-up cop exhibit such fear over a harmless doll? Nina’s trick didn’t seem so funny after all, and Gretchen felt mean-spirited for going along with it.
“Give me a second,” she said, snatching the dolls and quickly transferring them to a shelf in the closet. “Would you like some iced tea?”
He nodded wordlessly and followed her into the kitchen. Gretchen poured two tall glasses. “Lemon?” He nodded again.
Gretchen handed him a glass and led the way to the patio, choosing a table under a wide umbrella. She fluffed her damp hair and sat down, still wearing the towel around her waist. The sun sizzled overhead, instantly sucking the moisture from her skin. The swim a few minutes ago seemed like a distant memory as her body temperature climbed.
Before sitting down next to Gretchen, the detective stopped to stroke Wobbles, running his hand over the cat’s long body several times. At least he doesn’t have some feline phobia, she thought.
“You probably will regret offering me iced tea when you find out why I’m here,” he said.
“Try me.”
“We’ve issued a warrant for your mother’s arrest,” he said. “We want her for questioning in the death of Martha Williams.”
“Quit beating around the bush,” Gretchen said with exaggerated sarcasm. “Get right to the point. All this small talk is killing me.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of an easy way to break it to you.”
“You’re making a big mistake.”
“All the signs point to her.”
“Expound on that,” Gretchen said tightly, working to dredge up some of that Birch inner strength.
Strength. T
hat was something she and her mother knew about. A malignant tumor like Caroline had encountered inspired courage and resolve in the face of adversity.
She twirled her mother’s pink bracelet.
“First, we have the note Martha managed to write before she died. That’s damaging. We have the first evidence of a motive. Money. That doll from your mother’s workshop was worth three thousand dollars. The entire list could be worth a half million dollars or more.”
“The entire collection of dolls on the list, perhaps,” Gretchen agreed. “You’re forgetting that they no longer belonged to Martha when she died. For all we know, the collection was broken up and the dolls sold as individual pieces. One three thousand dollar doll is hardly a motive for murder.”
“That remains to be seen.” He studied Gretchen. “Your mother also had means. Martha died on that mountain.” He pointed up to the peak. “Practically in Caroline Birch’s backyard. And where is she when we want to question her? She’s disappeared.”
“Circumstantial evidence, Detective.” Gretchen followed his gaze upward. The red rocks glowed in the sunlight. “I can’t believe you got a warrant on those grounds.”
He held up his hand, and with his other hand ticked off each point. “She had means-it happened on her home turf.” He tapped a finger. “She had a motive-valuable dolls.” Tap. “And she’s missing-no alibi.” Tap.
“She’ll explain everything when she comes home,” Gretchen insisted.
“We have witnesses,” he said, dropping his hands to the table and spreading his fingers wide. “A man and a woman were hiking together on the mountain at the time it happened.”
Gretchen felt light-headed. “They saw it? They saw my mother murder Martha Williams?” Her voice climbed several octaves.
He shook his head. “They didn’t see Martha fall. But they saw your mother fleeing. She came from the exact spot where Martha Williams was pushed.”
“Martha Williams committed suicide,” Gretchen said weakly.
“I’m afraid not. Martha Williams was murdered.”
Gretchen stared at the mountain blankly. There had to be a logical explanation. All the strength she had summoned threatened to seep away. Two witnesses saw her mother on the mountain when Martha died. She could no longer dismiss his theory as pure speculation. Something awful occurred on Camelback Mountain, and her mother was there at the time. What explanation would she give for running away? Did innocent people run?
“We have an APB out on her car,” he continued. “I’m sorry.”
Gretchen’s gaze met his, and she almost believed that he truly was sorry.
“You have to tell me where she is. She has to come in and clear this up.” He leaned closer. “Where is she?”
“I’m afraid I really don’t know.”
Maybe, Gretchen thought, it’s time to pool our resources and work with the police. To a degree. She considered sharing the discovery of the doll shawl and photograph with him, but that might only give the police more reason to suspect her mother. It wouldn’t help find her, and it wouldn’t help exonerate her. The bag Gretchen found must remain her secret until she understood its significance. Until she located the French fashion doll and the trunk, the shawl would stay hidden with Nina.
“She left without telling anyone where she was going. That’s why I came to Phoenix. Nina’s worried about her.”
“You wouldn’t withhold information to protect her, would you?”
Gretchen shook her head. “Believe me, I want to find her more than you do. Tell me who appraised the doll you found in the workshop?” April Lehman knew about the doll shawl, and Gretchen hoped she hadn’t shared her knowledge with the police.
“An appraiser over in Glendale. April Lehman wasn’t available. Seems she left town for a few days.”
The detective drained his glass of iced tea and stood. Gretchen slipped on a pair of flip-flops and walked with him through the backyard gate and around the side of the house. The home’s landscaping matched the wildness of the Sonoran Desert and Camelback Mountain: spiked cacti, red-hued boulders, and spindly, whiplike ocotillos that were leafless in dry July but exploded with red blossoms in April.
A chameleon darted across the walkway in front of them.
“Someone threatened me last night,” she said, and related the encounter and the words spoken by the homeless man: “Get out while you still can.”
“And you think he has something to do with the Williams murder.”
Murder. Gretchen cringed at the word.
“Yes,” she said. “I think he knows something important. My plan is to find him.”
“Well, my plan is to find Caroline Birch.” Matt stopped at his car, a nondescript blue Chevrolet with no official markings. “How about this? You keep me informed, and I’ll do the same.”
“Aren’t you going to threaten me with jail if I withhold information? I am, as you recall, the main suspect’s daughter.”
Matt smiled. “You watch too many cop shows. This isn’t a movie. Besides-”
She interrupted him. “I know. Our mothers are friends.”
Gretchen sat on a stool in the workshop and imagined her mother bent over a broken doll, in the process of restoring it to its original splendor. A healer. Her mother’s lifework brought renewal, not destruction.
From one of the repair bins marked as sale dolls, she selected a grime-coated wax doll with a damaged nose. Once the doll was cleaned and repaired, her mother would take it to a doll show along with boxes of other dolls collected for that purpose.
Sitting in the shop, she felt closer to her mother.
Using light pressure, she began to clean the doll with cold cream, carefully spreading it around the eyes and ears with a Q-tip.
Gretchen smiled to herself. When she was learning the business, her mother had set her up at a table laden with paraffin wax and candles and supplies, and instructed her to experiment. Carve it, she’d said, mold it into shapes, and color it with crayons. Then melt some in a pot and create something entirely new.
It was one of her most memorable adult play days, and when she had finished, she possessed a working knowledge of wax dolls and their care.
This particular doll’s nose had worn away. Gretchen reached for a hair dryer hanging from a peg over the bench, turned it on, and blew the hot air on the area until the wax surrounding the worn nose became malleable. Carefully and patiently, she pushed the wax toward the end of the nose until she had created a new one.
She held the doll up and examined her work.
Caroline approached the luxury condominium without a concrete plan of action. Turning off Michigan Avenue, she found the condo units she sought. Complete with indoor parking and spectacular lake views. A uniformed doorman stood at attention inside the glass doors, a buffer between the building’s self-proclaimed elite and the commoners from the street below.
Caroline tucked silver strands of hair under her baseball cap. She brushed her hands across her shorts and top, smoothing out wrinkles caused by sleeping in her clothes. Her right hand clutched her laptop. She knew she would never get past the guard.
She entered a series of numbers on her cell phone, and the same woman picked up on the first ring.
“Please,” she said, trying to keep the sound of desperation out of her voice. “I realize that Mr. Timms is away, but if I could only see the doll for a minute. That’s all I need.” It was the truth. One of the first truths in this scheme of deception and lies.
Caroline leaned against the side of the high-rise building and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the security guard had repositioned, moving closer and eyeing her with distrust.
“Mr. Timms called early this morning,” the woman said. “I told him you had arrived. His private plane will land within the hour. His trip was successful, allowing him to return earlier than expected. Call again in a few hours.”
“Thank you.” Caroline disconnected as large raindrops splattered on the walk around her. Th
ank you. Thank you. She trembled in anticipation. A few hours of waiting would feel like several long, agonizing days. She could hear every lost minute ticking away in her mind.
Rain pelted her, and she ran to the other side of the street, protecting her laptop and cursing Chicago’s unpredictable weather: damp, humid, dreary.
With any luck she would be out of this city by nightfall.
8
The key to repairing an antique doll head is to make the repair as inconspicuous as possible. The porcelain must be simulated, and the colors must be exact. Quality fillers and sealers are applied, and colors are perfectly matched. Detecting such work is difficult when expertly done. A dishonest dealer might represent a repaired doll as mint and sell it for much more than it is worth. A beginning collector is wise to seek an appraisal before purchasing an expensive doll.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Nina sat at the kitchen table, her hands covering her face in horror while Gretchen broke the news. Tutu and Nimrod, temporarily forgotten by their caregiver, ran roughshod over the house. Gretchen heard a warning hiss from the bedroom followed by a yelp, and both dogs bolted back into the kitchen. Tutu sported a fresh claw mark on her nose, and Gretchen measured the extent of Nina’s anguish by her failure to even notice.
“This is a nightmare,” Nina wailed. “Slap me. Wake me up.”
Gretchen would have gladly followed Nina’s instructions if she thought a slap would help. Wasn’t she the one who should be crying on Nina’s shoulder, not the other way around? What had happened to her cool, mystical aunt?
“Call Steve,” Nina said through broken sobs. “We need a lawyer.”
“Steve’s a divorce attorney. He won’t be able to help us. Matt said the most important thing is to find her and bring her back.”
